Page 119 of Camp Bliss
I scowl at my phone.
Me: I LIVE with you. I WORK with you.
“And I’m a huge fucking fan,” I whisper.
She can’t hear me. Can she?
Me: I think I know you pretty well.
Her dots bounce and disappear.
Greta: Fair. But people who say that I try too hard for a laugh have known me way longer.
Is she talking about Josh? That leper?
Me: Maybe people who say that don’t know shit.
Her startled laugh echoes through the camper.
Greta: I’ll be sure to tell my parents that the next time I see them.
I narrow my eyes at the words,my parents.
Greta doesn’t talk a whole lot about her parents, but I know for a fact that they live in town. And they’ve never been here.
Not once.
Since we’ve lived in the fifth wheel, I can count at least a half dozen times that my phone has rung at night while we’ve been hanging out and it’s been my parents just calling to sayhey.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard Greta on the phone with her mom or dad.
She once joked that she and her parents had so little in common, she thought she’d been switched at birth. Even so, how could they not think she’s funny?
Are they total dicks?
I know she was super close with her aunt. It’s a gamble, but I send the question anyway.
Me: What about your aunt? The one who took you camping. Russell’s mom.
Me: Does it make me an asshole if I can’t remember her name?
Greta: My Aunt Tilde. And no. I’m actually super impressed you remembered the camping story.
I scoff again.
Me: That was like last month. What? Do you think I don’t pay attention?
I’m teasing her, but really, it makes me wonder. How much did Josh pay attention? And her parents?
Because Greta fucking deserves the attention. Anyone who could ignore her—or walk away from her—has shit for brains.
Greta: No. You notice EVERYTHING. I said it was impressive. It is. Stop fishing for compliments.
My laughter erupts.
Greta: And to answer your question, no. Now that you mention it, no, Tilde never said I tried too hard. She thought I was a riot.
I’m about to respond that she is when another text bubbles up.
