Sparks Fly

Chapter Four

Natalie

It took a little over a week for the first truly cold, rainy day at camp to hit. Natalie had been dreading it. As out of place as her summer clothes- mostly dresses and skirts- were, all she had packed for colder weather were leggings and cardigans, with one pair of jeans. She hadn't even brought a hoodie to fend off the rain, she realized as she gazed out the screen door of the cabin at the sheets of rain pouring down. She sighed and doubled back to the changing room to make sure that she hadn't overlooked anything warmer.

She found a pair of baggy sweatpants that she had packed as pajamas for cold nights and yanked them on over top of her leggings. As she straightened up, her mess of curls tumbled into her face. "Dammit." She muttered as she saw the elastic that had been holding it back broken on the floor. That was the second one this morning, and she hadn't even made it to breakfast yet.

Instead of risking another one of her increasingly precious elastics, she dug out the old ball cap that her dad had insisted she bring and wedged it on top of her hair before heading out to the "great" outdoors.

Her cabin had claimed a table was in the middle of the room, right next to the 15/16-year-old boys' cabin. Well, that would make it easier for Josh to stare at every bite she took. Half of the girls were leaning over to guys' table to flirt with them. Gross. Natalie would bet that at least 90% of them hadn't even brushed their teeth yet.

"Holy hair, Princess," Luke said as she passed him.

She rolled her eyes. "Save it."

His brow furrowed. "No, I- never mind."

Josh barely looked away from Bailey. "Settle down, you two."

She ignored him and settled in at her table- as far away from her annoying stepbrother and his obnoxious friend as she could get. She'd only started to spread peanut butter on her toast when Mr. Simmons emitted an ungodly honking noise from his megaphone.

"Attention, campers." He boomed through the megaphone, as though the honk hadn't already gotten everyone's attention. "Today seems as good a time as any to start preparations for our annual talent show."

The entire hall broke into conversation until Simmons honked his megaphone again. "Yes, I know, we're all excited. As most of you already know, the talent show takes place during visiting day, so your parents are able to watch you. Each activity group is expected to perform something between two and five minutes. Every camper in the winning group will receive a fifty dollar credit deposited in their tuck shop account, as well as a surprise prize. Let the planning begin!"

The excited murmurs started up again as the director (thankfully) put his megaphone down. Natalie brought her attention back to her toast. Man, this place was weird. There was still over a month to visiting day, and only a week between that and the end of camp. Fifty dollars worth of junk food in seven- actually, more like six- days would make anyone sick, and no prize would be better than going home.

"You dance, right?" A familiar voice asked as a tray slid onto the table across her.

She glanced up to confirm that it was Luke who had suddenly decided to join her. "I used to. Aren't you supposed to eat with your cabin?"

He gestured at the campers milling around. "Nobody follows that rule, especially not right now. Too much planning to do."

"Right." She took a bite of her toast.

"So, what kind of dance did you do? Ballroom? Modern? Tap?"

"Ballet. And lyrical, but that was a couple of years ago."

He snorted slightly. "I should have guessed."

She glared at him. "Why are you here again?"

"Talent show planning, obviously." He replied. "How long did you do ballet?"

"Twelve years, give or take. But I'm really not interested in-"

"Twelve?" He repeated. "Wow, okay. Lyrical?"

"Six." She replied. "But I don't want to plan the talent show thing with you."

He smirked. "Who said you were planning it with me? I'm just inventorying what we have for talent."

"Well, count me out. I don't dance anymore."

He frowned, but when he spoke his voice was more contemplative than angry. "What about choreographing? Do you think you could work out a routine?"

"Maybe." She had been expecting an argument, not that suggestion. "I could try."

"Try to keep it simple, though. I'm pretty sure you're the only ballerina here." He grabbed his tray and rushed off to another table, probably to continue to "inventory" talent. What a dick.

She would need energy if she was going to dance again, even if it was only to choreograph. She took another bite of toast, but it tasted more and more like sawdust as the sneaky voice in her head decided to pipe up. You're going to teach everyone a dance? How can anyone pay attention to the routine when all of your fat is jiggling around?

She forced herself to take another bite, despite the lump growing in her throat. Maybe this summer was going to be harder than she expected. She tried to think of a way to call her therapist, or at least journal without having to wait hours for free time. A glance out the window discouraged her even more. On a day like this, the mess hall would be packed. Not exactly the best environment for an emergency therapy session. Why had she convinced herself into coming here? Six weeks in an unfamiliar place, with minimal support and supervision, and limited access to the therapist that she had grown way too dependent on. This had been a terrible idea, and it was too late to back out unless she wanted to prove to her father that she wasn't any better.

