Boot Camp

14

"Hey," I tell them both and take a sip of my mixed-berry smoothie. Not too shabby for this camp's usual culinary standards. "We haven't really gotten to know each other well."

Aspen pushes a brown ringlet away from her face. "Oh yeah, I wasn't sure how to introduce myself. It seems like Bob and Cindy formed these teams so we could make new friends, but it's not really working." We all look around and realize the same cliques from the first day still apply, seated at the tables as if places were assigned.

"Natalie confuses me," I say, angling my head towards her, where she sits in the middle of Adriana and Joanna. Willow is nowhere in sight. "She was nice the first couple days, and now she won't even look me in the eyes."

"I went to school with her," Aspen says, swirling her spoon in her bowl. "She's pretty sweet and innocent, but she hasn't talked to me either, which is kinda odd."

Martina leans over the middle of the table, plonking her glass of water on the table like a gavel. "Those kinds of people, my friends, are called fake bitches. Let's not give them the time of day."

Laughter spreads across the table, earning a few dirty looks from Adriana and company.

"Can you guys excuse me for a minute?"

I get up to use the bathroom, remembering it was somewhere down the hall. When I open the door, I'm relieved to find no one in there and take a moment to adjust my tousled hair in the polished mirror—until I hear a flush and the creak of a stall door opening.

Willow steps out and ducks her head down as she heads to the sink. I continue piling my hair into a ponytail and smoothing out the bumps with my fingertips, watching her wash her hands in my peripheral vision. She lets the water run over the soapy foam for at least a minute, arms frozen in place.

"Whitney," she says, pulling her hands away from the sink. The sensors detect the lack of movement and shut the water off at last. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

My eyes narrow. "You didn't have a whole four years for that?"

She bites the inside of her cheek, crumpling the wet paper towel in her hand. "I know, but that's why I'm asking for just a minute of your time now."

"No, wait a moment," I say, holding up a hand, "why are you here? What are the odds we would both apply to the same camp during the same summer?"

"It wasn't chance," she admits and throws the paper towel in the trash. It misses. "My mom forced me to go out to brunch with Mina and her mom last month, and your friend mentioned your summer plans. So, basically, I got inspired."

I knit my brows together, perplexed. "So, let me get this straight. Since Mina said I was coming here, you decided it would be a great idea if you did, too? Just to talk to me with no interference right now?"

Is this girl being serious?

She shakes her head, her straight hair swinging from side to side. "No, it's not like that. I came here because I figured it would be the last time that we'd be in the same place together before heading off to college. And I hoped... I hoped at one point during this experience, you'd let me apologize to you."

I freeze.

On the one hand, her apology would be more elaborate than any sorry she could have given me at school, given that she's enduring these five agonizing weeks with me.

On the other hand, I had more than enough time during the last four years to memorize her type: the kind that takes out all her anger and frustration on other people, destroying their self-esteem and dignity with no sense of her own iniquity, before eventually justifying her past actions with some personal sob story: a bad home life, a debilitating illness, the plague of immaturity.