Page 35 of My Star-Crossed Summer

Her eyes widen as she clutches the paperback to her chest. “You haven’t yet? Noah, you’d love it. A treasure hunt, 1980s game lore, a brilliant misfit kid.” She thrusts it toward me and says, “I dare you to read the first two chapters and not be hooked. It’s one of my favorites.”

I take the book from her, because how can I say no to all of that? Plus, I love the idea of having something of Victoria’s, even if only for a short time. When I turn it over to read the back cover copy, I see a sticker that has Vic’s name and address under the wordsThis book belongs to.

“Lose your books often?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “I like to make it easy for the important things to find their way back to me. Plus, my sister makes a sport of stealing my books.”

“I’ll guard it with my life.”

She smiles as I lay the book next to me in the booth.

“So how did you end up doing all the outdoorsy stuff?” she asks. “Last time I saw you, you were dead set on teaching English Lit and writing novels.”

“Yeah, that didn’t go the way I planned.” I shrug. “But I’ve always liked being outdoors. My dad used to take me camping when I was a kid—it’s one of the few things we did together. He and my mom got divorced when I was ten, and my dad wasn’t around much after that.” I take a bite of my sandwich, which has amazing aioli that I’ll definitely try to replicate someday. “He was always flaky, but after they split up, I only saw him once ortwice a year. He always wanted to go camping, probably because he didn’t have much money. I loved it, though, because I got to go hiking and fishing and sleep under the stars. It felt like an adventure.”

“You never told me much about him,” Vic says. “Back then.” And she’s right. We didn’t talk much about our parents. I knew that hers were overbearing and critical of her every move, and she’d rather eat tin foil than talk about how they made her feel. She knew that my dad was absent for ninety-seven percent of the year and that my mom did everything she could to make up for it. But the rest we seldom mentioned.

I nod. “There wasn’t much to tell. I always felt like he left me and my mom because he traded up. He married a woman fifteen years younger than him and had two kids with her, and then I never saw him. It made me think that somehow we weren’t good enough for him, and I thought I’d done something wrong that made him leave. It wasn’t something I wanted to think about, let alone talk about.”

“Oh, Noah,” she says. “I’m so sorry that happened. But I can promise you, it’s nothing you did. That’s all on him.”

“I realize that now,” I tell her, feeling that familiar sting behind my heart that I always feel when I think about my dad. “But for a long time, it felt like he was choosing these other people over us—except when he took me on those trips. Those were the times where I felt close to him, like I still mattered.”

She reaches over and lays her hand over mine. “We don’t have to talk about this,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her, swallowing a lump in my throat. “You aren’t.”

“It was definitelynotokay,” she says, her brow lifting.

“Yeah, but each time I get outside, I make a little more peace with it, and I feel a little more okay. Things were always strained with my dad, but those camping trips were the times when it felteasy. I loved that we could drive out from the city and feel like we were a million miles from everyone else. It was just the two of us, and things almost felt normal. We were just two guys with backpacks and an old army tent, watching birds and roasting hot dogs over a campfire.” I pause, feeling that deep-seated ache, and try not to push it away like I have so many times before. It feels safe to feel it now, here with Victoria. “I loved the ease of being out there and enjoying the solitude. It was like all the noise in the world, all the noise inside my head—just melted away. I didn’t feel anxious and small when I was in nature. I felt part of something bigger, like I belonged.”

Beneath the table, Victoria’s foot brushes against mine. It’s what she used to do back in college, when I started to feel anxious, just to let me know she was there, grounding me to the earth. It was always a discreet hand on my shoulder blade, her palm on my knee. But sometimes, I wanted her to be less discreet—I wanted her to show the whole world that we were connected in this way that I never felt with anyone else.

“Dad wasn’t one for great advice,” I tell her. “But he did teach me to look for the glimmers—those tiny flickers of joy that expand when you focus on them. The more you look for them, the more you find them, and pretty soon, you see them everywhere. And it reminds me that even though there’s a lot of bad in the world, there’s a lot of good, too.”

