“Yes, Patricia was telling us how well Camp Refuge went this summer. She said it was one of the best years yet,” Mom explains, her pride practically flowing out of her like a windstorm.
The energy is touching me, but it feels undeserved. Camp Refuge did go well, in terms of the Bible studies, games, guided spiritual meditations for the older campers, and campground explorations for the younger kids. It was the other…thingsthat didn’t go well. I’m pretty sure that my after-hours “activities” are what defined me this summer.
“I saw how great you were with the kids, how much they admired you and how much they learned from you. We need more of that in the classroomhere,” Mrs. Patricia explains. She leans forward, smiling so wide I fear her face might break. “There’s a wonderful spirit at the camp, and each year more kids walk away having gainedsomething. But this year, it felt different.”
Of course it felt different. Two of your counselors were outed!
“This would be a great opportunity,” Dad says, you know, just in case I wasn’t already drawing that conclusion.
“You would be an asset to the Sunday school team,” Mrs. Patricia adds.
She falls silent, the pitch over. Suddenly, all eyes are on me.
There’s no way I’m just going to show upeverySunday morning and wenevertalk aboutit. And it’s my senior year! I’m in almost all AP classes and I am finally president of the festival committee. Therefore, on top of my unprecedented homework load, I’m also going to have a mountain of festival planning to do! So why would I, in my right mind, add anythingelse?
But if I say no,that’ll be suspicious. I wasn’t super excited about Camp Refuge, but when my parents “suggest” I do something, I just know the expectation is that I’m going to say yes. That’s how I ended up in this mess to begin with, and if I start changing my ways now, that’ll be a red flag. Won’t it?
“And it’s not a huge commitment,” Mrs. Patricia assures me, since I’m taking forever to speak.
“What do you mean?”
“It would just be for the sunrise service.”
You mean the ass crack of dawn?
“Oh,” I say. “That’s not too bad.”
Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious.
“I can do it,” I say, hoping that at least some of my tension will now leave me. It feels like one problem—the fear that I was walking in to find out that everything I did to keep the Incident a secret was in vain—has just given way to a new one.
“Awesome,” Mom says, patting my arm. “We are so proud of you, and this is going to look great on your college applications.”
Mrs. Patricia starts talking about how she already has my contact information from the camp directory and that she willemail me some lesson plans so I can start to prepare. The start of fall classes is in two weeks.
As she’s talking, my mind fades in and out of the conversation. I don’t have a car, which means Dad is going to have to drive me to Sunday school. This will create a weekly opportunity for Mrs. Patricia to out me to him if she suddenly decides to do so.
When everyone stands up to say goodbye, and my parents walk Mrs. Patricia to the door, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve only made things worse.
“Man, look at that,” Dad says as he and Mom return to the kitchen. “One door closes and He just opens another.”
Dad takes the lid off his pan and the aroma of seasoned drumsticks wafts my way. Usually, I would hover around him and try to steal tastes of the sides while watching the magic happen with the meat. But I’ve lost my appetite.
I sigh, not having to pretend that I’m tired, because this day has been draining.
“I think I’m going to go wash up and unpack a little,” I say, ready to be alone.
“Okay, we’ll call up when dinner is ready.” Mom leans over, giving me a peck on the cheek on my way out.
With my door closed, I flop onto my bed and sink into my mattress, my fluffy comforter soft against my face as I try to bury myself. I’ve missed this: a bed that gives instead of poking into me.
I still can’t believe that I woke up this morning with the sun, sitting on the porch of a cabin in front of a scenic lake. Camp Refuge was an escape—until it became a place I needed to getaway from. Nevertheless, it was beautiful and far away, and for a while, nothing felt real. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to deny the truth behind what Hannah and I were.
In the spirit of putting this summer behind me, I pull out my phone and open my messages. The last time I texted Jameson was before the Incident. He was up late one night after the other counselors went swimming and asked where I was. I lied and told him I was in bed. I was actually lying awake next to Hannah in the back of her Subaru.
I’m torn. Wishing I was back at the lake right now but also excited for the start of senior year tmrw. Hbu?
I hit send. I need to focus on getting through senior year, decide what colleges I’m going to apply to, and make this fall’s Squash the Pumpkin Festival a hit. I also want to find a way to apologize to Jameson, since I did kind of put him on the back burner this summer.