22
Two Days Later

The sun in Florida was electric. It burned through the yellow-and-white striped umbrella, the floppy hat on my head, my closed eyelids. No matter how many layers I stacked between me and it, I couldn’t find the dark stillness that I craved.

“More sunscreen, sweetheart?” asked Grandma.

I opened my eyes. “No, thanks. I’m going to go for a swim.”

“All right. Enjoy yourself.”

I pushed myself up from the lounge chair where Grandma and I were sitting beside the pool. The backs of my legs were indented with the chair’s plastic slats, but the chlorinated water would puff them right up. This had been my routine for the past two mornings. Chair, pool, chair, pool.

Every time I dove into the water, there was a second when I thought the change of atmosphere would fix something. Not everything. Maybe just some small crack in my shattered life.

But then I would resurface and the same sun would be beating down on my same face. My same brain would replay what had happened at camp, and I would realize there was no glue in the universe strong enough to put me back together.

I was broken. And I always would be.

As I turned to float on my back, Grandma’s friend Roger took my abandoned seat under the umbrella. Roger had driven Grandma to the airport to pick me up and knew what had happened at Camp Famous. I’d tried to hold everything in until we arrived at Grandma’s apartment, but as Roger drove, with gentle music playing from the radio and Grandma’s warm hand clutching mine in the backseat, the story of my time at camp poured out. Every last detail.

So when Grandma began speaking to Roger, checking her phone for details, I knew she was telling him the big news of the day. We’d finally reached my parents. They would arrive in Florida tomorrow morning.

I pushed off the pool wall and floated away from Grandma and Roger. Half of the pool was separated into lap lanes, so it was only a matter of seconds before my head hit a red plastic divider.

I missed the lake. The docks. The beach.

I missed the inflatable unicorns—Majestica, Quantifica, and Bob.

I missed laughter and splashing.

Most of all, I missed my friends.

I wondered what they were doing right now. Maybe they were making bracelets in the Art Hut. Or canoeing. Maybe they were on the docks following along as Cameron Craze taught them his newest dance moves. I pictured Shira trying to copy his fast elbow thrusts, losing her balance, and falling into the water. Last time that happened, we all pretended to tumble in after her.

I laughed at the memory and accidentally sucked chlorinated pool water up my nose. I started to cough.

“Abby, are you okay?” called Grandma, her hands on the armrests of the lounge chair as if she thought she might need to come save me.

I cleared the water and nodded at Grandma. Then I plugged my nose and sank to the bottom of the pool, grateful for the few seconds of quiet.

Grateful that the water hid my tears.

At lunchtime I dried off and joined Roger and Grandma in the retirement village’s main dining room. I didn’t mind eating with Roger. Company was better than sitting alone underneath Grandma’s sympathetic gaze.

After I finished my grilled cheese, Roger pulled a bag of sour watermelon gummies from under his seat.

“How did you know these were my favorite?” I asked as the sugar coating crunched between my back teeth.

Grandma was a chocolate person. She’d been trying to cheer me up with M&M’s and Hershey’s bars.

“Wish I could take all the credit,” said Roger. “But I had some help. I’ve got a granddaughter a few years older than you. She’s a candy expert, believe it or not. Writes all about it on her computer. I’m told she’s very popular. You want to see a picture?”

I shook my head. A popular candy expert was the last thing I wanted to see. She was probably pretty like Hazel. Smart like Shira. Charismatic like Bells. Heck, she was probably even graceful like Willa. Maybe she could toss a gummy bear into the air, spin around on her tiptoes, and catch it in her mouth.

“Well,” said Roger. “If you ever want to see a—”

Whirr, whirr, whirr.

A mechanical sound interrupted Roger’s words. I assumed it was the tires of an electric wheelchair stalling in the hallway. That happened a lot at the retirement village.

But still, way back in my brain, I couldn’t help thinking: helicopter. Like the one Joe kept on standby.

I reached for another sour watermelon to keep from crying again.

“Abby! Hey, Abby!”

I could have sworn I heard Shira’s voice. Seriously, I had to get a grip.

“Abby, come out here this very instant!”

Bells’s voice. Both bossy and bubbly, like giggles were brewing underneath.

I looked at Grandma. Could she tell that I was losing my mind? Should I ask her to slap my cheek and bring me back to reality?

Except Grandma wasn’t looking at me. She was helping Roger stand from his seat. They were both staring out at the golf course where a group of kids were running across the grass. Arms pumping. Legs lifting.

There was Bells with her perfect form.

Shira with her loping stride.

Willa with her graceful glide.

Hazel. Kai. And jogging behind all of them, Carly.

All those arms and legs and faces were rushing in my direction!

I pushed back my chair and raced to the double doors that opened onto the golf course. That same electric sun hit my face. But I had no desire to close my eyes against it.

I wanted every second of this to be lit up in full color.

Bells reached me first. She wrapped her arms around me. “Abby,” she said. “I found your note, and Joe talked to our whole cabin. I’m so sorry. I never should have looked in your journal, and I never should have doubted you.”

“I never should have lied.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” said Shira, breathless. “It’s basic math. Duh.”

“Can you forgive us?” said Hazel.

“Please,” said Willa. “Camp’s not the same without you.”

I smiled, unable to answer because every member of Cabin Tranquility wrapped their arms around me. We were swaying side to side, on the cusp of toppling over. It was dark in the center of that group hug, but my heart was lit up with a million sparkles.

When we finally let go of one another, I wiped happy tears from my eyes.

“We would have come sooner, but Joe took some convincing,” said Bells. “Something about a violation of privacy. He refused to arrange for transportation, even though this was clearly an emergency situation.”

