I needed to get her alone.
Ashley, Becca, and Charlotte joined me and my two closest buds, Tyler and Jake, at a picnic table for dinner. Not surprisingly, Charlotte took the spot on the bench next to me.
“Misty,” I called out to her before raising my hand and motioning for her to join us.
As she slowly made her way over with her plate in hand, a look of confusion created a crease between her pale eyes. “Oh, there’s no room for me here.”
“Well, we’ll make some.” I jumped up from my spot on the edge of the bench. “Hey, can you guys squish a little?” I asked Charlotte and Becca. “Thanks.”
Instead of sitting next to Charlotte, I slid my plate to the very end of the table and took Misty’s from her, placing it on the worn wood planks between my and Charlotte’s dinners. I waited for Misty to sit first and then I slid onto the bench next to her. We were so close that our thighs and shoulders were touching and there may not have been any other spot in the entire universe beyond where our bodies merged. I pressed my leg against hers a little, needing to send a message . . . to let her know. She had to know.
Misty didn’t press back, but I watched her lips twitch, the corners raising slightly. And she didn’t pull her leg away.
She knew.
Now all I had to endure was the endless wait until nightfall for the campfire to begin. Campers had been eying one another for weeks waiting for this night. And I was no different.
I was intrigued by this aloof girl who wasn’t tripping over her bunkmates to get close to me. My fear was that Charlotte may have led Misty to believe that there was something going on between us. But there wasn’t.
That was long over.
Four
Misty
As we warmed by the campfire, the last rays of rose-tinged light touched the pine tops before fading to inky blue and eventually to black. With the darkness, couples enjoyed a newfound freedom, wandering off on paths into the woods or down to the lake’s sandy shore. I was becoming more anxious as Bray’s arm, which was barely brushing against mine, was the only thing I could think about. Consciously focusing on my breathing, which had become shallow and labored, I tried to quell my excitement, hopeful anticipation, and above all, fear. I was afraid. Not of Bray, but of my attraction to him and the confusion that came along with it.
I jumped when his shoulder nudged against mine, and he smiled as he leaned over and whispered, “Wanna go for a walk?”
“Sure.” Standing and brushing the dirt from the back of my shorts, I suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. I was so attracted to this boy that when he looked at me, the need to touch him was almost overwhelming.
Under that, though, I felt guilt, and I didn’t know quite why. I knew that my parents would disapprove of him, so maybe that was why.
As I turned to walk away with him, I didn’t miss Charlotte’s pointed glare. She was clearly not happy with Bray’s interest in me, and I could only imagine how she was going to take that out on me later.
“So, what are you doing all the way up here in Maine, Misty?” We found an outcropping of boulders and climbed to the top, sitting with our legs dangling over.
“I wanted to come somewhere different. Somewhere that didn’t look like home.” I shrugged before adding, “Somewhere not so darn hot in summer. So, I looked for camps in Maine and Minnesota.”
“Are you just partial to M states?” He laughed.
It took me a moment to understand what he was talking about, that he was joking with me, and then, as if I were on some kind of seven-second delay, I laughed with him. “I hadn’t even realized that.”
“Well, you chose well. What do you think of it up here?”
“It’s beautiful.” Why was I so tongue-tied with him? I wanted to be engaging and quick and funny, but I couldn’t even form a complete sentence.
“And?”
“And the nights are so beautiful and cool. Down south, the summer is sweltering. You always feel like you need a shower, even right after you’ve taken one.” I was talking fast, trying to get as much out as I could before my brain shut down again. “I love how it stays light so late up here and then there are more stars than I’ve ever seen. I thought we had a lot in Mississippi, but it’s nothing like here. I don’t ever think I’d get tired of looking at the night sky up here.”
“I know what you mean. Even after five years, I’m blown away every night. We don’t see many stars where I’m from, so for me, this is like being in a planetarium every night.”
Sitting back on the boulder, we both gazed up into the darkened sky, quietly enjoying the arch of stars above us.
“Do you find people different up here?” Bray broke the silence.
I was surprised by how intuitive he was. “Yes, everyone up here says what they think for the most part. I’m not used to the bluntness,” I confessed.
“Blunt as in offensive or refreshing?” He smiled.
I didn’t answer for a moment because I was transfixed by his smile and his dimples. Could this guy be any cuter?
And then as if snapping out of a fog, I shook my head. “No. It isn’t offensive at all. Just different.” I needed time to pull myself together, so I threw the conversation back to him. “So, tell me about you. I know nothing about you, except that you are Mr. Popularity around here.” I bumped my shoulder against his and was met by some unyielding muscle.
He smiled again, and I had the urge to run the tip of my finger down the groove of his dimple.
“Well, I’m from New York City. Born there. Live there. Go to school there.”
“What school do you go to?” I asked. I needed to know the details about him. He was not like anyone I’d ever encountered in my social circle in Jackson, which were the children of my parents’ friends, so their social circle was mine, next gen. I had never been given my own choice of friends or activities or camps until this summer. For the first time, I had gotten to choose who I wanted to be close to, and that person was Bray.
“Dalton.”
I nodded. “I’ve heard of that.” It wasn’t a lie, either.
“We have a few famous alums. Chevy Chase went there.” He smiled.
“Brothers and sisters?”
“No. Just me.”
They got it perfect the first time.
“Are your parents originally from New York?” I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live in such a big city.
“My mom is from Connecticut. She’s a van der Heyden.” He laughed. “Actually, she’s a disowned van der Heyden.”
“Oh no, what did she do to get disowned?” I was enjoying the sparkle in his eyes, and I could tell he loved this story about his obviously rebellious mother.
“She married my father,” he said, matter-of-factly, picking up a small pebble from our boulder-seat and tossing it into the air a few times before he threw it into the darkness.
“And her family disowned her?” This was going to be juicy.
He nodded. “Well, you’ve gotta understand the family history. Like I said, my mom is a van der Heyden. They came here from Holland back when New York was New Amsterdam, like in the 1650s with the Dutch West Indies Trading Company. They were fur traders. So, she’s old money, a debutante, Miss Porter’s, the whole bit.”
“Okay.” I was taking it in, and I could totally picture his mother.
“And my dad, well, my dad is a cardiac surgeon. He’s department director at New York-Presbyterian Hospital, which if you are going to have a heart problem in New York, that is where you want the ambulance to take you.”
“I’ll remember that.” I laughed. “I don’t really understand, though. Why did your mom got disowned for marrying a cardiac surgeon?”