Summer at Willow Lake. Сьюзен Виггс

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СКАЧАТЬ Lolly Bellamy.

      He wasn’t the typical Kioga camper, and as someone who had been coming here since she was eight years old, she would know. This boy, a first-timer, was rough around the edges, his hair too long, his cargo shorts too low-slung. Maybe he even looked a little dangerous, with his pale blue eyes and dark hair, a combination that was both cool and disconcerting.

      Through gaps in the trees, she could see people walking in pairs or foursomes, chattering away. It was only the first day of camp, yet already, kids were figuring out who they were going to be friends with this year. Lolly already knew they had ruled her out, of course. They always did. If it wasn’t for her cousins, she’d be up a tree, for sure.

      She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and felt a dull thud of envy in her gut as she looked at the other campers, who already seemed totally at ease around one another. Even the new ones, like the lanky boy, seemed to fit in. Fresh off the camp bus, they strolled side by side, yakking away and laughing. Some of the girls wore their camp hoodies slung nonchalantly over their shoulders, their innate fashion sense evident even with the regulation clothes. Most of the boys had their Kioga bandannas tied around their foreheads, Rambo style. Everybody strutted about as though they owned the place.

      And of course, that was kind of funny. None of these kids owned Kioga. But Lolly did.

      Well, in a way. The summer camp belonged to her nana and granddad. Back when she was in the Fledglings, the eight-to-elevens, she used to lord her status over the other kids, but it never really worked. Most kids didn’t give a hoot about that.

      The tall boy found a hickory stick and used it to beat at the underbrush or to lean on as he walked. His gaze darted around watchfully, as though he expected something to jump out at him.

      “So I guess your name is Ronnoc,” she said at last.

      He scowled and shot a glance over his shoulder at her. “Huh?”

      “Says so on the back of your shirt.” “It’s inside out, genius.” “It was just a joke.”

      “Ha, ha.” He stabbed the hickory stick into the ground.

      Their destination was the summit of Saddle Mountain, which wasn’t exactly a mountain, more like a big hill. Once they finally reached the top, they’d find a fire pit with log benches arranged in a circle around it. This was the site of many camp traditions. Nana once said that in the days of the first settlers, travelers would make signal fires at high points like this one in order to communicate longdistance. It was on the tip of Lolly’s tongue to share the bit of trivia with her partner, but she clamped her mouth shut.

      She had already made up her mind not to like this kid. Truth be told, she had made up her mind not to like anybody this summer. Her two favorite cousins, Frankie—short for Francine—and Dare, usually came with her, and they always made Lolly feel as if she had actual friends. But this year, they were driving to California with their parents, Aunt Peg and Uncle Clyde. Lolly’s own parents didn’t do that kind of traveling. They only did the kind you could brag about afterward. Her parents pretty much liked anything they could brag about—trips, real estate, antiques, artwork. They even bragged about Lolly, but that was a stretch. Especially now, after sixth grade, the year her marks went down and her weight went up. The year of the divorce.

      Now, there’s something to brag about, she thought.

      “We’re supposed to learn three things about each other,” said the boy who had no sense of humor, the boy she didn’t want to befriend. “Then when we get to the top, we have to introduce each other to the group.”

      “I don’t want to know three things about you,” she said airily.

      “Yeah, well. Ditto.”

      The getting-to-know-you fireside chat was always tedious, which was a shame, because it didn’t have to be. The little kids were best at it because they didn’t know which things to keep to themselves, and which to share. Lolly was a perfect example of that. A year ago, she’d blurted out, “My parents are getting a divorce” and had dissolved into tears, and her life had been a nightmare ever since. But at least back then, her admission had been genuine. In this age group, she already knew the introductions would be totally boring or phony or both.

      “I wish we could skip it,” she said. “It’s going to be a complete drag. The younger kids are more interesting because at least they’ll say anything.”

      “What do you mean, anything?”

      “Like if their uncle is being investigated by the SEC or their brother has a third nipple.”

      “A what?” Lolly probably shouldn’t have brought it up, but she knew he’d bug her until she explained. “You heard me,” she said.

      “A third nipple. That’s total BS. Nobody has that.”

      “Huh. Bebe Blackmun once told the whole group that her brother has three.”

      “Did you see it?” he challenged.

      “Like I would even want to.” She shuddered. “Ew.”

      “It’s bullshit.”

      She sniffed, determined to appear unimpressed by his swearing. “I bet you have an extra one.” She didn’t know why she said it. She knew the chances of him having three nipples were zip.

      “Yeah, right,” he said, stopping on the trail and turning. In one graceful motion, he peeled off his T-shirt right there in the woods, in front of her face, so fast she didn’t have time to react.

      “You want to count ‘em?” he demanded.

      Her face lit with a blush and she marched past him, staring straight ahead. Idiot, she thought. I am such an idiot. What was I thinking?

      “Maybe you have three nipples,” he said with mocking laughter in his voice. “Maybe I should count yours.”

      “You’re crazy.” She kept marching.

      “You’re the one who brought it up.”

      “I was just trying to make conversation because you’re totally, one hundred percent boooring.”

      “Uh-huh,” he said. “That’s me. Boooring.” He sashayed around her, mimicking her walk. He hadn’t put his shirt back on but had tucked it in the back waistband of his cargo shorts. With the First-Blood headband and the shirt hanging down like the back half of a loincloth, he looked like a savage. Very Lord of the Flies.

      He was a total show-off. He—

      She stumbled over a tree root, and had to grab for a nearby branch to steady herself. He turned, and she could have sworn she’d seen his arm flash out to keep her from falling, but he quickly resumed walking without touching her. She stared at him, not to be rude or nosy but this time out of concern.

      “What’s that on your back?” she asked bluntly.

      “What?” Mr. Lord of the Flies scowled unpleasantly at her.

      “At first I thought you forgot to bathe, but I think you have a really huge bruise.” She pointed to the back of his rib cage.

      He СКАЧАТЬ