Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

But I can see you, your brown skin shining in the sun
You got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on, baby
I can tell you, my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

"Boys of Summer" - Don Henley

Gideon had been waiting on the steps of the convent for the better part of an hour.

She was eager to put some long-awaited space between her and the smelly old building, to spend another blissful summer away from the nuns who had raised her after she was left on their doorstep 18 years ago. It wasn’t that she didn't feel some semblance of gratitude toward them, just they were old and cranky and boring as shit, and she had long since reached her limits on wiping dust off of stained glass windows and breathing in stale air. She looked forward to swimming in the crisp water of the lake, to hearing the sound of the trees rustling in the breeze, hell, she even looked forward to the mosquitos. She was quite fond of the smell of bug spray.

A black backpack hit the step beside her.

She was not looking forward to Harrow coming along.

Every year since they were 12, Harrow and Gideon left the convent for the summer and spent eight weeks at summer camp. Six years later they were getting paid to wrangle kids like them.

“You’ve been out here for hours,” Harrow took a seat on the steps, a healthy distance from Gideon. Her black hair was pinned up on the sides, and she wore her usual amount of dark makeup, emphasizing the sharp cut of her lips. It was an off-putting sight for Gideon, who was trying to enjoy the beautiful day, and now found herself interrupted by the gloom that Harrow seemed to carry with her wherever she went.

“I was hoping they might come early, and we could leave without you.”

Harrow picked at a rip in her black tights. “Sorry you’re left disappointed.”

Gideon opened her mouth to retort but caught sight of the girl’s far off expression. Coupled with her head-to-toe blacks, she looked like someone had drawn a frown in a pool of ink. “Are you, like, good?”

“Am I good?” There was that familiar sneer.

“You seem more gothically disconsolate than usual.”

“Gothic – have you been reading tomes again?”

“How could you tell?”

“They make you verbose,”

“Thank you – wait, fuck you,”

Harrow was silent, and Gideon considered whether it was worth pressing further when she quite frankly did not care, when Harrow grumbled, “I received a letter,” and produced a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her black denim shorts.

She offered it to Gideon without looking at her, which Gideon found to be dramatic, but on brand.

Gideon opened the meticulously folded sheet and read the first line out loud. “Congratulations, we are pleased to offer you acceptance into our undergraduate program for admission this Fall.”

Gideon blinked. “Harrow, this is an acceptance letter. Why on earth has this got you all pouty?”

“Because,” she snatched the letter back. “I can’t afford to go.”

“Okay, but don’t they give scholarships to the stupidly smart?”

“To become engineers and nurses – not archeologists.”

“Well,” Gideon frowned. It didn’t seem fair that she wasn’t going to be able to take her giant brain to university so she could sniff bones or whatever. What would she do? Stay at that smelly vintage clothing store she worked at? It stunk worse than the convent. If Harrow and her super brain were going to be stuck in this town for the rest of their – her life, what did that mean for Gideon? “That doesn’t seem fair.”

Harrow sighed. “Griddle, have either of our lives been particularly fair?”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume this is one of the times your question is optional.”

“Rhetorical, but yes.”

Like Gideon, Harrow was an orphan. Her parents were, scandalously, a nun and a reverend who harboured a secret affair, birthed Harrow, and then promptly died. According to the Bible they also went to hell, which might explain Harrow’s permanent murky demeanor. Gideon wasn’t positive her own parents were dead, and if so, they totally weren’t in hell. Her parents would definitely be in heaven, smiling down at earth and thinking about how good-looking their child was.

Regardless, Gideon harboured some empathy for Harrow. They had grown up together – walked to elementary school side by side, ate all their meals glaring at each other from opposite ends of a long table. They had been dealt an almost identical hand, and so, Gideon understood what it was like to lack options.

“So, what?” Gideon said. “You’ll stay here and become a nun?”

Harrow heaved a heavy sigh. “Perhaps.”

Gideon opened her mouth to attempt a dirty joke, (she hadn’t quite thought of one yet, but these things tended to come easily to her in the heat of the moment) but was cut off by the sound of tires on pavement. A doorless, roofless, dark green jeep pulled into view, and a lean young man with dark hair and rounded sunglasses jumped out eagerly.

Gideon picked up her bag and bounded down the steps two at a time. She extended her arms to Palamedes who met her embrace enthusiastically. He patted her pack as they hugged, and when they finished, he smiled big at Harrow.

“Where are the doors?” Harrow asked him bleakly.

“I ate them,” said Camilla, who was propped up on the driver’s seat. She’d poked her head out of the non-existent roof of the car, her arms resting on the roll cage. Her short hair had been gathered into a loose ponytail that stuck out from the opening of her blue ball cap.

“Good to see you too, Nonagesimus.” Palamedes had to bend over to hug Harrow, who was still fretting about the doors.

“What if it rains?” she asked.

“You’ll melt,” said Gideon with a smile.

“It's not going to rain,” Palamedes assured her. “I checked the weather seven times. Come on, we’re burning daylight.”

They tucked their bags into the trunk and clamored into the backseat. Gideon fixed her dark sunglasses on her nose, dimming the light of the sun. Camilla started the car and adjusted her hat in the rear-view mirror.

“Oh,” Gideon leaned into the front. “Spin the tires Cam, will you?”

Camilla did not respond, but both Harrow and Palamedes said, “No,” – Harrow more annoyed and Palamedes more nervous.

“Seatbelts?” Camilla asked, and when she received the chorus of yesses, she put the Jeep into drive.

She moved her left foot onto the brake pedal and hit the gas with her right. The back tires spun with a loud screech and smoke began to rise from the rear end of the car. After a few seconds Camilla let up on the brakes and turned the wheel quickly. They took off down the street, the back end of the Jeep swinging sharply to the left before it straightened out again.

Harrow gripped the back of the driver’s seat and Gideon’s arms flew up to hold the bar above her.

Gideon whooped, “Hello summer!”

“I hate when you do that.” Palamedes said, defeated, when the car had righted and the smell of burnt rubber had dissipated.

“Sorry Warden,” Camilla winked at Gideon though the rear-view mirror. “Lost control of the wheel.”

“And the brakes and the gas pedal apparently,” he sighed.

“We don’t have doors!” Harrow croaked. Her grip on the driver’s seat was white knuckled.

Camilla hummed in agreement. “Good thing you weren’t lying about the seatbelts.”

...

Judith Deuteros was not religious, but she said a silent prayer as she twisted the key to her parents old 98’ range rover. She’d inherited the vehicle when she turned sixteen, and it had broken down upwards of 12 times in the five years that had passed since then. She really needed it to start today.

It did not.

“Come on,” she patted the dashboard, warm from the hot summer heat, with her left hand while she tried the key again with her right. She was not going to be late on her first day.

Nothing.

“If there is a God,” she grabbed the steering wheel in her left hand and twisted it left and right, turning the key at the same time. To her delight, the SUV sputtered a few times before whirring to a start. “I owe him big time.”

She let her head fall against the wheel.

The subdivision she grew up in disappeared behind her as she pulled onto the main road and headed towards the 403 onramp.

As much as she was nervous for this summer, she was also relieved to have some time away from her parents house. She did mean to move out eventually, but rent was expensive and all her friends – well, Marta, lived in the city.

When she pulled up in front of the three-story apartment building half an hour later, she left the car running. She had a full tank of gas and wasn’t taking any chances.

Marta emerged from the front entrance with a wave and Judith returned it unenthusiastically. She approached the car and leaned into the passenger side window.

“Thanks again, Judith,” she smiled. “You’re a life saver.”

Marta was the reason she was in this predicament. Her older friend was supposed to be the one on her way to camp today but had received a semi-last-minute job offer she could not pass up. Judith had a hard time saying no, so she had taken her place.

She was not completely turned off by the idea – she had gone to the same camp with the lot of them as a kid. It could be nostalgic, she thought, and give her a chance to reconnect with her childhood friends.

The door to the apartment building opened again, and three people emerged. Two girls were carrying purple duffle bags and a boy held three more.

Marta knocked her knuckles against the window frame. "Are you ever going to move out of your parents place?”

“And live where?”

“Corona said she would share her room with you,” Marta winked.

“Jesus Christ.”

Their attention was drawn back to the front door where Ianthe had placed her bag on top of the three Naberius was already holding. This had caused him to completely topple over, and Corona appeared to be trying to help him up while stifling her laughter.

“Walk it off, Babs,” Ianthe patted him on the back as he rose to his feet.

“Good luck this summer,” Marta said by way of goodbye, and retreated into the building, giving her roommates a casual salute as she passed them.

Judith popped the trunk and remained perfectly still, as though it might prevent her from being eaten alive.

“Shotgun!” Corona seated herself in the passenger seat and rested her arm flush with Judith’s on the middle console.

Her skin was warm, and she smelled like the expensive sunscreen that made your skin shimmer.

“You don’t have to say it if no one else wants to ride shotgun.” Ianthe pointed out unnecessarily as she climbed into the back seat.

Naberius buckled his seatbelt and sighed. “Why aren’t we taking my car?”

