Getting Mike back to civilization was an ordeal. Mercy and Owen went for help, and I stayed with Mike. Eventually Search and Rescue showed up with helicopters and boats, and Mike was airlifted to Guilford Falls hospital. They kept him in for four days before they finally let him go home.
And I was there every day with Owen and Mercy.
The sheriff took our statements, and it didn’t take long for the police to arrest Ed, Dale and Bob Higgins.
And Mr. Evans.
When they arrested Mr. Evans, we really weren’t sure what would happen to Camp Clearwater. Mercy was worried they’d shut down the camp entirely.
But thank goodness for Raina.
I am sitting on the edge of the dock at Camp Clearwater, the sun hanging low in the sky.
“Nate!” Raina calls. She is standing on the shore, a bunch of first-year kayaks strewn all over the beach. “Would you mind putting these away for me?”
“No problem.” I’m happy to help in any way I can. Since she became camp director and took over for Mr. Evans, she’s been pulled in a million directions, trying to do everything at once. Not only is she doing Mr. Evans’s job, but she’s still doing hers.
“Thanks, Nate,” she says with a smile. “I’ll save you a brownie.”
I set to work putting the boats to bed, my stomach grumbling. It’s dinnertime, and I can smell spaghetti sauce on the air.
“Nate!” Mike waves over by the flagpole, making his way down to the water. He’s got a cast on his injured leg, crutches. But he is moving pretty well, considering. He is wearing his white counselor shirt and looks more like his old self. “You want some help, man?”
“It’s okay, I got it.”
“Nate,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s a broken leg. I’m not dying.”
“Fine then.” I toss a paddle at him, and he drops one of his crutches just in time to catch it. He wobbles, and I worry he’s going to fall. But he keeps his balance and laughs.
We work together, stacking the kayaks neatly on the racks. We’re quiet as we work, neither one of us talking. It’s not like Mike to be this quiet. Something’s on his mind.
“What’s up?” I ask him finally.
He puts down his armful of paddles and sighs. “I saw Mr. Evans today.”
“What?” Mr. Evans is in jail.
Mike nods. “I needed to talk to him. To understand, you know?”
“What’s to understand?” I don’t care what Mr. Evans has to say for himself. He nearly got all of us killed.
Mike shrugs. “Turns out the money wasn’t for him,” he says.
“Sure it wasn’t.”
“No, Nate, really. I asked Raina, and she confirmed what he told me. The camp has no money. Apparently, Clearwater is just barely staying afloat. Mr. Evans thought the money from Bob Higgins could help him save the camp.”
I let that sink in for a minute. A part of me wants that to be good enough. Wants that to be a reasonable explanation for what Mr. Evans did. But then I think of Mike sitting alone between those rocks for so many days, hoping to be rescued. I think of the raging waters of the Black Hole. And it isn’t. It isn’t good enough at all.
“He seemed really sorry,” Mike says.
“I’ll bet he is.”
Mike nods and picks up the paddles, stacking them against the racks.
“What?” I ask him. “Are you saying you forgive him?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe not forgive. But I understand a little bit better.”
“Well, I don’t,” I say. “I don’t understand at all.”
“Come on, Nate. Think about how much you love this place. How much we all do. Are you really telling me you wouldn’t try anything to save it?”
“I wouldn’t do what he did.”
“No,” agrees Mike. “But still, he did it because he loves this place as much as we do. We’re all just between swims, aren’t we?”
Between swims. It’s something Mr. Evans used to remind us about whenever we went out on the Starling. Every time you’re in a kayak, it’s only until the next time the rapids beat you.
Maybe Mike’s got a point. Camp Clearwater has been a home to all of us, a place to find ourselves. And Mr. Evans wanted to keep that safe. But he did it all wrong. And he ended up making us less safe than ever. Maybe someday I can be as understanding as Mike. But it is going to take me a while.
“So,” I ask Mike, “if there’s no money, what does that mean for Clearwater?”
“Ah, Raina’s already got a bunch of fundraising events planned. You know how organized she is. If anyone can get Clearwater back on track, it’s Raina.”
I nod. Raina will take care of it.
“Don’t worry, Nate.” Mike grins. “You’ll wear the white shirt soon enough.”
I smile. Fifth year is almost over. I ran the Nebula again with the red shirts and passed. It was easier the second time, with all my fellow campers there supporting one another. More fun and less frightening than that day we went to find Mike.
Raina offered me a job next summer as counselor. A white shirt like Mike. And not just me. She offered the same thing to Mercy and Owen. We all said we’d be back. Assuming Raina can figure out how to keep Clearwater operating.
“Mike!”
We turn and see Sarah Bauer waving from the head-office building. She beckons for Mike to come.
I glance at him sideways. “So Sarah Bauer, eh?”
“What?”
I shake my head. “Just a surprise is all.”
Mike tries not to blush, grinning like an idiot. “Ah, you’ll understand it someday. After all, if you can get over your fear of the Starling enough to come find me, you can get over your other fear.”
He hobbles off to join her, leaving me alone by the stacks.
“What other fear?” I call after him.
“Girls!” he says.
I frown. I think about pointing out that I talk to Mercy just fine, but then he’ll think I’ve got a crush on her. Which I don’t.
I turn back to the Starling, watching the setting sun glitter off the waves. So next year I’ll be on my river again. The river I love. Wearing a white shirt.
Next to Mike.