Boyfriend for the Summer

It’s bad form to be too interested in your best friend’s ex. Especially when you’ve been in love with him for a long damn time. Not a good idea to let them know that you’ll take any scrap of news about them just to know if they’re okay.

What is he doing in the back woods of Georgia?

He sees me, and when our eyes meet my stomach drops like I’m on a rollercoaster. The pull of attraction that I feel threatens to drown me. Even smeared with grease he looks like a supermodel. It’s not fair that he’s that hot while dirty. I’d never be able to pull it off—and the odds are that I’ll be dirty plenty this summer.

This is the first I’ve seen him in more than a year. Not even a picture of him until now. Leena declared that Eric had to be wiped from everyone’s social media when they broke up. And it wasn’t worth the argument. But I’m drinking in the sight of him right now like he’s the only water left in a desert.

And he looks just as shocked as I do. Clearly he wasn’t expecting me to be here. I wasn’t really meant to be, so that makes sense.

Eric takes a half-step forward, the way he’s looking at me—awe and hunger mixed with desire—brings back memories that I’ve had to actively bury. He looks like he’s about to come over to say hello, and that can’t happen. I have no idea what to say to him. What can I possibly say while we’re here? What’s a good opening line for that?

Fancy seeing you here, in the place where we took all each other’s firsts.

“Okay girls,” I say. “Let’s get back to the cabin. Plenty of unpacking still to do.”

They don’t argue, and I move quickly to lead them away from the parking lot and back into camp. There’s a brief shadow of disappointment on Eric’s face, and it’s like a punch in the gut. But I need more time to figure out what the hell I’m going to say to him. And frankly, if we’re going to have any kind of reunion at all, I don’t want it to have an audience.

“Who was that?” One of the girls—Margot I think—asks.

Emily laughs. “I have no idea but he’s fucking hot.”

I clear my throat. “I’m assuming he’s another counselor.” It’s plain to anyone with eyes that Eric is hot. Smoking hot. Center of the sun fucking hot. But I don’t want them getting any ideas either. The last thing I need—the last thing Eric needs—is to have teenage girls hitting on him all summer. It will still probably happen, but at least I can make it clear that he’s off limits from the beginning.

Sure enough I see a pout form on Margot’s face. But I ignore it. There’s only one real thought running through my mind. Why is he here? Why is he here? Why is he here?

What kind of curveball is the universe trying to throw at me? If Leena knew that he was here, and I was here, she’d throw a fit. My stomach flips, and I already know that I’m not going to tell her. There’s a strange sort of relief in that.

I’ve wanted to see Eric forever, and this is one of the only ways it could have happened that makes sure there’s no interference. I just need to make sure that he’s okay. That he’s happy. At least that’s what I’m currently telling myself. Closure. That’s what I need. Long overdue closure. Sure.

The devil himself wouldn’t believe that lie.

We all file into the cabin, and I step into my private room and shut the door, leaning my forehead on the cool wood of the door. In the sudden silence I can hear the way my heart is pounding.

This is the last thing that I expected.

Even here in this cabin the memories are pressing in, and I don’t have a choice but to let them flood my mind. They’re so visceral it feels like everything happened yesterday even thought it was six years ago. Every scent and breath feels like I’m breathing it now. I’ve fought this for so long, it feels good to remember.

3

Persephone

Six Years Ago

I drop my backpack on the bunk harder than I meant to, jangling everything that is inside. But it does the trick of taking the edge off the frustration I’m feeling of being here yet again.

Red Rock Summer Camp is cool. Or was cool. But now that I’m a junior, everything seems small. Especially in comparison to Leena’s vacation. She’s going to be sending me pictures from Paris with the Eiffel Tower and sneaking sips of wine at vineyards, and I’m going to be sweating in the Georgia heat.

And the worst part is that Leena could care less about spending time in another country. Her parents take her on some exotic vacation every year. And I’ve barely left the state. All I want is to travel and write about it. I want to be able to paint pictures of gorgeous Italian frescoes and the way the sunset whines through a glass of white wine on a stranger’s table.