At least she still had some time to journal before breakfast was over if she hurried. She scarfed down as much of her breakfast as she could and tried to ignore how sick it made her feel.

"Don't tell me you're going to make yourself throw up," Josh whispered, as he slid into the seat next to her.

She almost choked on her juice. She hadn't even seen him coming. She swallowed hard and shook her head. "No, I just want to do something before morning activities, and I'm still on kitchen duty, so I only have a few minutes."

"What's so important?"

She bit back her irritation. "Don't worry about it."

"Too late. Spill."

Fine. I somehow let your dickhead friend talk me into choreographing a dance for this stupid talent show, so I need to go journal because I can't call my therapist, and obviously I don't want to slip back into the whole "not eating" thing."

"Oh." He paused, probably trying to make sense of her whole rant. "I'm going to ignore the "dickhead friend" comment because you're clearly upset right now, but still. Don't. And if he knew that it would be this hard for you, he never would have asked."

"It doesn't matter. It's fine- I'm fine. I can do it, I just need a few minutes." She stood up. "And don't tell him. The last thing I need is this getting around."

"What getting around?" He followed her to the cart of dirty dishes. "That you aren't perfect? That you actually struggle with shit?"

"Sure, Josh. Whatever will get you off my back."

"Come on-"

"I have to go." She slammed her empty tray onto the stack and hurried out of the mess hall before he could stop her.

At least her cabin was empty. Everyone must still be eating/flirting/planning. She pulled her journal out from under her mattress and settled on her bed with her back against the wall. If she heard the telltale squeak of the top porch step, she could hide her journal between the side of the bed and the wall before anyone made it inside. With that emergency plan in place, she started to write.

By the time she felt even marginally better, her hand had grown sore and she had filled two pages with her thoughts. She climbed off her bed and slipped her journal back into its hiding place, then checked the time. Shit. She was ten minutes late to clean up. She yanked her hat and shoes back on as she ran outside.

"You're late." The head kitchen worker told her as soon as she ran in the door. "I understand that sometimes things come up, but be quicker next time."

"Sorry!" She called as she rushed to her usual starting spot at the dishwasher.

Luke didn't even glance up from the tray of dishes he was loading next to her. "Tsk tsk, Princess. You're late."

"I know." She pushed the already finished tray into the washer and hit the button.

She felt his gaze rest on her, and she had to force herself to concentrate on counting the seconds until she could move the tray out. Finally, the weight of his eyes lifted as he spoke again. "What were you doing, anyway?"

Writing down how much I hate myself so that I don't fall back into nasty old habits and hate myself more. "I had to run to my cabin to do something and I lost track of time. Sorry."

"Yeah, you might want to hold off on that next time." He advised. "I'm not covering for you again. Oh, and if anyone asks, you're on your period."

"What?" She turned to glare at him.

He shrugged. "Marilyn asked where you were. I told her that you got your period unexpectedly and had to deal with it."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, you're welcome." He said. "Do you know what happens if you don't take this seriously enough to show up on time? You get an extra day the first time, and if it happens again, you get an extra mealtime clean up for every minute you're late. I got you a second chance."

"Oh." Her anger and embarrassment faded. "Thanks."

The edges of his mouth twitched up into a half-smile. "Can't let our team choreographer lose any precious work time, right?"

Her stomach twisted at the reminder. "Right. Almost forgot about that."

She could feel his gaze rest on her, and she focused all of her attention on running the tray of plates through the dishwasher and hoped he'd move on.

Fortunately, he let the subject drop, and went back to rinsing dishes in silence. After a few minutes, they fell into their familiar routine of bickering. As irritating as that could be, it was better than the heavy silence, and a much easier conversation than why she was late, or how she was planning to choreograph a dance for their entire group when she wasn't even sure if she could safely dance again herself. God. How was she going to manage that?

She glanced over to Luke. He was focused on a particularly dirty pan. Good. She eased her far hand up to her side and pinched the excess skin there, then lowered it and did the same to her thigh. She couldn't tell if the fat was a relief or disappointment. She knew, logically, that it was healthy to have enough flub there to pinch, but a part of her still hated that it existed at all.

"Hey, I forgot-" Luke broke the silence suddenly.

She jumped and dropped her hand guiltily.

"What? Did I scare you?" He asked, only slightly mockingly.

"Have you seen your face? You always scare me." She shot back.

He chuckled. "Good one. You know Maya, right? She does music editing stuff, so she'll splice something together for the dance."

"Oh, cool." Even she could hear her forced enthusiasm fall flat.

"Don't get too excited."

She shrugged and tried to play down her impassivity. "We can't all be as eager as you. Why are you so into this anyway? You can't want fifty dollars worth of junk food that much."

