PrologueTHEN
I peered down at my bare feet dangling off the dock. The sky was clear. Starlight danced on the surface of the lake, and I was half tempted to jump in, to swim in a sea of stars.Magicalwas the word that came to mind whenever I tried to understand the changes I had started to feel in myself. I didn’tsneak out. I didn’t break rules. And if I’d ever done anything reckless, it was with the best friend I’d had since I was five—not with someone I barely knew.
But nights like this, us spending stolen time together, meant something to me. I just didn’t knowwhatyet.
“Well, this is getting old. Don’t you think?” Hannah’s question snapped me out of my thoughts.
“Oh,” I said. Then, in an attempt to recover and hide how disappointed I was, I mustered up yet another underwhelming response. “Yeah… sorry.”
“?‘Sorry’? Why are you apologizing? Thislakeis the problem,” Hannah said, kicking up a few drops with the tip of her big toe.
“Oh.”
Yep, that was me. Ever the stimulating conversationalist.
“I mean, this last week has been great,” she said, turning away from the lake to look at me. Her eyes stayed on mine, then dipped down and lingered long enough for me to know she was staring—at my lips, my neck? I wasn’t sure. It made something in my chest wake up. Almost as fast as she looked me over, her gaze returned to the water and she continued, “I think we can do better. I mean, we’re in the middle of nowhere for fuck—I mean, Christ’s—shit.”
We both laughed. I guess maybe it is complicated to figure out who or what’s sake it is when you’re up in the middle of nowhere at a Christian summer camp, especially when you’re not even a Christian.
“What I’m trying to say is that there’s way more to this place than this lake and a couple of wooden shacks.” She gestured to the bunks behind us, where all the other counselors and campers were asleep.
By then, sneaking out had become a habit for us. And Hannah was right—the lake was getting old.
“What do you suggest?” I asked.
At the time, I was still so unaware of myself, of what my dread of her saying she was tired and wanted to go back to bed really meant. I worried that our adventure was already over, that the taste of somethingelse, of something better than what I was used to, had already run out, the flavor gone and chewed up too fast.
“Come on,” she said, standing up.
I followed quickly, dusting off the back of my pajama shorts and slipping into my flip-flops. We padded up the woodenplanks, having learned early on which creaky ones to avoid in the otherwise silent night. Hannah started jogging, so I did too, and I followed her to the edge of camp, where the administration building sat behind the only paved parking lot on the grounds. There, among a couple other counselors’ and a few staff members’ cars, was Hannah’s Subaru.
I don’t know if she knew where she was going when she fished her key out of the pocket of her jacket and twisted it into the ignition. We gently peeled out of the parking lot, and then Hannah laid into the gas once we reached the main road. We raced into the night, the Camp Refuge road sign disappearing behind us. I wasn’t thinking about how it might look if someone woke up to discover that we weren’t in our bunks, that both of us were missing and off the grounds entirely—breaking the first and most absolute rule. I didn’t care.
Nothing mattered beyond the way Hannah made me feel, just by being near her, being seen by her.
“What are you doing?” she asked when I reached up and pressed a button over our heads.
Slowly, her sunroof slid open, giving way to the now familiar blanket of stars poking through the clearing in the trees. We snaked our way farther up the mountain, chasing the sky.
I unbuckled my seat belt and stood up. I almost hesitated, but the cool air rushed through the opening and tugged me harder. Notes of hemlock and sweet maple flooded my nose, waking me up and tickling my brain. Gripping the edge of her roof, I faced the night: air caressing my skin, wind in my thick, curlyhair, blood rushing underneath my goose bumps. Music came on, the first song on the soundtrack of our summer. The volume boomed, disrupting the night with Glass Animals’ “Youth.” It was perfect.
I was free. For the first time, I was free.
When I sat back down, I was breathless. Hannah laughed, buzzing from my energy. I thumbed my way through her Spotify playlist, picking songs that I did and did not know, twisting the volume dial down when she turned onto an unmarked road. Neither of us had pulled up a GPS. She seemed as familiar with these woods as she was with her own backyard.
In the name of spontaneity, we followed the road until we found ourselves in a tree-lined clearing. Hannah cut the engine but left the car on so that the music could play quietly.
“Come on,” she said, her door already open.
I followed her around to the back of the car. She popped the trunk and climbed in, pulling a lever to collapse her back row of seats.
“Here.” She handed me a hoodie from the top of a pile she had started pulling apart.
I put it on, feeling lucky that she had it. When the collar cleared my head and I reached up to push my hair out of my face, I found her spreading out a comforter and a couple of pillows. I crawled into the trunk and lay down on my side, my body mirroring hers.
Her hazel eyes glistened in the moonlight spilling in from the roof. Her gaze shifted upward and so did mine. Humid airlicked the soles of my feet as they hung out the back of her trunk. I stared at the stars, the trees lit by the moon, hoping this moment would never end. The whole world felt so far away.
“This is amazing,” I whispered.