One S'more Summer Read online

  “Give me a few more minutes to finish getting settled, and then I’ll come over to see what I can do.”

  She had stopped listening and picked up the picture frame off my nightstand. “Who are they?” she asked.

  “I’m the one on the left, and the girl next to me is my friend, Alicia,” I answered.

  “No way that’s you,” she said.

  “I swear, that’s me when I was about your age.”

  “But you were …” Her voice trailed off.

  I knew the word she was too polite to blurt out, so I said it for her. “Fat.”

  “Yeah, you were fat,” she mumbled. Her eyes were wide open, and she was still staring at the picture. “Are you still friends with that other girl? She was so pretty. Is she still really pretty?”

  “She is.”

  I took the picture back from Madison and looked at it. Instantly, I thought of how Alicia’d look with her hair elegantly slicked back into her wedding veil in a few weeks. More tears flooded my eyes as I imagined her standing there, alone, in her white dress, her parents delicately lifting up the veil and kissing their daughter on the cheek before escorting her down the aisle to meet Joshua. I wouldn’t be there to see it.

  I was going to avoid being there. What kind of person did that?

  “So what about all of my stuff?” Madison whined, snapping me back to reality.

  Jordana, seeing the tears rolling down my cheeks, came to my rescue.

  “You’re Maddy, right?” she asked, climbing over her bed to sit next to me on mine.

  “Yeah?” Madison replied.

  “Whatever you don’t plan on wearing in the next couple of weeks, keep packed in your trunk, okay? Then, in a few weeks, rotate.”

  “I’ll try it,” Madison replied reluctantly.

  Jordana put her arm around my shoulder. “Homesick already?”

  “Maybe,” I replied.

  “Pull it together. You’re our fearless leader,” she teased, trying to get me to smile.

  I went into the bathroom and washed my face. When I came out, Jordana had all the girls sitting in a circle on the floor of the bunk so they could introduce themselves to one another. After I told them a bit about myself, I went outside to the horseshoe for roll call.

  Within seconds of yelling “Roll call,” almost fifty girls came streaming out from the five Cedar bunks, all of them raring to go. The counselors lined them up by bunk and then counted off. When each counselor nodded to me that they had the appropriate number of campers, I took my cue to speak. This was my make-it-or-break-it moment. In the next few seconds, they would either see me as their friend, big sister, and mentor, or the person who stood in the way of them having a good time this summer. If it was the latter, their sole mission would be to get me to resign before the summer had even begun. Unfortunately, I knew this from personal experience.

  “Before we head off to dinner, I just wanted to take a minute to say a few things. First off, if anyone has any problems or concerns, I want you to first talk to your counselor, but if you feel that whatever it is isn’t being addressed, my door is always open. Second, we’re all here for the same reason—to have a good time and take advantage of everything that camp is about. We’re here to make friends and memories, so let’s try to work together and follow the rules, to ensure we have a great summer.”

  I was losing them. I sounded like every other patronizing adult I used to hate at their age. I quickly changed my approach. “A little birdie told that the Cedar girls haven’t won the Gordy Award in over five years. Well, I don’t know about you, but I think that it’s our turn.”

  A few of them perked up. The Gordy Award, aptly named for Gordon Birnbaum, the camp’s director for the last thirty-plus years, was given to the group that showed the most involvement and spirit during the summer. The winning group got to choose between a trip to Boston, Washington DC, or New York City and the competition usually got pretty heated. Birch had taken it the last few summers, and from what I’d heard on the bus, were intent on winning again this year. I wasn’t about to let that happen.

  My years of working in the corporate world had taught me that nothing bonds a group together faster than having a common goal, and even more than that, a common enemy. I’d become close with two colleagues when management hired a manipulative, tyrant-esque VP for our division whom we all hated. Our common disdain for him was the glue that forged our friendship, and getting him fired had sealed it.

  If I could divert Cedar’s attention to Perry and his boys, pitting them as the enemy, I would, if even just by default, become their friend. It was a desperate tactic, but these girls were going to look for every possible way to get me to resign, just as I’d done to all of my head counselors when I was a camper.

