Red, blue, and a very vibrant yellow are currently splattered across my legs. To say art in the Caterpillar Room was messy would be a grand understatement. When we were presented with our morning schedule, I was surprisingly pleased to see I'd be working with some of our youngest campers.
When I was a kid, I started out in the Inchworm Room, helping to manage the daycare center. I was usually there with Sadie, just following her lead, but I always loved the tiny giggles and genuine curiosity within the tiniest of eyes. They say innocence is bliss and I truly believe it. There's a different depth of light in a child's eye that just carries so much contagious joy.
Knowing I would be with the five year olds had me thinking back to those days, and I was looking forward to exploring the world of art through their eager eyes. What I wasn't fully prepared for was a paint day. I'm pretty sure more of the paint ended up on me than the actual paper.
I wouldn't trade it for anything though. There's something about this place. I've been coming here every summer, and each time it just gets better. To see the look on these kids' faces when they arrive, there's just so much excitement. Of course there's always a small group who would rather be somewhere else, but as soon as the thrill of activities begin, they all fall victim to laughter. It's one of my favorite parts, seeing the too cool for school kids becoming wrapped up in the innocent joy of camp games.
I don't know, I guess I just feel lucky to be a part of it all seeing as I'm not actually a local. By all technicalities, this shouldn't be an option for me. It's funny to think about though. How I was actually born here. I don't remember a whole lot about New York. I remember the fighting. I remember the...
What's most important is I remember a lot more about California. I remember the first time I caught my mom singing in the shower. It was after one of her runs on the beach. I thought she was just super energized or something but now I know the truth. It's the first time she ran into Tommy there. Their place.
I guess in the end, everything landed just how it was supposed to. Mom and I weren't actually meant for New York, but I do think we were meant to be here in the beginning. I think it's where we were destined to start our lives, but California was always our next step. And now, I get to have one of the best pieces of that New York life. A piece that used to be Tommy's, that he's passed onto me. And I love that I have it, that I get to experience it.
Minus the paint.
I mean, it's not really that bad. The smiles and pure laughter radiating out of that room made every splatter across my arms and legs worth it. I may be a walking canvas, but I still wouldn't trade it. I don't know, I just love spending a few weeks here each summer, regardless of whatever art filled activity is involved.
The subtle buzz of my phone has me pulling to the side of the hallway. The goal was to rinse off before lunch, but seeing Ben's name across my screen means I may not have enough time to clean up and eat.
I take a deep breath and clear my throat before sliding my thumb across the screen.
"Hey, Ben."
"Hey, baby. Did I catch you before lunch?" He's sweet, he truly is. But he knows my entire schedule, which means he knows exactly when he caught me, not a minute late.
"Uh, yeah. I'm actually headed there now. Well, after I wash off all this paint."
"Paint? You running the art class? Have they seen you draw?" He laughs, clearly trying to make a joke. Problem is, I'm actually not a terrible artist. I wouldn't go selling work on the street or anything, but when you grow up with countless art projects and realms of endless creativity, courtesy of my Aunt Lacy, you pick up a thing or two.
Why he would make that comment, I'm not really sure. Okay, I guess that's not completely true. It's not like I've ever shown him that side of myself, but why would I? It's not necessarily a hobby. It's just something I like to do with Lacy. Especially when things get stressful. Besides softball, it's pretty much the best escape, well, that and midnight hot chocolate topped perfectly with marshmallows and the slightest touch of cinnamon.
"Yeah, I helped out with the five year olds and today was paint day." I can hear another chuckle through the phone, but I decide to ignore it. He's only trying to make conversation, to be flirty in his own way. "How about you? Are you on break?"
Ben ended up locking down a pretty solid internship this summer. Some pre-college program offered close to home to allow students to work inside a lab. I can't say I wasn't a little jealous of the opportunity he snagged. Although he's not in the realm of forensics, he's in a lab nonetheless. The scientist in me lights up just thinking about it.
"Yeah, I actually have to get back soon. But I got to speak to one of the lab technicians today. You would love it here, Mia. They have a whole diagnostic center where they analyze samples."
Now I have a true smile. Something he does actually know a lot about is my plan for the future. I've always been fascinated by crime shows. And having a stepdad in law enforcement, hearing his stories, only added to the enticement. A police officer was never a path I wanted to travel, but science makes sense to me. There's a puzzle to be solved, a pattern to discover, a problem just waiting to be answered. Combining the beauty of science with crime scene investigation and a whole new world opened up for me. One that I just felt was all mine.
"That sounds really perfect, actually," I reply, taking a glance across the field. I'm happy I'm here. I feel a sense of calm, a weird feeling of home being at this camp that, in reality, is so far from home. But despite hearing how Ben's internship is going, I'm still happy this is where I chose to be this summer.
