“I doubt it,” I say.
“Can we jump in?” Prague asks.
“If you want to,” Gavin says.
“I kind of want to,” Prague says. “Who’s coming with me?”
No one answers.
“Okay, scaredy-pants—I will jump in on my own!”
And she does.
“Sammy!” she squeals to me. “You have to come in!”
Sammy? I don’t hate it. “Well . . .” I hesitate. It is hot out. “Why not? Can I take off my life jacket?”
“Can you swim?” he asks.
“I can,” I say. “I promise I won’t drown. You won’t have to give me mouth-to-mouth.” Oh wow, did I really say that?
He raises an eyebrow.
I snap off my jacket. Now I really feel kind of naked. I jump in. If his girlfriend is flirting with French billionaires, then it’s only fair that I flirt with him.
The water is a shock of cold, but feels amazing. “Gavin?” I say. “Coming in?”
“Me?”
“I know it’s not the Mediterranean, but . . .”
He laughs. “Does anyone else want to swim?” he asks the kids.
They shake their heads.
“Okay. Coming in.” He snaps off his life jacket—abs—takes off his sunglasses, and dives off the boat and into the water in a perfect arc.
He pops up beside me, his hair dripping. “You okay?”
“Perfect,” I say.
“And you’re sure you don’t need mouth-to-mouth?” he asks, smiling.
“Pretty sure,” I say.
It’s a little naughty, but totally harmless.
And I’m kind of liking it.
Back in the bunk, as the kids change quickly, I sneak a peek at our cleanup score. Eight! We got an eight! That is so much better than a two! We do not have to clean with the campers during Rest Hour with an eight. We can nap! I can nap!
“Don’t forget sneakers!” I yell. “And socks! And sun block! And hats and water bottles!”
We make it to tennis, which is all the way across camp near Upper Field, and we’re only five minutes late. I am impressed with myself.
I am also impressed with Benji, the smokin’ hot tennis teacher. He is indeed smokin’.
Are camp guys always so attractive, or am I just finding them all attractive because I am not allowed to have any of them?
The girls do drills, which mostly involve them lining up and Smokin’ Hot Benji lobbing balls at them, which the girls try to hit with their rackets. They take water breaks every four minutes.
It’s at least a hundred degrees out. Everyone misses most of the balls, except Shira, who is actually pretty good.
“He’s straight, by the way,” Janelle whispers to us, doing the eyebrow waggle again. Then she turns back to him. “Benji? Can you help me with my backhand?”
“Sure,” he says.
She runs toward him and he stands behind her, showing her the moves, his hands on her shoulders.
Now his hands are on her waist.
Now her hands are on his waist. She is making a move on Smokin’ Hot Benji!
“I feel like we’re watching something we shouldn’t be,” Lis says under her breath. “Maybe they want to get a room?”
Eric’s voice echoes over the loudspeaker, calling an end to the period.
“Come on, girls,” I say, leading them back to the bunk.
Benji and Janelle stay in their positions.
“We’ll see you at lunch!” I call out.
“She’s after your nickname, Porny,” Lis says to me. “Gross.”
“At least someone’s getting some action,” I say.
The girls are whiny as we head back to the bunk. They’re hot and hungry.
“Can we never have tennis again?” Fancy asks.
“I like tennis!” Shira says.
“’Cause it’s the only thing you’re good at,” Fancy barks back.
Shira turns bright red.
“That’s not true,” I say. “Shira is great at a lot of things.”
“Like what?” Fancy asks.
“Like folding.”
“And crying,” Fancy says.
I stop walking and crouch next to her. “Fancy, stop it. I am not going to stand by while you hurt Shira’s feelings. Do you understand? Enough is enough. Think about how you would feel if someone said something like that to you. Would you like it?”
She bites her lower lip and she shakes her head.
“Then stop. And it would be nice if you apologized.”
“Sorry,” she mutters to Shira, her face flaming.
“It’s okay,” Shira says.
“Thank you, Fancy,” I say, and take Shira’s hand. “Let’s sing a song.”
“That’s a good idea,” Prague says. “What song?”
I think back to cheers and songs I sang in camp. “Okay, girls, repeat after me. We’re going on a bear hunt!”
“We’re going on a bear hunt,” Prague and Shira say.
“I meant everyone!” I call.
“We’re going on a bear hunt!” they all sing.
“We’re gonna catch a big one!” I say.
“We’re gonna catch a big one!” they repeat.
“A big grizzly bear!”
“A big grizzly bear!”
“Well, I’m not scared!”
“Well, I’m not scared!”
We go through the rest of the song all the way to the bunk. They get louder and louder with each line. Other campers stop to stare but our kids keep going.
They’re smiling and singing and swinging their hands. Even Fancy.
I realize I’ve lost Talia and Lis along the way. Not that I’m surprised.
“You’re a really good counselor,” Em tells me.
Maybe I am.
I plan on calling Eli at Rest Hour, but it turns out all the kids have to write letters home, and it’s my job to supervise them.
Prague has preprinted fill-in-the-blank camp stationery and is finished in a minute.
The stationery says:
Dear _______ , Hello from Camp ________. My favorite activity is ________. My least favorite activity is __________. My favorite meal is _______. My least favorite meal is ________. The counselors are ________.
I read over her shoulder and am pleased to see that she filled in great for the counselor one.
Look at me! I am great!
I help the rest of them write return addresses, explain where the stamp has to go, and help them spell canoeing.
I never make it to the office.
But I do make it to archery.
“Look at me, I’m Katniss!” says Slugger. Considering she couldn’t spell canoeing, I can’t believe she’s reading The Hunger Games, but then I realize she probably just saw the movies.
“Want to try?” the archery teacher asks me.
“I do want to try!” I say. After all, I did read the books! I get into position, pull the bow back, and aim for the target.
I miss. Spectacularly.
“Try again,” the teacher says.
This time I get it on the target. Woot!
“You’re a natural,” she says. “Want to go for the bull’s-eye?”
“Let’s let the kids have another go,” I say.