Read Things I Can't Forget Online

Authors: Miranda Kenneally

Tags: #Social Issues, #Love & Romance, #Juvenile Fiction, #Football, #Sports & Recreation, #new adult, #Adolescence

Things I Can't Forget (6 page)

BOOK: Things I Can't Forget
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I pass by Parker, who’s telling Eric (Camper Extraordinaire), that the Critter Crawl is “an unbelievable act of cruelty and must be called off immediately.”

I shove my hands in the pockets of my jean shorts and make my way up the trail. If Emily were here, I bet we would’ve died laughing when my hobo pack fell apart in the fire. Then she would’ve shared hers with me.

The sunset looks like a rainbow. Stars are beginning to peek through the colors. I pass by the basketball court, where the guys are playing shirts versus skins. Will and Matt are on skins and Brad and Ian are shirts. Matt takes a jump shot and makes it—nothing but net. When his bare feet hit the ground, he looks up. He drags a hand through his shaggy blond hair, then waves at me.

I wave back.

Will playfully shoves Matt’s shoulder, and Matt grins, continuing to look my way.

I smile at him and keep walking toward Cardinal.

What was Andrea talking about? What can’t Matt get past?

How did I save him?

•••

Past midnight, someone knocks on the screen door of Cardinal.

I’m tired. I’m sweaty. It’s been a rough two days of learning how bad I am at everything outdoorsy, like fishing off the docks. Only I could manage to knock an entire can of bait into the lake.

Only seven weeks of camp to go.

My bed screeches as I roll over and peer up to find Matt standing outside. The moon casts a glow around his body. I swing myself out of bed and go open the screen door for him. He’s wearing a pair of light blue scrubs as pajama pants, and no shirt. I already saw him shirtless playing basketball and swimming at the lake, but still, my stomach flips and flops.

“Hey,” he says, checking out my XXXXXL T-shirt. Note to self: wear cuter pajamas in case boys drop by randomly after midnight.

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t like the idea of you sleeping in here all by yourself.” He stifles a yawn.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, my shoulders tensing. “I can’t let you sleep in here with me.”

He waves a hand. “I’m gonna sleep out on the porch.” He steps past and begins dragging a bed through the door. The metal frame creaks and groans.

“This isn’t necessary,” I say. My heartbeat races and races.

He drops the bed with a clang on the porch and stretches his sleeping bag out on the thin mattress. “What if the bogeyman is out here?”

“The bogeyman?” I laugh. “A myth.”

Matt fluffs his pillow. “How about that dude with a hook for a hand?” He drops the pillow and makes a claw with his fingers and growls.

“Are you saying that you’re the bogeyman?” I ask.

He smiles. “I’d already have captured you if I was.”

“What if you get eaten up by mosquitoes? Or a black widow spider?”

“Eh, it’s worth the risk.” His mouth stretches into another yawn.

“Thanks for sleeping out here.”

He nods and yawns again. “I’m about to pass out.”

Where has he been all night? Has he been hanging out with Andrea up until now? I play with the hem of my long T-shirt. “See you tomorrow?”

“It already is tomorrow,” he groans, flopping down on the bed. It screeches and wobbles.

I go curl up in my sheets.

“Sweet dreams, Kate,” he calls out.

“You too.”

Seconds later I hear him snoring up a storm on the porch and it makes me laugh. Didn’t he say that Will is the bad snorer? Matt sounds like a bulldozer. I bring two fingers to my lips, laughing, and smile myself to sleep.

sketch #346

what happened last night

Before campers start arriving at 9:00 a.m., I walk up to the cafeteria. The entire area is hilly and mountainous, but the building rests at the highest spot of the camp. From here, you can see everything. I sit Indian style on a bench, where I can stare at the valley full of cedar trees. I can smell their sappy smell.

I pull my pencil from behind my ear and open my sketchpad to a blank page. Chewing on the eraser, I think about last night. How Matt slept outside Cardinal. It was the first time in a long time I didn’t feel alone.