“It's too shiny,” Corona said. “It doesn’t fit with the camp aesthetic I’ve been envisioning.”

“You’re too considerate,” Ianthe said. “The children go outside; it's not like they haven't seen a BMW before.”

“Oh Jody,” Corona moved to grab her wrist. “Some of these kids, well it just breaks my heart. They grow up with so little, most of them don’t even have parents. The ones who do are sick or, from broken families. But hardship is excellent fuel for artistry, and I know that my dancers are going to crush the competition at the talent show this year.”

“The talent show isn’t competitive.” Naberius was now rolling down his window and fanning himself with his hand.

“Oh, that’s what they say, but there’s always a clear winner. It’s applause based,” said Corona. “Like bar karaoke.”

“That’s actually quite astute.” Ianthe mused.

“Well don’t act surprised,” Corona drew her hand to her chest. “If there’s one thing that I know, it’s attention. Oh, Jody, here,” She leaned forward to dig around in her backpack. The stretch caused her shirt to pull up, revealing a tiny tattoo of a butterfly on her lower back. Judith brought a hand to her face, rubbing her eyes, but the image lingered.

Corona returned from her journey on the floor, curls whipping through the air, with a CD case that read “SUMMER MIX” in hot pink sharpie. It was covered in carefully doodled diamonds and hearts.

Judith slotted the cd into the player, having to first eject the resident CD and carefully place it in its case and back in the dashboard console. To do this she had to reach in front of Corona, who was not one to make herself smaller, and Judith’s shoulder brushed against her chest in the process. Much like everything else in her car, the console was broken, and she attempted to pull back and come at it with a forceful smack, but only managed to lose her balance and fall over Corona’s lap.

She grabbed Judith’s shoulders, her strength was always so pleasantly surprising, and righted her. “Oh, I’ve got you,” Corona smiled, and she really did smell so lovely, like coconut and vanilla and something woodsy.

Judith straightened up with Corona’s help, and the blonde girl winked once, before giving the console a good smack herself. It flung open immediately, allowing Judith to resume the CD exchange.

Naberius and Ianthe’s snickering continued until Corona managed to get the stereo going.

By the time they were pulling off the highway and into the camp parking lot, she had listened to Ianthe and Corona perform Promiscuous Girl (Ianthe did the Timberland parts) upwards of four times.

Judith realized that she had not needed to speak out loud once during the 4 hour journey but decided that since she and Corona had not get argued, it was a good thing. She did, however, wonder how long she might be able to keep it up.

...

By the time the sun began sinking lazily in the sky, and the light it cast on Camp New Rho had turned golden, the staff were called to gather as a group in front of the long dining hall. The short, many windowed, structure had a red shingled roof and was built of dark wooden planks. At mealtimes it functioned normally, but the rest of the time it doubled as a space for classes and activities that couldn’t be held outside. Most of the time the outdoors was preferred, and even Corona would elect to have the kids doing jazz on the long swimming docks, or contemporary styles in the shaded grass area near the campfire. When it rained, they’d push all the tables against the walls and play freeze tag or dodgeball – anything that would tire the kids out enough to ensure they weren’t buzzing into the night.

Three summers ago, it had rained for a week straight, and more than one of the staff ended up with a permanent headache for the duration of the storm.

On this sunny almost-evening, Aim’s staff sat facing them atop a picnic table in the shade, staggered in levels so they could all be seen. Sitting on the tabletop from left to right were Naberius, Harrow and Ianthe, then on the seat, Gideon, Palamedes and Corona. Camilla sat on the grass between Gideon and Palamedes legs, with her own extended out in front of her, crossed at the ankles.

Judith, who Aim had reintroduced themself to earlier, stood to the side. Noodle had come up to sniff her, and she began giving him head scratches to give herself something to do with her hands. She hadn’t been to camp since she was a girl and seemed to still be adjusting to the intensity of her coworker’s personalities.

“Oh, sit still,” Joli hushed them as she adjusted the lens of her digital camera. “Judith, squeeze in next to Camilla, tighter, come on, Corona doesn’t bite.”

“I beg to differ,” said Gideon brassily.

Ianthe and Naberius exploded in a fit of giggles. Corona reached over Palamedes to smack Gideon’s knee, Harrow audibly scowled, and Joli huffed in despair. “That was – what do you lot say again – too much information?”

“TMI,” Camilla deadpanned, and even Harrow cracked a smile at that. Aim supposed that to them, nothing could be funnier than someone who was old.

The final image, by some miracle, showed every single one of them looking at least happy. Judith smiled nervously, Camilla’s mouth was twisted up, her arm resting on Palamedes’ knee, and Harrow’s dark eyes twinkled in the late afternoon sun.

Joli had taken Aim’s smile as approval and removed the camera before they were finished looking. They were so grown up, her kids. Every year more would start camp, more would graduate to junior counselors, more to full time staff, and more would leave and never come back.

“Okay, listen up,” Aim clapped their hands. “I don’t have to tell you lot that many of these kids don’t have parents waiting for them at home. For some of them, this is the closest thing they’ll have to a family. What we do here every summer is more than childcare, and it’s more than education. What we do here is support. These kids need your support, they need your guidance, and most importantly, they need to have fun.”

“Now, I will say this,” they continued. “I am trusting you to care for these kids because I know you can do it better than anyone else – because you were these kids. Now, go on and get all the shenanigans out of your system, the children arrive tomorrow morning at 10am sharp!” They turned, and then stopped themselves. “Oh, and mind the new junior counselors when they arrive tomorrow – some of them are only fourteen and they will need guidance. Don’t leave them alone with all the children at once, I am looking at you Coronabeth. Okay, okay, get lost!”

Aim and Joli watched as they scrambled off down the path toward the cabins. It was tradition for them to have a big sleepover the night before the children arrived and the real work began. They knew it would involve drinking, it always had, and it surely did when Joli and Aim had been counselors.

Watching them all laugh their way out of view, Aim felt unnervingly calm. They would all, undoubtably make mistakes this summer. They would say or do the wrong thing, hold the wrong hand, drink from the wrong bottle. But here, with her and Joli watching over them, they would be safe, and that’s all either of them had ever wanted, not just for the campers, but for all the kids that came to Camp New Rho. It was always, above all else, meant to be somewhere safe.

...

Gideon had settled down reluctantly on a log next to Harrow when Corona came into the light of the fire, a six pack of beer in one hand, and wine coolers in the other. Her denim shorts did not quite meet her cropped pink t-shirt, revealing a pink diamond studded belly button ring. “How many lesbians does it take to start a fire?”

“None, apparently,” Naberius said, gesturing to the duo stoking the flames.

Camilla and Palamedes, oblivious to his comment, crouched around the fire. She picked out a chopped log and handed it to him, and he nestled it carefully among the burning pieces of overlapping kindling he’d piled meticulously into a square. Gideon had been offering unsolicited advice to them the entire time (e.g., “blow on it”, “make it taller”), all of which they ignored.

“Or,” Naberius smirked. “Maybe two? I’m not sure what the situation is there.”

“How delightfully open minded of you,” Ianthe poked him hard enough in the shoulder that he had to rub the spot. “You’ve got a mosquito bite.”

“Nobody wants to hear my punchline?” Corona pouted.

Ianthe took the six pack of wine coolers from her hand and loosed one. “Was it something about beavers?”

“Never mind,” she took another cooler from the pack and cracked it open. She took a long sip and then her eyes lit up. “We’ve got to play a drinking game.” she said, raising her can. “What’s good, oh I know, two truths and lie!”

“We know each other too well,” Harrow complained. “We’ll be sober the whole night.”

There was something juvenescent about coming back to camp every summer, even if they were all returning as legal adults. No matter how much older they got, they found themselves slipping back into old routines, old roles.

“Oh,” Corona found a seat on one of the log logs that had been pulled close to the fire. “Never have I ever then, please? Oh, don’t roll your eyes Warden, we are only young once so loosen up.”

Palamedes, who now sat with his back against a log across the fire from Corona, raised his hands in surrender. After a moment of consideration, he said, “Never have I ever failed a class.”

Gideon scowled and raised the cup to her lips. “Rough start, man.”

Coronabeth stuck her tongue out at him, but it was obvious she was pleased as she raised her cup to drink.

They all turned to Camilla, who sat to his left. The two of them had their legs extended, her shins resting top of his. “Never have I ever shoplifted,” she said, without missing a beat.

Gideon, Harrow and Ianthe all raised their drinks, and Gideon wondered why on earth Ianthe would need to steal anything. Her parents were like, mega rich.

Her pondering was interrupted by a cacophony of expectant eyes on her.

“Oh, uh,” She paused. “Ah, never have I ever had a crush on my camp counselor.”

The group giggled as Palamedes drank from his cup. Camilla had done the same, but it was clear that the laughter was directed toward him.

“How is Dulcie?” Corona asked Palamedes, hand to her heart. “She was always my favourite.”

“Last we heard, she was in remission and married to a man named Eduardo,” he explained. “She moved to Italy a few years ago to teach English as a second language.”

