“We certainly do. The biggest one in California!” D responded with enthusiasm. She pointed at the map again. “The dining hall is in the middle of the cabins. That’s where you’ll have your meals.”
“All of them?” Lauren asked.
D looked at the computer. “Your package includes two meals a day. We have a small general store, where we carry milk and cereal and such for that third meal.”
While D showed my parents the road that led to our cabin, the lodge doors opened and a family of five came in. Two of the kids immediately began chasing each other around the tree, which at the moment also included Lauren and me, screaming about a bigfoot hunt. The woman went straight to the coffee station and poured herself a cup.
“Boys, stop running!” the man called out in a sharp tone, then went to stand in line behind my parents.
Lauren opened the front pocket of her backpack and dug around. “Movie nights, crafts, Slip ’N Slides?” she said at a volume only I could hear. “Is this a little kid camp?” At this, she pointedly stared at the kids who had not, in fact, stopped running. “I’m sensing no age-appropriate boys for us.”
This thought did not disappoint me in the least. I had sworn off guys exactly three days ago. The guy drama I was in the middle of had left a bad taste in my mouth. The taste I worried would linger all summer now that I had no contact with the outside world.
Lauren freed a long cord from her bag with a breath of relief. “Oh good. I thought I forgot this.”
“Good thing you can keep your overpriced flashlight charged.”
“I haven’t lost hope for Wi-Fi. And even if there isn’t any, I can still record and do a compilation video at the end of summer. I’ll figure something out,” she said, like she was still talking herself down.
I wondered if I’d figure something out, a way to talk to Shay and get this taste out of my mouth, this weight off my chest.
The music from the hall caught my attention again and I moved to see where it was coming from. I had only taken a few steps before one of the boys running around the tree and the woman with her full cup of coffee collided, sending the cup flying. I watched as it tumbled through the air in seemingly slow motion. Its contents arced across the space between us, then drenched the entire front of my white shirt. The cup landed, drumming three short beats on the floor, before it skidded across the dark wood and came to a stop against my gray Converse. I didn’t feel the heat of the liquid at first but then the burning sensation spread across my stomach. I sucked in air and pulled my shirt away from my skin.
“Oh my goodness!” D called from behind me.
“Boys!” the man said again.
The woman, now empty-handed, stared at me and then at the cup by my foot as if this was somehow my fault. “I’m sorry,” I heard myself saying.
My mom had magically found a roll of paper towels somewhere and began mopping up the floor. My dad was helping Lauren move our luggage away from the expanding puddle on the floor. I wasn’t sure how any coffee had made it on the floor, when it felt like an entire pot’s worth was on my shirt. “You okay, Avery?” Dad asked.
By this time D was at my side. “The bathroom is this way. Follow me.” And without a word, I did. We walked through the lobby to the hall where I’d heard the music. It was louder now—was it a movie? A radio?—but as we passed the doors where it was obviously coming from, I couldn’t see inside. D continued to the end of the hall.
Once safely inside the bathroom, I took off my shirt, throwing it onto the counter, and studied my skin. It was red but not burned. D grabbed a paper towel off a stack on the counter, ran it under cold water, then handed it to me. I pressed the wet towel against my stomach.
“Should I get the nurse?” she asked.
“What? No.” I already felt stupid enough. “I’m good.”
“Are you sure?”
“I take really hot showers. Apparently, I’ve conditioned my skin for this specific scenario.”
She didn’t laugh, just picked up my shirt. “I’ll have this laundered and delivered to your cabin.” She backed out of the bathroom and the door swung shut.
I took a deep breath and slowly peeled the paper towel away from my stomach for another look. The redness was already subsiding. I dropped the towel in a gold-trimmed trash bin and faced the door.
I probably should’ve realized before this moment that I was standing there in my bra, my shirt in the possession of an eager-to-please (or probably more like a please-don’t-sue-us) employee, and I was trapped. I let out a low groan and turned a circle. The bathroom was nice—the stalls individual rooms with full doors, the counters shiny granite, and the fixtures polished brass. There was even art on the walls. But it didn’t have the one thing I needed—a stack of extra shirts lying around.
Just as I was trying to think of a way to fashion one out of paper towels, the door opened again and D reappeared.
I took a breath of relief. “Could you ask my—”
Before I could finish the sentence, she held out a blue T-shirt. “Here you go.”
“Or you could bring me exactly what I need.”
She smiled. “Do you need anything else?”
“Coffee?”
She hesitated for a moment.
“It was a joke.”
“Oh…” She gave the worst courtesy laugh ever and left.
I unfolded the shirt and held it up. Across the back was the Bear Meadow Camp logo—a friendly bear in front of three pine trees—and on the front, the word staff.
“Thank goodness for please-don’t-sue-us employees,” I mumbled, and pulled it over my head.
I leaned against the counter
