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“No one,” I start to say, stopping myself mid-lie. “A camper I knew.”
“Well you scared the shit out of me.”
I have no doubt. I scared myself as well. When I look down at my hands, I see I’m clutching the charm bracelet, the birds rattling. I force myself to let go.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Miranda. “I’m confused. And tired.”
“Can’t sleep?”
I shake my head. “You?”
“Same.”
She says it with forced casualness, which instantly tips me off that it’s a lie. I’m good at that kind of thing. I was trained by the best.
“Is everything okay?”
Miranda gives me a nod that soon veers into a slow shake of her head. The movement highlights the redness of her eyes and the faint shimmering lines that run down her cheeks. Tears, recently dried.
“What happened?”
“I was just dumped,” she says. “Which is a first, by the way. I do the dumping. Always.”
I go to the sink next to her and turn on the tap. The water rushing from the faucet is blessedly cold. I run a paper towel under the stream and press it to my cheeks and neck. The feeling is delicious—crisp water against my skin evaporating in the heat, the vanished droplets leaving pinpricks in their wake.
Miranda watches me, silently seeking comfort. It occurs to me that’s also part of my job. One I’m woefully unprepared for. Yet I know about heartbreak. All too well.
“You want to talk about it?”
“No,” Miranda says, but then adds, “It’s not like we were serious. We’d only dated for, like, a month. And I get it. I’m gone for six weeks. He wants to have fun this summer.”
“But...”
“But he dumped me by text. What kind of jackass does that?”
“One who clearly doesn’t deserve you,” I say.
“But I really liked him.” More tears glisten at the edges of her eyes. She refuses to let them fall, instead using a fist to wipe them away. “It’s usually the other way around. Normally I couldn’t care less about guys who really like me. But he was different. You must think I’m, like, such a baby.”
“I think you’re hurt,” I tell her. “But you’ll feel better sooner thanyou think. By the time you get back from camp, he’ll be with some—”
“Skank,” Miranda says.
“Exactly. He’ll be with some skank, and you’ll wonder why you even liked him in the first place.”
“And he’ll regret dumping me.” Miranda checks her reflection in the mirror, smiling at what she sees. “Because I’m going to look so hot with my camp tan.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say. “Now, go back to the cabin. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Miranda heads to the door, giving me a wiggle-finger wave as she goes. Once she’s gone, I stay behind to splash more cold water on my face and compose myself. I can’t believe I’d momentarily thought she was Vivian. Not a road I want to go down again. Those days are over. No thanks to this place and all these memories that keep returning like a bad habit.
When I step outside, even the sky is familiar—a shade of grayish blue that I’ve used often in my paintings. Muted and melancholy and just the tiniest bit hopeful. It was that same color when Vivian and I bolted from the latrine in the wee hours of the morning, laughing with abandon, the rest of camp sleepy and silent. It had felt like we were the only people on earth.
But there had been a third person also awake, as Vivian soon reminded me.
Come here,she whispered, standing by the latrine, her elbow bent against its cedar wall.There’s something Iknowyou’ll want to see.
With a grin, she gestured to two planks in the latrine’s exterior wall. One was slightly crooked, leaving a crack big enough for light to trickle through it. Occasionally, the light would blink out a moment, blocked by someone on the other side of the wall.