Page 68 of My Star-Crossed Summer

Roxy rolls her eyes. “Please tell me that you let Sophie manage the playlist. I’ve told you a thousand times that you can’t dance to Led Zeppelin.”

Noah snorts in defiance, resting his hands on his hips. “Challenge accepted.”

“We want the kids to come back, you know,” she tells him. “And bring their friends. We don’t need to scare them off with your quote-unquotedancing.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Roxy.” His gaze flicks toward me and a lump forms in my throat.

She grins and then nudges my arm. “You okay, Vic? You look like you swallowed a bee.”

“Great,” I tell her. “A-okay.” I give her two thumbs-up, like a total dork, because apparently my awkwardness has been dialed up to eleven.

She purses her lips. “Okay, then. I’ll leave you to it and see you later for activity time.”

Once she’s out the door, I busy myself with untangling the last of the lights. Everything I say to Noah seems to make things weirder between us, and I don’t know how to fix it.

I am so not fine. I’m completely falling for him and refusing to think about what that means. I’m pretending I know what I’m doing here on top of a mountain with a bunch of whiz kids. I’m lying to my best friend and acting as if Noah and I aren’t breaking the biggest rule in the camp’s rule book, and I am failing at playing it cool.

I am light-years from fine.

But until Roxy leaves, I have to pretend that I am.

Chapter Twenty-One

NOAH

Awall has come up between us again, and I’m not sure I can dismantle it. All I know is that I don’t want Victoria to slip out of my life again. Whenever she talks about that job in Florida, her voice sounds strangled and this tiny muscle below her eye twitches and I know precisely what that means: she’s frustrated and feeling trapped.

She had that same look when she burst onto the balcony the night we met. She was running away then, too—and truthfully, so was I. Something in me recognized her as a kindred spirit and together we learned how to lean on each other. I’d never trusted anyone enough to lay my vulnerable parts bare, but Victoria was compassionate and easy to trust.

And she can do anything she wants when she sets her mind on it.

Now, for example, she’s across the room mirroring Layla and Priya’s dance moves. We’re four songs into my space-themed playlist and she and Sophie jumped right in to break the ice. They’re grooving under the glittering star lights like this is the best night ever, and it’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

There are a dozen reasons I don’t want Vic to take this new job, why it’s so obvious that sheshouldn’ttake it, but it’s not my decision to make. I need to give her space, but distance is the last thing I want between us.

It feels like she’s slipping away. Again.

By the end of this week I’m going to be a babbling wreck of a man. And that thought triggers one that squeezes my heart like a fist:what if, when camp is over, I never see her again?

“Nice costume,” Victoria says, coming to stand beside me. “A classic.” She studies my suit, a slim-cut black one that’s a little too hipster for me but is perfect for a Man in Black.

I squeeze the cartoonish green rubber alien that’s riding in my breast pocket in place of a pocket square. It squeaks as its eyes bulge, earning a laugh from Victoria. Her smile yanks me back in time to that Halloween party where we first met. Two new college students fumbling through their first autumn in a new city, looking for that little niche where they belonged. We’d always fit well together, right from that first night. From that moment forward, she’d always had my back and I’d had hers—and I forgot what it was to be lonely.

Ever since our talk yesterday, she’s been pulling away from me. And that loneliness is creeping up behind me, stalking me like a storm cloud.

“You’re exceptionally sparkly,” I tell her. I shove my black Ray-Bans up into my hair and take in the details: a silver jumpsuit that hugs her curves and shines like a disco ball, a hot pink wig, big heart-shaped sunglasses, purple lipstick that is way more appealing than it should be. And a headband with what looks like a stylized antenna—she’s like a space invader from a 1950s flick.

“Satellite of love,” she deadpans, those purple lips pursed in a smirk.

“Deep cut,” I tell her. “Nicely done.”

“Sophie helped me. I didn’t realize I’d need a space-themed outfit for the dance. She said she always brings a couple because she can’t decide until the day of.”

“Roxy left that part out of your contract, huh?”

She shrugs. “I might have skipped over some parts of that packet she sent me. It’s okay, though. I like a challenge. And a chance to wear a hot pink wig.”

All around us, the kids are chattering and wiggling around in some delightfully wacky outfits of their own. The dance is a tradition here, so the kids bring costumes they make at home. Some are simple, like little green aliens and astronauts—and some are so elaborate it blows my mind. Ethan’s dressed as a rocket ship, complete with a cone-shaped hat and streamer-like flames, and Layla’s wearing a long dress that’s painted like the Milky Way.

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