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“It’sVivian,” she said coyly, drawing out the end of her name into an extra syllable.
“Hey, Viv.”
Theo said it so casually that jealousy bloomed in my chest. How lucky Vivian was. To be known by Theo. To be greeted with such easy familiarity. Vivian noticed the envy in my eyes and added, “Emma’s here, too.”
“Emma who?”
“Emma Davis. She’s new.”
“Oh, that Emma. Cool, fashionably late Emma.”
I let out a squeak, shocked and elated that Theo knew who I was. That he remembered leading me to Dogwood in the dark of night. That he had noticed me.
Vivian elbowed me in the ribs, prompting me to meekly reply, “Hi, Theo.”
“Why are you two up so early?” he asked.
I froze, one hand latched on to Vivian’s wrist, silently begging her not to tell him the truth. I wasn’t sure if a thirteen-year-old girl could die of embarrassment, but I certainly didn’t want to find out.
“Um, going to the bathroom,” she replied. “The real question is why you’re here. Isn’t there a shower in the Lodge?”
“The water pressure there sucks,” Theo said. “Those pipes are ancient. Which is why I haul ass out of bed extra early and shower here before any of you girls can stumble in.”
“We were here first,” Vivian said.
“And I’d be grateful if you’d finally leave so I can shower in peace.”
Vivian looked down at me, smirking, and whispered, “He means jerk off.”
It was so dirty and inappropriate that a laugh burst out of me. Theo heard it, of course, and said, “I mean it, guys. I can’t stay in here all day.”
“Fine,” Vivian called back. “We’re gone.”
We departed in a torrent of giggles, me still clutching Vivian’s wrist, the two of us twirling each other in the predawn. We spun until I grew dizzy and everything—the camp, the latrine, Vivian’s face—became a glorious, happy blur.
10
It takes me hours to fall asleep. The silence is once again too oppressive for my Manhattanite ears. When I finally do manage to drift off, my sleep is stormy with bad dreams. In one of them—the most vivid—I see the long-haired woman from the photo found in Vivian’s trunk. I stare into those distressed eyes until it dawns on me that it’s not a picture I’m looking at but a mirror.
I’mthe woman in the photograph. It’smyabsurdly long hair trailing to the floor,mydark-cloud eyes staring back at me.
The realization jolts me from sleep. I sit up, my breath heavy and my skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat. I’m also struck by the need to pee, which tugs me reluctantly from bed. Careful not to wake the others, I fumble in the darkness for my flashlight and those newly purchased boots, which I stuff my bare feet into once I’m outside. The flashlight remains off as I indulge myself with a view of the darkened sky above. I’d forgotten how different night is here. Clearer than in the city. Unmarred by light pollution and constant air traffic, the sky spreads out like a vast canvas painted midnight blue and studded with stars. The moon sits low on the horizon, already dipping into the forest to the west. It’s such a beautiful sight that I get the urge to paint it. Which, I suppose, is progress.
Inside the latrine, I hit the light switch by the door. Fluorescent bulbs overhead hum to life as I head to the nearest stall. The samestall, coincidently, where Vivian led me on that fraught, frightening night.
To this day, it amazes me how I entered the latrine that night feeling one thing and left feeling the complete opposite. Going in, I was terrified by the ways my body could betray me. I departed riding a wave of laughter, still clutching Vivian. I remember how happy I was in that moment. HowaliveI had felt.
The memory of that time makes me sigh as I prepare to leave the stall. I’m stopped by the sound of the latrine door being opened. At first, I think it might again be Theo. A sad, silly thought, when you get right down to it. But it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility, seeing how we’re both back here after all this time.
Instead, when I peek through the crack in the stall door, I see a girl. Long, bare limbs. A flash of blond hair. She stands at the row of sinks along the wall, checking her features in the mirror. I check them, too, shifting slightly in the stall to get a better view of her reflection. I spot dark eyes, a perky nose, a chin that tapers to a point.
A gasp leaps from my throat as I push out of the stall, calling her name.
“Vivian?”
I know I’m wrong even before the girl at the sink spins around, startled. Her hair’s not as blond as I had thought. Her skin is more tanned. When she fully faces me, I see the diamond stud in her nose, winking at me.
“Who the hell is Vivian?” Miranda asks.