Page 5 of My Star-Crossed Summer

I pick up the phone, ready to set up a new boundary that she’ll delight in tearing down when I see that it’s Roxy calling.

“Hey, stranger,” I say in greeting. I wince as I climb off the bar stool at my kitchen island because crashing to the earth has indeed left one mighty bruise.

“Hey yourself,” she says. “I didn’t get your text until this morning.”

“Yeah, about that,” I say, biting my lip. “I was thinking more about that job you mentioned and thought maybe I was too quick to say no. Is it still open?”

She blows out a heavy breath. Roxy and I met right after college, when we were working at the same temp agency in Charleston. We were roommates for a couple of years until I moved back to Jasmine Falls. Hiding anything from her is impossible because she knows all of my tells, and she knows when I’m feeling desperate. With my bills piling up and my savings dwindling, I’m determined to get myself back on track.

And she knows that, too.

“I wish I could say yes,” Roxy says. “I’d bring you on in a heartbeat, but they just filled that position with someone in-house.”

My heart sinks. It feels like the universe is toying with me. I finally came around to see that it was offering me an opportunity only to have it snatched away.

“Surprised me, too,” she grumbles. “You’d have been better.” Her espresso machine whirs in the background. She still lives near the College of Charleston, where she’s the director of aprogram for students interested in STEM. A few weeks ago, this job sounded like too much of a leap. Now it feels like a life raft.

“Is there anything else?” I ask.

“Not right away.” She pauses, her spoon clinking as she stirs her coffee. “Except for a temp position that opened up, but I can’t imagine you’d want?—”

“Does it pay money?”

“Yes, but?—”

“I’ll take it.”

She laughs. “Don’t you want to know what it is first?”

“I’ll make your coffee and handle your emails. No problem.”

Roxy snorts. “My inbox would make you curl up and cry.” She sips her coffee loudly and then says, “The open job is an activities director at one of the camp locations. Someone backed out last week. I was going to post the position tomorrow.”

“Keep talking,” I say. I’m not into tons of physical activities unless you count pacing in frustration and doing yoga every blue moon, but I can fake it.

“It’s our astronomy camp near Pisgah,” she says. “In the North Carolina mountains.”

Deflated, I mutter, “I don’t know anything about astronomy.” I can fake a lot of things, but not physics. Unless their activities involve making model solar systems out of styrofoam balls and florist’s wire, I'm out of luck.

“You wouldn’t need to,” she says. “That’s the instructor’s job. Each satellite camp has a partnership with us. They have dorms or cabins for sleeping quarters, plus classrooms, research facilities, and whatever else the kids need. They let us use their spaces for the three weeks that we’re there, and we bring our own support staff—the instructors, the site director, and some admin and activities staff.”

“So I’d be like a camp counselor?”

“Kind of,” she says. “We have one male and female admin who stay in residence with the kids, and then plan and lead their non-academic activities. That’s the open position. The woman I hired is a senior at NC State and got this summer internship studying sea turtles in the Caymans. I can’t be too annoyed because that’s a legit career move, and this woman loves sea turtles the way some girls love unicorns. Plus, who would say no to a summer in the Caribbean?” She slurps her coffee. “You’re way overqualified for this job, and it doesn’t pay anywhere close to what you’re worth, or what you’re used to. But if you want it, it’s yours.” She says that last part like she knows how dire my situation is.

I cringe, thinking that I’ll likely be the oldest person there, with the possible exception of the instructor. Usually, these positions are filled by college students.

“Actually,” she says, “there’s a full-time version of this director job that’s going to be posted later this summer. If you’re interested, then this is a great way to get a leg up because they’ll want to see some experience with kids. You could consider this session your trial period.”

“I don’t have to know anything about stars?”

“Nope.”

“How old are the kids?”

“Seventh and eighth grade,” she says. “They’re great kids—thrilled to be there and geek out with each other at science camp. They’re bright and well-behaved, and this is the highlight of their year. The most mischievous thing they’ll do is build a moon rover out of roller skates and an old satellite dish.”

Pacing in the kitchen, I think of the summer camps I went to as a kid. Swimming in the lake, roasting marshmallows, telling stories around a campfire. Do kids still do those things at camp? “Full disclosure, I’m not a natural with kids,” I tell her, because truthfully, I never know what to do around them.“And you know I’m not outdoorsy, either.” The original position I was interested in involved marketing strategy—not kids. What Roxy’s describing is a million miles outside my comfort zone.

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