Page 38 of One Last Summer
“YOU LOOK LIKE my dad circa 1995.”
I gestured at the vintage neon-green Oakleys that hugged Nick’s face, the mirrored lenses reflecting the sun like a laser beam.
“I’m going to choose to receive that as a compliment, thank you very much,” he said with a quirked smile.
I glanced down at Sam, who was seated in a camping chair, a giant straw sunhat covering her curls. “Are you good, ref?” I asked.
“I have this, what more do I need?” she said, proudly showing off the rusty silver whistle that hung around her neck.
I instinctively dug my hand around my shorts pocket as I stood there, looking for my phone. I’d made the decision to leave it in Sunrise, an attempt to give myself over to the present moment. An excellent plan, in theory. But now, in the actual present, it felt uncomfortable and awkward, like when I’d worn slightly stretched-out underpants to work that constantly shifted around all day. Not having my phone was giving my brain a wedgie.
In its place was the Color Week medal (best to have it on me at all times so I could toss it back at Mack when he least expected it), and my new checklist. It was starting to feel like some sort of talisman, a reminder of why I was here, of the things I wanted to accomplish. And right now, I was here to play this Capture the Flag game and experience some joy, goddamnit.
Just then, Mack sauntered up next to me, decked out in a worn maroon USC Trojans shirt and ancient-looking navy running shorts. Such a casual outfit, but it somehow moved with his body, showing off every bit of tanned skin and tight muscle.
“Hey,” he said, running a hand through his bedhead, the pieces of golden-brown hair shooting every which way. Mack looked refreshed and rested, and not like someone who just hours ago had his mouth all over mine.
“Hi!” I chirped, flashing a too-wide, toothy smile. I fingered the folded paper in my pocket, wishing desperately it had a screen that I could flick on to distract myself and avert my gaze. Instead, I just kept staring at Mack with my forced grin.
“Sleep okay?” he asked nonchalantly, stretching an arm overhead and leaning toward one side. I analyzed his tone for any hint of sarcasm or teasing. Surely it was in there; he must be referencing our make-out session in some way. But he was giving me no clues this morning, so I just kept playing along.
“Amazing,” I lied, nodding agreeably. “Out like a rock. Must have been the swim.”
“Clara!” Nick shouted, ending whatever the hell this weird back-and-forth was between Mack and me. “You ready?”
“You know it!” I said, tightening the ponytail at the base of my neck.
“Real Color Week captain energy you’ve got this week, Millen,” Mack said, looking me up and down as he kicked a foot back and grabbed it, balancing on one leg as he stretched. Show-off. “Your shirt’s tucked and everything.”
“Just getting in the spirit of things!” I said before turning toward the group.
“Okay! Listen up!” I said loudly, waving everyone to order. “Nick’s going to review the rules, because we have a very special guest with us today who is new to Capture the Flag.” I golf-clapped my hands in Linus’s direction, and the rest of the group joined in with whoops and applause.
He was snuggled in behind Eloise, his chin nestled on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her waist, their hands clasped. I turned away, not liking the ugly feeling of jealousy that rose in me at the sight of my friend so clearly in love.
“All right, everyone!” Nick shouted like he was in charge of hundreds of people, even though there were just seven of us.
“Dude, we hear you,” Mack said, cupping his ears as he took a step back.
Nick slid his glasses down his nose to give Mack a pointed glare before continuing, just a little bit louder.
“Okay, here we go. Teams are determined at random by drawing names out of a hat, to ensure fairness.”
Nick looked up from the clipboard in his hand and eyed the group sternly to make sure we were all listening. “Except we didn’t have a hat, so we’re using this salad bowl Clara stole from the dining hall this morning.”
I did a tiny curtsy as Sam leaned forward and picked up a familiar-looking, dinged-up brown plastic container off the ground, passing it to Nick. “Your bowl, sir.”
“Thank you, esteemed referee.” He held it out to us like an offering and then plucked a small folded piece of paper out of the bowl before passing it on to Trey.
“Green team!” he announced gleefully.
“Same,” Trey said, giving Nick a quick smile. He then handed the bowl to Eloise, who had to unravel her arm from Linus in order to take it.
“Green team too,” she said. I swallowed nervously, my fingers toying with my hair, braiding the strands of my ponytail just to have something to do. There was no need to keep drawing out of the bowl—the process of elimination meant that Mack and I were on the same team.
Somehow when I had pitched this idea last night, the thought of us being together on a team never crossed my mind.
Eloise turned toward us. “I expect you two to take good care of Linus.”