  At their age, Alicia and I had sneaked into our head counselor Mindy’s bunk while she was sleeping, covering her in shaving cream, toothpaste, and whatever else we could find, just like the scene from the movie The Parent Trap. We hoped when she woke up, she’d be too preoccupied with the mess to notice that we’d sneaked over to the boys’ side of camp.

  We’d continued our barrage of practical jokes and torments through the first half of the summer until Mindy was so fed up she quit. In hindsight, I realized how awful and immature we’d acted just to have a few moments alone with the boys, but I was not about to let what happened to her happen to me. “I want to remind you ladies that if we win, we get a three-day trip to DC, Boston, or New York, not to mention bragging rights for the rest of the summer,” I added. A few of the girls whispered to one another and I could tell I’d stirred up some excitement.

  “So, I ask you, are we gonna win the Gordy this year?” I shouted in their direction. I heard a few girls grumble the word ‘yes.’ I raised my voice. “I can’t hear you. I said, ‘Are we gone win the Gordy this year?’”

  A few more yelled out the word ‘yes.’ Jordana made eye contact with me and then nudged some of the quieter girls to speak up.

  “Are we gonna kick the Birch boys’ asses and take the Gordy?” I screamed out like a maniac.

  They yelled the word “yes” at the tops of their lungs.

  “Good. So now I want you all to repeat after me: We are Cedar, we couldn’t be prouder, and if you can’t hear us, we’ll shout a little louder. We are Cedar, we couldn’t be prouder, and if you can’t hear us, we’ll shout a little louder.”

  By the third verse, all the girls had joined in, and I started our march toward the dining hall. When the counselors saw my signal, they prompted the girls to follow. We headed to the Great Lawn, screaming the chant, and continued cheering all the way into the dining hall. When we walked in, we had the attention of the entire room. Perry’s eyes were fixed on me. He looked upset we’d already gotten the upper hand and made a beeline in my direction.

  “Throwing your hat in the ring for the Gordy?”

  The girls were still screaming the cheer behind me.

  “Maybe?” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

  “You know Birch has won it for the last three summers,” he said very matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere,” I replied.

  “Well, it’ll be nice to have a worthy adversary for a change.”

  “I’m guessing you’re the one who led them to victory last year?”

  “Last year and the two years before,” he answered. “I’m planning on continuing our streak this summer.”

  “Whatever,” I said, feeling a bit argumentative. “There’s a new sheriff in town.”

  “Rubbish,” he answered. “Or, as you American girls say, whatever.”

  “We don’t say that. I mean, I just said whatever, but it’s not a fair generalization.”

  “Whatever,” he teased.

  “Stop saying that. If you think Americans are such rubbish, why are you here?”

  “I’m working on my doctorate, so I have my summers off. Although I have to put in some time on my thesis.”

  Attractive or no
t, he was a little too self-satisfied. Before I could respond, Gordy made his way up to the microphone stand in the center of the room. I didn’t know if it was the Chinooka air or water that preserved him, but he hadn’t aged one bit. The entire room quieted, and he started to sing the Camp Chinooka alma mater into the microphone. Within seconds the rest of the room joined in. It was amazing how I remembered every word and every inflection, able to sing it effortlessly. When the song was over, Gordy welcomed us all to the centennial summer and invited everyone to enjoy the meal.

  The first dinner at Chinooka was always a banquet, but after that, we’d be served cafeteria style for the rest of the summer. The food was just as inedible as I remembered. I picked at some roasted chicken and some lumpy, gray mashed potatoes before pushing the whole plate aside. After all the tables had been served, Gordy made his way back up to the podium to make other announcements. He talked about the new amenities that had been added over the winter, including the new dock and the inline skating rink. He let everyone know that the camp production would be Fiddler on the Roof, and because it was the camp’s one-hundredth year, we’d be putting on a special performance of it in the newly built outdoor Lakeside Amphitheater. Then, he introduced some key staff and some of the other head counselors from the younger groups, Maple, Pine, Oak, and Elm.