I begin with the bed and mattress that he pulled through the door onto the porch, sketching the legs and beams that support the steel. I make thick lines across the mattress, to denote the blue stripes. After taking a quick glance around me to make sure I’m alone, I outline what Matt’s body looks like without a shirt, showing him wearing only blue hospital scrub pants. I pay careful attention to his muscles. Not because I’m being a pervert or anything, but because the human body is the hardest thing to draw. It requires precision and patience and a steady hand.

That’s when I hear footsteps. I snap the book closed against my chest. I look up to see Will, Brad, and Matt running together. Will and Brad are huffing and puffing, trying to keep up with Matt the marathoner.

I lift my hand to wave. All three wave back, which makes my heart swell.

“Come run with us,” Matt calls out to me. “Get that knee in shape.”

Can my knee handle running again? I’m not sure, but I’m willing to take the risk to spend time with Matt. “Okay! Meet me at my cabin in ten minutes.”

He disappears down the dirt steps, heading toward the art pavilion. I walk as quickly as I can back to Cardinal and throw on a sports bra, shorts, a tank top, and sneakers. Carefully, I put on my steel knee brace that makes me sound like a walking industrial paper slicer. I step out onto the porch, where Matt is waiting for me.

“Where are Brad and Will?” I ask, tightening my black ponytail.

“They gave up already.” Matt stretches out a hand to me and I take it. “You got this.”

We walk, my hand lightly tucked inside his. I don’t think I can handle running on trails full of hazards like rocks, sticks, and tree roots, so we go to the big field.

“Nice and slow,” Matt says, and I lurch into a jog, keeping my breath steady. Thanks to my exercise bike, I’ve saved some of my endurance.

“You’ve still got your form,” he says, looking me up and down while running. I hope he’s seeing me as I want to be seen: black hair flowing in the wind, smiling, moving swiftly and gracefully.

We run five laps around the big field, hardly speaking a word. When I look over at his face, I find his mouth shut in a tight smile.

“What were you doing this morning? In the notebook?” he asks.

“Drawing.”

“I’d love to see your work sometime.”

I don’t share my sketchpad with anybody. “Maybe,” I say softly, not meaning it.

He must sense this. “It’s okay…I don’t share most of my lyrics and writing with anyone.”

“It would be like letting someone inside me.” I immediately regret my choice of words and feel my face go hotter than the sun.

“Exactly,” he replies, glancing away.

After the run and a shower, my sketchpad catches my eye. I smile, pick it up off my bed, and finish what I was working on before.

Maybe the Chickasaw Tribe was right. Maybe this land is where heaven meets the earth.

The last things I draw before going to meet my campers are the laugh lines around Matt’s eyes and mouth.

first day of camp

monday, june 4 ~ week 1 of 7

The sun is boiling me to bits by the time campers start arriving.

Mark my words. By the end of summer, freckles will have won the battle against my skin.

Megan checks campers’ names off on a clipboard and sorts them into groups. Since I’m at Cardinal this week, I’m waving a red flag. Several girls head my way, carrying satchels and sleeping bags. Campers range between eight and twelve, but this week I have a group of ten older girls. All twelve-year-olds.

Some of them are chatting a mile a minute and others look nervous, like they are about to sing a solo during the school musical.

I swallow the frog in my throat. “I’m Kate,” I tell them, and I begin passing out nametags. The nametags haven’t changed since I was little: they are circular wood chips, and campers write their names in permanent marker right on the wood. Then we string colorful plastic cords through the holes in the chips, so the nametags can hang around necks.

I glance over at Parker. She’s sitting with two adorable younger girls, both of whom are playing with her plaited hair.

“Look, it’s the King!” a boy says, rushing toward Matt.

“The King?” I mouth at him, and he grins and shrugs. He shakes hands and gives high fives to his fan club. Like, twenty boys have gathered around him to talk.

“Matt is sooo cute,” a girl named Sophie says. She used purple marker to write her name on the wood chip. She also took the opportunity to draw big purple hearts on the backs of her hands.

