“Ooooh, that explains it,” I say. “But how? Everyone’s under twenty-one.”
“There’s always some booze being snuck around.”
I do not think I want to get drunk and risk being fired. That would not look good for future teaching jobs at all.
The engine turns on. There are woots from the back. The bus starts rolling down the dirt road.
More cheers.
When we turn onto a bigger street, the signal bars on my phone come on. I wish it were earlier so I could call Eli. We haven’t actually spoken on the phone for like three days now. Talia is checking her phone too. My texts stream in.
Eli: Hi babe.
Eli: Look at me with David’s Michelangelo!
Eli: Night, Beautiful. Hope you had a great day. Wish we could talk more.
“I love how much your boyfriend misses you,” Talia says, reading over my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say, although to me the “Wish we could talk more” feels kind of like a dig. It says, You are not trying hard enough to call me.
He’s in freakin’ Europe! Isn’t he having fun?
I wish we could talk more, too. I just can’t run to the office every period.
I also have a few texts from Lauren and Emily. And then also from Fancy’s annoying mom, which is how I’ve identified her in my phone. Apparently I give mean nicknames now too.
Fancy’s Annoying Mom: Hi, Sam! I looked on the website and saw a group picture of Francie—she wasn’t smiling. Is she unhappy?
“Group picture?” I ask Talia. “Do they post pictures of the kids somewhere?”
“Um, yeah. The pics that Jill is always taking? She posts them online.”
“No way!”
“Yes way. What did you think they were for?”
“I don’t know. A slideshow at the end of the summer?”
“That too. But she also posts like fifty pics online every night. The parents sit there and wait for them. Parents are crazy.”
Fancy’s Annoying Mom: Her cheeks also look a little flushed. Is she wearing her sunscreen?
Fancy’s Annoying Mom: Also wondering if she is using conditioner in her hair? Please make sure she does. Her hair gets tangled. It looks tangled in the picture.
Fancy’s Annoying Mom: Hello?
Fancy’s Annoying Mom: I would really appreciate if you responded.
Three dots appear on my phone and I drop it in my lap hot-potato style. Stalker!
“OMG,” I say. “Fancy’s mother keeps texting me.”
“Oh no!” Talia says. “How did she get your number?”
“She met my mom at a grocery store . . . long story.”
“She’s the worst. She calls Josh twice a day. She complains about everything! What did she say?”
“That Fancy looks unhappy in the pictures.”
“Just ignore her. Do not engage. Do not engage! The worst kids always have the worst parents. And the worst parents always tip the worst at Visiting Day.”
“Tip?” I say. “Parents tip?”
“The nicer ones do,” she says.
“There’s no way my parents tipped,” I say.
“Then they’re assholes.”
I laugh. “But I was a good kid. I think?”
“I was a bitch,” she says, and goes back to her phone.
I flip to Instagram. We’re not allowed to post while we’re at camp, but I can still see what Eli is up to.
I flip to his stories and see that he posted a picture. He’s with a group of people—girls and guys. So many people I don’t know. He hasn’t tagged them. Guys. Girls. Girls holding beers.
Pretty girls holding beers.
The drinking age in Europe is only eighteen. My shoulders tighten at the idea of him on the other side of the world drinking with random pretty girls.
I flash back to a keg party, his hand under my skirt.
He better not put his hands under any of these girls’ skirts!
I study their outfits. They are all wearing sundresses. I hate them all.
I really should call every day.
Now I’m the one being needy.
I click off my phone and put it away. I am not going to worry about Eli hooking up with someone in Europe! Sure, he’s probably flirting with other girls and that’s fine! I am flirting with other boys! There is nothing wrong with flirting!
But I should call more. Should I call now?
No. It’s the middle of the night there.
Everyone cheers when we pull into the restaurant’s parking lot. The door is open and the music is already blasting even though no one is inside. There’s a table filled with cupcakes.
Aw. Cupcakes.
After about ten minutes or so, people start dancing. All the lights are on, so it feels less like a party and more like an awkward sixth-grade social.
“Hey,” says Gavin, coming up beside me. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“I thought they’re all free,” I say.
“They are. I was trying to be chivalrous,” he says with a smile.
“Ah,” I say. “Well then, yes. I’ll take a Coke.”
“Two rum and Cokes,” he tells the bartender.
The bartender raises an eyebrow. “It’s a dry bar,” he says.
“Boo,” Gavin says. “Two Cokes, then.”
Eli isn’t drinking Cokes. Eli is drinking actual alcohol.
“Does it seem unfair to you that our significant others are out there guzzling Heinekens and French wine while we’re drinking rumless Cokes?” I ask.
“It does,” he says. “We can drink on our day off at least. Are you coming with us to Botts’s?”
“What’s happening at Botts’s?”
“He has a cottage about thirty minutes away. We will drink Heineken and French wine. He told me he was going to invite you. For our day off. If you can take a Tuesday/Wednesday.”
That’s sweet. “Oh, thanks,” I say. “He hasn’t mentioned it. I was maybe going to see my parents . . .”
“Parents? Where are they?”
“Rhode Island.”
“What? That’s too far. And parents are no fun. Come to Botts’s. Heineken! French wine!”
“Honestly,” I say, “I don’t even like Heineken.”
He laughs. “What about French wine?”
“I can make that work,” I say. “But in a taste test I would not be able to tell the difference between French or Italian wine. Or wine from New Jersey.”
“Here’s what I know about wine—white is served cold,” he says.
I laugh. “Look at you, fancy pants.”
I lean against the wall and look around. But not at Gavin’s fancy pants. Which are actually jeans. Which encase a pretty nice ass.
Not looking!
“Want to take bets on who’s going to hook up with who tonight?” he asks.
“That seems wrong,” I say. “But yes.”
We both spot JJ in the corner dancing with one of the swim staff. “That looks possible,” I say.
“JJ has been eyeing that guy for weeks.”
I spot Lis, Talia, and their friend Allie whispering to each other in the corner. She’s tall, with long, wavy brown hair.
Muffs is trying to get Lis’s attention.
“Does he have any chance with her?” Gavin asks.