  When he got to Perry, I noticed all of the girls in my group whispering to each other. He was by far the best-looking staff member. When Gordy introduced me, I stood up and did a quick wave and the girls in my group cheered. Had I won them over with my spirit and promises of a Gordy victory? Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

  Who was I kidding? This whole thing was crazy. Who walked out of their life and went to work at their childhood sleepaway camp at twenty-seven years old? As Gordy finished introducing the last members of the waterfront staff, that answer became painfully clear—only someone with nothing left to lose.

  Chapter Two

  After leaving Diane von Furstenberg’s corporate office, I decided to meet Alicia to celebrate her engagement to Joshua, as planned. I arrived at the bar, and in typical fashion, Alicia wasn’t there yet. One of the few women hired into her class of twenty at New York’s top investment bank, it was clear she felt the pressure of the distinction. During her first year working, she’d kept crazy hours, and even when I was her roommate, I was lucky to see her once a week. In the last few years, her hours had improved somewhat, but she was still notoriously late for almost everything.

  You’d never know by looking at her that she routinely worked eighteen-hour days. Alicia was always polished and perfectly put together. She claimed that because of her long hours, she’d been forced to turn one of her desk drawers into a makeshift bathroom cabinet and therefore had the means to do constant touch-ups. With or without the makeup, she was still just as stunning as when we were young.

  Alone at the bar, I ordered myself a much-needed glass of white wine and turned to the commotion at the door. It was Joshua and some of his Wall Street buddies. He slipped some money into the bouncer’s hand, and moments later, a scantily clad girl came out and escorted him and his entourage inside.

  “Seems like a popular guy,” the bartender said, commenting on all the drinks that Joshua was ordering for the crowd of people trying to sit at his table. I turned back around and tried to blend in, hoping he wouldn’t see me. I thought I’d succeeded until I felt a tap on the back of my shoulder.

  “Hey, stranger,” Joshua said with a sweet smile.

  He looked flawless in his made-to-measure Paul Stuart suit and Turnbull & Asser shirt. Twice a year he had them custom tailored to his body, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the other women in the bar.

  “I guess Alicia isn’t here yet?” I said, looking past him to the entranceway, hoping she would magically appear.

  “I don’t know why I bother meeting her at these things when I spend most of them waiting for her,” he said, pushing a piece of hair out of my eyes.

  My hands started trembling so badly I had to put the wineglass down on the bar so he wouldn’t notice. Why did he always have this effect on me?

  “I’m sure she’ll be here soon. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll be fine hanging with your buddies. Excuse me,” I said, trying to push past him and into the mob of people fighting their way inside. I’d told myself I’d give Alicia another few minutes to show up before I went home. Joshua followed closely behind me. He put his hands on my shoulders, and I leaned back into him. He had the slightest hint of cologne on his shirt. I breathed it in, remembering all the mornings I’d watched him dab it on while getting ready for work.

  “Are you going to hate me forever?” he whispered into my ear.

  I turned around to face him, and he lifted my chin so that I was looking straight into his big beautiful eyes. “As if I could ever hate you,” I answered.

  “You’re right, we’ve been friends far too long for that.”

  “Friends?”

  “Aren’t we? Haven’t we always been?”

  I searched his eyes for any suggestion of insincerity but couldn’t find a trace. I bit my lower lip and looked up again. “Of course. Of course, we are.”

  He took my hands in his. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Joshua, what do you want from me?”

  He stepped toward me but turned when he heard his name being called from a table in the corner.

  “It’s okay. Go to them. Can you tell Alicia I wasn’t feeling well and I’ll call her later?”

  “Gigi…”

  “Congratulations. I really am so happy for you both,” I said, gently moving past him and disappearing into the crowd.