“Do you remember that poem you wrote for her?” Naberius asked. “You rhymed turquoise with, shit, what was it?”

“School boys,” Camilla said, her face tight with concentration. She was, very obviously, trying with all her might not to laugh.

The rest of them erupted in a burst of laughter, and it did not dissipate until they were gasping for air, and Corona was chiding Harrow to continue the game.

“Never have I ever,” Harrow frowned, death grip on the can of beer in her hands. “Uh, I don’t…”

“Are you having a seizure?” Gideon asked.

“Shut up,” She snapped. “Never have I ever stolen a car.”

The group was silent since, unsurprisingly, none of them had stolen a car.

Ianthe said, “We’ve all still got time,” and exchanged a soft look with Harrow over the fire. Gideon made a face and felt a bit like she might be ill at the sight.

Judith, who Gideon had forgotten about on account of her being so damn quiet, just said “Pass.” And for whatever reason that was accepted.

Then it was finally Corona’s turn, the excitement obvious on her face. Her teeth sparkled in the firelight as she grinned, drumming her fingers on her chin. Finally, she spoke, “Never have I ever kissed a girl,” and she brought the can in her hand to her lips.

Gideon watched her finish off the rest of her drink and wipe the corner of her mouth with her thumb. It would not have been so scandalous, but for the fact that she had done the whole thing while looking at Judith, who sat a few feet away from her on the grass.

Corona seemed very pleased with herself, and Judith held her gaze as long as it remained.

Gideon was beyond pleased to have front row seats to this show.

Then, since they were still playing a game, everyone drank. this included, Gideon bristled, Harrow.

“Who?” Gideon demanded. “Was it Sarah from your work, because you should know that she does hand stuff for cigarettes.”

“It was not Sarah from my work, and the cigarette was unrelated to the hand stuff.” She snapped. “Also – mind your business, Nav.”

“You’re supposed to say something you haven’t done,” Ianthe complained, ignoring their spat.

“Oops,” Corona smiled. “You know I’m a lightweight.”

Ianthe rolled her eyes and said, with a smirk, “Never have I ever crashed my parent’s car.”

“That was targeted,” Naberius said to her immediately, “It’s not fair when you make them targeted.”

“Oh, boo.” Ianthe said. “We should make you drink twice for complaining.”

Despite Naberius’s complaints, the never-have-I-ever's only became more and more targeted after that.

Camilla had left somewhere around “Never have I ever given a hand job in the backseat of a Toyota Camry while my sister was outside trying to jumpstart it,” quietly enough that nobody noticed. Palamedes’ exit shortly after was met with a chorus of boos but was ultimately accepted.

He found her at the edge of the smaller of the two docks that ran along the lake. This one was too small to take a large group of kids swimming and was a notorious spot for giggling pairs of tweens to sneak off to and get up to God knows what.

Her grey sweater was hanging on the post beside her, and she was wearing her one piece bathing suit, cut low in the back and high at the front, under her denim shorts. Her legs were hanging off the edge of the dock, kicking absentmindedly. Her toes brushed the surface of the water, and moonlight reflected off the tiny ripples they left behind.

“Going for a swim?” He asked, settling down at her side.

“No, but you go ahead,” she gestured to the water. “I’ll watch for sharks.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“It was the best day of my life, Warden,” she said, mouth pulling up at the corner. “You’d really ask me to forget it?”

“I’m glad one of us was having a good time.”

“You got tickled by a trout.”

“It was a very big fish, Cam,” he said. “A sturgeon probably. It almost knocked me over.”

“You weighed a hundred pounds at the time so it wouldn't have been an impressive feat. I’ve never seen someone run faster in waist deep water. Your mother should've put you in track and field.”

“She prefers to see me succeed at things.”

Camilla smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. They looked out over the midnight blue water that extended before them, interrupted by a small island that was mostly marsh and a few toppled trees. Two tall pines remained partially upright, leaning on one another, suspending their impending falls.

A chorus of laughter sounded from the hill above them, echoing across the water.

“You didn’t want to stick around for spin the bottle?” She asked.

“You’re joking, but I think that’s where it was headed.” He brought his arm up to rest on her shoulder. He wanted to say I missed you, but he found himself unable to vocalise it. Instead, he turned his head and buried his face in her hair.

He didn’t know where to place that feeling. The emptiness that he felt when she wasn’t next to him. After two years of sharing a dorm room, and two more of sharing an apartment, he found it terribly hard to fall asleep without her near. He resorted to drinking her in to keep himself full in the meantime.

She turned so her forehead rested against his shoulder. “What have you got in your pockets?”

He began fishing around the pockets of his denim cargo shorts. He produced a ballpoint pen, half a joint, and three quarters.

She took the items from his hand, placing them on the dock behind them. She then brought her hands to his face and removed his glasses, folding and placing them next to the contents of his pockets.

Her dark eyes reflected the tiniest glimmer of moonlight, her face giving absolutely nothing away. She brought her hand to his lower back and moved it up slowly, until it rested on his shoulder.

“What are you –”

She pushed him into the lake.

He surfaced with an audible gasp for air. Before he could say anything, she landed in the water beside him, splashing hard enough that he had to wipe the water from his eyes again.

She sprung from the water next to him and tossed her hair back and out of her face.

“Can you believe this is our last summer?” he asked, resting his hand on the post of the dock. He was still catching his breath from being submerged, the pounding of his heart just beginning to slow down.

Next year he’d be a second-year medical student, and she’d be finishing the second year of her PhD. Both would have school related summer activities, and neither of them would be able to return as camp counselors.

Camilla shook her head as the tide pushed her closer to him. She braced a hand on his shoulder, another on the post behind him. “Sorry,” she said.

Water droplets glittered on her face, her mouth, the tips of her eyelashes. A long strand of hair had come unslicked, falling over her brow and into her face.

“It’s okay,” he said, tucking the strand behind her ear. He let his hand linger there, stroking his thumb against her cheek.

She closed her eyes, her head leaning into his touch, and free from her gaze he allowed himself to wonder what it might be like to kiss her. If her lips would feel as soft as they looked, if she still tasted like sunscreen like she had when they were twelve.

His thumb stilled, and her eyes shot open at the sound of several pairs of feet stampeding down the dock. Before either of them could fully register what was happening, four more bodies hit the water, causing a splash big enough to toss them around even after they all surfaced.

The silence was permanently broken now, the crickets giving way to the sounds of splashing and laughing, of teasing and dunking and spitting water. Gideon howled wetly into the abyss, Corona yanked Judith into the lake by her shirtsleeve, and Harrow shot daggers at her when she attempted the same again. Harrow lit a cigarette and passed it to Ianthe who had ceased dunking Naberius under the water in favor of hauling herself up on the edge of the dock next to her.

Camilla rested her head on his shoulder again, and he saw her smiling out of the corner of his eye. He considered that this might not be the end, not yet, but rather the beginning. It was the beginning of summer, and they had eight long weeks to make it count.

Chapter Text

Ianthe’s eyes were finally fluttering shut. The last overtired camper had finally stopped slobbering and pouting over missing home, and all 15 of them were now fast asleep in their bunks, wrapped in their sleeping bags and hugging their teddy bears. She contemplated strangling all of them in their sleep. Not actually, of course – her therapist was adamant that she should challenge those kinds of thoughts.

Although, one of the ten-year-olds had asked if she and Harrow were boyfriend and girlfriend, which was confusingly exciting for her, and absolutely mortifying for Harrow. That had earned the first day of camp her personal stamp of approval.

The last thing she heard before drifting off to sleep was Harrow saying, “I need a cigarette.”

12 hours earlier

When Camilla entered the camp kitchen, a small room at the back of the mess hall, she was surprised to find it cooler than outside. A large ceiling fan was running on full speed, and the windows on the far wall were open, which created a pleasant cross breeze between them and the open door she entered from.

She wasted no time opening the first drawer she could find. It was horribly disorganized, the surrounding area not much better. The cabinets, an unfinished pale wood with terrible orange counter tops, were stacked with sandwiches, slices of ham and cheese, and bags of bread. One sandwich was left half made on the counter, like it’d been abandoned, an artist exhausted by their canvas, void of inspiration. It also looked a bit like a crime scene.

She called out, “Gertie?”

“She’s taking the summer off,” a voice said from behind her.

Camilla whipped around, and saw that there was a tall, wiry woman with dark scarred skin and a close shaved head coming out of the pantry. She was wearing a blue apron over her clothes that at one point must have said “kiss the cook” but the kiss part was patched over with a piece of fabric, and now it just said, “the cook”. Had Camilla been in a better mood, she may have found that funny.

“Her husband had a heart attack,” the stranger explained, “But maybe I can help you?”

“I’ll manage,” Camilla resumed digging in the drawer.

“You don’t seem sorry to hear about her husband.”

“That’s because I’m not.”

“He wasn’t a good guy?”

“Never met him.”

“Right,” she said, audibly amused. “You know, if you tell me what you’re looking for maybe I can help you find it.”

“Isn’t this your first day?”

