“Yeah.”
I let my eyes fall back down to find Hannah already looking at me. Her hand cupped my face, and her thumb began tracing my cheekbone, down the side of my nose, to my lips. Her fingertip was soft, her hand was warm, and the gentleness in her eyes slowed my heartbeat.
She shifted closer to me, and suddenly my entire world consisted only of her: the rosy hue of her skin, the sharp angles of her nose, the forgiving curve of her cheek, the hazel and gray flecks in her eyes. I could see where her baby hair started crawling out of her forehead, the way the soft tendrils lay against the side of her face like… like a kiss.
I wanted to kiss her.
I had never kissed anyone before. And I had never thought about kissing a girl. Not until that moment. But it made sense. All of it—the past week, the nights on the dock—every day became a waiting game for when it would be time to meet Hannah at my window. I’d count the seconds after all our campers were asleep so that I could climb out and finally feel like myself.
I had a crush, and this realization sent a ripple of excitement across every inch of my being—to the top of my head, down to my toes, and out to my fingertips. I felt electrified by it. Maybe Hannah did too, because that’s when she leaned in.
I closed my eyes.
I remember the softness of her lips. I remember wondering and worrying for a millisecond if mine were chapped. But then I wasn’t thinking at all. I remember her hand leaving my face and her fingers grazing my neck. I remember feeling her hair tickling my forehead, her nose poking into my cheek. I remember how whole I felt being close to her, and how I wanted to be closer still.
I remember the smell of rain and hemlock drifting in through the open windows, mixing with her mango shampoo. The comforter was soft, and the floor of the car was hard beneath it. Her hoodie was worn and warm and it felt like Hannah had wrapped herself around me—and I wanted her to actually be around me. I remember how that need to be closer to her nearly consumed me, before we pulled apart for air.
Her smile.
My heart racing.
My first kiss.
My mind rushed to collect all the details so that later, when I finally did close my eyes, I could come back here. So that I could always come back here.
There was just one more detail I needed. “What’s the song playing right now?”
Chapter OneNOW
“Cold Love” by Rainbow Kitten Surprise trickles from Kristen’s portable speaker. The whisper vocals and the soft thump of the bass ooze out, gripping my heart and making me pause mid-lick of my triple-scoop salted caramel cone. This song. The hairs on my arms stand up even though I’m baking in the eighty-degree sunshine. With the heat consuming me on the outside, my mind takes me back to that cool summer night six weeks ago when my whole life was turned upside down and I was too infatuated to notice.
I shift back to reality. The one where Hannah and I aren’t speaking anymore.
After the way things ended at camp, I need space, to put some distance between me and that whirlwind feeling that clouds my judgment whenever I’m around Hannah.
I got back from camp a few hours ago, and as promised, my best friend was leaning against her car, parked at the curb in front of my house, ready to whisk me away for a “tea” and ice cream sesh.
“How’s your cone?” Kristen asks, holding hers out to me.
I grab her coffee and cream swirl in my free hand while shegathers her blond mane into a messy bun on top of her head. I catch a glimpse of the amateur sun stick and poke tattoo dotting the inside of her wrist, something new from our summer apart.
“It’s good, refreshing,” I tell her, taking another lick.
She reclaims her cone and we both take a second to lick and, in her unfathomable case, chew our ice cream. I take in her yin-yang ring. It matches the one that showed up on my cabin doorstep at Camp Refuge in July with nothing but a return address to let me know it was from my best friend. The ring, the tattoos on her wrist and tucked behind her ear, are all new.
“So, how was Bible boot camp?” Kristen asks, stretching her legs out across the bench on her side of the table.
“It wasn’t abootcamp. It was actually pretty nice,” I say, and at least—to some degree—that’s true. This summer was a lot of things, “nice” being one of many conflicting descriptions.
“Details,” she demands.
“I was in one of the cabins that faced the lake, so that was cool. The other counselors were friendly, and the services weren’t overbearing.”
“You mean you didn’t spend every spare second with your head bowed in prayer?”
Even though she’s teasing, I know there’s a part of Kristen that still resents me for leaving her this summer. This was our first time being apart since becoming friends in kindergarten. Considering the mess I got myself into without her, I might have to rethink going away for college…
Camp Refuge was my parents’ idea. At first, I wasn’t entirelysure why they thought it made sense for me to be a counselor the summer before my senior year of high school, especially since I never attended when I was younger. But then they reminded me that I hadn’t been outside northeast Ohio. Even though I wasn’t going to a sandy beach in Florida or California, Camp Refuge wassomething. It’s also run by our church, which was the main selling point for my dad.