"Nah, it's not that. Josh and I have an annual bet over it. Loser has to do whatever the winner decides- usually something embarrassing."

"Like what?" She felt a smile come on, despite herself. When he hesitated, she added. "If you don't want to tell me, I'm sure Josh would."

Luke groaned, and glanced over his shoulder to check where the kitchen staff were. He lowered his voice. "Like streaking across the camp on the last night."

"What?" She forced her voice to stay quiet. "You did that?"

"A deal's a deal." He dried his hands and pushed her towards the door. "Come on, Wilson."

She fell into step with him towards the auditorium, and tried not to think about how long it had been since anyone touched her like she wasn't about to break.

"I heard that you need to make a private phone call." He commented a little too casually.

"What?" She sputtered. "Josh?"

"Josh." He confirmed. "He didn't tell me why, just that he knew I knew somewhere with cell service."

"You do? Where?" She asked.

"Not now." He said. "Talent show planning, remember? I'll take you after lunch clean up. Deal?"

She had to remind herself that the afternoon wasn't that far away. "Yeah, okay."

Talent show planning wasn't quite as painful as Natalie had feared. So far it was mostly Luke fielding questions and solving arguments. For how antagonizing he could be, he was surprisingly good at keeping the peace.

She spent the first half of the meeting sketching ideas for the dance out while she half-listened to the discussion. She didn't even look up until she heard her name.

"How do we know that Natalie can even pull this off?" Alex asked.

Luke's face was the first thing she saw when she looked up, and she was so relieved that his intense glare wasn't focused on her for once. "Because she said she could. We're a team, dude. We trust each other. Wilson's got this."

She raised her eyebrows at the use of her last name. That was twice in one morning. Did that count as a nickname? It was almost... friendly. Especially considering, well, Luke.

"What if she doesn't?" Alex pressed.

She straightened up and looked at him. "I do. I may not have choreographed anything on this scale before, but I know dance. It'll take me a few days to work out a rough idea, but I'll have it ready soon. If you still don't think I'm capable then, we still have time to work on something else. Although, unless you're holding out on us, I don't know if we have many other options."

A couple of kids snickered, and Alex shrugged. "Fine."

She caught the approving nod that Luke gave her, and couldn't stop from smiling back at him as she turned her attention back to her drawing.

The topic of music carried through to lunch, and Natalie did her best to use it as a distraction, to pay more attention to which songs to use instead of focusing on how many calories were on her tray, but it didn't work. She had barely any idea which songs the group was leaning towards, and she spent most of the time pushing food around her plate instead of eating it.

One bad day -or meal- does not define you. She reminded herself in an attempt to ease her worries. It doesn't mean that you're relapsing, just that you're still actively recovering.

In the spirit of actively recovering, she forced herself to eat half of the food on her plate. Today was not going to be perfect food-wise, and that was going to have to be okay. At least she was eating something. That had to be good enough for now.

Fortunately, Luke was too focused on the talent show to needle her during clean up. Occasionally, he would mutter or hum to himself about music, but otherwise, he was silent.

They left together as soon as they were given the go-ahead. Odd. For almost the entire week they'd been working together, they had spaced out their departures, and now they left together twice in one day. Maybe this talent show was magic.

As soon as they reached the main path that diverged between the Mess Hall, the cabins, and the lake, Luke turned to face her. "You're going to want warmer clothes than that. Go change and I'll meet you at the lake."

Warmer clothes? She didn't bring warmer clothes. She sighed and headed to her cabin. Maybe she could find a long-sleeved shirt or something.

After spending way too long searching, she found a cardigan that was loose enough that if fit over the one she was already wearing. Just the thought of going back out in the wet and cold day made her shiver. Add in the breeze off the lake, and she started wondering exactly how badly she didn't want to relapse. The deliberation took all of five seconds, and then she headed out to the beach.

Luke was waiting on the dock, holding a rope connected to a canoe. He frowned as she approached. "That's what you call warm clothes?"

She tried to hide her chattering teeth. "My fall and winter clothes were already packed for the move when I decided to come here. I figured that since it was summer, I'd be fine without them."

He shook his head slightly, then handed her the rope. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and pulled the hoodie underneath over his head. She averted her eyes and felt her face flush as his T-shirt underneath rode up, revealing notably toned abs. He tossed the hoodie to her and pulled his jacket back on.

"I'll be fine. You don't have to-" She started to say.

"Oh, yes I do." He cut her off. "If Josh finds out I took you out on the lake like that, he'd kill me. Or, he'd tell my mom and she'd kill me." His mouth curled up into a mocking grin. "I was raised better than that."