“Touché,” she held her hand out to Camilla, who raised an eyebrow.

“Pyrrha,” she said, extending the hand a little bit further.

“Camilla,” she finally took it, shaking it once and then returning to her dig.

Pyrrha made a low whistling noise. “The Camilla?”

“Last time I checked.”

She said, “Nona speaks very highly of you.”

Camilla paused. “Are you – ”

Pyrrha nodded, “As of five months ago when I signed the papers.”

“You were her foster mom?”

“Yeah. Now I’m her – well, I’m her mum and I uh, guess I’m the fucking cook too.” She jerked her thumb toward her patchwork apron. “I took a sabbatical to spend time with the kid and wasn’t about to scratch my ass for two months while she came here to volunteer.”

“So, you took out Gertie’s husband so you could get the job,” Camilla said.

A slow smile spread over Pyrrha’s face. “It was easy too. He barely put up a fight.”

“I wouldn’t either if I was married to that old crone.”

She laughed. “Now that you know my big secret, I figure you’ll trust me enough to let me help you?”

Camilla relented, “I need something to break the dried over seal on a can of spray paint.

“You leave the caps on and that doesn’t happen.”

“Which is what I told them last year when they were putting them away,” she snapped.

Pyrrha leaned against the counter. “You’re very pretty when you’re frustrated.”

Camilla’s eyebrows knit together. “And you’re a bit old to be flirting with me.”

Pyrrha laughed. “Probably, but the scars make me look a lot older. I’m just wise beyond my years,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “but I’m sure you know all about that.”

“How do you figure?”

“It’s all over your face,” she said. “You’re too smart for your own good, and you care too much. Deadly combination.”

“You got all that from my face?”

“And from your spiel about the spray paint,” she shrugged, then added, “and what I heard from the kid.”

Pyrrha opened a small drawer on the opposite counter, reaching in toward the back. When she strained her muscular arm the big scar that ran up the length of it became more prominent, and Camilla wondered what on earth she was when she wasn’t being a cook.

“For Nona, you hung the moon. I can’t imagine she’s the only one who feels that way. Seems like you’re a lot of things to a lot of people.”

“Something wrong with that?”

“No problem with giving people what they need,” She held up a safety pin. It was rusty and a bit bent, but it was the perfect size. “Just don’t forget about what you want, or you’ll end up like this guy.”

Camilla almost laughed in relief as she took the pin from her. Part way out the door she turned back. “Thanks, Pyrrha.” she said.

Pyrrha nodded and resumed making the sandwiches. As Camilla exited the building, she thought she could hear her whistling something, but couldn’t place the familiar tune.

…

Gideon preferred orphans. They were much more self sufficient than the kids with parents, they knew a surprising amount of swear words, and they were always getting into trouble. The last bit wasn’t necessarily a pro, but it did keep her on her toes. Most importantly, though, they didn’t cry when they got dropped off, or wake up in the middle of the night missing their mums, because they had no mums to miss. Gideon felt that it was okay for her to think all this, given the fact that she was an orphan herself.

“Hey, Cam?” She called across the crowd of mingling children carrying duffel bags twice their own size.

The parking lot was full of parents and campers, and a big orange big bus carrying kids who didn’t have anyone to drop them off. Camp New Rho catered to all kids of children, but specifically ones who were, for lack of a better term, going through it. Corona and Ianthe had showed up with Naberius in tow one summer after their parent’s divorce, and Camilla and Palamedes the summer after that when his dad passed away.

“Two more here,” She shouted over the noise. “Can you check off Sammy G and – ” Gideon knelt down, “what's your name again, sweetie?”

“Wina awuh.” The pigtailed 9-year-old said.

“Rina R!” Gideon shouted.

Camilla flipped through the sheets of paper attached to the brown clipboard in her hands. Her arms were smudged with what looked like spray paint from changing the big banner that now hung on the front building. Earlier this morning it had said “Welcome Campers 2004”, and now it said, “Welcome campers 2005”, with the old 4 painted over in white and the new 5 looking very wet. The clipboard was even more adorned than Camilla’s arms, covered in sharpie markings, nail polish smudges, and stickers from years gone by.

“That’s everyone,” Cam said, flipping the pages over. “Time to round ‘em up. You want to do the honours?”

“Heck yeah,” said Gideon, who was in g-rated mode. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted as loudly and clearly as she could. “Okay campers, if you can hear me put your hands on your head.”

The crowd of kids began to quiet down, most of them moving their hands to the tops of their heads. A few did so without really thinking about the fact that they were holding their bags, which hit the ground with a thunk.

“If you can hear me, put your hands on your knees,” she continued.

Almost all of them followed the direction, touching their hands to their knees and training their full attention on her.

“If you can hear me, put your hands on your,” she paused, for dramatic affect. “tail.”

The crowd of kids erupted in laughter, a few of them pretended to grab onto their invisible tails, one or two shouted “we don’t have tails!”. She could see Camilla smiling and shaking her head out of the corner of her eye.

“If you can hear me follow Camilla!” Gideon said, breaking their chaos again.

Camilla raised her hand and led them all to the grassy area in front of the mess hall.

They spent the next hour going over the camp rules, which took the form of an elaborate sketch comedy routine in which Corona and Ianthe played the counselors and Naberius and Gideon acted as the campers. Gideon would demonstrate something you were not supposed to do, the twins would scold her, and then Naberius would show the correct behavior.

Lunch followed, and then they were sorted between the four cabins. Gideon and Judith led their group of kids over to cabin 1.

The rest of the day seemed to fly by. They gave the kids a tour of the camp, Judith was surprisingly good with them, and introduced them to Noodle. Noodle was, of course, the camp’s most elite VIP, and while he, Joli and Aim did not spend every day there, they were around for support, and to run errands, and make sure no one got into too much trouble.

Hours later, after the kids had all collapsed from exhaustion, Gideon met with Palamedes on the small dock. He threw himself down against the edge post, closing his eyes wearily. His hair was messy, his glasses smudged, and he’d pulled a green crew neck sweater with red embroidery on over his camp shirt.

“What a day,” he said, and then “Did Cam say she’d come down?”

“Didn’t ask her too.”

“Oh.”

“Colour you disappointed,” she said.

Gideon was already sitting down with her feet together, knees butterflied to the sides, hands on the wood boards under her, folding a tiny piece of cardboard into a zigzag shape and then a cylinder. She fitted the paper construct into place at one end of the rolling paper and went to tip the ground buds from the grinder onto it carefully.

“I haven’t spoken to her all day,” he sighed.

“A whole day away from you? She’ll sleep like a baby.”

“That would make one of us,” he said, and then, “Bend it first.” He made a motion with his fingers. “Make a divot so it doesn’t fall.”

Gideon listened, hunching over to shield her work in progress from the wind that tossed the tips of her short red hair gently around her forehead.

“I’m trying, but it’s so tiny.”

 “You’ve got big fingers,” Palamedes said, offering his hand, and she passed it over carefully. “It makes it more difficult.”

Gideon looked at her hands in the moonlight. “First time for everything, I guess.”

Palamedes shook his head as he folded the paper in half around the haphazardly crushed up buds and rolled them between his fingers. “It’s also dry, which doesn’t help.”

His focus was laser sharp, his hands steady.

“You have to rub it between your fingers so it’s the right shape,” he opened the paper again, “Then tuck in the corner,” He tucked the left corner of the paper tightly around the filter Gideon made and licked the edge. He finished rolling it around into a perfect little cone and twisted the end.

“Impressive,”

“Cam can do it with one hand,” he said, pushing his glasses up.

Gideon, who valued her life, decided not to say “haha nice”.

“Here,” He put the joint in his mouth and picked up the small blue gas station lighter. It had the words ‘True North’ written in terrible white cursive.

“Hands,” he said from the corner of his mouth, and Gideon cupped her hands around it to keep the wind away.

When the twisted end had burned up, Palamedes inhaled and took it from his mouth, blowing smoke and examining the now lit end. “Right tool for the right job.” He offered it to Gideon, who took a small puff and coughed dryly.

“Why did you want to learn to do this again?” Palamedes asked. “Trying to impress someone?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Your mum.”

Palamedes took the joint from her saucily and let himself fall back until the only thing in his line of sight was the night sky. Gideon followed suit. Millions of stars lit up that canopy, each of them so distinct from the others. He took a long drag, holding it in as he searched for Cassiopeia.

Beside him, Gideon said, “This is crazy.”

The smoke he’d been holding in came out in a fit of laughter that proved contagious. They continued to pass the joint back and forth until it was half the size, being careful to ash it into the lake (“sorry fish,” said Gideon,) to not leave any evidence of their activities.

“Can you really not sleep without Camilla around?” Gideon asked. Her head felt unbelievably heavy against the sun worn wooden planks beneath her, like she was sinking down very slowly.

“First nights the hardest, but it gets easier after that,” he explained. “You and Harrow share a room, don’t you find it – ”

“Torturous?”

“I was going to say familiar.”

“Familiarly torturous.”