"You could have stayed, you know? We could have spent the whole summer together. Our last moments before we're apart for months."
And we're back here again. He had it all planned out, our last summer together before college. The internship had multiple openings, and he knew how much it would tempt me to stay. What he didn't take into account was that it's not just my last summer with him before college, but my last summer for this camp. There was no way to explain that, to play a game of comparison without it sounding horrible. I mean, how do you place words to the scenario that you'd rather be a camp leader than spend a summer with your boyfriend?
It's not him. He's amazing. He's sweet and considerate, and he doesn't play games. It's just, he doesn't understand what summers here have meant to me. It's not just about seeing the smiles on the kids' faces or getting to spend time with my best friend. It's about being connected to the Sallows, to Tommy. But there's no way to actually express that to Ben. To give reason to why I need to be here.
"We've already talked about this, Ben," I remind him, ignoring the real conversation that needs to be had, the one I don't plan on actually sharing.
"I know. I do. I just...it's going to be a long year apart. And I miss you."
A small exhale sails through my lips. He's said the same thing every night. And I miss him too. I do, but I'm also keeping busy, just like he should be.
"I know," I relent, softening my tone. "But I'll only be a few more weeks and I'll be back. Then we have the rest of summer to spend together."
"Yeah," he acknowledges, though his voice has lost its strength. "This is how it's going to be, you know? Distant phone calls during lunch breaks. Rushing to fill each other in on our day only to be cut short when we're called to the next thing. And I'd be lying if I didn't acknowledge that your schedule will be much busier than mine."
Circles. We're spiraling in an endless round of worries and what ifs. He's concerned, I get it. But we both have different priorities right now, different goals to reach and we both decided to try long distance, to keep a good thing going, despite my pending busy schedule. "I know, but it's what we both agreed to."
"We did. I know. It's just going to be hard. It's already hard."
It's been a week since I came here. And once college starts, he's right that my schedule will get a whole lot busier. Between softball, classes, and schoolwork, my time will be severely limited. "I know. But you know how much I love a challenge," I smile even though he can't actually see me.
"It shouldn't be a challenge, Mia."
Okay, so much for lightening the mood. I open my mouth to say something else, anything else, but he cuts me off. "My break's over. I'll call you tonight, okay? Love you."
I guess we're done with this talk for today. I know it won't be the last time he brings it up, though. "Okay. I'll talk to you tonight."
*****
Grayson Adler.
The very name placed right next to mine on this afternoon's assignment. It's been an interesting week to say the least, being thrust into a world where he's suddenly everywhere again.
Growing up, Grayson always managed to just kind of be there when I'd visit. It wasn't everyday, but seeing as our family ties have us somewhat linked together through a coincidence of marriages, we always just happened to spend time together. It was random enough to keep us just outside the realm of familiarity, but certainly enough to pick up a few key details of his personality. Like the arrogance. He's always had this cocky way about him. And it's the same one he's had all week. Not that we've actually talked much. I guess that's about to change, though.
I don't know exactly what to expect working with him. As we got older, entered the unavoidable awkward middle school years, he found a passion in driving me insane. For whatever reason, his new entertainment involved the creativity that is pranking.
The last summer he was actually around, before the football camps began, I found a block of cream cheese in my deodorant. Yeah, you heard me, Philadelphia's finest swapped out for the refreshing antiperspirant that should have been there. I can still feel the thick layer coating under my arm, the sour aroma still burned into a memory.
And that's not all. Grayson Adler just loved to pull pranks every single time I visited. Mentos on the lid of a coke he handed me? Check. Replacing the inside of an Oreo with toothpaste? Yep. My torture was his entertainment. Hence the constant bickering between the two of us. I wouldn't be surprised if he spent the whole year, each year, plotting for my return, looking for new ways to get under my skin.
It's been three years, though. Three years to mature, to grow, to become some early version of adults. I am curious what version I'll be getting of him today. June likes to talk, and apparently he's become quite the cliche. You know, a typical hotshot star of the football team, girls falling at his feet. I guess I'm just curious to see it all for myself, to see who he's become over the years.
I am already starting to piece it together, though. Seeing as I'm currently organizing the materials for this afternoon's activity alone, tells me he's still the boy who puts the thrill of the moment above actual responsibility. Just like he did the night we broke into the pool. The last night we actually spent time together. The night we nearly...
I grab the last pile of equipment, placing it by the final cone before taking a step back to make sure everything is in place. Once everything is set up, the shuffling of footsteps across the grass sounds behind me.
"Damn," he saunters up as I slowly turn to face him."Did you leave anything for me to do?"
