Page 47 of My Star-Crossed Summer

NOAH

After dinner, we’re all gathered around the campfire to make s’mores and I’m still kicking myself. If I’d known Vic was so afraid of heights, I would have planned a different hike. Six summers, and it has never occurred to me to ask the incoming campers if they have any phobias that I should take into account when planning activities. Clearly, Roxy and I should update theGet to Know Us!questionnaire that goes out to every kid—and to everyone hired as staff.

Victoria would have known to ask. Just like she figured out that not every kid wanted to playsporty-sports. She always sees much deeper beneath the surface.

Across from me, Victoria’s practically glowing. Her hair’s soft from the humidity and there’s a streak of dirt on her cheek, a few scratches on her arms from the shrubs. Her broken-in boots are scuffed and muddy, and when she smiles, she shines brighter than the firelight.

My plan today was to bring the kids on a hike and show them a place filled with wonder; to roast marshmallows over the campfire and tell creepy stories. Are we doing those things? Yes. But the entire time I’ve been thinking of Victoria. Herplayful smile, her long, lean legs, the bright blond curls that keep coming loose from that messy bun and falling along the lovely curve where her neck meets her shoulder. All I want to do is take her hair down from that bun just so I can see the way the light catches it as the sky turns golden and the sun dips below the ridge.

The incident on the bridge hit me like a sucker punch. When she fell into my arms and let me hold her until her heart stopped racing, everything clicked into place. She was afraid on that bridge, and she trusted me to help. And for that moment, with her arms squeezing me tight, she didn’t care that everyone was watching us. I wanted to cheer and throw my fist into the sky.

I also wanted to fold her in my arms and kiss her until she forgot all about that stupid gorge and the eighty-foot drop.

But I couldn’t do any of those things because the kids were all watching and there’s no way on this earth that I could make any of those actions look like they came only from friendship and run-of-the-mill camp camaraderie.

And that’s all we can have here: friendship and camp camaraderie.

My brain knows this, but my body doesn’t like that plan one bit. It wants to be as close to her as it can get, preferably with limbs tangled and her full bottom lip caught in my teeth, her breath catching in her throat as she says my name like a prayer.

And I know she feels the same.

Two weeks. In two weeks, we can have more.

I repeat those words over and over as I watch her sitting with the kids, giving tutorials on the proper ratio of chocolate to marshmallows in the perfect s’more, and how the secret ingredient of crunchy peanut butter makes them out of this world.

But what’s really out of this world is the way that she ended up here, falling into my lap like the greatest gift I never couldhave predicted. She’s radiant in the light from the campfire, a big smile plastered on her face, her eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine delight. She says she feels out of her element here, but it sure doesn’t look that way to me. She looks like she belongs here—with all the other parts of the forest that are wild and spellbinding.

Next to me, Ethan says, “Don’t you think so, Noah?” and it takes me a full three seconds to realize he’s talking to me because I’m watching Victoria lick chocolate from her finger and when her big blue eyes meet mine, I think my heart might implode with the next flash of her tongue.

“What was that?” I ask him.

He gives me an epic eye roll and says, “Never mind.”

“Okay, everybody,” Sophie says, standing. “Do your last-minute pit stops and whatnot and meet me back here in ten so we can walk over to the amphitheater together. Dr. Sanjay and Dr. Cassie have a cool program for you.”

The kids scatter like marbles, some headed to the restrooms and some going back to their tents. That leaves me, Sophie, and Victoria to clean up after s’mores and dump some water on the campfire. Victoria yawns and Sophie says, “You going to make it, champ?”

“You bet,” Vic says. “Meteor shower, here we come.”

Her enthusiasm is adorable, but her eyelids are heavy. She looks like she could fall asleep right now and when her lips pull into a sweet smile, I feel completely undone.

When the kids get back, we all walk over across the campground to the amphitheater. It’s a big circle carved out of the mountain, steps and benches made entirely from stone. There’s a fire pit in the middle, but we won’t be using that tonight. Dr. Sanjay and Dr. Cassie are already here with their telescopes set up at the center of the ring. They tell the kids to sit in the first couple of rows, so Victoria, Sophie, and I sit in theback where we can still hear the presentation but don’t have to pay rapt attention.

This is one of those camps I would have adored when I was a kid. I loved science—anything to do with digging in the dirt or looking at the stars. But I was terrible at studying and memorizing facts and details. It was so loud inside my brain that all the names and formulas got lost in the noise—but put me outside with hands-on work, and I was golden.

College was like that, too. Writing papers was easy, but memorizing facts for tests was a killer. Victoria had endless patience with me, helping me devise better ways to study. She had a solution for every problem back then.

Well. Every problem but one.

It’s nine-thirty and the sky is already as dark as the bottom of a well. Up here, we’re five miles from the nearest town, nestled on one of the lower ridges. It’s a prime location for stargazing because the higher ridges around us block almost all the light from the nearby towns, and once Dr. Cassie turns off the lights along the walkway and steps, we’re in total darkness.

Once my eyes adjust, I can make out the shape of the Milky Way glittering above us, a ribbon of stars across the velvet black of the sky.

“Wow,” Victoria whispers. “This is amazing.” The wonder in her voice tugs at something in my chest. Next to me, she sits with her long legs outstretched, hands planted just behind her hips.

“I used to love coming here as a kid,” I tell her. “This part of the mountains was one of Dad’s favorite camping spots.”

She turns to look at me and whispers, “Oh, Noah.” I don’t have to look at her to know she’s giving me a sad smile, the kind where one side of her mouth just barely tilts upward. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

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