“Why do they call him the King?” I ask her.

She slings her satchel over her shoulder. “I dunno. He’s just the King.”

Ian appears next to me and whispers, “Last year, kids started calling me the Princess. It was humiliating.”

I burst out laughing.

Brad and I lead our group back to the Cardinal cabins. The boys are checking out the girls and the girls are checking out the boys.

Brad rolls his eyes and whispers, “I prefer working with the younger kids. Puberty scares me.”

I smile and climb the porch to Cardinal and open the screen door so my campers can file in. Much squealing and screaming ensues.

The girls all fight over who gets the top bunks and start unpacking clothes and draping them all over the place. Claire, a quiet, tall girl with big, open eyes, stacks a pile of books next to her bed, then begins applying lip gloss. She and Sophie appear to be best friends, but while Sophie is loud and authoritative, Claire hangs back. They remind me of Emily and myself.

Brad and I go over rules with our group and play the introduction game. Brad is Bison Brad and I decide on Koala Kate this time.

At lunch, the campers form a long line in the cafeteria, where a humongous wall fan blows warm air throughout the room. It should be really hot in here, but somehow it’s comforting. The counselors form a cluster behind all the campers and start gossiping.

“I’ve got that little hellion, Cara Dawson, again,” Andrea complains to Matt. “Last year she got up, like, ten times a night to use the bathroom.”

“Taj is in my group,” Matt boasts. “And he’s gonna teach me to play ‘Stairway to Heaven’ on guitar tonight.”

“Wait,” I say. “A kid is gonna teach you guitar?”

Matt plays with the cross hanging around his neck and scratches one of his feet with the other. I still haven’t seen him in a pair of shoes yet. “You should hear this kid play. He’s gonna be performing at the Grand Ole Opry one day.”

Andrea ignores me and focuses on Matt. “I can’t wait to hear Taj play again.”

“Maybe you and Taj could be in the talent show together,” I suggest to Matt.

He points at me. “Good idea. That’s the only chance I’d have of winning.” He puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles. “Taj, wanna be in the talent show with me?”

Taj adjusts his ball cap. It’s turned around backward. “You owe me, King!”

Matt clicks his tongue and points at the kid, and I laugh. I pull the talent show sign-up list and a pen out of my back pocket and write their names down. In addition to being the arts and crafts director, I’m in charge of arranging the weekly talent show.

A boy with a tray of food passes by us. “Yum, we’re having chicken o’ rings,” I say, peering at the ringed nuggets. “I remember those.”

“They’re a hot commodity,” Matt says, moving to stand next to me. So close, I can smell him: a mixture of soap and sweat. It’s nice. Andrea gets edged out and is now standing behind us. I don’t want to look at her face ’cause I’m sure she looks like the Hulk when he’s angry.

He goes on, “I was gonna see if you’d trade me your green beans for my chicken o’ rings.”

My stomach grumbles. “I remember loving those too.”

“So it’s a deal?”

“Absolutely not. I want both.”

He smiles at me sideways. We take a step forward in line. “Do you use honey mustard or barbeque sauce?” he asks.

“Both,” I reply. “I never can decide.”

“Me too. I usually throw ketchup in there too for a little excitement.” He elbows me. “Watch this.” Matt lifts his hands above his head, forms an O with his arms, and yells, “OOOOOOOOOOOO-OOOOOOOOOOOO-OOOOOOHHHHHH-HHHHHHHHHHH.”

The campers join in, and Matt mutters to me out of the corner of his mouth. “You’re leaving me hanging here. Would you bow to the almighty o’ rings already?”

I start laughing and lift my arms over my head and scream along.

It feels good.

At the pool after lunch, Brad doesn’t take off his T-shirt when we’re in the water. Some people who aren’t comfortable with their bodies wear a shirt over their bathing suits, but I can see Brad’s six-pack through the thin cotton.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I whisper to him, nodding at the bruises on his arm.