"Thanks." She couldn't quite bite back her smile. The tough, snarky juvenile delinquent was scared of his mom. That was almost sweet.

He looked decidedly not sweet when he gestured to the canoe impatiently, even as he buckled up his life jacket and tossed her another one. "Hurry up. We only have an hour or so before they send out a search party."

She did up her life jacket and eased herself into the front seat of the canoe. "Where are we going?"

He jumped in behind her, rope in hand, and used his oar to push away from the dock. "There's a summer village on the east side of the lake. They have cell service. Row on the left side only. I've got the right."

"Got it." She muttered. Any sort of appeal he had earned with his comment about his mom disappeared when his bossy side came out.

He was quiet for the first few minutes, then sighed quietly. "If you need any help with teaching your dance, or even the choreographing, I might be able to lend a hand."

"Do you have any dance experience?" She asked automatically. Guys always assumed that since they could (probably) lift her, they could be a great dance partner. Even if they had two left feet and no sense of rhythm.

"Yeah." He replied. "I mean, not ballet, but I know how to waltz and tango- well, mostly the Argentine tango, but I think I remember enough of the basics."

"Really?" She couldn't keep her disbelief out of her voice.

Luckily, he didn't seem offended. "Yep. I'm probably out of practice, though. It's been a while."

"You're probably just as out of practice as I am." She said. "I haven't danced since November."

"I've got you beat. Last June for me."

"Okay, I have to ask: How did you get into dance? No offense, but you don't really seem like the usual type."

"You mean your ballet classes weren't packed with guys like me? I am shocked and appalled." He chuckled, and for once, his laugh didn't sound mocking. "Do you know what a Quinceanera is?"

She was a little taken aback by the question. "Kind of? It's like a sweet sixteen party, but at fifteen and more religious, right?"

"Something like that. It's an important coming of age thing for Latina girls. My mom's Argentinian. She's been planning Lucy's Quinceneara since she was born. She had the whole family take a shitload of dance lessons so that we wouldn't embarrass the entire family by dancing badly."

"Oh, that's so sweet!" She exclaimed before she could stop herself.

Surprisingly, Luke didn't have a sarcastic reply for her. "Yeah, I guess."

"That must be coming up soon. I thought she was already fifteen."

"She is. It was in April."

Natalie couldn't tell if the return of his curtness was due to the subject, or if he had just remembered that he hated her. She decided to push her luck. "How was it?"

"I wouldn't know." His voice was sharper than usual. "I wasn't there."

Shit. That must have been when he was in juvie or military school. "Sorry."

She could hear his sigh, even through the noise of the wind and waves. "No, it's fine. It's just kind of a sore subject. My mom spent almost my whole life planning for this super important thing for my sister, and then my dad and military school decided it wasn't important enough."

"That's awful."

He was quiet for a minute. "It's whatever. Sorry to unload on you like that. Just... forget that I said anything."

"Sure."

"Stop rowing." He instructed after a minute of silence. He kept rowing until he had turned the canoe to face the Eastern shore. "Okay, you can start again."

She dipped her oar back into the water. Now that they were facing it, she could see the dock for the village. At this point, she wasn't sure what she wanted more: a private space to call her therapist or freedom from the awkward silence that had overtaken the canoe.

Finally, they paddled alongside the dock. Luke grabbed the rope from the bottom of the boat and handed it to her. "Toss this to me once I'm up there." He climbed onto the dock like he had done it a million times. He probably had, with how well he seemed to know everything about this place.

She threw him the rope, and he caught it effortlessly and tied it to a dock post. He offered a hand to help her out, and she accepted it with only a hint of worry that he might push her into the lake. How did a twenty-minute canoe trip somehow get them onto friendly terms?

"All right, princess, we only have about ten minutes until we have to head back. Have fun getting your dealer to mail you your shit or whatever your secret phone call is about."

Or not so friendly of terms after all. "Please. If I did drugs, I'd just buy them from you, criminal."

He scoffed and shook his head, then jogged down the dock and across the empty beach.

Natalie glared at his retreating figure, then took stock of her situation. She was alone, in an unfamiliar place, and- despite her layers and borrowed hoodie- freezing. There were probably businesses or something open nearby, but that meant having people around, and the whole reason for this trip was to avoid that. She looked around and resigned herself to the cold. At least it had stopped raining for now. She pulled out her cell phone as she headed towards the wooded area at the back of the beach. As promised, three service bars lit up. She found the contact and hit the call button.

Casey answered almost immediately. "Hello, Casey Silver speaking."

"Hey, it's Natalie. Do you have a few minutes?"

"I do. How's camp going?"