Say a Little Prayer(45)
Julia straightens, key secure once more. “Locked,” she whispers. “What now?”
Greer’s eyes flash. I know that look. It’s identical to the one she wore when she signed me and Hannah up for car wash duty. The determined, unyielding, slightly deranged expression of someone who’s about to execute the world’s most complicated plan. “Now,” she says, reaching down to grab Torres’s wrist, “we run.”
And, because she’s Greer Wilson, because I think everyone is still a little bit afraid of her, we do.
If the camp felt terrifying on our way here, it’s nothing compared to how it feels now. I’m adrift without Julia to guide me, unmoored in the dark with twigs raking down the back of my neck. My trusty Birkenstocks slip over a carpet of dead leaves. There’s a shout in the distance, a voice that may or may not be aimed at us, but when I finally risk a glance over my shoulder, the trees block the rest of camp from view.
“Go!” Delaney gasps from somewhere ahead of me. “Get back to the cabin!”
There’s a stitch in my chest, pounding in time with my burning legs. Torres is several yards ahead of me, already bursting through the tree line, but I keep stumbling, roots catching under my feet. Then Julia’s beside me, hand closing over mine. She yanks me forward and, through gritted teeth, pants, “I cannot believe you’re still wearing those shoes.”
We reach the cabin together and nearly rip the screen off its hinges in our haste to get inside. Amanda bolts upright in bed as it slams behind us. “What the hell?” she asks. “What are you—?”
“Shh!”
Delaney motions for her to be quiet as she kicks off her shoes and scrambles into bed. Torres and Julia lunge for their ladders, and Greer makes a running leap into her own bunk. I dive under my duvet, peeking out just in time to watch two separate flashlight beams sweep through our windows. Torres collapses into bed, top bunk swaying ominously, but Julia ducks as one of the beams flashes overhead. She’s barely halfway up the ladder when our porch lets out a warning groan.
“…thought I saw them run over here. Just go door to door and make sure everyone’s inside.”
I don’t recognize the counselor’s voice floating through our open window. I don’t know if they saw our faces back at the cafeteria, but I do know exactly what’ll happen if they find anyone out of bed now.
“Julia!” I hiss. “Move!”
The doorknob rattles. Julia lets out a terrified squeak and throws herself into my bed instead. I toss the duvet over our heads right as the door swings open and that same infuriating flashlight sweeps across the cabin. I hold my breath and will myself not to move. If they take another step forward or look too closely, they’ll see Julia’s empty bunk. They’ll notice our shoes scattered across the floor or the end of Greer’s robe poking out from under her blankets and start to wonder why we’re all breathing like we’ve just run a marathon.
Next to me, Julia’s eyes are wide, nose just brushing mine as we wait. I’m close enough to see the cluster of freckles between her eyebrows each time the flashlight slides over our side of the room, to watch her pulse flutter against the column of her throat. Her breath skates down the side of my face, drawing goose bumps in its wake, and still, I don’t move. Not when the footsteps finally retreat and the door closes. Not when the counselors move to the neighboring cabin. Not even when Julia’s eyes flutter shut and her teeth slide deliberately over her bottom lip.
The last cabin door slams shut across the field. A sigh floats through our open window, and then the same voice as before says, “Must have been a deer, I guess.” Their footsteps fade back down the path. I count to ten in my head once, twice, three times. Only when I’m nearing the end of my fourth does Delaney throw back her blankets and release a trembling breath.
“Yeah,” she says. “Must have been.”
Her voice is rough, teetering right on the edge of hysteria, but that’s all it takes for the tension to snap. Torres snorts into her pillow, Greer lets out a high-pitched giggle, and I bite back a grin as Julia disentangles herself from my blanket.
“Holy shit,” she breathes. “I feel like I’m going to combust.”
She looks like it, too. Her eyes are bright, cheeks glowing, hair spread across my pillow in tangled waves. She looks, I think, like something else I’d like Ben to paint. Oil and moonlight on canvas. Watercolor blues and purples running into the golden red of her hair.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, curled toward each other on the lumpy mattress as we fight not to laugh. Three different times I start to tell her it’s safe to go back to her own bed. Three different times I snap my mouth shut. At some point, my eyelids start to droop, and when I wake in the morning with Julia’s arm around my waist, fingers splayed against the curve of my stomach, I pretend to be asleep a few minutes longer. Just so I can pretend there’s a version of her who wants me like this, too.
XII
The Epic Highs and Lows of Church Camp Capture the Flag
Here is a noncomprehensive list of the most embarrassing things that have ever happened to me:
1. Accidentally calling a student teacher “mom” during a tennis match.
2. Kicking the ball into the wrong net during my short-lived soccer career and losing a tournament game in front of every eighth grader in Madison County.