“Drop it, okay? Please?” His eyes plead with me. He glances around. What happened to him? He seems like a very normal guy. He takes his job seriously and everyone likes him. Did he get into something bad? Does Megan know? Should I tell someone? Am I the only one who notices he’s wearing a shirt in the pool?

I skim the top of the water with my hand. The regional conference wouldn’t hire someone questionable. I decide to drop it, like Brad wants me to.

I peer up at Matt sitting in the lifeguard stand. He salutes me and smiles, and his eyes go back to scanning the pool.

“Are you going to college?” I ask Brad.

He scoops water up with his hands and wets his face. “Not sure yet.”

“Did you just graduate from high school?”

“Yeah.”

A boy from our group suddenly does a cannonball, making a huge splash, drenching me and Brad. When the boy comes up for air, Brad playfully dunks him under the water. The boy jumps on Brad’s back, trying to dunk him back, but Brad doesn’t budge except to pluck the kid off his back and toss him into the water as if he were weightless.

“What are you doing this fall?” I ask Brad, wiping water off my face.

He shakes his head. “If I manage to save enough money this summer, I’ll take a road trip across the country.”

“I’ve always wanted to do that!” I smile, skimming the surface of the pool with my fingertips. “I’d love to drive the entire California coast.”

“I always wanted to see the Grand Canyon…and Yosemite. I maybe want to become a park ranger…”

“So working here is sort of like training to become a ranger?” I say with a laugh.

He chuckles. “I’d much rather deal with snakes and bears than kids going through puberty. Seems easier.”

We laugh together.

Brad seems like a really good guy. A normal guy. So what’s going on with him?

Before dinner, while the kids are forming a rowdy line, Megan pulls me aside. We sit together on a boulder outside the cafeteria. “How’s your first day going?” she asks with a smile.

“Good so far,” I reply.

“I really liked the candles you made in arts and crafts this morning. The campers’ parents are going to love them. I took some pictures to send to the regional conference.”

“Thanks.”

“Keep up the good work.”

I smile to myself, happy that everything feels a bit lighter today. Keeping busy keeps the bad thoughts at bay.

On Tuesday afternoon, when we’re walking back from kayaking at the lake, a kid from our group, Marcus, falls and cuts his leg open on a sharp stick. He bites into his lip as blood gushes out, coating the blond hairs on his shin. The cut looks totally tetanus-shot worthy.

Brad picks the boy up and throws him over his shoulder. “I’ll patch him up. Can you get the fire and burgers started?” he asks me.

I swallow and nod, not sure if I’d rather deal with burgers or blood. They both sound equally terrible. I lead the group of nineteen kids back to Cardinal by myself. While the campers change out of their bathing suits, I begin taking the spatula and frying pans out of the milk crates, and glance at the fire pit. Glance at the fire pit some more. I pick up sticks for kindling, narrowly avoiding a patch of poison ivy. Poison oak? Which is it?

I drop the wood in front of the pit. Set my hands on my hips. The sun is setting lower and lower, and I only have about an hour to get this fire started, cook the food, and get my campers to Great Oak before the talent show starts. Not to mention I have to set up for the talent show too.

I kneel in front of the pit, matches in hand, and arrange the logs and kindling the way Matt showed me on Saturday morning. Glancing to make sure no one’s watching, I smash some paper towels up under the logs and light them.

Fire whips through the paper towels. I smile. But then the flame goes out and I have to start over. This happens three more times. I have no idea what to do. Where’s Brad? Was Marcus’s cut that bad? What if Brad doesn’t come back in time for dinner?

Two boys from our group, Rick and Michael, walk out of Cardinal cabin and head my way, and then I see Sophie and Claire too. The four of them start talking about the sign. Sophie says that she heard that God spoke to a boy through a campfire last year.

Is God trying to tell me something here? Is that why the fire won’t start? I doubt it. I just stink at all things camping.

“Is it time for dinner yet?” Rick asks me.

