My sentence to work for the summer didn’t feel real until the Sweetwater Overlook Retreat Center sign stared back at me as Uncle Ed pulled in to drop us off. It seemed to be taunting me, telling me I was going to fall flat on my face here, and I had to look away. We drove to the main building and parked. Hannah hopped out first and began unloading our bags, while I dragged myself from the station wagon at the pace of a snail.
My ever-observant aunt picked up on my misery. “You’re going to have a wonderful time, sweetheart,” she told me, her hands on my cheeks as she stared into my eyes. Was she trying to implant the idea that Sweetwater was awesome directly into my brain? If so, it wasn’t working.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” I was going for confident and reassuring, but it came out more dismissive than anything else.
Aunt Greta winced, but quickly recovered. “Well, if you need anything at all, we’re just a phone call away, okay?” She stepped back, put both hands on her hips, and surveyed the forest of tall trees that surrounded the gravel parking lot where we stood. “This place holds such fantastic memories for me. I spent most of my summers in college and grad school here. Helping people reach their potential is so powerful. It’s part of why I became a social worker. The owner, Fred Allen, is like a second father to me. He saw how much I loved it and just kept encouraging me to get more involved.” She smiled at me. “Even if you don’t love it as much as Hannah and I do, it’ll be a good experience. Sweetwater teaches you what you’re made of.”
“Sugar and spice and everything nice?” I deadpanned.
Greta raised an eyebrow. “I was thinking more along the lines of strength and courage.”
“Not sure that applies to me,” I said, looking at my shoes. If I rewound through the movie of my life up to this point, it was pretty easy to see that I wasn’t a fighter. I always knew this about myself and I always hated it, but it was so much easier to keep my mouth shut when something bothered me. I appreciated Aunt Greta’s positive attitude, but if Sweetwater was trying to teach me to be strong, it might be the one and only class I ever failed.
“You might surprise yourself,” she said with a wink.
Doubtful, I said, but only to myself.
Greta and Ed kissed my cheeks, hugged Hannah fiercely, and promised they’d send care packages. Hannah yelled “Cookies!” with a smile as they got back in the car. Then her smile faded when she realized we were alone, together.
“Let’s go. We can’t be late for orientation.” My cousin picked up her army-style duffel bag and started toward the lodge. I gathered from the brochure that this was where the retreaters slept, where conference rooms were, where the dining hall was housed, among other important places for the complete retreat experience. Looking around, I spied a few separate cabins, a gazebo, and trails that led behind the lodge to who knows where. And a lot of trees. And dirt. A fly zipped past me and I swatted at it. I grabbed my rolling suitcase and dragged it behind me, kicking up pieces of gravel that stung my bare ankles as I went.
When we got inside, I followed silently down linoleum hallways until we passed through a set of double doors and the sign that said Mess Hall. Mess hall? Are we in the Army? Hannah dropped her bag on the floor and ran like a track star for a group of people standing in a semicircle next to a long row of cafeteria tables. I stood off to the side and took in my surroundings. Besides the long tables, there was a smaller one set up in the front, with a clipboard and a stack of papers. I approached the table, inspecting the clipboard. It was a sign-in sheet. I scanned the names. Hannah’s was typed at the very bottom—the curse of being a Z—and right under hers, mine was handwritten in a swirly blue scrawl. The last-minute addition. I quickly signed my initials next to my name, and just to be nice, wrote HZ next to Hannah’s name. And, making sure no one was watching me, I scribbled,
THE BEGINNING IS ALWAYS TODAY.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
across the top of the sign-in sheet.
Across the room, I watched my cousin sling an arm around an older woman with a braid hanging down her back. There were a handful of others, all ages, standing around with them. Hannah’s friends looked outdoorsy. They all wore some variation of the same outfit—T-shirt or Sweetwater polo, khaki shorts with lots of pockets, running shoes or hiking boots. My gingham sleeveless top with the silver snap buttons, professionally frayed jean shorts, and cute white canvas sneakers seemed fussy and out of place now. The others seemed ready to take on grizzly bears and scale rock walls, while I looked like an extra in a movie set on a farm.
Hannah seemed to be so wrapped up in catching up with her friends that she’d forgotten about me. So instead of standing around staring like a creeper, I took a seat at one of the long wooden tables, my suitcase at my feet. I sighed. The new girl, yet again. Just like last year at Blue Valley, when I arrived right as summer school began. School was school was school, and I was good at doing school. I knew the right things to say and the routines were familiar. But here? I didn’t know anyone, and even my job was still a mystery. I sat, my chin in my hand, and stared at the dark wooden beams on the ceiling, counting them forward and backward to the sounds of laughter and chatter from Hannah and her friends. You look lazy. Sit up straighter. Impressions are everything, my dad’s voice urged. I sat up and sighed.
Five minutes later, the door swung open again. I was expecting another wilderness-ready counselor type. My eyebrows lifted into my forehead when I saw how wrong I was. Not that he wouldn’t have been completely comfortable hugging a pine tree. The guy strolled in like he owned the place, one hand in the pocket of his shorts. He was tanned with rosy cheeks, as if he spent all his days windsurfing and playing volleyball on a tropical beach, and his light brown hair was sun-kissed on the ends. A carefree half-smile played on his full lips. The collar of his gray polo was turned up and his running shoes were just the right amount of worn to suggest he hit the pavement several times a week. His muscular calves confirmed it.