“Why did you ask if you didn’t want me to – ”

“Sorry, go on” Gideon said, feeling shy suddenly, and the tiniest bit lighter. “Tell me what it’s like. I want to know.”

“Well,” he said. “I suppose I'm just used to knowing she’s there, through our open doors. I could say her name and she’d hear me.”

“In case you get burglar-ed in the night?”

“No,” he laughed. “Just there. I like knowing she’s there. Sometimes, all the time actually, it feels like she’s too far away. Even when she’s next to me, it isn’t close enough. I want to crawl inside her skin and set up shop.” He cleared his throat. “But that’s uh, perhaps more than you needed to know – where did you get this weed?”

“Guy behind a dumpster sold it to me,” Gideon said, reaching for the joint.

“I really wish you’d have led with that.” Palamedes sat up and reached around the side of the dock to put it out. “No more for you, you’re two hits away from having a bad time. Trust me.”

Gideon sighed, “Whatever you say, Master Warden of the garbage drugs.”

“Sure.”

“I’m kidding,” She shoved his shoulder. “I got it at the medical dispensary. Told them I had pains.”

“You just said pains?”

“And aches.”

“Aches and pains,” Palamedes contemplated that. “Pains and aches.”

“Paches and ains,” agreed Gideon.

They giggled like children.

“Are you two having an idiot off?” Harrow asked.

She was standing awkwardly – harrow always stood awkwardly – at the far end of the dock, wrapped in a black hoodie that fit her like a dress. She looked hilariously pantsless, and had rolled the sleeves up several times to make it fit in the arms. The large hood was pulled slouchily over her head.

"Nonagesimus,” Palamedes grinned. “Join us.”

…

Camilla was sitting on the deck of cabin 2 when Corona stepped into the moonlight, a swishing glass bottle of clear liquid in her hand.

“Half a pint of vodka for your thoughts?” She asked, dropping to the deck beside her. They had a good view of the lake through the trees, and Corona realized that Camilla had been watching two figures out on the small dock.

Camilla said nothing, but raised her eyebrows and took the bottle from her, scooting a bit closer.

It had been a rough first day, all things considered. The first night was always the hardest for the kids, especially the ones who were away from their families. It took a little bit of soothing and a lot of bribing to get them to sleep, but they had done it.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Just,” Camilla sighed, bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a sip. “Life after summer I guess.”

“I can sit here and encourage you to drink more until you tell me what you’re actually thinking about, or I can start shouting really loud and wake up the children.”

Camilla sighed and took another drink. “You’ll do it, too.”

“You know it,” she winked.

“Can’t sleep,” she said, passing the bottle back. The without Palamedes was implied. The without Palamedes was obvious.

“No,” Corona said, taking a drink herself. She didn’t need Camilla to tell her that. “God, you’re stubborn.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Camilla smiled a little, and Corona took it as a victory.

“Try again,” she passed the bottle back.

Camilla took it with both hands but did not drink, only adjusted her wide fingered grip. “I was thinking about what I want.”

“And?” She encouraged. “Did you figure it out?”

“No, but I’ll keep you posted.”

Corona, exhausted from prying, decided to try a different route. She said, “I was so jealous of you today at drop off. Sarah’s mom was flirting with you, and I had it in my head that I was more her type.”

“She said I had very athletic shoulders.”

“Nice of her to notice.”

“I guess,” she took another drink, swallowed and closed her eyes.

“Don’t tell me you genuinely don’t care for the attention. She looked at you like she wanted you to throw her against the wall. I’ve never been more envious.”

It was a rare thing, for Camilla to become vulnerable, but after a few years of passing a bottle back and forth, Corona knew the signs and could anticipate when it was about to happen. There was an onset of symptoms, Palamedes might say – the change colour in her cheeks, the way her eyes watered ever so slightly, her posture began to slip.

When she opened her eyes she said, “I don’t want to be the one tossing someone around just because I can.”

“So, you want to be the one getting tossed around?” Corona wiggled an eyebrow.

“Never mind,” she took another drink. “I’m not explaining it well.”

“You want to be taken care of,” Corona tried.

“Maybe.” Camilla peeled at the label of the bottle in her lap. “I think, but more than that. I don’t want someone I don’t know anything about. I want –” She ran a hand through her hair. “I want familiarity.”

“Are we still talking about sex?”

“Yes, Corona.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t just never been with anyone good?”

“It’s not that it’s never been good,” she said, “it’s just that even when it is good, there’s still something missing. The whole time I find myself thinking – I don’t know you, I don’t care about you, it’s all so meaningless.”

“So,” Corona tapped her fingers on her knee. “You want someone familiar, who knows you, and cares about you?”

Camilla nodded.

Corona sighed. “You are saying the same thing over and over, but I think I’m the only one who’s hearing it.”

“What?”

Corona straightened the sleeve of Camilla’s t-shirt, pulling it down over her shoulder. She patted it down before letting her hand fall. “You want to be with someone you love.”

They were both silent for a long time, looking out over the water, listening to the soft distant crash of the waves. It wasn’t easy for Corona to see Camilla, always a pillar of rationality, in distress. She was usually the one with the solutions, not the problems.

“I don't know what to do.” Camilla said.

“Well, I suppose you just pick someone you love.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Me?” Corona scoffed. “I wish.”

She offered the bottle, but Cam raised her hand. “I think I’ve had enough.”

“Enough sex?”

She rolled her eyes. “Enough rum.”

Corona nodded and was silent for a moment. “I’m in love with Jody,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand.

Camilla blinked, “Foster?”

“Milly!” Corona smacked her. “No, my Jody – oh, you were being funny, God you are funny aren’t you. How on earth do you get away with it?”

Camilla shrugged. “Athletic shoulders.”

Corona burst out laughing and Camilla shushed her as she attempted to stifle her own giggles.

…

Palamedes had excused himself moments after he welcomed Harrow to join then, which Gideon thought was kind of a dick move, but she was also really high and at that point had begun thinking about doing crafts.

She held up the half smoked joint, “I can – if you want to,”

Harrow sat down across from Gideon, folding her legs together. “I’m not supposed to,” she said, and Gideon wondered if it had anything to do with the orange bottle of pills she kept in her nightstand.

Harrow pulled a loose cigarette from her pocket and lit it with the lighter that sat between them.

“Those are really bad for you,” Gideon said.

“I don’t smoke them.”

“Harrow, I’ve literally seen you smoke them.”

She shook her head. “I mean I don’t actually smoke them. I don’t inhale I just - it gives me something to do with my hands and, if no one is around sometimes I just –” she huffed. “It’s the smell. It reminds me of my mother.”

“Oh.” Gideon said. Her memory of Harrow's mother was limited. Most of the sisters in the convent, especially the ones who didn't stick around past their childhood, were nothing more than similar faces in similar clothes. Sometimes she would look at one of them, and see another, sometimes someone long dead. Gideon wondered if Harrow sometimes mistook one of the other nuns for her own mother in passing, wondered if it made her cold heart skip a beat.

She could conjure an image of a group of women sitting around a table in the church basement, a desk of cards spread out amongst them, dim lamplight casting shadows across their faces, and, yes - the smell of cigarettes wafting through the air. 

Those big plastic containers of glitter, the ones you were absolutely fucked if you spilled, the sound of crinkle scissors on construction paper, the smell of hard glue sticks.

“Yes, oh,” she watched the cigarette burning in her hand.

Orphan incense, Gideon thought. Her eyes were also fixed on the cigarette between Harrow's thin fingers, the bright orange glow at the end eating through the length of it, slowly turning it black.

Broken crayons, half dried out markers, coloured pencils in need of a sharpener, the coveted black sharpie.

Harrow did not speak, just kept on staring at the burning stick between her fingers.

“Nothing reminds me of my mum,” Gideon said. “I used to make her these little cut outs of dinosaurs, in case she came back, so I'd have something to give her.”

“I remember.”

“Of course you remember.” Gideon scowled. “One day you told me dinosaurs had feathers and I told you to fuck off, because that was bullshit. Then, when I went to sleep you glued feathers all over my craft. You ruined it, just to be a dick.”

“I was trying to help.”

“Yeah well, maybe we should stick to what we’re good at.” Gideon recognized this was perhaps a little too mean, but was too high to give a shit.

Harrow rolled her eyes, and then swore at her hand. The cigarette had burned down to where she held it. She dropped the thing and covered her fingers with her other hand, wincing.

“Don’t do that,” Gideon reached for her hand. “Give it here.”

Harrow glared at her.

Gideon said, “Trust me.”

Harrow, to Gideon’s surprise, allowed her hand to be taken, but remained very tense as she guided her to the edge of the dock and dunked her hand into the water.

Harrow exhaled when her fingers entered the cool rippling blackness, and she relaxed.

“Better, right?”

Harrow did not respond, only breathed shallowly. The position they were in was awkward, Gideon holding harrows left hand underwater with her own, peering over the smaller girl’s shoulder. They were almost cheek to cheek, and she could hear that wheezing, pathetic breath, her unsteady in and out. The wind from earlier had dissipated, and the smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

Someone, Gideon was too high to know which of them it was, pressed their cheeks together. Soft cushioned skin – cold on the surface, but warm after half a second of contact, met gently.