  When I got home I had two messages on my phone. One was from my mother, asking if we were still meeting in the morning to pick out an engagement gift for Alicia. The second was from Alicia, apologizing for being late to the party and letting me know she was leaving for a business trip to Singapore in the morning but would phone when she returned next week.

  I erased both messages and pulled a carton of coffee ice cream from my freezer before collapsing onto the couch. I wrapped an afghan around myself and rummaged through my movie collection, an assortment of tapes and DVDs ranging from Pretty Woman to the entire BBC Pride and Prejudice miniseries. Consisting of six separate VHS tapes, the miniseries was the main reason I still held onto my ancient VCR. Colin Firth’s Mr. Darcy was one of the few men us women could always forgive. I was digging through the drawers of my entertainment unit looking for all six tapes when I spotted my yearbook videos from my summers at Camp Chinooka.

  There they were. My seven years of summer camp, captured on video. I carefully took the first video out of its box, blew off the accumulated dust from the top, and popped it into my VCR. As the crude graphics scrolled across the screen and some unrecognizable rock song played in the background of the video, I was transported back to Camp Chinooka and Milbank, Pennsylvania. I sat on the edge of my couch, mesmerized, as the camera cut to different footage of the camp. The lake where I’d gotten my Red Cross certification in sailing, the softball field where I hit my first home run, the theater where I’d been in at least four productions of Fiddler on the Roof, and the gazebo where I’d received my first ever kiss from Aaron Harris and Alicia had received hers from Joshua.

  Just as I thought about him, the camera panned to his face. There he was, nine years old and just as charismatic. He spoke straight into the camera and told anyone watching that he was Joshua Baume, the best soccer player at Camp Chinooka.

  A flood of memories came rushing back as the camera focused in on different campers around the grounds. Nine-year-old Aaron playing basketball, and my very first counselor, Deborah, waving. Alicia and I walking hand in hand across the Great Lawn toward the dining hall. I looked like a disaster next to her. Chubby, with a mess of brownish-black uncontrollably curly hair. My polo shirt was untucked with a very visible stain on it.

  Even though I looked very different now, it was hard not to t
hink of myself as the girl in the video. Clothes were probably the biggest part of my transformation. At around twelve years old, I’d realized that the cute and trendy clothing Alicia and the other girls my age wore didn’t come in my size, so I began to improvise. I created my own versions of the outfits they wore, first by mixing in aspects that flattered my figure. When that no longer satisfied me, I’d learned to sew. The concept of making my own clothing had absolutely horrified my mother, who viewed it as a complete act of rebellion. She referred to it as something only hippies living out of vans did. She constantly pleaded with me to go to a “normal” department store. I knew there was no point. The clothes in the stores were never the right size or cut. My own designs always fit.

  Even when I lost the weight, I continued to design and sew most of my own clothing. In college, the other coeds had realized my talent, and I ran a small business out of my dorm room. The only person who never asked me to make her anything was Alicia, who really didn’t care much for fashion. For someone who cared so little, she was an icon to most of the girls I grew up with. She would wear a plain white T-shirt and jeans to school, and the next day it would be the uniform.

  Even in the video, she looked effortlessly cool in a pair of cut-off jean shorts, a light pink polo shirt, and Birkenstock sandals. I was in a similar, albeit much larger, version of the very same outfit.

  I spent the rest of the night captivated by the videos. I watched all of them back to back until my eyes were completely glazed over. I was mesmerized, and probably for the worst possible reason. The videos reminded me of what it was like when all I had was a massive crush on Joshua. I hadn’t acted on it and hadn’t betrayed my very best friend.

  At that moment, I would’ve given just about anything to be transported back to Camp Chinooka and be given a clean slate. I fell asleep with the videos playing in the background and forgot to set my alarm for brunch the next day with my mother.

  She was already seated when I walked into the restaurant. Her dark hair, the same shade as mine, was pulled tightly into a neat chignon. Her cherry red lipstick, the Chanel color she’d been wearing for years, was neatly applied. She left lipstick stains on almost everything whenever she wore it. You always knew where my mother had been.