I can't help but check the time on my watch. I have a minor thing about punctuality. Okay, it's a whole thing. "Hey," I look up, suddenly faced with how tall he really is as he looms over me, a tower of defined muscle that's hard to ignore. Those faint shadows of definition he'd been growing the last summer I saw him? Yeah, those have officially been built, sculpted, and mended perfectly.
And adding to that new and impressive definition, he's also got some tattoos now. They scatter one arm sort of randomly but his right arm is covered. A forest of black ink trails up his forearm, over his biceps and disappears into his shirt. It's a lot of artwork. A lot of time. And seeing as we're only eighteen, there's no way he actually started those at a legal age.
But regardless of that, against my better judgment, I'm intrigued by them. Tempted to ask about them, to find out where the branches lead, to know their story. I feel like I don't know him at all, but I'm willing to bet those tattoos would be a good place to start. If I wanted to know, that is.
My eyes quickly bounce back up to his, leaving behind the various questions that come to mind, the curiosity in the years that have gone blank. That's when I notice the hair. Earlier this week, it was a bit shaggy, out of place for Grayson. At least the Grayson I used to know wouldn't have let it grow to a point where it became noticeably unmanageable.
Seeing it that way gave me that familiar urge to take clippers to it. When you grow up with a dad who just so happens to be a cop and needs to stay clean cut, it's generally easier to get the majority of those cuts at home. It's something I used to sit and watch my mom do, aching to be able to do it myself one day. Tommy never let his hair go too long though, so it was easy to just clean it up, unlike the overgrown adventure Grayson's would have been.
It's not like that anymore, though. It's clean, cut close along the sides, the fade showing the subtle increase of length as it reaches the dark depths at the top. He's always had a thing about his hair. A sense of perfection about it. Similar to my obsession with being on time.
"Your haircut keep you from being here on time? Or was it all the time in front of the mirror that did it?" I smile, unable to pass up an opportunity to make a comment.
"You noticed the cut, huh?" He smirks, lifting an arm to run a hand over his hair.
"I noticed you're late," I retort, causing him to pull his phone from his pocket and check the time.
"No, actually I'm not." When I don't provide him with a response he begins to smile. It's the cocky kind, the only one I think he's capable of. "Wait, don't tell me. You're the kind of person who believes if you're not early, you're late. Am I right?"
No.
Yes. But that's beside the point.
"The station needs to be ready before the campers arrive, Grayson. It means getting here early to ensure we're actually ready when they show up."
"Which is why our start time is already fifteen minutes before they're set to arrive."
"Yes," I agree. "Fifteen, not five. Hence, you being late."
He lets out a sigh, laughing as he takes a step forward. "Okay, so I'm a little late. But I made it before the campers. Besides, did you really need me? Looks like princess punctuality had it all covered."
"Did you really just call me a princess?" Two minutes. It's been exactly two minutes and somehow we've managed to fall right back into the bickering games. Seems time doesn't really change much. Seems he's traded his days of pranks for lack of responsibility.
I know he doesn't want to actually be here. June mentioned some type of punishment that I don't know all of the details of, but I do know that he has to be here. Regardless of his reason for being present this summer, he should at least follow the expectations that the rest of us are required to.
"Would you prefer I go back to calling you Tink?" There's the smirk again. "I've said it before, that little flash of red on your cheeks matches her a lot better than any princess. And the attitude, uncanny."
What I'd love to do is show him said attitude but I know that'd only prove his point, then boost his ego for being right. I can't give him the satisfaction of either.
"So, what does that make you, Grayson? Peter Pan?"
He takes another step forward, the challenge in his eyes meeting mine. I don't step back, instead, I hold firm. "And why is that, Mia? Are you trying to say I'll never grow up?"
That smirk has found its way onto my lips, full of that sass that emerges every time I'm around him. I don't know why it sparks so easily in his presence, why it's always lighting up whenever he opens his mouth, but it's there. Just like it was all of those years ago. "Your words, not mine."
He smiles, nodding his head. "You know," he takes another step, forcing me to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. "Tink was a jealous type. Didn't like seeing Peter Pan getting close with Wendy. You know what fuels jealousy, Mia?" He pauses, his smile widening as his hand slowly lifts to the braid resting over my shoulder. His fingers touch the ends of my hair as he says, "Attraction."
My hand quickly finds his chest, pushing him a good foot back. "Oh, get over yourself, Grayson. Not all girls are tripping over themselves to get to you."
He shakes his head. "I'm well aware, Mia. You made it quite clear the first time we talked that I'm not your type. I haven't forgotten."
And I wouldn't expect him to. Not when he thinks he's everyone's type. I'm sure he's still in a state of shock that there's someone out there who doesn't worship the ground he walks on.
"You ready?" I question, gesturing behind him at the group of kids headed our way and effectively detouring this conversation.