She didn’t have time to process what was happening before Harrow was up and running off the dock, back toward the hill.She reached for the lighter, desperate to light the joint again, but Harrow had taken it with her.

…

Palamedes was walking up the hill toward cabin 1 when he overheard two voices talking on the small ground level deck of cabin 3.

“Aren’t you two meant to be in charge of the children?” he asked, leaning against the railing.

“Oh, don’t worry Warden, no one’s escaping tonight,” Corona rose to her feet and offered him a mock-salute. “We’re on high alert.” She gave Camilla a wink before disappearing quietly back inside.

“She seems certain, what’s her secret?”

“Children’s Advil.” Camilla said.

She had the top half of her hair gathered into a little ponytail, her bangs loose and wispy from the heat. She had her elbows resting on her bent knees, and held loosely onto a bottle of vodka. The sleeves of her purple camp shirt had been rolled up; the hem cropped so it just met the top of her denim shorts.

“What are you doing up?” She asked, eyebrow quirking.

“Shenanigans,” he said.

She squinted at him, looked straight through the cage of his skull, teased apart his tissue and ran her fingers through his central nervous system, and he knew she could tell – he was high as a kite.

"Breaking the rules already?" He asked, gesturing to the bottle in her hands.

"Guess that makes two of us."

He wanted to ask her to hold him, but she was so far away on the other side of that railing – in his intoxicated state he had forgotten about stairs – but it was low, a little over hip height. He lifted himself up and swung one leg over the railing, and when he got the other one over, nearly fell backwards off the thing. Somehow, she was standing up, and grabbing his arm to steady him. He slid off the railing and landed, thankfully, on two feet. He immediately pulled her against him, and she laughed a little into his chest, but let him wrap his arms around her shoulders and leaned into that embrace.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. The without you was implied.

“Me either. Should have ripped the band aid off last night.”

They’d fallen asleep the night before in two bottom bunks pushed together; Gideon sprawled snoring on the two top bunks above them. They slept next to one another, with her feet at the head of the bed, and his at the foot. It was the same way they’d slept as kids during sleepovers. Parallel, on opposite ends of the bed. Like yin and yang, someone had said once, his mother maybe, but it wasn’t quite that. They weren’t opposing forces, but they did balance each other.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said.

I miss you . He wanted to say it, but the words felt more illicit than the drugs in his system.

“I miss you too,” she said into his chest.

He startled a bit, his chest tight with anxiety. What else had he said out loud without realizing it? He was frightened that she might be able to hear his thoughts. Did she know how much he wanted to kiss her, and how often he’d been thinking it the past few months? How much he wished they could go home today, wished that they could be alone, really alone – but then her I miss you too reached him, pushing the other thoughts from his head.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, common sense had truly gone out the window, and she was laughing.

“How much did you smoke?” She asked him, pulling away to squint at his eyes in the darkness. She grabbed his face in her hands, looking from one eye to the other.

“Too much,” he admitted, smiling into her hands.

She shook her head, and they stared at each other, her a little bit drunk and him a lot high. He could smell it on her breath, the sharp distinct taste that he knew would be in her mouth. After a while she patted his cheek and said, “Try and get some sleep, Warden. Don’t want to make it easier for us to kick your asses tomorrow.”

Palamedes frowned. “Wait, what’s tomorrow?”

Chapter Text

“Capture the flag, baby!” Gideon sat down to Palamedes’ left at one of the two long tables in the mess hall and immediately began shoveling pancakes into her mouth.

“Flag baby?” Palamedes took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.

“What?” she asked around a bite of food.

“What’s a flag baby?” he frowned, “And why must we capture it?”

“Capture the flag,” Naberius said from his other side, as though he was speaking to someone very old and forgetful, “that’s today, remember buddy?” And then leaned around him to say to Gideon, “He didn’t sleep last night.”

Palamedes attempted to mutter some form of disagreement.

He had drifted off at some point, just not for a full sleep cycle. Normally, he could find a fix to any problem if he thought about it enough, considered enough factors, any potential confounding or extraneous variables. Last night had been different. He was stuck in the same state for hours, the same issue plaguing his mind, the smell of her dry shampoo clinging to his sweater. He was no closer to a solution.

His eyes were fixed on the cup of steaming coffee in front of him. It was too hot to take a sip, and he weighed the pros and cons of having a burnt tongue against another minute of life as a zombie.

“You left at 11, what were you doing the rest of the night?”

“Thinking,” he sighed.

He needed to tell her – it felt awful keeping secrets from Camilla, but she’d seemed so far away the night before. He wanted her to tell him why, and felt like a hypocrite for not being able to do the same. It wasn’t that he was afraid to tell her how he felt, nothing like that could damage their relationship. It was the timing of it all. They were working more or less 24 hours a day 7 days a week until September, and the likelihood of them getting enough privacy for the conversation he wanted to have was non-existent. The leaking dam that had been holding his feelings at bay for months, (Who was he kidding, years.) had finally broke. He’d been drowning in them for over 24 hours and wasn’t sure how long he could hold his breath.

“Thinking about what?” Gideon pried.

Palamedes looked toward the opposite end of the long table, where Camilla was sitting next to Nona, her cheek resting on her hand. Nona appeared to be, unsurprisingly, talking Camilla’s ear off, but she was nodding along unblinkingly. Her eyes were bright, and the angle of her face caused the edge of her hair to fall over the corner of her smile.

“Blowing up my life,” he said.

“Okay,” Gideon drew out the word. “Mind saving that until after we beat you at capture the flag?”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, and decided it was worth it to burn his tongue.

…

When Nona sat down next to Camilla at breakfast, she wasted no time in telling her everything that had happened in the past year. Her adoption, how Pyrrha would joke that she was Daddy Warbucks without the bucks, their little house outside the city that really wasn’t a long train ride away from her and Palamedes apartment so they should definitely come over for dinner (“We’d like that”, said Cam), how grade eight was not as good as grade six, but marginally better than grade seven, and that she was really dreading nine, and most importantly, that she liked living with Pyrrha very much.

“So she’s kind to you?” Camilla asked. She couldn’t help but feel protective over Nona, who she’d know since the younger girl was 6.

Nona nodded enthusiastically. “She makes me canned soup because I like it the best, even though it’s the worst kind.”

“But is she good to you, does she treat you nice?”

Nona looked confused. “I told you about the soup.”

“Okay,” Camilla conceded.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Does Pyrrha treat you nice?”

Camilla chewed her cheek and said, “Well, yes.”

“I thought so,” said Nona. “She told me you’re the loveliest person she’s ever met who’s steering a sinking ship.”

Camilla snorted.

“What time is swimming today, Cam?”

“You’ve got your schedule,” she said. “Look yourself.”

“Oh right,” Nona pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her plaid shorts. “Cam, I’m going to be so helpful this summer.”

“Make sure you have fun, too,” she said, moving one of the girl’s long braids over her shoulder.

It was then that four kids slid into place across from Nona and began shoveling pancakes into their mouths.

The two oldest of the group kept side eyeing Camilla, as though they hoped she might go away. She had a feeling she was better off not knowing why, so she stood up to take her plate away. As she was leaving, she could’ve sworn she heard the words “rigged” and “taking bets” but tried her best to clear it from her mind. She didn’t have it in her to worry about children gambling with pocket change at 9am.

She noticed one of the dish bins by the wall was almost full, so she decided to bring it back into the kitchen for Pyrrha. When she approached the doorway, she noticed there was a CD player turned on low and recognized the song as the one Pyrrha had been humming the day before.

Music cue: “D’yer Mak’er” by Led Zeppelin

“I didn’t expect them to eat so much so fast,” said Pyrrha, by way of hello. She was wearing her signature “**** the cook” apron over a pair of denim overalls.

“They’re bulking,” Camilla explained.

“Bulking?”

“Four way capture the flag – it’s a camp tradition.”

“Sounds serious,” Pyrrha took the bin of dishes from her and carried it to the sink.

Camilla smiled, “It is for them. The summer I was ten we played for sixteen hours.”

“Summer you were ten,” Pyrrha leaned against the counter. “How long ago was that?”

“I knew you took this job to flirt with women half your age,” a compact girl with a lopsided blue haircut entered the kitchen. She had a dirty apron tied haphazardly around her waist and a dish cloth folded over her shoulder.

“Actually, I was hoping to sit around all day and do nothing, like you,” said Pyrrha, and, “Nice of you to show up. Camilla, this is Pash.”

“You know,” Pash continued on as though Cam was not there, “When you asked me to work with you this summer, I assumed I'd at least get to see you shoot someone.”

“Washing dishes builds more character,” Pyrrha jerked her thumb toward the bin of dishes.

“I got more character than I can handle, thanks,” Pash began moving the dishes roughly into the soapy water filled sink. After a moment she noticed Camilla looking at her. “The fuck are you looking at?”

“A prick,” Camilla said, without missing a beat.

