Boyfriend for the Summer

I can’t stop seeing him sprawled on the beach, wet and sparkling. And I can’t stop thinking about what he asked me. Why I’m being so cold to him? The answer is complicated and makes me want to run and hide so I don’t have to see his stupid gorgeous face. Or his body in his still-drying clothes.

Eric’s body was perfect when we spent the summer together, and it’s only gotten better. He’s grown into his height and his weight, and the damp t-shirt he has on does nothing to hide it.

I try to ignore him and focus on my girls. Archery is something that I’ve always loved, and I kept doing it long after camp. Now I don’t do it as much as I would like, but I try to get to the range at least once a month so I can keep the skill sharp. If there’s ever a zombie apocalypse, I’ll get to be the badass chick with a bow. And people will want me because I’ll have a valuable fighting skill. Win-win.

Margot pulls back and releases a perfect shot that hits within the bulls-eye ring. She’s got a natural eye for it and is sinking shot after shot without much practice. “Michael,” she calls over at the boys. “That’s three bull’s eyes in a row.”

“Don’t worry,” he calls back after landing a shot that barely snags the edge of the target. “I’m just biding my time until I kick your ass.”

“Or I could just kick your ass now,” she says, laughing.

Lord, these girls are going to kill me. But I know that I was like that at that age, and so was Leena. Constantly wanting to one-up the boys in hopes that they would notice us. But that summer…

I didn’t need any boys to notice me. Eric already had, and he was all I needed. Glancing over at me, he’s already staring at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Fine. We can do this. I know what it’s like to be them, and I’ll throw them a bone. “What do you think, Eric. A little friendly competition between your group and mine?”

His lips curl into a smile. “What’s the prize?”

“Bragging rights,” I say. “And our next shift in the kitchen.” There’s a rotating list of chores that all the campers do. They’re pretty basic as the camp has a full-time staff. But still, everyone tries to get out of their shift if they possibly can, so it’s a pretty good motivator.

“What do you say, guys?”

There are some enthusiastic yeses from that group, along with more than a few smug looks. “Girls?”

“Hell, yes,” Margot says, and almost everyone agrees.

“How do we do it?”

Eric smirks. “Everyone line up. Face off. Everyone gets a single shot. Closest to bullseye gets the point for the team.” Then he focuses his eyes on me. “Persephone and I will go last.”

There’s lots of cheers at that, and everyone is already lining up to start, and Michael and Margot are at the front of the line. Surprise surprise.

“Take your time,” I whisper to her. “Land the shot as if you’re completely alone.” She nods and grabs an arrow.

Across the lane Eric is giving his own advice. I wonder what it is.

Margot doesn’t even look at her opponent. She takes a deep breath and focuses only on the target. There’s calls of encouragement and discouragement from both sides, but she ignores them all. She takes her time just like I told her to, and when she releases the arrow it flies straight and buries itself almost in the exact center of the bull’s eye. There’s a collective ‘oooooh,’ from both teams, and poor Michael goes a little pale.

But he draws his own arrow and focuses down the lane. It’s not a bad shot. Much better than the one that he bragged about taking his time with, and still within bullseye range, but not as close as Margot’s.

He glares at her, and she smirks, but there’s not any animosity there. We’re going to have to keep an eye on the two of them.

But that’s the way it goes. There are excellent shots on both sides, and the score fluctuates back and forth, the number of people until I have to shoot dwindling quickly. The boys are up by two, and then by one, and the last of the campers are up. Emily is the one who’s about to shoot, and as much as I know that she’s going to be a pain in my ass this summer, I want her to win.

She doesn’t need any encouragement from me—she’s been practically bouncing on her toes waiting for her turn. And she doesn’t wait, pulling back the arrow and firing so quickly I hold my breath, because it barely looked like she aimed. But the arrow lands just right of center, and she grins like a cat who’s eaten a canary.