Page 8 of My Star-Crossed Summer

Victoria.

An old friend of mine.

It has to be a coincidence, right? This couldn’t possibly be my Victoria.

Well. Not that she was ever really mine. We were best friends in college, but then I managed to wreck that beyond repair. So I never had the chance to tell her that I was completely in love with her. I shake my head to clear the thought because as often as I considered bumping into Victoria Griffin again, the odds of it being at a camp in the middle of nowhere are less than zero.

She’s not a second chance I’ll ever have.

Chapter Four

VICTORIA

Two weeks later, I’m driving to the Blue Ridge Astronomical Institute, a research facility that’s on a mountaintop nestled deep in the National Forest. Approaching it feels like going into some secret government facility that isn’t supposed to officially exist. Just a few hours’ drive from Jasmine Falls, it’s not truly in the middle of nowhere. Not completely. It’s twenty minutes from the nearest town, but after winding up the mountain on a narrow two-lane road for what seemed like a hundred years, it feels like I’m in a remote location best suited for a horror movie.

When the road turned to gravel, I was certain I was lost—but then it emptied into a clearing with a cluster of buildings arranged like a tiny college campus. To my left is the ring of radio telescopes, all pointing in the same direction. One has a smiley face painted on the inside, grinning up toward whoever might be watching from above.

Another narrow paved road carries me past a group of 1950s-era buildings made from concrete and glass. At their center is a wide meadow with a small pond and a walking trail. Two wood-shingle cabins are to my right, nestled in the evergreens.

My online snooping taught me that the institute has a dozen researchers who work here full time with state-of-the-art labs and observatories. Plus six radio telescopes that are the pride of the Southeast. When the cabins aren’t being used by camps like the College of Charleston’s, they’re used by visiting scientists from around the world.

I park my small SUV next to one of the cabins, where there’s a hand-painted welcome sign made of poster board taped to a folding table. A black pickup truck and a red mini Cooper are parked nearby, both covered in dust from the gravel road.

All around me is lush green: the trees, the grass, the broad-leafed shrubs. Massive evergreens seem to stretch a mile above the clusters of laurel and rhododendron at their feet. Jasmine Falls is in the Lowcountry, close enough to the coast to have Spanish moss in the trees and a hint of brine in the air. Here, the air is crisp and cool, not heavy and humid like it is back home. Overhead, one puffy cloud floats in a sky that’s a striking shade of Carolina blue.

The buildings look dated, but the view behind them takes my breath away. Beyond the giant firs and pines, the mountains are undulating tones of blues and greens, as vast and serene as the ocean.

A rabbit hops out of the brush near me, just as the sun passes from behind a cloud and illuminates the bright green of the meadow.

“Okay, now you’re just showing off,” I say to the sky and head toward the nearest cabin. But I can’t deny the spark of joy that warms my chest. The thrill of starting over.

“Hello,” I call, stepping inside. There’s a kitchenette and a lounge area by the front door, a long hallway extending beyond. The interior looks like it hasn’t seen an update in about fifty years, and smells musty in that way that old libraries do. The walls are a mix of dark paneling and off-white paint, andthe chunky dorm-like furniture looks about as comfortable as granite.

“Oh, hi,” a voice chirps. “You made it.”

A young Black woman, twenty-two at most, strides toward me and extends her hand for me to shake. “I’m Sophie. The admin. You must be Victoria.” She’s a couple of inches taller than me, lean with bright eyes that crinkle at the corners when she flashes me a warm smile. “We’re just getting settled in the office and going over some ideas for the week. Did you get lunch on the way? The cafeteria made us to-go boxes, so I have one for you, too.” She shoves a handful of braids over her shoulder, and I note that several are purple. She has the cool-counselor vibe, big-time.

“Thank you,” I say. “That’d be great.”

“Your room’s this way,” she says, leading me down the hallway. “It’s not fancy, but it’s semi-private. You’re at the one end of the building, and I’m on the other. In theory, that means we can keep a better eye on the kiddos.”

“How long have you been doing this?” I ask.

She turns the corner and grins. “This is my third year as an admin. But I came to these camps as a student, years ago.” She’s practically glowing, like this is her happy place.

“Wow,” I say, already feeling out of my depth. The hallway also looks like a dorm, with signs on the doors that have the campers’ names written in marker, decorated with stickers and glitter. At the end of the hallway, Sophie stops at a door that has an identical sign with my name on it. She leads me inside, pointing out the basics—the bath, the switches for the lights over the bed, the baseboard heater under the window.

“Rustic, but cozy,” she says. “I sleep like a baby here.”

Rusticis a generous term. Fallout-shelter-chic is more like it.

“There’s extra bedding in the closet here,” Sophie says. “Plus some blankets. A first-aid kit’s on the desk there, anda flashlight. It gets pitch-black out here at night, so don’t go without your flashlight.”

“Got it,” I say.

“The kids start coming in tomorrow morning at eleven,” she says. “Airport shuttles start rolling in earlier, but everyone should be here by five p.m. We’ll have some informal activities tomorrow as the kids arrive and then orientation after dinner.”

I check my phone for the time and see there’s no service.

---