Page 56

Half a mile later, it’s a full-on shitshow. Nat’s bus is smack-dab in the middle of the road, blocked off by a whole battalion

of parked cop cars. So now everyone’s taking turns in the westbound lane—which has the entire road clogged up in both directions,

as far as the eye can see. But my eyes are fixed on the cluster of people milling around where the shoulder meets grass. No

hot lesbian field hockey team, from what I can tell. Mostly, it’s a bunch of yawning college kids and a couple of pissed-off

dudes yelling into their iPhones.

And in the thick of it: Natalie, in her yellow-striped T-shirt and shorts. She’s perched on her suitcase, glancing back and

forth between her phone and the passing cars, and I’m officially the biggest clown on this side of Laffland. Just looking

at her flips my whole brain upside down.

I roll down my window as soon as we’re in shouting range. “Nat!”

She stands immediately, eyes finding mine, and I beckon her over. But one of the cops intercepts her. Natalie points to Walter’s

car, but we’re too far back to hear what she’s saying. But then Natalie turns back to face me, holding one finger up. And

a moment later, she texts me.

Me. Not Mark. cop says pull all the way right before the pass point

I look up, and she’s pointing to a spot near the first parked police car. Then, as we inch nearer, two policewomen walk her there to meet us. I quickly scoot to the left.

The door opens, and Natalie’s guitar slides in first. Then the bag. And then Nat.

“Let’s get the fuck away from here,” she says.

Walter’s fuel gauge begs to differ.

“Okay, right turn here,” Mark says, staring at his phone screen. “There’s a gas station, like, a mile up this road. We’ve

got this.”

I turn to Nat. “We really just scooped you off the side of the highway, huh.”

“You really did.”

“Like, I’m not saying it’s definitely a message from God,” I tell her, “but if I were God—”

“Wow.”

“Listen, if I were God, and my favorite, most beautiful child needed to be taught a lesson—okay, wait, I don’t mean taught a lesson . Wow, that came out sounding kind of violent.”

“Very Old Testament,” observes Walter.

“I’m just saying. Maybe some people might be less inclined, moving forward, to sneak off to the bus depot at the wee hours of dawn.”

Natalie’s lips tug up. “The more you know.”

“I’m serious!”

“Okay.” She’s not looking at me.

I turn away, casting my gaze out the window. I feel so—blurry, almost. Like someone double exposed my brain. Two Amelias scrambled

together. I think my heart’s beating two separate rhythms.

We’re stopped at a light; I really do think we’re near camp.

If I’m remembering right, we used to come here on day trips sometimes.

The counselors would hype it up like a trip to Times Square, even though it’s basically just a block or two of houses and shops.

But it had an old-timey Main Street vibe that I loved, where the world’s like an unlocked screen door.

Like Yiddish. Dancing barefoot. Like everyone you meet knows your grandparents.

As soon as the light turns, it’s confirmed. I’ve definitely been here. I know it as soon as we pass the abandoned Center Theater.

Nothing but a blank art deco marquee against a gritty facade. But the sight of it makes me feel like I’m living in three timelines

at once. One now, and two thens. Because my brain can’t help but superimpose the way it looked in its Borscht Belt heyday.

The colorized pictures they showed us: summer Jews in their A-line dresses and suits, milling around the entrance in clusters.

But there’s also a five-year-old camp day trip with its own memories attached. The present-past. Croissantness in motion.

Remember that time we remembered that time?

It’s weird, because I don’t think of myself as particularly sentimental. I’m more of a live-in-the-moment, fly-by-night, go-with-the-flow

kind of person. But then again—

I know how freaked out you are by change.

It seemed so out of left field when Zora said that. Yeah, I get wistful when it comes to the past. And sometimes I lose my

breath just from the thought of time passing. Moments happen so quickly. You barely even get to touch them.

Was Zora right all along? Am I just a garden-variety nostalgia demon?

“I think that’s it on the right,” Mark says, but I cut him off with a gasp.

“Stop the car.”

Walter pulls over and stops.

“The sign.”

“Another update from God?” Natalie asks.

“Come on, at least one of you recognizes this, right?”

Mark tips his palms up, but Natalie freezes.

CAMP KUNIN: MAKE A LEFT! in vintage postcard font against a painted blue background.

I turn back to Nat. “I think we’re time-traveling.”

Door-to-door service isn’t happening, given the gas situation, but I talk the boys into dropping us off at the top of the

dirt path.

“Fun,” Nat says flatly, sliding out the back seat. “Standing by the side of a road. Haven’t done that in ages.”

I laugh. “Come on . We’re at camp!”

Five years later.

I step out into the sunshine, stretching so hard my back pops. There’s that perfect kind of warmth in the air—soft and faintly

breezy. Just enough to ruffle those little pieces of hair that like to jump out of my ponytail. They’re a little too short

to be held down.

“Is this even allowed?”

“Is what allowed?”

“Being here? I don’t know.”

I bite back a smile. “No one’s arrested us yet.”

We set off down the path, past the parking lot; if I squint, I can almost see a line of camp buses.

I remember us milling around in awkward clusters while our bags were unloaded.

