Proof of Forever (7 page)

“What is this, the Inquisition?” Tali puts her hands on her hips, trying to seem in control of the situation. Still, she can't help but be pleased. Tow Boy—it
is
Tow Boy, she's sure of it, even if he's not yet aware of his own future calling—assumes the teddy bear came from a boyfriend. She won't correct him. “Anyway. It's just . . . I found out he was lying to me. For a long time.”

Technically, that's true, even if Tow Boy doesn't know she's referring to her father.

Tow Boy watches her through narrowed eyes. “I get it,” he says with a nod. “You're the pretty-girl type.”

“What do you mean?” She can't stop from thinking:
He thinks I'm pretty
. And that's the
pre-pretty
Tali.

“I've seen you around this summer, flaunting yourself in front of the guys. If we're not perfect, we're not worth your time.” He shakes his head.

“You don't even know me,” Tali says quickly, self-conscious. She can only dimly recall him from two years ago—Okahatchee is a revolving door for lifeguards, even hot ones. But
he
has noticed
her
all summer? It makes her feel unsettled, off guard. He's obviously cocky and full of himself. The last thing she needs to deal with right now.

“True,” he says, crossing his arms.

“But you know what
I
know?” she says, taking a step closer to him. She's so close she can smell something else besides his suntan lotion—a musky, slightly sweaty
boy
smell. She picks up his whistle, her fingers brushing against his bare chest ever so lightly. “It's girls like
me
who keep boys like
you
employed.”

With that, she lets the whistle fall back against his annoyingly hard chest, spins around, and walks off.

It was mean, sure. But then again, he needed to get the hint and stop stalking her. And anyway, she won't ever have to see him again, once she gets the hell out of the past for good.

Pompeii looks like this—a giant pile of black ashes.

With a charred stick, Joy pokes at the soft mound that was once the bonfire, picturing a miniature city perfectly preserved underneath it. Some embers are still smoldering, glowing red like lava.

Few people know that Vesuvius is an active volcano even now—when it erupted so violently a couple thousand years ago and destroyed the city of Pompeii, that wasn't a one-hit-wonder thing. It could still have a big comeback, and something like three million people live close enough to it that they'd be killed almost instantly. Those three million people must simply be willing to take a gamble on their lives.

She drops the stick, wiping her hands on the back of her shorts. She is supposed to be focused on getting the talent-show tiara, which she earned two years ago through a pity vote. She knows it. She didn't even
participate
in the talent show—she was
the behind-the-scenes coordinator. And if there's one thing she's certain of now, it's that she does not want pity votes this time around.

After the unexpected phone call, she had wandered the campgrounds for a while, trying not to run into anybody. By the time she made her way back over to the bonfire, it had died down and everyone seemed to have returned to their cabins for curfew. In fact, she should probably do the same.

On her way toward Blue Heron, though, she hears the sound of girls giggling somewhere in the trees. She stops and watches as three girls from a younger bunk—probably Hawk or Wolf—clad in bathing suits, dart off toward the path that veers straight into the woods, around the right side of the lake. To Red Cliffs.

The cliffs she was always too afraid to leap from, down to the water forty feet below, even though there's a tree with a tire swing up there, and kids much younger than her are brave enough to try it every summer. The cliff swing is an Okahatchee tradition.

The three girls appear to be around twelve, and Joy wonders if she knows them—
knew
them. Whatever. It's likely she led them in arts and crafts, years back. She was always doing stuff like that with the younger campers—teaching them how to weave shells and feathers into their friendship bracelets and lanyards. She's always found kids easy to be around. Even when they're brats, they still have a certain sweetness, an innocence. They don't think about the future, they just think about now. And, for the most part, like Joy used to, they believe in
fantastic
.

Curious, she turns left at the path instead of heading straight toward the cabins, and picks up her speed, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to be sure she hasn't been spotted. It has always been easy to sneak around Okahatchee at night. She's pretty sure the night counselors are too busy drinking or hooking up to notice the campers breaking rules.

Soft pine needles poke at her feet around the sides of her flip-flops and the cool night air invigorates her as she follows the trail of voices and laughter, high and light and carefree, toward the edge of the water.

She runs faster now, breaking into a true lope, feeling the blood pounding in the veins of her legs and throat and ears. Suddenly she's afraid to lose them, afraid they'll jump too soon, afraid one of them will get hurt. Don't they know how dangerous the cliffs are, especially at night?

