I understand what she means. Hidden away from everything and entirely alone, this place feels special. “You should be a poet,” I say.
“I’ve never been good at poetry,” she says quietly, “but I do want to be a writer. And the traveling is part of that. I want to write about what I see.”
“Poetic prose then.”
She shakes her head. “I’m really not that good.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” I say, grinning.
“Seriously.”
“Prove it. Let me read what’s in that notebook that you take everywhere.”
Seph only hesitates for a couple of seconds before she hands me the notebook. “Okay.”
“Anything specific I should read?”
She shakes her head, and I flip it open to a random page. Her handwriting is better than mine will ever hope to be.
Here time can stand still. The wind will blow and sound disappears and it feels like the world has stopped spinning for the space of one heartbeat. And that heartbeat lasts for a thousand years and not at all.
It in those moments that I can remember lifetimes before my own. This has always been here, and we’re just fragments of light passing by. But for a single moment the world revolves around us. We’re the center of the world, and everything hinges on the breath we take.
But you have to notice it.
I don’t read anymore, but I don’t look up from the page, because I think I’m having one of those moments right now. These words are stunning and clear, and even though I’m not sure I’ve felt what she’s describing I can imagine it with such clarity that my chest aches.
“Seph,” I say, “this is beautiful.”
She stares at me, the look on her face telling me that she’s deciding whether or not I’m lying. I’m not.
Her eyes flick to my lips then back to my eyes, and she leans forward and kisses me. I go still with shock, and then she’s pulling back, blushing.
I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I’m glad that it was her. That it’s us right now. Because I like her. More than I probably should. And I don’t say anything as I set the notebook on the rock beside me and pull her closer. I give Seph every chance to pull away, and she doesn’t.
And so I kiss her.
I don’t plan on stopping for a long time.
7
Persephone
Present
I could have sworn when I looked at the schedule this morning that David was the counselor overseeing archery with me today. But when I come out of the cabin fully changed—no way was I going to stay in my bathing suit after that—Eric is already there overseeing the boys.
He has a bow slung across his back and is showing several of them the proper way to pull back the string so that you don’t cut your fingers on it when you release.
I can’t stop seeing him sprawled on the beach, wet and sparkling. And I can’t stop thinking about what he asked me. Why I’m being so cold to him? The answer is complicated and makes me want to run and hide so I don’t have to see his stupid gorgeous face. Or his body in his still-drying clothes.
Eric’s body was perfect when we spent the summer together, and it’s only gotten better. He’s grown into his height and his weight, and the damp t-shirt he has on does nothing to hide it.
I try to ignore him and focus on my girls. Archery is something that I’ve always loved, and I kept doing it long after camp. Now I don’t do it as much as I would like, but I try to get to the range at least once a month so I can keep the skill sharp. If there’s ever a zombie apocalypse, I’ll get to be the badass chick with a bow. And people will want me because I’ll have a valuable fighting skill. Win-win.
Margot pulls back and releases a perfect shot that hits within the bulls-eye ring. She’s got a natural eye for it and is sinking shot after shot without much practice. “Michael,” she calls over at the boys. “That’s three bull’s eyes in a row.”
“Don’t worry,” he calls back after landing a shot that barely snags the edge of the target. “I’m just biding my time until I kick your ass.”
“Or I could just kick your ass now,” she says, laughing.
Lord, these girls are going to kill me. But I know that I was like that at that age, and so was Leena. Constantly wanting to one-up the boys in hopes that they would notice us. But that summer…
I didn’t need any boys to notice me. Eric already had, and he was all I needed. Glancing over at me, he’s already staring at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Fine. We can do this. I know what it’s like to be them, and I’ll throw them a bone. “What do you think, Eric. A little friendly competition between your group and mine?”
His lips curl into a smile. “What’s the prize?”
“Bragging rights,” I say. “And our next shift in the kitchen.” There’s a rotating list of chores that all the campers do. They’re pretty basic as the camp has a full-time staff. But still, everyone tries to get out of their shift if they possibly can, so it’s a pretty good motivator.
“What do you say, guys?”
There are some enthusiastic yeses from that group, along with more than a few smug looks. “Girls?”
“Hell, yes,” Margot says, and almost everyone agrees.
“How do we do it?”
Eric smirks. “Everyone line up. Face off. Everyone gets a single shot. Closest to bullseye gets the point for the team.” Then he focuses his eyes on me. “Persephone and I will go last.”
There’s lots of cheers at that, and everyone is already lining up to start, and Michael and Margot are at the front of the line. Surprise surprise.
“Take your time,” I whisper to her. “Land the shot as if you’re completely alone.” She nods and grabs an arrow.
Across the lane Eric is giving his own advice. I wonder what it is.
Margot doesn’t even look at her opponent. She takes a deep breath and focuses only on the target. There’s calls of encouragement and discouragement from both sides, but she ignores them all. She takes her time just like I told her to, and when she releases the arrow it flies straight and buries itself almost in the exact center of the bull’s eye. There’s a collective ‘oooooh,’ from both teams, and poor Michael goes a little pale.
But he draws his own arrow and focuses down the lane. It’s not a bad shot. Much better than the one that he bragged about taking his time with, and still within bullseye range, but not as close as Margot’s.
He glares at her, and she smirks, but there’s not any animosity there. We’re going to have to keep an eye on the two of them.
But that’s the way it goes. There are excellent shots on both sides, and the score fluctuates back and forth, the number of people until I have to shoot dwindling quickly. The boys are up by two, and then by one, and the last of the campers are up. Emily is the one who’s about to shoot, and as much as I know that she’s going to be a pain in my ass this summer, I want her to win.
She doesn’t need any encouragement from me—she’s been practically bouncing on her toes waiting for her turn. And she doesn’t wait, pulling back the arrow and firing so quickly I hold my breath, because it barely looked like she aimed. But the arrow lands just right of center, and she grins like a cat who’s eaten a canary.