But then my memory gets a little tangled.

Like the walk to the Main Lodge—I remember that being a full-on wilderness hike.

But there it is, plainly visible through a small bank of trees, just on the other side of a clearing.

It’s so strange being here. I’m not entirely sure it’s real.

This entire place is one big if-only. It’s a wish you can walk around in.

“I forgot how much it looks like a slasher movie,” Nat says, and then she stops short. “Hold up.” She ducks down for a second

to tug both her socks up, and it’s so nonsensically cute, I almost stop breathing.

“Okay,” she says, resurfacing, “I definitely remember this.” Her gaze drifts from cabin to cabin.

“Right? Me too. Can you believe your bus brought you here?”

“God sure taught me my lesson.”

I laugh, and she smiles, and I feel like I might bubble over. “Okay, come on.” I’m bouncing on my heels. “I want to tell you

something.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Come on .” I grab her hand and tug her with me—past the lodge and around the edge of the central meadow. As far as I can tell, we’re

the only ones here.

Nat glances back over her shoulder. “Didn’t there used to be a tetherball there?”

“No idea. Hey.” I drop to the ground, all of a sudden.

“Oop! You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just chilling. I like this spot. Come on.” I reach up to grab her hands, shrugging off the tiny, sharp flutter

in my chest.

“If you say so.” She scoots in close, turning toward me. Suddenly our faces are just inches apart.

“So, I owe you a thank-you,” I say.

“For what?”

“Protecting me from kissing Zach Fine. You were right.”

“Who’s Zach Fine?”

“Yeet,” I say softly.

I tap the crown of my head, and she laughs.

“Also, hey—you know I didn’t hook up with Walter, right?”

“Um. Okay.” Her eyes widen.

“Is that weird to just—say? I don’t know. Just putting it out there. It wasn’t like that. It’s not like that. With Walter.”

She pauses. “It’s fine. I wasn’t—”

“I know you weren’t. I just felt like I should clarify that. Because—” I stop short, closing my eyes.

“Hey. Whoa.” I can feel her gaze on my face. “You okay?”

I nod, really fast. But I can’t quite dislodge the lump in my throat.

“Amelia?”

I open my eyes. “I’m okay.”

She hesitates. “Good.”

“But I don’t want to hook up with Walter,” I add.

And as soon as I say it, I know it’s one hundred percent true. I don’t want to hook up with him. Not even a little bit.

When the fuck did that happen?

Maybe it’s because he’s real now. He’s not just some distant if-only.

“I don’t want to hook up with Walter,” I say again, softly.

“Okay, cool. You don’t have to.”

“No, listen.” I inhale. “I think he’s amazing. Like, he’s actually great, and I know that’s not how it usually goes with famous

people. I know that. But I really think he’s one of the good ones.”

“Hey. I think that’s great, okay? For real.” She elbows me gently. “And if you had a crush on him, that’s great, too—”

“No. Natalie—”

“Just let me say one thing, okay!”

The look on her face makes my heart catch. “Okay.”

“Amelia, I’m sorry—”

“Wait—no—”

She covers my mouth. “Oh my God —let me finish, all right?” She raises her eyebrows at me, and I raise mine back. “Got it?”

I nod. She takes her hand back.

“Okay, so. All I want to say is that—I know I’ve been so shitty about Walter. And it’s not—it wasn’t cool.” She pauses, shaking

her head. “I’m sorry. Seriously. You shouldn’t have to dial down your feelings—”

“I’m not dialing down any feelings!” I let out an incredulous laugh. “For Walter?”

“I mean.” She flips her palms up. “I’m just saying. I’ve known you a really, really long time, okay? I know what it looks

like when you have a crush. I do.”

“Oh yeah?” I turn to face her, head-on. “Tell me what it looks like.”

“You want me to—”

“Yup. Tell me. Me with a crush. Let’s hear it.”

“I don’t know.” She rubs her forehead, gaze flicking upward. “You get giddy . And kind of hyper-fixated. Like you were after the diner. And you flirt a lot—” I laugh, and she smiles. “You do! Like,

you get really jokey. More than usual!”

“Jokes? Never.”

“And teasing—”

“Not teasing .” I scoot even closer. Close enough that our kneecaps are touching. “Nope. That doesn’t sound like me.”

She bites back a smile. “Oh, okay.”

“You know what?” I lean in. “I don’t think you can tell. I think you missed a few signs.”

She’s barely an inch away from me now; I can practically feel the heat from her cheeks.

“Hello?” I hear Mark’s voice before I see him. “Guys?”

I tap the end of Nat’s nose. “Hold that thought.” And then I scramble to my feet, reaching out for her hand. For a moment,

she just blinks up at me, looking a little bit dazed. But she lets me help her up. And I guess the boys have spotted us now,

since they’re cutting straight through the meadow to meet us.

“Hey,” Mark says. “Maybe consider—I don’t know—answering your phones every so often?”

“We thought you’d been eaten by mountain lions,” adds Walter.

Nat bites her lip. “There are mountain lions here?”

“I mean, it’s the Catskill Mountains. Mountain lions are cats. Who kill,” he says. “You do the math.”