Say a Little Prayer(11)
“We’re still going to the lake after dinner, right?” Delaney asks, glancing back at Julia.
“I’m in,” Torres says. “Do you think your bra is still under the pier?”
“You tell me! You’re the one who put it there!”
Something in my chest contracts as I watch the three of them dissolve into giggles. Even when I attended church regularly, I never felt bad about skipping camp. I always had rehearsal, or a preplanned family vacation, or an overwhelming desire to not be one with nature, but there’s a strange ache settling under my ribs now. Not for Pleasant Hills itself, but for the bond everyone already seems to share. These girls have attended camp together twice a year since ninth grade. Most of the other attendees have, too. It makes me realize that no matter how close Julia and I are, there will always be a part of her I don’t quite understand.
I wonder if she feels the same way about me, if she thinks about Hannah’s choices or my queerness with this same careful distance. I wonder if she’d tell me if she did.
“We’re in here, Riley.”
I glance up to find Julia waving me toward one of the cabins. I shake away my lingering unease and drag my suitcase onto the porch. The first thing I notice is that it’s remarkably cooler inside. Brightly colored curtains are pulled tight over the windows, keeping most of the light at bay, and uneven floorboards creak under my feet as I turn to take in my home for the week. It’s not much, just three sets of bunk beds lining the walls, a fan creaking steadily overhead, and a narrow hallway leading toward what I assume is the bathroom. Delaney and Torres have already claimed the bed near the window, and Julia turns in a circle before tilting her head in my direction.
“Top or bottom?” she asks.
“That’s a personal question, actually.”
She lifts an eyebrow, and it takes a minute for me to remember we’re not alone. I’m probably not allowed to joke like that here, and she’s probably not allowed to think it’s funny. I bite my lip, but before I can apologize, Delaney lets out a choked laugh.
“Nice,” she says. “Riley, right?”
I nod, and Torres’s face lights with recognition. “Oh yeah!” she says. “I thought I recognized you. I know your sister.” Something must shift in my expression because she immediately adds, “She’s in my precalc class. It’s mostly seniors, and she was the only one who bothered to learn my name.”
The tension releases with a rubber band snap. I exhale, grin tugging unbidden at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah, that sounds like her. Nice to meet you.” I glance over my shoulder toward the bunk Julia pointed out and add, “I’ll take the bottom. Don’t know if I trust the infrastructure in this place.”
I slide my suitcase under the bed, doing my best to maximize what little floor space we have. Torres is just in the middle of throwing open the curtains for light when the screen door bangs open again and a gratingly familiar voice chirps, “Good morning!”
I freeze. Usually, when two students at Madison get into a fight, the administration does everything they can to keep them apart. According to the handbook, it’s to make sure everyone “feels as comfortable as possible” and “can still engage in a healthy learning environment without fear of retaliation.” It doesn’t apply to everyone, of course. When Joseph Bates assaulted his girlfriend at last year’s homecoming game, Mr. Rider was just like “boys will be boys” until she transferred schools, but I still can’t believe he let me attend the same camp as Amanda Clarke. I also can’t believe she’s standing in the doorway to our cabin now, shoulder to shoulder with Greer Wilson.
The others exchange a brief, bewildered look before Julia turns to face them. “Good morning,” she says, voice surprisingly pleasant for someone who’s listened to every aspect of my How to Dethrone Amanda Clarke and Possibly Frame Her for Murder revenge plan. “Can we help you with something?”
Amanda’s smile is a shade too bright to be genuine. “Yes, actually. Brooke’s cousin is here this year, and Nicole wants to room with her sister.”
“That means the numbers are off in cabin two,” Greer interjects, like we’re all not fully capable of doing basic math. “We need to take those bunks.”
They’re halfway across the cabin before I fully process the development. Last time I’d seen Amanda, she’d been slouched in Mr. Rider’s office, a timid contrast to my own raw nerves. Now she turns the full force of that infuriatingly genial expression in my direction.
“Hey, Riley,” she says. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. Bold of her to pretend we’re cool when she’s the only reason I’m here in the first place. “I didn’t know I needed to ask your permission.”
“Of course you don’t. I’m just surprised. I think we were all under the impression you wanted nothing to do with this place.”
“Yes, well, the Lord works in mysterious ways.”
The silence that follows lasts a beat too long. I’ve known Amanda for years. She and Hannah have danced together as long as I can remember, and nowhere in that time have I ever seen her angry. Greer’s the one with bite, always ready with a sharp retort or cutting glare, but Amanda is famously above it all. Madison High School’s resident ice queen. Even last week, when I slapped her in the middle of the senior hallway, all she’d done was flush a delicate shade of pink and sit demurely in Mr. Rider’s office. She didn’t cry out. She didn’t hit me back. But looking at her now, with her pale green eyes ever so slightly narrowed, I think she might want to.