“Who?”
“Let’s not get into that just yet,” she says, smiling uncontrollably. As her best friend, I know when she’s hiding something.
“Okay, intrigue,” I say, leaning in a little.
“Clarity, you don’t want to know,” she tells me, her tone more insistent.
“I definitely want to know who replaced me this summer,” I counter.
“You’re going to judge.”
“I won’t, okay? I promise.”
“Ugh, you’re definitely going to judge,” she grumbles, a smile sneaking on to her face.
“I amnot,” I say, trying to reassure her while also racking my brain for potential guys at our school who a) she would want to hang out with and b) I would judge. The anticipation only makes me more curious.
Kristen covers her face with her hands, shaking her head.
“How about this,” she says, finally. “You’ll meet him tomorrow at school, but only if you genuinely promisenotto judge?”
“Are you in a relationship with this young man?” I ask, trying to mimic her mom’s Southern accent.
Kristen blushes, only confirming the suspicion. But she still reveals nothing. She holds out her pinky, and though I still have my doubts, I hook my pinky around hers and swear to keep an open mind.
“So, I guess that means I’m in the Single Seniors Club, and you’reotherwise engaged,” I add.
“I was really hoping you would finally hit it off with Jameson or meet someone at camp who happened to go to our school or a school close by. That way we could do the whole double date thing. Maybe drag our boyfriends to our last first Friday night football game,” Kristen says, pouting a little.
Even if Hannah and I were moving forward with a secret relationship like we talked about, that would never have room for stuff like double dates, and definitely not at school.
I let myself picture what it might be like, Kristen and her boyfriend, Hannah and me, on a double date. Apple picking in Hudson or walking the corn maze at Szalay’s farm. It’s a nice idea… one that would be way less anxiety inducing if Hannah were a guy and there was no threat of anyone or everyone looking at me differently for being myself.
“Hey,” I say, getting Kristen to look at me. “Even though we usually do everything together, this doesn’t have to be one of those things. I’m happy for you andhe who shall not be named, and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t shine because of me.”
“Ugh, Clarity! I don’t deserve you.” Kristen smiles and reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “I really hope you guys get along.”
“Me too,” I say.
I’m optimistic. Even though everything turned upside down at Camp Refuge, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure nothing changes here at home, especially not between Kristen and me.
Chapter Two
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
“Whose car is that?” Kristen asks as she pulls into the end of my driveway. A hauntingly familiar yellow Fiat is parked behind my parents’ cars.
“Probably one of my parents’ friends,” I lie, not even having to think about it. There’s no way to twist or omit the truth about this car and everything that its presence here could mean. I snatch my purse and make sure I have my phone. “Thanks for the ride; I’m glad we got to catch up.”
I hop out of the front seat, not wanting to test my luck. I’ve never lied to Kristen before, nor kept secrets. But in this moment, I feel the tiny remnants of my composure slipping away.
Kristen waves before backing out onto the street. It isn’t until she drives off that I take a breath.
Mrs. Patricia, proprietor of Hauntingly Familiar Fiat, happens to be the director of Camp Refugeanda member of our church. Until a few weeks ago, she was this figurehead who spent most of the day in the administrative office in the building at thecamp’s entrance. After Hannah and I were found together, Mrs. Patricia became someone I feared even more than God.
Our church is full of old people who treat you like you’re their own kid. They yell at you when they catch you doing something wrong, grab you by your arm, and drag you over to your parents’ pew themselves, where they whisper-scream your crimes, even during the sermon. And the worst part is that there is no age when you outgrow this… well, maybe once you have children of your own or you’re so old that your parents are dead.
Either way, there was a precedent set by my church that Mrs. Patricia would call up my parents and tell them what I’d done, or was, or—whatever. That she’d say Isinnedand sensationalize what happened, which was just a kiss for Christ’s sake. Somehow, the counselors who found us knew that our kiss was not the first, and it wasn’t a fluke. Or maybe they assumed and started spreading rumors that were on the nose. I mean, itwouldbe my luck that the time someone spreads church gossip aboutmeit’s actually true.