When she breaks through the clearing in the woods and sees the tree and the little
O
of its tire swing dangling below, swaying just slightly, for a moment she's surprised by how quaint the whole scene looks. Not dangerous at all. The three girls are huddled together and one is whispering urgently while another giggles, and the third wraps her arms around herself, obviously cold and a little scared. She hears them count down, one of them squealing quietly, and then she takes a harsh breath as all three grab hands and race over the edge, disappearing completely.

Joy's heart seems to stop pumping.
Gone
. They're gone—three birthday candles blown out.

But then she hears the almost simultaneous set of splashes, and another minute later, the tinny sound of distant gasps and voices, fading away.

Slowly, Joy inches into the open clearing and approaches the ledge. As she reaches the lip of the cliff, she carefully leans over, peering at the water. In the cool, mossy darkness, the drop seems even farther. She can barely see the shapes of the three girls, who are clambering over the rocks a little ways down, shivering.

She grabs the rope of the tire swing, sliding her legs through its mouth, and kicks off the ground, swinging out over the ledge, testing her nerve. Wondering if now's the time. If she should take the leap, too. She may not get another chance, after all.

What is there to lose?
she asks herself, though some other voice in her head responds:
Everything
.

She shakes her head slightly, trying to shut out that voice.

But it has curled its way throughout her chest like smoke, making it hard to breathe.

She allows the swing to slow to a stop.

Then, with a heaviness, she slips out of it, and moves away from the ledge. The tire swing sways listlessly, exuding disappointment. The wind turns chilly, and Joy hugs herself as she turns and walks back toward her cabin.

She has changed, she reminds herself. She
has.

And she's got an opportunity to relive the rest of this summer. It should be different this time—better, happier, freer than ever before.

But she needs more time.

She stares up at the sky through the trees.
How did you get so far up there, moon?

No answer comes.

The tiny sliver makes her think of one of Uma Finkelstein's clipped toenails.

Don't you know how easy it would be to fall?

The final sprays of dirt fall over Zoe, blocking out the rectangle of light above. She tries to scream, but no one hears her. Cool, damp walls of earth surround her, keeping her arms pinned to the sides of her body. Trapped. She can't move, can't escape, can't breathe. She tries to expand her lungs, inhaling dirt. She'll die out here, buried alive, alone, unheard, unseen.

The voice that always comes to her in this dream comes to her again now:
Give up. There's no point in struggling. There's no way out.

Zoe wakes up with a hard gasp, almost falling out of her bunk.

Her bunk.
Right
. She's at camp. Safe. Alive.

I have to tell Cal I had the dream again,
she thinks. And then she remembers, all in a rush, that she broke up with Cal, that he was hurt, that he gave her a ride to Okahatchee anyway, that he even
said he'd go grab a burger and come back for her later that night if she wanted a ride home from the reunion.

Zoe sucks in a deep breath, taking in the familiar scent of the Camp OK cabins—mildewed towels and a strange comingling of Body Shop body spray and mosquito repellent. So. This isn't part of the nightmare. She really did dump Cal. And she really is here . . . and fifteen again.

For a second, she can't help but be a teeny, tiny bit pleased. She always
suspected
time travel was a real thing, not just the stuff of sci-fi. In a way, it was all delightfully, surprisingly elegant—no fuss, no fancy machinery, more like a simple hiccup in the normally forward trajectory of a life.

She's going to be hailed as a genius when she proves this really happened. BU's physics department is going to go ridiculously nuts. She'll probably get the rest of her tuition covered by scholarship without even having to apply for one. She won't have to pick up any more shifts at Tasti D-Lite during breaks. She'll be a campus legend, a hero . . .

When she
gets
to college, that is.

Zoe looks at her green plastic watch.
Crap
. Almost time for the breakfast bell. She had been meaning to wake up early so she could squeeze in another workout, but this whole time-travel thing has her off her game. This is
not
the sort of quandary she normally wakes up to—usually it's more like Eggo waffles versus Crispix.

She throws on the first items of clothing she can locate and jogs over to the dining hall, knowing she'll be one of the first
campers to arrive. Her calf muscles are screaming. Between the impromptu relay yesterday and the hour after leaving the bonfire that she spent re-teaching herself the basics of fencing in private, using only an inadequately short stick, Zoe's exertions may have been a bit overkill. She also did forty push-ups, and her arms feel like limp noodles.

She has practically inhaled her whole breakfast by the time she sees Tali, Joy, and Luce walk through the broad, bright barn doors to the dining hall.

“Good morning,” Joy says cheerfully when they all bang their trays down on the table.

Tali frowns at her. “Did anyone else have a horrible time trying to sleep last night?”

Joy shrugs. “Despite Sarah's snoring, you mean?” she says, just as Luce throws in an “Ugh, yes.”

