Page 78 of That Summer Feeling

I had no idea where we were going to go next, but I knew that we’d figure it out. Because we were teammates.

And we always would be.

One Year Later

Stevie sat shotgun as I navigated the winding roads up the mountains, praying no one had randomly decided to back out of a summer at Camp Carl Cove. There was no way another vehicle could get past our van. We were selling it at the end of the week.

“Camp always brings a new beginning,” Stevie had reminded me every time I cried over the thought.

In the last 365 days of traveling with her, I’d seen parts of the country I’d never before known. Yet nowhere on the map came close to the magic of this particular corner of the Blue Ridge Mountains. We came back here for renewal, as we had the year prior. And I suspected we always would.

When we pulled our rumbly old van into the parking lot, Tim and Tommy waited by the welcome sign. Time had remained kind to them. They looked stronger, more handsome,more equipped for what the week would bring than they’d been before. They were waving without purpose until Tim poked Tommy’s shoulder, spotting Stevie and me through the large front window of the van. Then their smiles broke wide, and they chased us down to the end of the lot.

“Our girls!” Tim cheered, clapping as Stevie swung the side door open.

When we climbed out, the twins wrapped us in a group hug, squeezing so tight that it was hard to tell whose limbs belonged to who.

Tommy pulled back to appraise the back of the van. “No more bumper sticker?”

“I got rid of it last year, actually,” I told him. “Stevie wanted to dohonk if you think you’re gay, but we drive through a lot of interesting towns, so we decided against it. The bumper stickers live in our hearts.”

“Thank you for agreeing to come back,” Tim said.

Stevie and I spent so much time together that I didn’t need to look at her to know she’d all but certainly folded her lips together between her teeth and quirked her head, looking at Tim like he’d become the most baffling person in the world.

“We were never going to miss this,” I said, speaking for us both. “We have half off tuition!”

Stevie wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “That’s right. We’re the returning color games champions. We have a legacy to uphold here.”

A cameraperson appeared, weaving between the rows of cars to find us. Behind them were two more people. One helda microphone. The other wore a silk maxi skirt in lime green, a striped T-shirt with a black suspender-like harness over the top, and black combat boots on the bottom.

“Michelle!” I didn’t mean to yell, but excitement got the better of me.

She stepped in front of the film crew to walk toward me. Not run. Michelle wasn’t the type. But she had a very quick skip to her step as she came to greet me and Stevie. “You’re supposed to ignore the crew,” she whispered into my ear as we hugged.

It was only then that I realized I’d been staring directly into the lens. Watching not just the camera but the person behind it. “Sorry,” I said, suddenly looking instead very closely at Michelle’s shoulder, inspecting the stripes on her shirt.

“Are we going to be famous?” Stevie asked her as the two of them hugged. “I don’t know if I’m ready for my fifteen minutes. But I want Sloane Ford to play me in the biopic they make of this documentary.”

Michelle’s adoption documentary had garnered more success than she’d expected. Because of it, she’d been able to secure financing for her next project—a documentary about Camp Carl Cove’s adult sleepaway camp, with a special focus on the queer found family that had sprung up within it. Michelle had been uncharacteristically sheepish when she’d called Stevie and me to ask if we’d be willing to participate. As if we’d ever say no. As if we weren’t incredibly starstruck and flattered to be included in her art.

I looked at the film crew one more time. “I fear we won’t be very interesting this time around,” I told Michelle.

The production wasn’t as sweeping as I expected. There was no gigantic camera resting on the cameraperson’s shoulder. Instead it was small, practically handheld. If anything, it distracted me more. It seemed like all the equipment should have had more heft to it.

“It’s not about being interesting,” Michelle said. “Just authentic.”

“Okay. Let me know if things are looking desperate, though. We can go do archery and I can pretend to come out again,” I offered. “Just in case you need a bigger story. I’ll be sure to hit another bull’s-eye.”

Michelle gifted me with her laughter. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Well,authentically, I’m dying to see everyone else!” I transitioned. “Who is checking us in this year if it’s not you?”

When we made it to the sign-in table, I got my answer. Dara sat where Michelle had been last year. “Last name,” she deadpanned as we approached, doing a decent Michelle impression. She’d chopped her hair even shorter. It sat along her jawline now, suiting her perfectly.

“Long time no see,” I said.

It was true. I hadn’t seen Dara in over six months. But she’d agreed to come back to camp as quickly as I had, though she was less sure of the documentary angle. She ultimately said yes, because I’d come to learn that she actually put a gigantic amount of stock inmyopinion of things, and I’d been too busy worrying about her opinion to notice.