Page 25 of My Star-Crossed Summer

A crash came from inside the bedroom, followed by a loud pop and laughter. One peek through the French doors showed me exactly what I did not want to see: Ray and a young woman fumbling their way toward his bed. Her costume consisted of a bunch of purple balloons strategically attached to her body like a cluster of grapes. And Ray, dressed as Elvis in the early years, was trying clumsily to pop them with his teeth.

“Okay,” I told my wood nymph, taking her hand. “Time to beat feet. Unless you want to spend all night on this balcony. Ray can be laser-focused when he wants to be.”

She squeaked with surprise as I pulled open the narrow doors and led her inside.

“Don’t mind us,” I hollered, striding past the bed. “Just passing through.”

Ray paid us zero attention, too focused on which balloon to pop next. His lady friend giggled and ran a hand through her dark hair, knocking her leaf-and-stem hat askew.

“Great costume!” Victoria yelled to her as we scurried through the bedroom and out into the hallway.

“This way,” I told her. “Secret stairs.”

We hurried through the hall, down the narrow back stairs of the house, and squeezed past the crowd in the kitchen to escape through the side door into the alley.

When we were finally alone, she said, “Whew. It pays to put your trust in the reluctant hero.”

“I’m no one’s hero,” I told her, which was the absolute truth.

“I’m hungry,” she said. “How do you feel about waffles?”

From that moment on, we were inseparable. Since she was a marketing major and I studied English, our classes neverintersected—except for those times we took electives like “Life of the Geologic Past” because learning about dinosaurs sounded like a fun time.

Spoiler alert: it was. It also inspired us to dress like a pterodactyl and dimetrodon the following Halloween and gave us both nightmares about how a meteor large enough to cause the next great extinction was long overdue.

We saw each other every day, even if it was just to scarf greasy take-out and watch woefully bad movies so we could snort with laughter. Vic was funny, down to earth, and easy to talk to. For my introverted self, that was a big deal because I had a hard time letting people get close to me. Plus, college had just reinforced the fact that I was the guy people hung around with when their only other option was being alone. People talked to me only until someone more interesting came along. But Victoria wasn’t like those other people, and she didn’t leave. Soon, she became one of the few people I could be comfortable around, and we had fun together. She seemed to like me just as I was, quirks and all—and I was hopelessly in love with her. But I also knew that I might never have another friend like her, so I shoved those other feelings into a neat little box in the corner of my heart and swore that I’d never cross that line unless she made it clear she wanted me to. There was just too much we stood to lose, and I couldn’t bear to lose Victoria.

But then I made one stupid move and lost her anyway.

“Hey, moon unit,”Vic says, “Ready to come back to Earth and break some ice?” She’s standing next to me, bumping her knee against my thigh. The last of the kids are leaving the auditorium, and clearly I stopped paying attention sometime after Dr. Sanjay made his joke about tossing his cookies during space camp.

“Yeah,” I tell her, swallowing hard.

“You look beat,” she says. “You gonna make it?”

I try to ignore the curve of her hip that is now just inches from my face. I’d love nothing more than to pull her down onto my lap and show her how much I’ve missed her and precisely how I’d like to make that up to her, but for now, I have to settle for boring work-appropriate words instead.

“Long day,” I tell her. “It’s just catching up with me, I guess.”

She lifts a brow like she doesn’t believe that for a second, but she doesn’t press me.

“Let’s go catch up with the kiddos,” she says. “Before they decide to run this camp without us.”

I follow her out and then move quickly to her side because walking behind her allows me to admire how even her tee shirts and jeans seem to be tailor-made to emphasize her lovely curves. My brain doesn’t need any more help cataloguing the most stunning things about Victoria right now.

We catch up with the kids and head back over to one of the meeting rooms in the admin building. I’ve nearly put her out of my mind as we start in on the games and icebreakers, the usual way we get the kids to open up a little and get to know each other.

Soon Victoria and Sophie are laughing and cheering as the kids holler out guesses in a heated round of charades. When Vic does her adorable snort-laugh, it fills me with an ache that nearly buckles my knees. Why can’t I just put her out of my mind for an hour and focus on what I’m here to do?

Pretend we’re strangers, she said. Obviously, she’s not interested in being anything other than co-workers.

When we take a break and switch to the next game, Sophie plops down next to me and says, “Hey, are you okay?” Her brows are pinched together with concern, and for a moment, I’m convinced she can read all of my thoughts like a book.

“Sure,” I tell her. “Super.”

“Your creepy Patrick Bateman smile says otherwise,” she says, arching a brow. She always teases me about slapping on anAmerican Psychofake smile when I want to pretend something isn’t bothering me. My sister Hannah says the same thing, so it must be true.

“All good,” I say, trying for a real smile. And I am. I’m good. I can deal with being on top of a mountain with Victoria for three weeks.

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