Page 25 of Camp Help Falling

“I’m going to turn the lights back on in just a few moments. So I want all of you to point which direction you think is north.” The voice of the guide breaks the magic of the moment, and Sadie slips out of my grasp.

I remember where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing, and I try to forget the way Sadie’s lips felt on mine, the way her fingers curled at the base of my skull, the way her hand desperately grasped the front of my t-shirt, like I’d disappear in the dark unless she had a good hold on me.

I straighten to my full height and point in a random direction as Naomi starts counting down to the light coming back on. I remember which way is north from the tour I took last week, but Sadie got me so turned around that there’s no chance I’d be able to point the correct direction, not after that disorienting kiss in the dark.

At the end of the countdown, Naomi flips the switch, bringing the lights back. Everyone squints and blinks, keeping their hands pointed “north” while trying to reorient themselves in the light. Everyone is pointing in different directions, some are laughing at their friends, sure that they’re right and their friend is not.

The guide smiles as she looks around and declares that that direction is north, to the excitement of some and disappointment of others. I ended up pointing east. But when I look down at Sadie, who is smiling softly, she's pointing north.

“That's why,” she says, looking up with a sly twist of her lips.

And it's not until she's back at the front of the group, following the tour guide out of the room, that I realize she was talking about her favorite room.

Chapter Fifteen

Sadie

The memory of Oliver’s hands on me in the dark are like phantom hands that follow me for the rest of the day. And where those phantom hands don’t follow, his eyes do. I spend the rest of the day smothering every knowing smile that fights its way to my face every time he catches my eye.

Which is embarrassingly often.

Everywhere I turn—at the lodge, by the cabins, at the fire bowl—Oliver has a secret smile for me. That little grin and eyebrow lift that says I remember what we did in the dark.

I try to throw all my focus into the final campfire—our last send off for this round of campers. Until tomorrow afternoon, all my thoughts should be on the participants.

I don’t avoid Oliver. That would be too obvious. So instead, I sit next to him at dinner, across from Austin and Mia, and ignore the way Oliver’s foot taps lightly against mine when I smile or say something funny.

After thirty minutes of trying to keep my inner thoughts off my face—thoughts that would get me into all sorts of purple trouble, like I’d like to pull Oliver over and kiss that smart mouth again—Oliver stands and waves over one of the youth staff from his group.

“Start getting everyone rounded up for the campfire. Let’s all meet out in the field and walk up together.”

Be still my wildly beating heart.

Almost two weeks ago, I was the moving force behind Oliver’s actions. I was calling the shots behind the scenes, guiding him because he had no idea what he was doing.

Watching him go from that city boy who had never set foot in a summer camp to a man who’s stepping up in his responsibilities is a major turn on. It’s just incredibly inconvenient that I’ve finally found a guy who likes me back, but I have to keep my hands to myself thanks to the Purple Rule.

I watch from the lodge as Oliver gets his group of twenty-six—twenty-four campers and two youth staff—gathered in the field, and when he starts leading them to the fire bowl, I follow at a distance. Hailey, the other lead counselor, and the rest of the campers converge on the trail to the fire bowl as I catch up to Oliver’s group. I let them file in first, making sure that the rest of the youth staff—the meat and potatoes of the campfire program—make it to the fire bowl.

The campfire goes even better than we planned. All of the skits and run-ons hit just right with their humor, the participation from the campers is electric, and Oliver doesn’t miss a beat during his song—a new one he picked up this week.

The campers are buzzing by the time I take the stage as the embers of the fire glow behind me. It’s a struggle to make out individual faces in the fading light, but I smile at all of the campers—the ones who make this job worth it. Oliver’s tall form is easy to spot as he watches from the side of the fire bowl. I have to force myself to move my gaze away from him and across the campers’ faces while I thank them for coming to Camp Brower and wish them the best for the rest of their summer.

I step off to the side as the campers are excused, passing out high fives and fist bumps as they head back to their cabins for their last night here at camp.

The youth staff follow the participants, and the adult staff bring up the rear. Oliver winks as he passes me, following the youth staff back to their cabins.

I douse the last embers of the fire with the water bucket, reassuring Mia, the archery director, that I’m happy to finish things here. And more than willing to send her back to our shared cabin so I can take a quick jaunt up to Cell Phone Rock to check my messages. With stepping in for Tyler this week, I haven’t been able to make it to my secret spot, and I know I’m missing some juicy texts in the Sunny Girls chat.

I make sure the coals are cool to the touch and no one is left in the fire bowl before I climb up the hill and slip onto the path that leads to sweet cell reception.

I plop onto my favorite rock and pull out my phone, turning it on and tapping it impatiently against my thigh while I wait for it to boot and load all of my notifications.

I’m more on edge tonight than I usually am. Any other day, I wouldn’t mind taking a few extra moments to enjoy the quiet and the solitude, but tonight, I’m exhausted.

My mind has been whirring since Minnetonka, and I’m anxious to talk to Oliver about what happened, but until we can leave camp tomorrow, I don’t think we’re going to have any opportunities to talk…or to do other, lilac-colored things.

When notifications start pouring in, overwhelming me with texts and emails, the Sunny Girls chat is the first thing I pull up. I have to scroll back to the last message I missed—a picture from Ava of her with the lacrosse team she’s traveling with this summer. Meg’s response is her own picture of a gorgeous Hawaiian sunset. Everyone oohs and ahhs over the pretty view and sends encouraging messages for Ava’s team. I send a quick, “Go kick some lacrosse butt!” before moving on to the other random messages from this week. I always send a bunch of shorter texts instead of one big block of text in one go. Thanks to the time differences between us, most of them won’t see my messages until morning, when I’m back out of service.

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