Outside, I smell burning leaves, a scent I've always loved. I don't know why. I guess it reminds me of the campfires Riley and I would sit around with stick-skewered marshmallows when we were kids.
Abbott jumps into his pickup, and I follow suit. The last time we skipped school, we went to the Edwards home and spied on the family I destroyed. Today I want to do something that will take both our minds off the shit going on our lives.
He starts the car, backs out, and pulls to the edge of the parking lot. I tell him to take a right. He throws a curious look in my direction, but I don't give him any explanation.
"Just do it," I say, arching my eyebrow.
So he does.
I continue to give him directions until we have passed the city limits and are driving into the country. About ten miles outside of town, I see a sign that says "Camp Minnetonka," and I know we've reached our destination, the old Girl Scout camp that Riley and I used to attend but has since been abandoned.
"Here we are," I say. "Drive up that road."
"But it's all overgrown," Abbott protests.
"It's fine," I reply. "Trust me."
He drives down the gravel road, into a thick wood. The temperature in the car drops a few degrees when we're under the cover of shade. We pass an area that used to be a parking lot but is now wild with weeds and flowers. There's the old commissary, where we bought candy bars and stamps to send letters home, even though our families were only twenty minutes away.
"Keep going," I tell Abbott, enjoying the syrupy sense of nostalgia that settles over me. I remember the excitement that Riley and I felt every summer when we carried our sleeping bags and luggage up toward the cabins. It was a simpler time, when the right flavor of popsicle could make your whole day.
My anticipation mounts as we drive deeper into the camp. I'm longing to see the dining hall, the pool, the ropes course. Slowly we approach a cluster of old cabins and a couple of half-rotted picnic tables.
"Here," I tell Abbott, knowing that this is as far as we can drive. The rest of the camp is accessed by trails which I'm sure are completely covered.
We get out of the truck and slam the doors. I walk toward the cabin nearest to me, the one that Riley and I shared our last summer here when we were twelve. As I climb the steps and push open the ripped screen door, the memories flood into my head. So many whispered conversations, shared dreams, secret fears.
There is a thick layer of dust over the wooden floor. I thought someone would have cleared out the cots, but they're still here—four of them, topped with stained mattresses. I can almost see the ghosts of me and Riley, dressed in bathing suits and jean shorts, munching half-melted Butterfingers and painting our toenails.
I think about the question Abbott asked me in the band room. Why didn't I tell Riley about what my mother did to me? We told each other so many things. She confided that she was nervous that her mother was going to fall in love with someone else because her father was gone so much. I confessed that I felt insecure because I always had to wear secondhand clothes since we were so poor.
Riley was my best friend for years and years. I trusted her, or at least I thought I did. Maybe there's some part of me deep down that feels like whoever I get close to will only end up betraying me. Maybe that's why I never told her about my mother.
I let out a long, shuddering sigh.
Abbott takes my hand again.
These memories are so bittersweet. I thought coming here would take me to a happy place, but it's really only making me feel sadder because I know I can never turn back the clock and get to this place again. This will never again be the camp from my memories.
It just won't.
Just like the fact that I won't be able to play the guitar again, or at least not like I used to.
Just like the fact that Mrs. Edwards is lost forever.
A tear trickles down my cheek.
I turn and bury my face in Abbott's flannel shirt. He stretches his arm around me and squeezes. He doesn't even ask what I'm crying about, which I kind of love. He just lets me be.
There's something about the way we're standing here and I'm falling apart and he's holding me. It feels like the entire world is crumbling around us, leaving us here in this dingy old cabin. My tears turn into sobs, and he smoothes my hair.
"I just don't..." I begin, my voice swallowed by my sobs.
"What?" He pulls back slightly.
"I just don't know what to do next. I mean... where do I go from here?"
His brow wrinkles, and he pulls me close again.
"You'll figure it out," he whispers into my ear. "I know you will."
His faith in my ability to figure my way out of this mess takes me aback. All my life, I've felt a little coddled. I mean, obviously after the thing happened with my mom, Grams did the best she could to make me feel safe every day of my life. When Riley and Jared found out about my habit of cutting into my own flesh, they were super careful never to upset me. Well, up until the night of the crash. So Abbott standing here, not giving me advice but instead telling me that he believes I can get through this by myself, it's different.
"You think so?" I lift my face toward his.
He gazes at me with hooded eyes. "Of course I do."
What happens next is a kiss.
I've always thought it's kind of bullshit when people say, "Oh, it just happened," but in this case it really does. It seems inevitable, the only possible thing that could come from us standing here so close together and him telling me I am strong enough to survive the worst thing ever to happen to me.
His lips are softer than I thought they'd be, warmer than Jared's. When I kissed Jared, it always felt like he was trying to map out every nook and cranny of my mouth. But Abbott is tentative, waiting for me to make each move, reacting with his lips. I open my mouth just a little bit, and he follows my lead. I reach out to touch my tongue to his, and he moves his against mine. It's almost like we're mirroring each other.
His hands are in my hair. Mine are on his hips.
I can hear the wind rustling leaves outside.
Gasping for breath, I grab his hand and try to move it downward. But he resists. He pulls back.
"What?" I ask, confused.
His brow wrinkles. "I'm sorry. I... I just don't want to move too fast, okay?"
A million things are going through my mind: He regrets the kiss. I'm so stupid. Of course he doesn't like me like that. I'm probably not pretty enough. Or too messed up in the head. Shit. And now I've ruined our friendship. Shit shit shit.
I turn away, trying to pull myself together, searching for that happy face to paste on, willing myself the energy to pretend like this is no big deal. The thing is, I feel wiped out from acting like I was fine all day at school. I'm not sure I can put on another performance, not a convincing one, anyway. So I just stare at this spiderweb in the corner, trying to keep the tears at bay.
"Hey," he says, touching my arm. "It's not that I don't want to... God, yeah, I want to. But you were with Jared, like, last week. And you're going through a lot of stuff, and I just think this would complicate things. Right now."
I bite my lip and nod.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
Suddenly the absurdity of the situation hits me. Abbott doesn't want to get into my pants because he's worried that we're moving too fast. Isn't this what every girl dreams of, and I'm worrying that he doesn't want me because I'm not pretty enough?
I find myself smiling.
"That's better," Abbott says. "So... this is the place you and Riley are always going on about? I've gotta admit, this tent is a lot nicer than the ones at Boy Scout camp. I think ours were made out of twigs, dental floss, and raincoats."
I laugh. "Did you get a badge for that or something?"
"Probably," he says, putting his arm around me. "Or maybe we just got to eat hamburger and chunks of potato out of tin foil. I can't remember."
I let my head fall onto his shoulder and sigh, looking at the dirty cots, the splitting wooden floors, the piles of leaves in the corners. This place, it's a part of my past now. There's no going back. That's just the way it is.
And that's okay.
Things happen.
They change.
Every moment, every day, everything is changing.
Everything.
As long as I can accept that, I can move forward.
"Ready to go?" Abbott asks.
"Yeah," I say. "I think I am."