"There's only three more weeks until the bonfire and we still have nothing."
All five of us, James included, were sitting in the cabin. Peej was writing on a piece of paper torn from his notebook, scratching out ideas and jotting down new ones as they were shouted out. Overall, it wasn't a very long list, as we did not have very much creativity.
None of us had meant to forget about the bonfire. It had just gotten lost, tangled all up in everything that had happened over the past two months. It's not like anybody would have been able to remind us, either. After all, it was our responsibility. Those are the rules. No interference.
"What about this one?" Peej said to Chris, pointing at his paper. "Video game themed. There's potential."
"Who the hell suggested that?" Chris groaned, face palming.
James coughed and we all looked at him.
"What? It wasn't me," he denied, making us roll our eyes.
"Let's just hang up a bunch of colorful balloons," Phil said, playing with my hair.
"That's not aesthetically pleasing, Phil," I scolded from where I was lying in his lap.
He leaned down and kissed my forehead. I poked his cheek and squirmed.
"You two are the absolute gayest people I have ever met," Chris said.
"What does that make us, then?" Peej objected jokingly.
We laughed as Chris punched him in the arm. "Shut up, noodle hair. Let's just get on with this."
"To hell with the bonfire," I muttered. "Who even cares what it looks like?"
"It's not about caring, it's about tradition," James told me.
I sighed in annoyance, sinking my head further into Phil's torso.
"Why don't we just take a break?" Peej suggested, sensing the frustration of boredom now fluctuating.
"I say that's a good idea," I declared, standing up immediately and heading for the door. The others began to do the same.
"Wait!" Chris shouted.
We all stopped and looked back at him. He, in a single motion, took Peej's list from his hand and began ripping it into pieces.
"What the hell, don't do that!" Peej reached to stop him.
Chris moved out of the way, holding up an index finger as he looked at the tattered paper in his other palm judgingly.
"We all take an idea," he said. "Then meet up again tomorrow with elaboration."
Peej, hand still outstretched, stepped forward and went to glance at the now partially demolished list to, presumably, make sure the words were all still intact. Seeing as they were, he begrudgingly snatched a piece.
"You could have asked first."
Then, in turns, we all went up and took a piece of the paper from Chris for ourselves. I looked at mine curiously, walking side-by-side with Phil as we left the cabin. The door shut quietly behind us, but I heard it reopen seconds afterward as James, Peej, and Chris began to leave, too.
It was warm out, perfect weather for a summer evening. The sun would set soon, it being well past lunch, and the sound of nighttime insects were orchestrating their songs early, as always. It smelled like fresh air, the kind of scent car fresheners strive for when they're dousing down the little tree ornaments in their factories. I felt my body relax as my thoughts finally slowed to normal speed. Things were going excessively good for the first time since I'd arrived at camp.
"What'd you get?" I asked Phil.
He scrunched his nose. "The stupid video game theme James suggested."
"I got your balloon idea."
"It seems the bonfire is going to rather bland this year."
"It seems," I agreed.
We glanced at one another before snickering. It was such a nice sensation to laugh purely because there was something to laugh about. We each crumpled our torn paper slips and threw them into a trash can.
Despite it all, I hadn't yet seen Phil's miraculous smile. Sure, he smiled plenty. Rarely faked, even, which was a definite stretch from our first encounter. But the one from the pictures, before his suicide attempt, was still nothing but a bite of the past. I had to wonder, would it always be that way? Would his face never glow again?
Some things are permanent, I suppose.
I swung our hands loosely between us, where they connected. Not a moment went by, per most situations, where we weren't touching in one way or another at this point. We'd grown closer than I ever even sought for. If it wasn't our hands, it was our legs under the table. My head on his shoulder. We were basically like stuffed toys that came in a box together and attached with velcrow.
"Are you going to the party tomorrow?" he asked.
I looked up at him as we walked, aimless. A similar routine lately. Our footprints were becoming predictable to the dirt underneath.
"What party?"
Phil turned his head up, peering into the sky. Clouds dotted it in sweeps of white cotton.
"The senior party," he said. "They have it at the lake every year. It's for seniors, to commemorate our final summer here or whatever."
"There's a lake?" I wondered.
"It's usually closed. Nowadays they only open it for this party and random events. This year, I guess, there just were no random events."
I shrugged, biting my lip. "Are you going?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. I'll go, then."
Phil chuckled, shaking his head. I glanced at him curiously.
"What?" I questioned.
"Nothing." He shook his head.
"No, what's funny?"
"You're just like a little kid sometimes. Really dependent on me."
I frowned, feeling myself blush. "No, I'm not."
His eyes shot my way again. "Really?"
I nodded defiantly. Phil grinned.
"Then, what if I said I'm not going anymore? Would you still go?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it with a pout.
He hummed. "That's what I thought."
"That's not fair," I whined. "I just like hanging out with you. It doesn't mean I'm not independent."
Phil shrugged, and I stopped begrudgingly. I pulled my hand from his and crossed my arms. He looked back at me from where he stood, still ahead by a step of my lagging.
"What are you doing?"
"Showing you how not-dependent I am on you."
He watched me carefully, waiting. I raised my chin.
"Okay. Go on." He tipped his head.
I opened my mouth but one more found it dry of words. My eyes scanned all around me, searching for some sort of beacon that would profusely shoot out at any moment to help me with my spur-of-the-moment declaration.
When nothing came to mind right away, and I continued to stand there, Phil rolled his eyes and stepped closer, reaching out to me.
"Come on, silly," he said.
I shook my head, stepping backwards, and then turning and running to hide playfully. Not a very thorough plan, considering he was watching me still and we were in the middle of the camp. I felt people glance my way as I wedged between them and their groups, crouching behind a tree that closely overlooked and brushed the wall of a cabin.
A tree. Perfect.
Feeling like some sort of genuis with my newfound plan, I scampered up the side of the tree with the best my ability. My legs kicked and arms wobbled but eventually I made it onto a sturdy branch.
"Dan, get down from there."
I turned and glanced downward to see Phil standing at the trunk, looking up at me like I was his runaway kitten. I stuck my tongue out at him, pulling myself onto the next branch. As I did so, from the corner of my eye, I saw Phil begin to climb himself. Upon further height, I then was at eye-level with the flat roof of the cabin. With nowhere else to go but downward, I cautiously reached my arm out and crawled onto the roof, hearing Phil's shoe scrape the branch below.
"What on earth are you doing?"
I turned around. Phil was then standing over me, looking down with an expression of utmost incredulity.
"You're a fast climber," I noted.
He rolled his eyes again. "It's almost dinner, you know."
"I'm not hungry."
"Yeah?"
I drew my knees to my chest. "Yeah."
Phil smiled. "Okay. Then I'm not hungry, either."
I felt my own mouth twitch into a grin at this, watching him sit down next to me. He wrapped his arm around me and hugged gently.
"You're not mad, right?" he asked.
"I can't be mad and happy at the same time, you know."
He laughed, a sound that made me especially giddy. I fell back into his chest, letting him lean down so that the two of us were facing the stars. Or, what would soon be the stars, at least. A bird flew across the sky.
After a little while, Phil broke the silence again.
"Hey, who's cabin is this?"
I looked at him. "I have no idea."
And then we laughed, on the roof of some cabin, watching the sunset and in eachother's arms.
And when bell rang for dinner, true to our words, neither of us moved.
a/n -
small filler (aka the quiet before a storm)