“How’d you change his mind?”

“Bells finally used her one phone call home,” said Willa.

Bells shrugged. “It was either plane and helicopter, or the Royal Air Force. Joe made the right decision.”

I laughed and hugged Bells again as someone tapped me on the shoulder.

It was Kai. “Hey,” he said.

I blushed. Not only because Kai was back in his red hoodie sweatshirt, looking just as pop star cute as when I first saw him at the airport, but because Kai wasn’t there when everything fell apart. Which meant that he’d heard about it from my cabinmates, or maybe Joe. What had they told him?

I didn’t have it in me to ask.

“You left without saying good-bye,” he said.

All I could do was smile, shrug, and hope that Kai understood there was too much to explain with this many people around. “There wasn’t time. And also . . .” I shrugged again.

“Yeah,” said Kai. “I get it. Sometimes it’s hard to know what to say.” Now Kai was the one blushing. This was getting awkward.

“That could be a song title for the new album,” I joked. “Add it to the list of unknown things.”

“Totally,” said Kai. “It would fit right in with all the others.”

“So you’re really writing songs about everything you don’t know?”

Kai nodded. He smiled. “Just like I said I would. And I think they’re actually good. I can send you some lyrics when I get home if you want.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’d love to read them.”

“Cool,” said Kai, fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie. “I’ll do that.”

A crowd had formed at the edge of the golf course. A few residents leaned on canes. Others sat in the outdoor chairs that lined the golf course. Grandma stood with her arms wrapped around her waist, a large smile on her face. Roger was beside her, typing on his phone.

Bells waved with a cupped hand at a woman who was calling her name. I walked over to her and put my hand on her arm, pulling her behind a nearby tree.

“Thanks,” said Bells. “I’m not ready to go back to being me.”

“Me neither,” I said.

Bells smiled. Not her usual whole face smile, but a half one. “Maybe it’ll be different now. For both of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we have each other.”

“We do?”

“Yep,” said Bells. “I’m so happy you’re not really a famous writer, Abby. I thought you were hiding your books because you thought I wasn’t smart enough to understand them. That’s why I got so upset and looked in your notebook.”

I remembered how Bells had misspelled tranquility. How she needed tutors to get through school. How she turned the pages of her graphic novels super slowly. I hated that my actions made Bells worry like that.

“I would never think that,” I said. “I promise. You’re so smart, Bells.”

“Not about book stuff.”

“Well, I’m not smart at friendship stuff. I almost messed everything up.”

“You’re not the only one.”

I paused. “I was going to tell you the truth about not being famous. I swear.”

“I believe you,” said Bells. “And I really am sorry for looking in your journal. I knew it was private, and I never should have done it. Will you please come back to camp with us?”

“I don’t know. . . .”

“But it’s cabin skit night tonight. If we leave now, we’ll have time to practice combining our ideas.”

At the words “cabin skit night,” a tiny ball of dread dropped into my stomach. It was one thing to hug it out on the golf course at Grandma’s retirement village. It was another thing to go back to camp and face the other campers and counselors.

They would know my story, but they wouldn’t know me. I didn’t want to stand onstage in front of those judgmental eyes.

“My stuff is already here and my parents are coming tomorrow. I should probably stay.”

“But it’s our last time all together.” Bells glanced at Carly and dropped her voice to a whisper. “We can talk the whole night.”

All of us huddled together in bed. A flashlight lighting our faces. Whispered secrets. How could I say no?

Because, I realized, I didn’t have to say yes.

The Camp Longatocket website had a testimonial section where campers wrote what they had learned at camp. There were the basic things like how to build a fire, make a dream catcher, flip a kayak. Toward the end of the list was a comment that leaped off my computer screen as if I’d been wearing 3-D glasses. I thought of it as Bells waited for my answer.

I learned that my camp friends will be with me no matter where I go.

Camp was only a few weeks. No matter what. But friendships could last forever. That was what I should have been focused on. Making friends I could count on no matter where I was. At camp, at school, or a retirement village in Florida.

I’d done it. I made those friends.

Was it super convenient that they could command helicopters with a single phone call home? Yes. But that wasn’t the part that mattered. My friends came to my rescue even though I wasn’t perfect, or famous, or anything at all.

They came because they cared about me.

“I think I have to stay,” I said.

“Fine. But that means you’re coming to visit me this winter.”

“Will you send a helicopter?” I joked.

“Of course not,” said Bells. “I’ll send the royal plane. It’s way more comfortable.”

Bells and I linked arms and walked back to the group. Now that the initial energy of our reunion had passed, it hit me that everyone was acting differently than at camp.

Kai had his red sweatshirt back on. Hood up, drawstrings dangling. Hazel’s hair covered half her face. Willa held her chin at a slight angle, as if someone might ask her to pose for a picture at any second. Bells gave another tight wave with a cupped hand. Only Shira, the U.F.C., was acting like normal.

My friends had left the safety of camp and were back to being their famous selves. And they’d done it for me.

Carly called out a five-minute warning. The helicopter blades began to spin. I could feel Bells’s absence in my chest even though she was standing beside me. But I didn’t want to start crying, so I focused on the helicopter and said, “I can’t believe you all fit inside.”

“It seats nine people. So Joe said just your close friends should come.”

Bells, Shira, Hazel, Willa, Carly, Kai. Plus the pilot. That was seven people. Even if they were saving a place for my return, that still would have left room for one more person who I wished had come—Oliver.

As the whirl of the helicopter blades blew my hair into my face and muffled my shouts of good-bye, I couldn’t help but wonder: Had Oliver not been invited, or had he chosen not to come?