“I feel like it's so messed up, what's happening to us right now. Like, why us?” Tali asks.

“Who knows?” Zoe sits up straighter, trying not to let Tali's victim attitude bother her—or the memory of how rude she was last night at the bonfire. “But we can't sit around angsting about it. It's already day two of being in the past. We need to stay positive and focused on what to do to get
out
of here.”

This was clearly the wrong thing to say, because Tali glares at her. “I'm not
angsting
. And who appointed
you
the ghost of summertimes past?”

“Tali,” Luce puts in, “I think Zoe just meant that we're all in this together, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tali says. But she's still glaring at Zoe. “I just think I'm allowed to be disturbed by the recent sequence of events.”

“Or lack of sequence, technically,” Zoe says but regrets it again. How come literally everything out of her mouth ends up being the exact wrong thing?

Tali rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Well, I for one could use some help,” Luce says then, putting her fork down, grayish scrambled eggs leaving a sad trail across her Styrofoam plate. “I'm supposed to get the merit badge but Jade Marino already
got
it. So what do I do? Is there some way to fake it?”

It crosses Zoe's mind that they could just try to find a way to
steal
the badge, but she doesn't tell Luce that—it goes against all her goody-two-shoes morals, and besides, they should be
trying
to stick to the script as much as possible. Even though the more she thinks about it the less confident she feels about her whole plan. What if it doesn't even work?

“You can't fake history,” she informs them, although she's not one hundred percent sure if that's true. Still, she's definitely sure that it isn't worth the risk of finding out. “But maybe you can do something nice for Jade, and she'll
let
you have it?”

Joy clears her throat and finally speaks up. “Or you could talk to your mom and see if she can make an exception this year. Tell her how important the badge is to you. Something like that,” she offers.

Luce is nodding. “I can try,” she says, but she sounds
unconvinced. “What about you guys? Joy, don't you need to sign up for the talent show?”

Joy doesn't look up from her soggy cereal. “Yeah. I can go to the planning meeting today.” She nods, as though to reassure not just her friends but herself. “That's the easy part, anyway. The hard part will be getting everyone to vote for me again. I'm really not sure how I pulled that off before. Plus I have one day less than you guys, remember? The talent show is on the night
before
reunion. The tournament is the day of reunion. Same with the badge ceremony.”

Luce cocks her head. “I'm sure you'll win again, Joy. Everyone thinks you're sweet. Don't worry about
that
.”

“Besides,” Tali adds, “if we have to . . . help the votes along, we're not above it.” She grins at Joy. She means this to be supportive, Zoe knows, just like Luce's comment about Joy being “sweet,” but it doesn't come off that way.

Fortunately, Joy seems not to mind.

Luce cuts the crust off her toast with precision, like her life depends on it. “What I'm more worried about is whether this plan is even going to work or not,” she says. She looks over her shoulders as if to make sure no one is listening—but with the typical morning chaos of the dining hall, it would be near impossible for any of the other campers to overhear them. “What if we really have to relive the last two years? Or what if we get back to the present but everything has changed?”

“I don't have an answer for that. All I know is that a plan is better than no plan. And that I am seriously behind on my end
of the bargain,” Zoe announces. “Last night I literally tried to do a balestra into a lunge and ended up in a corps a corps with a freaking ash tree.”

Tali snorts. “I
literally
have no idea what you just said.”

“I'm basically a mess,” Zoe clarifies.

“Don't worry, we have your back,” Joy says. “We'll figure this out. We all will. If the relays were yesterday, that means we still have four days left until reunion night, including today.”

“All right.” Zoe stands and picks up her tray. “I gotta go. The countdown is on.”

Joy looks up at her. “You're leaving?”

Zoe pauses, tempted to blurt out:
You're the one who left. Two years ago. You left all of us, with no explanation.
Why did you do it? Why did you drop us?
But for once, she bites her tongue. She has to focus on the problem at hand. “I need to get back in mental shape if I'm gonna win this thing.”

Joy seems deflated. “Okay.”

“And I need to go talk to my mom about the badge,” Luce adds.

“But we should all reconvene later,” Tali says, finishing her yogurt. “Tonight's Casino Cruise Night, remember? Blake was there two years ago. So obviously we
all
have to go.”

“Why do we
all
have to go?” Zoe asks, still standing there with her tray of dirty dishes in her hands.

“Well, I'm not planning on going
alone
,” Tali answers. “How unsexy would that look?”

This is precisely one of those statements that people who
understand popularity make all the time, while people who are
not
Most Likely to Be Asked to Prom find completely selfish.

“So you expect us to be your backup dancers?” Zoe says sarcastically.