When I look back at Vic, there are tears in her eyes. “I wish I’d known these things sooner,” she says. “About you.”

“Hey, it worked out,” I tell her. “I found something I love. And no matter how flaky my dad is, or what mistakes he made, I found it thanks to him.” I shrug, feeling that tightness in my chest loosen just a little. “Things are still strained, and I might always feel hurt by the way he left us. But it’s strange—every time I do one of these camps and see a kid light up at the foot of awaterfall or laugh with their whole body by a campfire, I feel like a little piece of me gets mended.”

She gets up from the table and slides into the booth next to me. Before I can say anything more, she throws her arms around me and pulls me into a tight hug, resting her chin on my shoulder. “There’s no trading up from you, Noah,” she says. “For the record.” She squeezes me tight, her chest pressed against mine, and I want to stay like this forever. What I didn’t tell her was that the only other time I felt like I truly belonged was with her.

“Thank you,” I say.

My phone buzzes on the table, and when I look over, I see Sophie’s name on the screen.

“Take it,” Vic says. “I’m going to grab us coffees for the road. And maybe just a couple more of those brownies because, sweet baby cheeses, this place is magic.”

By the timewe get back to the institute, it’s nearly time for afternoon activities. Victoria’s idea to split up for outdoor time was a good one because she was right—I’d been ignoring the likelihood that some kids didn’t enjoy the “sporty-sports,” as she called them. When we’d offered them a choice each day, six of the kids had opted to go with Victoria and do her low-contact activity, which ranged from them teaching each other dance moves to her leading the group in yoga.

After finishing up today’s Frisbee game with my group, I head back over to the cabins and halfway there stop dead in my tracks. Vic’s still doing yoga with her kids, going over our allotted time. She’s on her feet, guiding the group as they stretch themselves into pretzels, and it takes every shred of mywillpower not to openly stare at her. Lit by the afternoon sun, she’s smiling in that sweet, satisfied way that tugs at something deep in my chest. Her hair’s pulled up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing a tank top and leggings that hug her body, clearly designed for the sole purpose of stopping my heart. I slip behind a big loblolly pine because apparently I’m a creeper now, and watch her as she talks to the kids, coaching them through a deep breath and a liquid movement that takes them from what I recognize as a downward dog into a lying-down pose that gives them all blissed-out smiles. All long lines and tempting curves, Victoria moves as smooth and slow as a river. Her melodic voice drifts over to where I’m standing and warms me like a sunbeam. She says she feels out of place here, but at moments like this, it seems she fits in just fine. She’s like that last piece of the puzzle—the one that looks like it can’t possibly fit, but when it slips into place, the whole picture makes sense.

When she smiles at the group and brings her hands together—namaste—the kids all slowly stand. Derrick clambers to his feet, and now I see why he’s ditched Frisbee for yoga—because Priya’s on the mat next to him, and he’s been following her like a puppy for the last three days. As the kids leave, Layla stops to ask Victoria about a certain stretch. Vic, facing her, spreads her feet wider than hip distance apart and stretches to the side—her right arm goes to her right foot, her left into the air, and it’s as graceful as a ballet. Layla does the same, wobbling a little, and Vic reaches out to steady her. She’s better with these kids than she thinks she is—she’s got a knack for putting them at ease.

Layla grabs a sweatshirt and then heads off toward the cabins. Victoria stays put for a minute and then tucks her tank top into her leggings. She raises her hands over her head as if she’s stretching but then dives toward the ground in a cartwheel, her hands planted firmly in the grass as her long legs knife through the air. Her landing’s not perfect, but her smile is—she topples onto the grass and then lies on her back, lacing her hands behind her head as she grins up at the sky. She laughs, and the sound makes my heart squeeze like a fist.

Finally, she looks like she’s adjusted to being here. But more than that, she looks calm, like she’s not concerned about what anyone else thinks of her, and she’s not worried about meeting anyone’s expectations—she’s just letting herselfbe.

I’m walking towards her before I even realize it, drawn to her like that first night we met on the balcony.

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