He turns slightly to see the approaching campers before turning back to face me. "Do I have a choice?"
No, it doesn't appear that you do.
The next hour actually isn't that bad. The kids were tasked with building a bridge with limited materials from one side of the field to the other. The catch is every team member must be standing on an object at all times, oh and, there aren't enough materials to make it all the way across. It involves teamwork, communication, and problem solving, shuffling the team to one end so the last person can pick up an object, passing it to the front of the line to place down and keep the team moving forward.
There's a bit of a challenge to it until you find the key to it all, working together. Until that realization comes, there can be a lot of frustration. A lot of teammates arguing and trying to take the lead. But that's not the point. You can't make it about yourself, it's about everyone.
And though Grayson can come off as cocky and arrogant, he knows how a team works. That fact became glaringly apparent when one of our campers was ready to give up, throwing his hands in the air and stomping off to the side. His team was struggling to say the least. A lot of leaders, all trying to make it work their way. I don't know what Grayson said, but I know he talked to the whole group, then talked to the boy. Next thing I knew, they were back at it, shuffling down the field like a well oiled machine.
He may not have volunteered to be here, and he might have his priorities all out of whack when it comes to showing up on time, but I don't think he can deny that this camp is growing on him.
Once the kids are gone, I start at one end of the field, stacking the cones as Grayson heads to the other side. When we meet in the middle, he takes my stack, adding it to his own. It's nice to actually have a partner this time around.
"Thanks for helping that group," I acknowledge, giving him a slight nod before reaching for the broom sticks on the ground.
"Which group?" He questions before quickly nodding his head. "Oh, yeah. No big deal. I just reminded them that they're a team, that they all have the same goal. And the sooner they figured that out the sooner they could actually win this thing. I also told them they needed a captain. Someone to take the voices of many and turn it into one, you know?"
I've stopped moving, the task of picking up disrupted. I mean, I know Grayson is an athlete. I know he understands the concept of being on a team. I guess I'm just surprised to hear him openly admit that it's not just about one person. One standout star who makes a team. It's about all the pieces working together.
"That's not no big deal, Grayson. That group was really struggling until you helped them. Not everyone would have been able to pull them in after a blow up like that."
He smiles, a hint of genuinity behind it. It's brief though, quickly covered by pride. "I'm not everyone, Mia."
The eye roll that's always cued and ready when it comes to Grayson takes action. "Most people would take this moment humbly."
His smile widens as he takes a step in my direction. "You see, you keep placing me in this category of everyone and most people."
"So, what? You think you deserve a category all to yourself?"
"Don't you?"
I have a category for him. One that fits him just perfectly. Before I have a chance to actually voice that little nugget of information, his eyes are glancing above my head, clearly distracted.
I turn slowly, trying to figure out what appears to be so fascinating. A bark of laughter meets my ears as I hone in on Brandon standing across the parking lot by his truck, his girlfriend Elise beside him as they appear to be looking at something on his phone.
"You got the rest of this?" Grayson's voice pulls my eyes back to his as he's already stepping around me, heading toward the parking lot.
Is he serious right now? "We just started picking up."
"Yeah," he agrees as his steps continue. He takes another look at me, then looks back at the good time he's missing, back to me. "But you got the rest, right?"
He's going to bail, go join his friends and leave me to pick up everything I set up on my own when I got here on time.
"You were late, and now you want to leave early?"
There's no question in his eyes, no look of remorse. Instead, his eyes flash back to the parking lot as his legs keep carrying him away. "Wasn't late, remember?"
"Fifteen minutes, Grayson. We were told to be here fifteen minutes early."
"Ah," he smirks, still taking small strides backward. "Key word there is early. So technically, I just didn't show up early. But I was on time."
He's making absolutely no sense. We were given a separate start time from the campers, but as his steps get further and further away, I realize there's no use in arguing. He's leaving no matter what I try to say.
"Thanks, Mia!" He yells before turning his back and jogging over to his friends.
Unbelievable. That little moment of thanking him for helping, of thinking maybe he actually had an ounce of responsibility in him quickly fades as his impulsiveness takes center stage once again.
He clearly has no care that I'm about to pick everything up, alone. No worry that technically our day isn't actually over yet. Being a camp leader isn't just playing with the kids. It's setting up and cleaning up every activity. Something he's now missed both of.
I watch as he approaches his friends, him and Brandon exchanging one of those bro handshakes and a nod toward Elise before they all crowd around the phone at whatever is so damn entertaining. The blonde from Grayson's lap the first day of camp shows up next, easily establishing herself into their circle and joining the fun.
I guess he hasn't changed all that much, trading in his pranks for an impulsive lack of responsibility. When it comes down to it, he'll always be the boy who reacts to the moment, disregarding all other consequences.