“Come on, Zoe,” Tali says, turning her head just enough to make eye contact and smirking slightly. “You know you want to. This is your chance to see what the notorious Cruise is really all about.”

Zoe is perfectly aware of the Casino Cruise Night rep—it's basically an unofficial booze cruise, because the counselors are famous for smuggling alcohol on board the big boat, which departs just after sunset and glides across the lake and back, taking a couple of hours. In fact, it
is
the perfect occasion for Tali to hook up with Blake. He'll be trapped.

Of course, being trapped is exactly why Zoe didn't go on the Casino Cruise two summers ago. Or more specifically,
Russ Allen
is the reason she didn't go. After that awful, fumbling hookup on Water Wars day, he'd been all slobbery and clingy for the rest of the summer. She knew he'd corner her out there on the cruise.

But this time around she hasn't even glimpsed Russ yet. And she has enough breakups under her belt by now to know how to handle Russ if it comes to that.

The image of Cal trying to help fix her old junker of a bike flashes into her mind. The look on his face when she told him it was over. His offer to give her a ride anyway. Maybe she should say she's sorry. As soon as they get back, she will. She owes him that. Her chest aches from missing him, but she tries to focus on
what's happening now.

Zoe sighs. “Fine, I'm in. But only because I understand the immense importance of you getting some tonight so we can all get the hell out of here in one piece. Anyway, why are you strung out about this? You have the easiest job of all of us—been there, hit that. Right?”

Tali had never been super explicit about what had happened between her and Blake, but the possession of his boxers had said enough.

Tali shrugs, turning back to her tray. “Of course. But an entourage never hurts.”

“Great!” Joy says, with real enthusiasm.

“It'll be fun,” Luce adds, though whether she means it or is just trying to convince herself, Zoe can't tell.

Zoe is still aching and exhausted by the time she files into line with the other girls on the fencing team and slips on her helmet. She forgot how sticky and clammy it is under these fencing masks—hard helmets with firm metal mesh covering the entire face area. She already feels off her game, and practice hasn't even begun. Coach Patelski walks up and down the double lineup of girls—each of them facing a random opponent—checking off names and verifying that everyone has appropriate equipment.

Zoe is facing Samantha Puliver. It's hard to tell which girl is which with the masks disguising their faces, but Sam is all muscle—one of the strongest girls at camp, in fact—and Zoe recognizes her pregame foot bounce, almost like she's about to
start boxing or something.
Great
. Zoe doesn't even get to warm up on someone easy.

They begin sparring. Just as she expected, Sam is a beast, but Zoe parries decently and Sam gets in only one direct hit. Every two minutes, Patelski blows his whistle and makes everybody switch partners—the north line stays still while the south line does an about-face and takes a stride to the right, facing a new opponent. Zoe takes the moments between bouts to adjust her helmet, remembering how she used to love the sense of anonymity and power that came with wearing one. Now she just feels humid and damp.

Sam steps down and next Zoe's facing Indigo Perez, aka camp slut. Zoe would feel bad about the label, but Indigo seems to be into it. She breathes a sigh of relief. Indigo sucks at fencing—Zoe has literally no idea why she continues to sign up for it, summer after summer. Zoe easily bests her four times before the whistle blows again.

“Hold on, women,” Patelski shouts before they begin their next engagement. He points to Zoe and her new opponent. “I want everyone to check out Zoe's back foot. Zoe and Ellis, you two alone, please.”

The other girls turn so they can watch, while Zoe begins her bout with Ellis, a girl she only dimly remembers. Ellis isn't in Bunk Blue Heron with them, which means she's either younger or a day camper. Zoe can make out her sharp blue eyes through the mesh mask—if Zoe has to guess, she'd say the girl looks pleased to have the attention.

“See how she tracks that back foot, people?” Patelski says, and Zoe experiences a rush of pleasure. At least she hasn't forgotten
everything
. “It's right under her, every time. That's how she's able to make those lunges with so much control. See what I'm talking about?”

Zoe feels a blaze of heat in her face. Confident, she lunges again, more aggressively than before. Ellis is surprisingly agile and easily deflects with an opposition parry, never losing contact with Zoe's épée. Zoe racks her mind to recall her strategy—how did she beat Ellis last time?—but comes up blank. Even the stronger fencers, like Sam, have their weaknesses. Sam is too eager in her attacks—she loses her footing in the forward momentum. Sarah Hawking is bold but erratic and can't keep her lines. Cherry Brentworth and most of the other Bunk Wolf girls are simply easy to intimidate—once you get them focusing on defense, they become scared, powerless to make a hit, and give way too much space.