“Be right back,” I tell him.

Matt is two cabins away at Bluebird. About a minute walk. I wring my fingers together and follow the path up to his cookout pit, where a fire is roaring. The kids are already eating burgers and sipping lemonade, and he’s lounging in a lawn chair, plucking away at his guitar strings, playing classical music for them as if these woods are a cafe. He’s like the epitome of the perfect counselor, and I can’t even start a fire.

He sees me, sets his guitar against the picnic table bench, and hops to his feet. “What’s up?”

“You’re really good on guitar.”

“Thanks.” He loops his thumb around the leather cord hanging from his neck.

“Did you write that? I mean, the song you were just playing?”

“Yeah.”

I nod and set my hands on my hips. “I’ve always loved your music.”

He smiles and scratches the side of his neck. “Why’d you stop by?”

I mumble, “One of our campers got hurt and Brad went to get him first aid…I can’t get my fire started.”

He raises his eyebrows, then turns and starts pawing through a milk crate toppling with supplies. He pulls out a starter log the size of a Kit Kat bar, a roll of paper towels, a book of matches, and a can of Crisco.

“This oughta do it,” he says, dumping the items into my arms.

“Matt! I found a toad,” a tiny girl says, and he rushes to squat down next to her. They peer into the bushes. It’s really cute.

I turn around and trudge back to my campsite, where I tuck the starter log inside a bunch of kindling and hold a lit match up to it. I stuff a wad of paper towels next to the burning starter log. The paper towels quickly turn to hot ash, so I drip Crisco onto the wood and a fireball bursts up.

“Whoa, cool!” a camper named David says, and the boys rush to surround me.

“Grab more skinny sticks,” I tell them, and soon we have a blazing fire, and then we’re saying grace before eating cheeseburgers hot off the grill. When Brad returns, carrying a heavily-bandaged Marcus over his shoulder, he smiles at my work and says, “Nice job.”

I decide I like being part of Matt’s Crisco cult.

A couple minutes later Matt appears at our campsite and salutes Brad. “Yo, Bumblebee Brad. How’s it goin’?”

Brad winces and looks up from trying to get the knot out of a sparkly pink sneaker.

“Bumblebee Brad! Bumblebee Brad!” Rick and Sophie start yelling, laughing their butts off.

I cover my grin with a fist. Matt grabs one of the burgers I just cooked and slips it inside a bun. “Ow,” he says, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

“The burgers are hot, you know,” I say, laughing.

“Thanks for the warning.”

“You’ve gotta pay for that.”

He bites into it and chews. “Mmmm.” He chews some more and swallows. “That’s a good burger.”

“Thanks,” I say, proud. “But you still owe me for it.” I rub my fingers together, indicating I want cash, and he grins.

“As payment, later, I’ll play you a song I wrote, okay?”

“Okay,” I say with a smile, remembering the girl whose beauty he compared to a redbird. I wipe my hair away from my sweaty face. “I need to go get ready for the talent show.” I have to put out the microphones and speakers and make sure the popcorn is popped.

By the time I finish frantically running around trying to find the mike (it was under a chair in Megan’s office) and then determining how to plug the mike into the amp, the sun has completely set. The campers take their seats on the grass in front of the Great Oak porch (the stage). Blazing tiki torches and laughter surround me as I step up to the mike and say, “Welcome to the thirty-second annual Cumberland Creek talent show!”

Everyone cheers, and I’m smiling because I got the fire going. I managed to cook dinner by myself. I say a quick thanks to God.

I introduce the first act: a girl named Taylor, who’s doing a mime performance. Another girl sings songs while doing interpretative dance, and a boy juggles three bowling pins he found in a closet in the art pavilion.

I laugh so hard when Ian sings Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” along with two of his boy campers. They use brooms as microphones and when Ian hits the really high notes, he falls to his knees and clenches his eyes shut. Ian’s not a very good singer. At all. But he still gets a standing ovation.

BOOK: Things I Can't Forget
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