Rachel looked up at her mom. Denise shoved the CVS bags into Rachel’s arms and took the pack of Newports from her back pocket. She pulled one out and lit it right there. She took a long drag.
She wasn’t allowed to smoke at camp. But Rachel decided not to say anything.
—
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory went on that night so the parents could see it, but Denise had already driven home to beat Sunday night traffic. The show was pretty bad, but Matthew had real talent, a way of dominating the entire stage.
At the end of the show, he came over to hug Rachel. He was sweating and had orange makeup on his face that she hadn’t noticed from the audience. He smelled like he needed to put on more deodorant, but she liked it. It was a long hug, their bodies closer than they had ever been, and she felt small and safe in it. She pulled away because otherwise she might have stayed for a long time.
“What’d you think?” he asked.
“You were great.” Over Matthew’s shoulder, Rachel saw Fiona watching them. “Do you want to meet up later?” Rachel asked.
His eyebrows went up, and he looked around the auditorium with all the kids and counselors laughing and buzzing.
“You mean sneak out?” he whispered.
“Yeah.”
She knew that inside he was terrified and thrilled like her. She could tell by the way his nostrils were flaring and how his eyes had taken on a crazy wideness.
He slowly nodded. “Okay.”
—
Later, after lights-out, it wasn’t hard for Rachel to keep herself awake. Her pulse hammered against the flesh of her throat; her limbs were electric, tingling. When her watch said twelve-forty-five, she peeled up the mosquito net and climbed, very quietly, down on top of her trunk and then onto the wooden floor of the tent. She slipped on her flip-flops and tiptoed out of the back of the tent and stopped at the bathroom. She took her hair out of its bun and fluffed it around her face. She put on lip gloss and smacked her lips together. She pinched her cheeks to make them rosy.
She tiptoed out of girls’ camp and all the way down the gravel road, which eventually ended at the stables. It was so quiet and so hard to see at night that she had to move very slowly, so she didn’t trip over a hidden root or a loose stone. Her eyes started to adjust to the dark, and she could see the rectangular wooden performing arts building ahead. They’d agreed to meet in the woods behind it.
When she walked around to the back of the building, a dead leaf crunched under her foot, and she paused. She saw a tall figure and held her breath as she moved closer.
“Hey,” Matthew said. She moved toward him and saw he was also in his pajamas, flannel drawstring pants and a Camp Marigold hoodie.
They walked into the woods without talking. Marigold felt different at night: dark and scary but in a good way. Like it was uncharted territory. Like it was impossible there were hundreds of kids and counselors sleeping in their bunks in the very same camp.
Matthew slowed and stopped at a spot between two trees.
“This is good,” he said and took off his backpack. Then he pulled a blanket out of it and spread it over the flat part of the ground. He was very careful to flatten and even it out just so.
They sat down on the blanket at the same time. They looked at their feet.
“I was really happy that you invited me out here,” he finally said.
“Oh,” she said. “How come?”
“Well, I’ve always had a crush on you.” His voice cracked on the word “always,” and he cleared his throat. “Well, not always. But you know. For a long time.”
Just the edges of their kneecaps were touching.
“How long?” she asked.
He thought about it for a minute. “Since Buckeye summer, I think,” he said. “Yeah, that was it. You were green team captain that year, weren’t you?”
“I think so.”
“You were. I remember you were standing in front of all the Buckeye girls at the pool before a swim race and leading a green team cheer. We were at the athletic shed playing four square, but I saw you all the way over at the pool in your green shorts and green paint under your eyes and your hair in two braids. I couldn’t hear what you were yelling, but it didn’t matter because everyone was listening to you and watching you. You were really, really in charge of all those girls.”
“That’s funny,” she said. “I don’t remember that.”
“Anyway.” He cleared his throat again. “I just am trying to say that I like you, Rachel.” Before she could say anything back, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers. Then his tongue pushed its way into her mouth, poking and prodding as if it was going to find something in there.
They kissed like that for several minutes. She could tell Matthew thought that was what he was supposed to do. She didn’t really know at the time exactly what you were supposed to do, but she knew it couldn’t be that.
She finally pulled away to take a breath. He was panting.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, which he took as “Let’s keep going,” and he went back in. This time, though, he rolled over on top of her. He pressed down into her, and she could feel his penis, erect and hard, poking the bottom of her stomach. He was slobbering, grunting, a different person from the one she thought she was starting to get to know. But as he moved down slightly, it started to feel right—not quite as good as when she was riding Micah, but a hint of it. They stayed that way for a long time, their bodies heating up inside their flannel pajamas, until she also began to feel like a different person.
Then in the midst of all the grinding and grunting, Matthew reached a hand up her pajama top, and as soon as he cupped his hand around her breast and squeezed, he went, “Oh,” and his body convulsed against hers.
“Sorry,” he said, glancing down at himself, and it took her a moment to understand what had happened.
They lay on the blanket looking up at the stars for a few minutes until Rachel said, “We should probably go back now.” They walked out of the woods not touching and got to the hill separating the boys’ and girls’ camps. He went in to give her a hug goodbye.
“You’re supposed to kiss me good night,” she said, and he did, dutifully.
—
Rachel was so tired in the morning that Fiona had to shake her awake.
“What’s wrong with you, Rachel?” she asked.
Rachel groaned. She could barely keep her eyes open as they walked to the showers.
“You’re seriously acting so weird,” Fiona said when they were getting dressed and Rachel was practically silent.
“I just didn’t sleep that well last night,” Rachel said.
“Whatever,” Fiona said, suspicious.