Page 30 of Camp Help Falling

“I have to run short-handed for the rest of the summer because they purpled. What do you think would happen to this camp if we were the ones who were sent home for breaking the rules? Because we have been, Oliver. We haven’t been bending them, we’ve been snapping them like twigs.”

“Sadie, we’ll be fine! My parents won’t care—”

“But I care!” An unexpected ball of emotion jumps into my throat, cutting off my rant. That half second of pause is enough for tears to spring to my eyes, and I swallow down that ache and continue. Because Oliver needs to know. Needs to understand.

“I don’t come back every summer because it’s fun. I come back for these kids. To give them a place to grow and develop and become better people! I come to set an example, and I’ve failed them!” I failed them.

My lips wobble, and I press them together to hold back the sob that’s clawing its way up my throat. My next words come out as a whisper so thin it’s nearly overpowered by the sound of the aspen leaves. “I can’t be the reason the kids don’t come back next year. I need Camp Brower to succeed. “ Because if it doesn’t, what were the last ten years of my life for?

The good-natured smile that’s always on Oliver’s face falls away, replaced by an expression I can’t read. Say something! I want to rage at him. I’d rather he yell back, give me some sort of reaction instead of this stone-faced silence. But if I open my mouth, I know nothing coherent will come out.

His hands flex where they’re resting on his thighs, but I keep my focus on his face. The expressive face that was so familiar barely a moment ago looks back at me with a stranger’s expression.

I tilt my face up to the stars and try to will the brimming tears back into my eyes. A deep breath steadies me enough for me to open my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” my voice breaks, “I’m sorry, but we can’t—I can’t.” I heave another shaky breath, feeling so close to coming apart completely.

But Oliver remains silent. Only the rippling crackle of distant fireworks breaks the quiet, steady rhythm of the forest around us.

“Say something,” I whisper, not daring to look down. If I did, would I find a new expression on that blank face that will be the killing blow to my fragile emotions?

“Then it doesn’t matter what I wanted to talk to you about.” The steadiness of Oliver’s voice surprises me, and I force my wobbling lips into a tight line and drop my chin to look at him. Oliver taps his phone on one of his hands, then his thigh, before tucking it into one of the pockets on his cargo shorts. His head dips in a small nod, and in a smooth motion, he stands, tucking his hands into his pockets.

He said something about needing to talk to me. A sentence that had gone in one ear and out the other because my mind was too full of its own problems.

I look up into Oliver’s face, hoping to see even a fraction of the heartbreak I’m feeling, but he’s either fine with this whole thing, or is better at masking it than I am. The only sign that it’s not just another day for him is his lack of smile and a tiny crease between his eyebrows. But is it disappointment in me? In the situation? Or is it another emotion altogether? I wish I had more time to learn all of his intricacies, but there’s no point in wishing for that now.

That blank mask cracks for the tiniest sliver of a second as he steps back, putting Cell Phone Rock between us. A glimmer of sadness flashes across his eyes, but it’s gone before I’m even really sure it was there.

“Bye, Sadie.”

I grapple with my overwhelming emotions as I watch Oliver turn and disappear back down the half-hidden path. Gripping my tears tightly in a mental fist, I give myself a shake. I hold my heartbreak tightly until the ache in my chest eases a little—enough for me to think clearly again and begin regretting the way I spoke to Oliver.

Tomorrow. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I’ll clear everything up. When we’re both more settled in our emotions.

Tomorrow, I tell myself as I turn back toward the fading fireworks below.

Chapter Eighteen

Oliver

As I walk away, I understand why Sadie is so upset. And I deserve every bit of her anger. It makes my choice easy, even as it breaks the fragile thing Sadie and I have built together. Even though I’m hurting just as much as she is with the reality of us, I don’t know how long this opportunity will stay open, and I need to take it. For myself. For my parents. For Camp Brower.

I wish I could explain it all to Sadie, but I don’t have time.

She’ll understand. Because tonight, she’s doing the same thing I am—putting her job above her relationship with me.

Austin is already snoring away as I slip into my cabin and quietly pack my things. I’m much more used to the altitude now that I’ve been here for nearly a month, so hauling my bags to the lodge isn’t the struggle it was when I first got here.

Leaving my bags outside the main lodge doors, I sneak in and up the stairs at the back, trying not to wake the Adams family across the hall. More than likely, Mom and Dad are already asleep, but I hope they’re not. I need someone to know what’s going on come morning.

I knock quietly, crossing my fingers that at least one of them is still awake, and exhale with surprise and relief when Mom cracks the door. One look has her opening the door wider and pulling me in, shutting the door silently behind her.

The room is only lit by the old lamp on the table next to my parents’ bed which casts the room in a warm yellow glow. Dad, who is reading his book by that lamp’s light, immediately shuts it and sets it aside as I step in.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asks as she moves closer to the bed where Dad is sitting.

I open my mouth to ask how she knows something’s wrong, but shut it when I remember she’s my mother, and they have a sense about these things. That, and I’m showing up at their room, unannounced, far past curfew.

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