Pash let a dish clang into the sink and said, bitterly, “I prefer pariah.” Then she turned and walked out the door.

“Where are you going?” Pyrrha called after her.

“Dart,” Pash grumbled.

“They better be your own!” Pyrrha called after her, and then offered Camilla an apologetic look. “She’s my ex’s sisters’ kid, kind of got an anger issue. Whole family is a little sick of her at the moment. She means well, I think, plus the kid loves her for some reason. I offered to let her stay with me for the Summer, but left out the bit where we’d be, well, here.”

“So, you tricked her.”

Pyrrha shrugged, “I needed a dishwasher.”

Camilla considered that, “I can think of worse places to spend the summer.”

“You really love it here, huh?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I really do.”

“Then why do you seem sad about it?”

Camilla did not ask how Pyrrha could tell she was sad about it, chalking it up to some kind of hardened intuition. “It’s my last summer.”

“Ah,” Pyrrha nodded and was silent for a beat. “You know, someone told me once that it’s not the place that’s special, not really. It’s the people in the place that make it that way. The place is gonna leave, nine times out of ten, but sometimes you get to hold on to the people.”

“That ever work for you?”

The older woman looked very sad all of a sudden, but it vacated her face almost as soon as it had arrived, replaced by a shrugging expression. “I do my best, but some people just don’t stick.”

“That’s reassuring,” Camilla leaned her hip against the counter.

Pyrrha laughed, a hearty sound that filled the room. “Oh, if you’re looking for reassurance, don’t come to me. I’ve seen enough to know that there’s no point.”

Camilla looked at the scars on the arm Pyrrha had braced against the countertop, long faded hooks and lines that covered most of her exposed skin.

“Hey,” she’d caught her looking. “Blind reassurance doesn’t do anyone any good. But sometimes the truth is good, and the truth is that you do get to hold on to people if you put in the work.”

“What’s the work?”

“Oh it’s terrible,” Pyrrha smirked. “You have to let them know you want them around.”

…

That summer would go down in history as the longest game of capture the flag the camp had ever seen. The entire first morning no flags were stolen, and the campers were reluctant to move onto lunch, but by the end of the second morning cabin 4 had two out of the three flags. That should have put them in the lead, except for the fact that cabins 1 and 2 had two out of three of cabin 4’s flags – leaving them in danger.

By the third day, things were getting tense, and cabin 3 had caught up to 4 in numbers. That morning, Corona, in her two sizes too small referee shirt, called the team captains to the middle of the camp. Each morning, they would shake hands, supervised by their respective counselors, before the game started.

Hot sauce and Sara G. glared at each other behind their brightly coloured war paint. The two had both been penalized for fighting the day before, leaving Cabin 1 and Cabin 3 on very poor terms. The two had to be coaxed, and ultimately threatened, into shaking hands. They only caved after Corona reminded them that the game would not start until they did. The other two captains, Tyler P. and Jessica-Maria shook hands civilly, but the overall energy that day in the center of camp was tense.

Gideon stood next to Sara, glaring at Harrow, who leaned on one hip next to Hot Sauce.

“You’re going down,” Gideon said to her.

Harrow, who had spent the last two days sitting with the kids who pretended to be sick so they didn’t have to participate, but had been tagged out by Ianthe claiming sunstroke, scowled back. “I do not care about this at all.”

“Which is why you’re going down!”

“I don’t care if I go down,” she snapped.

“Which is why you are!”

“If you say that one more time – ”

“Down!” Gideon said, pointing at the ground. “Down, down, down – ”

She tackled Gideon into the grass.

Harrow was not heavy, but the force of her hitting Gideon from midair still knocked the wind out of her. The projectile landed on her hands and knees beside her, crawled on top of her and began to swat her in the face. It wasn’t exactly thought out enough to hurt, she fought like someone who had never seen or done a punch before, but Gideon was well acquainted with the severity of Harrow’s fingernails.

At the sound of a whistle being blown, they froze. Palamedes stood next to corona, with the whistle that hung around her neck in his hand.

“We are playing capture the flag,” he said gruffly. “It’s a non-contact sport. Nav, what are you doing?”

“Me?” said Gideon, who had grabbed both Harrow’s wrists preemptively to keep from getting poked the eyes. “I’m the one who got jumped!”

“Both of you cut it out,” Corona said. “It was entertaining at first, but I have to agree that you’re setting a bad example for the children.”

Gideon looked up at Harrow, but the scowl she’d expected to see was nowhere to be found. Gideon’s glasses had been knocked off in the fall, the light of the sun blocked only by Harrow’s shaky posture. It sent rays outward at awkward angles, giving her a kind of halo effect, golden light springing from her form. It was actually quite pretty, and combined with the girl’s stupefied expression, she looked sort of palpable, like something you could reach out and touch without getting stung.

Harrow scrambled to her feet, hair sticking up in random directions and grass stains on her bare knees, all that gold-rimmed beauty from before tucked away behind her frown. She hunched over like a wounded animal, which Gideon thought was pretty fucking unfair considering she was the one who’d been attacked.

She didn’t expect the absence of the warm weight of the smaller girl’s body against her stomach to be so jarring. The pressure had been sort of nice.

Gideon did not see Harrow the rest of the day, not sure where she had gone, but assuming she was off somewhere having a conniption. The two girls did not always hate another. Sometimes, like the first night of camp, they surrendered to the fact that, on occasion, they enjoyed each other’s company.

When they were younger, Gideon had regularly fixed the chain on Harrow’s bike or got in the face of a kid who was giving her a hard time. It seemed like the kind of thing you would do for a sister – and for all intents and purposes wasn’t that what they were? They grew up together, shared a room, took turns performing chores, fought. Wouldn't it also make sense for them to look out for each other?

These small acts of kindness, however unspoken, were always followed by bouts of petulance. Gideon felt sometimes like the owner of a bird that wanted to be held but also wanted to peck you, in the eyeball, with its very sharp beak.

Four days later the game of capture the flag was still on. Once the sun reached the highest point in the sky they would break for lunch and then proceed with swimming and planned activities, but until the game was finished, they went straight back every morning.

By Sunday afternoon Cabin 1 had taken the win. They’d pulled off an elaborate lure to get the final flag, involving a fake twisted ankle, a flag guard pretending to be asleep, and a serious of loud mooing noises. It was truly unlike anything Gideon had ever seen, and she was filled with immense pride as her group of kids accepted their bragging rights.

That day at lunch time Gideon caught sight of a few of the older kids passing change back and forth, but since it was mostly quarters and loonies, decided to let it slide. It reminded her of the summer of 2000, when she’d won a whole $27 playing checkers against the other junior counselors.

The rest of the week was a jumble of scraped knees and letters home – of reapplying purple sunscreen, cannonballs in the lake, and campfire songs they were all sick of singing. They ate all their meals together, counselors coaxing kids who’d rather be drawing or playing soccer or swimming to take two more bites. By the time Monday rolled around, they’d sunk deeply into a routine.

Ianthe’s theatre group would meet every afternoon for some kind of serious actor class nonsense. The rest of the kids came and went from different activities – art and science classes, dance with Corona. Camilla and Gideon took them on hikes through the woods and, along with Judith and Naberius, they’d set up games of soccer and flag football. The junior counsellors, who were essentially glorified campers, would move soccer nets and stack pylons for them. Jeannemary was particularly helpful with these tasks, but Nona gravitated toward swimming and hikes, while Isaac shadowed Ianthe’s theatre rehearsals like the eager pupil he was.

One afternoon, during swimming, Corona cornered Judith on the dock, insisting on rubbing sunscreen into her arms. “This is ridiculous,” Judith had said, but Corona only squirted another glob into her hands and got to working on her other arm. She did not rub hard, but took her time, slowly running her thumbs over the lean muscles of her biceps.

“Jody, anyone can get skin cancer,” was corona’s reply, and, “have you been playing sports?”

Judith blinked at her. “It’s literally my job to play sports.”

One very sunny afternoon Ianthe and Naberius were on lifeguard duty, along with the juniors, which gave everyone else time to prep for the rest of the day. Camilla was trying to work out the art and dance class schedule with Corona, who did not want to compromise on studio time. Gideon was leaning against the big tree next to them, frowning at a Rubik’s cube. Every so often she would mutter a “Yesss”, usually followed immediately by a “Nooooo”.

“If you finish at 10,” Camilla jotted something on her notepad, “I can get their projects done and they can dry over lunch and afternoon swimming.”

“But we need more time,” said Corona, hands on her hips. “This new routine is very complicated, and we only have,” she did the math in her head. “Six more weeks until show time.”

“I’m asking for an extra half hour Corona.”

“Millie,” she put a hand on Camilla’s shoulder, rubbing it up and down. Camilla removed it. “This is my livelihood. What will these kids remember more in 20 years, winning the talent show, (“You can’t win the talent show, it’s non-competitive,” said Cam.) or a handprint turkey?”

“That’s not – ”

“Oh look,” Corona interjected. “There’s the new cook.”