“Drool much, Ashlyn?” Hannah scoffed in my ear. I hadn’t heard her come over. Just in time to see me staring.
I couldn’t even pretend she was wrong. “Who is he?”
Hannah watched him drop a green backpack on the floor, sit down a few tables away from us, and remove a ring of keys from his back pocket. “Not a clue. Never seen him before.”
Something inside of me lit up, warm and bright. He was brand new, just like me. Maybe he and I could band together, us against the dirt, forging a new path. I shook my head at myself. Ridiculous. He was probably a mountaineer just like the rest of them. In fact, he exuded so much confidence that I bet Sweetwater hired him to offset my lack of experience. Still, there was something about him that I couldn’t look away from. Tatum liked to joke that there wasn’t a boy in a polo I didn’t like. Maybe she was right. And perhaps my track record with boys wasn’t amazing, but there was something magnetic about the promise of flirty banter. It had always been my favorite way to take my mind off . . . other things.
“Well, if he’s new, maybe he’s nervous too,” I said. Should I go talk to him? We could feel out of place together . . . As I stood, his dark brown eyes locked on me. I felt him give me the once over and my insides went molten. He was definitely my type.
“Sit down, sit down,” came a voice from the front of the room. I startled and sat back down as directed. Hannah took the seat next to me and some of her friends joined us. A tall man with a shock of white hair and posture like a flag pole stood before us. His navy-blue polo sported the Sweetwater logo over his heart and his khaki shorts were lined with cargo pockets. A carabiner with about a hundred keys hung from his braided belt. The man clapped his hands and his keys jingled. “Welcome, everyone. We’re so glad you’re here.” His voice was warm, grandfatherly, like he was ready to teach me to fish or to pull a quarter out of my ear.
A short, sturdy-looking woman with a bird’s nest of curly brown hair stood next to him, rocking back and forth on the heels of her Velcro athletic sandals. She cleared her throat loudly. The man patted her shoulder and continued speaking. “My name is Fred Allen and I’ve had the distinct pleasure of owning Sweetwater Overlook for the last forty-two years. My wife likes to say I’m semiretired, which is her way of telling me to spend more time at home, which I intend on doing after today. I see a number of familiar faces, which is always nice, and many new ones, which is also nice. I’m sure this is going to be our best summer yet, and that’s all because of your hard work. So, thank you in advance.”
Fred held his hands out toward us and clapped. And because you couldn’t not clap with him, I clapped too, as did everyone else. I stole a quick look over at the guy in the polo and he lifted his clapping hands in my direction and nodded, as if he were clapping for me. My face warmed and I smiled shyly, mimicking his action. Why shouldn’t we clap for each other? The boy winked at me and turned back to the front.
The short woman cleared her throat again, louder this time, and rocked so hard I was afraid she’d fall over. Fred finally got the hint.
“Kids, this is Deborah Gress, our new manager.” Audible gasps were heard around the room and Fred nodded, a sympathetic look on his face. “I’m sad to report that our beloved Joan Jenkins retired several weeks ago. I’m even sadder to report that Joan is undergoing treatment for cancer, but happy to share that her prognosis is good. Joan sends her best wishes to you all, says please don’t worry about her, and that she’s already got her grandkids running errands for her since she’s not here to boss you all around.” Laughter erupted from some of the others around me, including Hannah. I guessed you needed to know Joan to get the joke. “But we are lucky to have Deb here with us.”
Deb stepped forward and introduced herself in a voice that reminded me of a door hinge that needed greasing. She waved her hands around as she talked, like she was swatting flies. By the time she mentioned the third hotel she had managed and “brought back from the brink of destruction,” I had already zoned out. I wish I hadn’t, because Deb’s boasting was replaced by my dad’s voice in my mind, his last phone call echoing back at me. Be on your best behavior. Don’t embarrass the family.
The nail polish on my thumb was chipping, so I picked at it and sent tiny flecks of purple to the ground. Moments—or a half an hour—later, I had no idea, Deb barked my name. My head shot up so fast my sunglasses toppled off the back of my head and clattered to the floor.
Deb’s left eyebrow was raised. “Here’s your assignment, Ashlyn.” She held out a half-sheet of paper. “You and I will be working closely together this summer.”
I took the paper without looking at it. “Sounds good,” I mumbled, and sat back down, setting my assignment face down on the table.
It wasn’t until I was following Hannah to our cabin that I read what was written.
My cousin elbowed me in the rib. “What did you get?” I handed her the slip of paper. “Office assistant, and other duties as required?” she read, puzzled. “What does that even mean?” She shoved the paper back at me. “I don’t like Deb. I want Joan back.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like that’s an option.”
Hannah’s jaw tightened as she sped up; I nearly had to jog to keep up with her. “Deb put me in charge of the equipment kiosk.” I didn’t know what that meant, but her angry tone made me think twice about asking for clarification. “This is so humiliating. I was supposed to be head lifeguard. Joan promised. I don’t understand. I worked hard. I’m certified. I get along with everyone. I got a great evaluation last year. This is completely unfair.” She shrugged and shook her head, as if she was trying to make peace with the job. “I will make it work, but this is not what was supposed to happen.”
I just nodded in solidarity. Neither of us were off to a good start this summer.