Say a Little Prayer(17)
By the time I throw the blankets aside, the cabin is empty, quiet except for the faint hum of static still emanating from the alarm clock. Even though I’d packed and repacked more times than I can remember, the array of clothing piled before me now feels impossibly overwhelming. Yesterday, we’d all been in our bus clothes—a casual collection of jeans and sneakers, but what about today? Is there an unofficial camp dress code? Am I going to get lectured for wearing a Legally Blonde the musical shirt to breakfast because Elle Woods uses the Lord’s name in vain?
I sit back on my heels, knees aching where they press into the dusty floor. I used to think about clothes a lot—what I wore, how I wore it, how other people might perceive me. There was always this little judgmental voice in the back of my mind each time I pulled on a pair of shorts or reached for a cropped shirt at the mall, and it wasn’t until I left Pleasant Hills that I realized it sounded an awful lot like Pastor Young. It’s better now. Most days I can push aside those insecurities completely, but something about being here makes me feel fifteen again. Like I’m being handed a lost and found cardigan by a smiling church elder in front of the entire congregation for daring to show my collarbones on Easter Sunday.
Strange how I didn’t see anything wrong with that at the time. Strange how I assumed it was my fault.
“Are you ever going to tell us why you’re here?”
I freeze, faded T-shirt still clutched in one hand, and when I glance over my shoulder, I realize the cabin isn’t empty after all. Amanda’s sitting up in bed, legs dangling over the side of her bunk. Even now, when it’s just us, her expression remains frustratingly nonchalant. Like this is a perfectly normal conversation. Like we’re still friends.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Are you going to tell us why you were late for yesterday’s sermon?”
A muscle feathers in Amanda’s jaw so quickly I almost miss it. Because there’s something here, I think. Some weakness tucked behind her layers of curated compassion, and the longer I watch her, the more I want to dig it out.
I stand with my clothes draped over one arm and start walking across the cabin. Amanda’s throat bobs as I approach, a quick up and down that completely betrays the indifferent curl of her lips. I hear her breath catch, watch her eyes widen ever so slightly, like she’s suddenly remembering our last violent interaction, and then, just as she starts to scoot back across the mattress, I turn and walk right out the door, leaving the screen swinging wildly in my wake.
* * *
? ? ?
The thing about Ben Young is that when he’s not trying to talk to my sister, he’s actually pretty cool. He has this charming, unironically effortless vibe that’s impossible to ignore. Maybe it’s related to his vintage sneaker collection or his ability to make the world’s greatest latte despite never having consumed a sip of coffee. Maybe it’s from the time his painting won first prize at the state fair and the mayor invited him to a special brunch for “future city leaders.” Maybe it’s because he’s the only person I know who’s spending two weeks of his summer at some fancy Manhattan art school and I’m convinced he’s going to return with the ability to finally eat somewhere spicier than Taco Bell. That’s just how he’s always been—Ben is cool, he’s my friend, and I’ve never really thought about it further.
But when I find him in the cafeteria during breakfast, talking animatedly with his group of friends, it becomes immediately clear that he’s already sitting at the camp’s designated Cool Table. And that none of the other occupants seem to want me there at all.
Most of them go to Madison—Patrick Davies with his buzzed football player haircut and crooked nose, Levi Huxley wearing the same silver cross necklace he’s had since the fifth grade, and Adam Yarrow, the only person I know whose parents let him get a tattoo. They all look up when I stop in front of their table, like they’re not quite sure it’s allowed. Ben, however, nearly upends his tray as he reaches for me.
“Riley!” he cries. “Happy first day! How was—?”
I knock his hand away, ignoring the way Patrick’s mouth falls open in surprise, and snap, “?‘Flexin’ on That Gram,’ Ben? Really?”
“What—?” Ben’s eyes widen as realization slowly dawns across his face. “Oh my god. Is that still stuck in there?”
“Yeah, it is. And it’s awful.”
“To be fair, I don’t think it’s meant to be listened to this early in the morning.”
“I don’t think it’s meant to be listened to ever.”
Ben laughs, then claps a hand over his mouth as the buzz of lunchroom conversation falters. I look up to find Pastor Young making his way down the cafeteria’s main aisle, one hand raised as the other tugs a mic from his back pocket. “Good morning. Can everyone take a seat, please? Riley?”
His eyes lock on mine, and I realize, too late, that I’m the only one standing. I hurriedly drop onto the bench between Ben and Patrick.
“Thank you.” Pastor Young flashes me a too-wide smile before turning to face the room. “I hope you’re all feeling settled in after last night. We have quite the journey ahead of us—seven virtues in seven days—but I have a feeling you’re up for the challenge. Before we jump into today’s lesson, though, there are a few housekeeping notes I need to run through. If you open your workbook, you’ll find a group number, meeting location, and the name of your head counselor printed at the top of the first page.”