A blue truck was parked at the side of the mess hall, and Camilla with her ears ringing, watched as Pyrrha began to carry bags of groceries to the kitchen.

“Isn’t she something?” Corona twirled a lock of hair around her index finger.

“If you’re into that sort of thing,” Camilla sighed, lowering her notebook.

“What sort of thing? Being ruggedly handsome?” Corona poked her, and Camilla gave her a warning look. “I heard she was a cop.”

“Wait,” Gideon frowned, closing the distance between them and the tree. “We have a new cook?”

“It’s been almost a week and you’re just noticing now?”

“You know,” Gideon stashed the cube in the pocket of her shorts, leaving a large imprint there. “I had noticed the pancakes aren’t raw in the middle anymore. What happened to Gertie?”

“Her husband had a heart attack.” Camilla said.

“He died?” Gideon gaped.

“Not all heart attacks are fatal, sweetheart.” Corona assured her.

“Ah,” Gideon smiled.

“No, he died.” Camilla clarified.

Gideon looked a bit sick. “I’m gonna go see if the new cook needs help with the groceries.”

As Gideon sauntered away, Judith approached with a large wooden number 3 in one hand, and a few nails in the other. “I need a hammer,” she said, all business.

“Oh, no!” Corona grasped the 3 in her hands. “Poor cabin three, so many memories.”

Judith looked exhausted – or maybe overwhelmed. Corona’s presence did not tend to have a calming effect on the overly stressed.

The blonde girl turned to Camilla, starry eyed. “Oh, do you remember that summer we spent a week nursing Jody back to health in cabin three, Millie? Everyone else went swimming but we stayed with you,” She poked Judith’s shoulder, “Changing your puke bucket.”

Camilla crossed her arms over her chest. “We were put on puke duty as punishment for TP-ing cabin two.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Corona shuddered. “I wish we’d known that was all the toilet paper the camp had. I would’ve suggested we use something we had an abundance of – frogs maybe, or expired sunscreen.”

Camilla nodded solemnly.

“Please, Corona,” Judith held her hands out for the number 3, “I am trying to fix it before the kids get back from swimming.”

“Oh, well excuse me for getting in the way of your little project,” she snapped. “I couldn’t possibly understand the urgency of your situation.”

“I was just –”

“What will the kids do without the number 3? They might lose their way and try to sleep in the lake instead of their beds.”

Judith sighed. “You’re being difficult on purpose.”

“No, I assure you it comes naturally to me.”

“Corona – ”

“Don’t worry,” She shoved the 3 roughly back into Judith’s hands. “I won’t force you to reminisce with me any longer, you are dismissed.”

“Corona, please –”

Camilla was already retreating to the shade, where Palamedes and Harrow sat at a picnic table engaged in deep discussion. By that time, Gideon was returning from the mess hall and fell into step beside her.

“That was fast,” Camilla said.

Gideon grimaced, glancing back over her shoulder. “That woman is very strange.”

Camilla couldn’t argue with that. She slid onto the bench beside Palamedes and picked a blade of grass out of his hair. Gideon hopped up onto the table and slid the glasses off her face.

Palamedes squeezed Camilla’s knee by way of hello and explained that they were discussing the relevance of the baking soda-volcano. “Harrow thinks it’s old-hat, I think it’s classic. Perhaps one of you can offer some insight?”

Camilla said, “Depends on the age group,” at the same time as Gideon asked, “Have you considered letting them light their farts on fire?”

Harrow blinked once, then stood up and left.

Palamedes sighed. “I’ll just concede to elephant toothpaste.”

“They’ve got big teeth,” Gideon noted. “You’ll need a lot.”

Palamedes squinted at her. “It’s very hard sometimes to tell when you’re joking.”

“Sister Lilith says that when God made me, he gave me extra words, and that’s why I’m always tossing them out.”

“Sister Lilith sounds like a riot,” said Camilla.

“Nope,” said Gideon, popping the p and looking in the direction Harrow had left. “But she makes a mean lasagna. I uh, gotta go do something.” She hopped off the table with vigor, and jogged away.

Palamedes rubbed at his temple.

“You okay?” Cam asked, swinging a leg up and over to straddle the bench. He followed suit so they could face each other.

“Headache,” he said, gesturing to the sun. “Was it always this bright?

“Afraid so.”

“Maybe we shouldn't have spent all year in the library.”

“You spent all year in the library,” she said. “I know how to mix it up.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. It’s difficult to bring someone a coffee when they won’t stop moving from place to place.”

“You need the exercise.”

“Ah, so that’s why is it?” He reached out and tucked a piece of her hair under her hat. “You do it because you care about me?”

Camilla found herself needing to swallow. She lifted the hat from off her head and placed it on his. “For the sun.”

He adjusted the back loop and fixed it on his head. The navy blue made his eyes pop, not that he needed the help.

“How do I look?”

Beautiful. “Exhausted.”

“Well, that’s accurate.” He leaned one elbow on the table. “How are you? We haven’t spoken in days.”

She shrugged. For some reason that she wasn’t inclined to read into, it felt more wrong to disclose to him her ongoing existential crisis than it did to keep it from him. “Can’t get Corona to agree on the schedule for tomorrow, but fine.”

“Don’t let her get you all wound up,” He said, “The kids won’t die from a lack of structure.”

“I’m not wound up,” she said, chewing her cheek.

“Of course not,” he said. “The princess is so easy to work with, how could you be?”

She cracked a smile. “Demure, passive.”

“Forget she’s there most of the time.”

Camilla ran her hands over her face, looking at him through the gaps in her fingers. “She’s going to drive me crazy,”

“Come see me tonight.” It was meant as a question, but he’d put his warm hands on her knees as he’d said it, and she noted that yes, that was something she wanted very much.

“I’ll run it by her royal highness.”

…

Gideon caught up to Harrow relatively easy, her uncoordinated legs could only carry her so far over the uneven grass. She pulled the Rubik’s cube from her pocket as she approached, tossing it anxiously between her hands.

“Hey, gloom patrol,” she said, falling in step beside her.

Harrow stopped abruptly, and Gideon had to swing around to face her.

“If you’re coming to pester me about flatulence again – ”

“Don’t say flatulence, it sounds worse than farts.”

“Not true.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Harrow sighed, rubbing her forehead with one hand. The black polish she’d painted her fingers with was chipped down to her nail beds. “What do you want, Nav?”

“Right now?” Gideon held up the toy in her hands. “I’d love to know how to fix this thing.”

“Solve.”

“What?”

“You solve a Rubik’s cube; you don’t fix it.”

“Right,” she said. “Don’t see how that helps me, but it’s actually not what I wanted to talk about.”

“Spit it out then.”

“Easy, girl,” Gideon raised her hands. “Don’t tackle me again.”

“For the love of God Griddle, I don’t have all day.”

“Fine,” Gideon crossed her arms over her chest, gripping the cube between her middle finger and thumb. Harrow followed the movement with her eyes – she was always so critical of posture. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for touching you the other day.”

“What?” Harrow’s voice came out in a strained whisper, her eyes darting around.

“At the dock,” Gideon said. “When we like, touched faces or whatever.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Nonagesimus – you and I touched cheeks. We did cheek stuff!”

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, and if you bring it up to anyone else, I will deny it.” She was close enough into Gideon’s personal space that she felt the tiny droplets of spit that flew from her mouth.

“I’m not going to bring it up to anyone, you freak,” Gideon spat. “I was just trying to be nice and apologize to you in case it made you, I don’t know, uncomfortable, which it clearly fucking has. But you know what, never mind. I’m not sorry. In fact, I’d do it again!”

“What?”

“Uh,” She shook her head, and pointed the Rubik’s cube at her sharply. “Sike! I definitely would not.”

“Neither would I!”

“Good!”

“Good!”

“Great.”

“Fuck off, Nav.”

Gideon debated throwing the Rubik’s cube at her, but settled for storming away dramatically. This did not work, because she remembered she’d left her glasses on the picnic table in the shade and had to turn around and continue in the opposite direction. Overall though, she felt pretty good about the exit.

…

“I dress in black to match my life. I am unhappy,” Harrow said, and then, “Are you messing with me?”

Ianthe sighed, snatching the copy of Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull – Abridged for children’s theatre by Ianthe Tridentarius from her hands. “You said you wanted to help.”

“I thought you might be mocking me,” Harrow grumbled.

“Normally I am,” the blonde twig of a girl leaned back in her metal folding chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap over the script. “But in this case, I just want to know if you think it’s feasible.”

“Obviously it’s not feasible.”

She pouted, and it made her look an awful lot like her sister. “That’s not the answer I wanted.”

“If you were looking for a yes-man you should have asked someone else.”

“I can make more edits.”

“Will you leave the gun in?”

“There isn’t much of a story without the gun.”

“Case and point.”

Ianthe whined. “It would be like Crash without the cars.”

Harrow had gone to visit Ianthe in Toronto over spring break. The trip mostly consisted of eating dreadfully flavorful food, listening to scratchy vinyl records, and being dragged to see artsy, borderline pornographic films and local theatre plays. Harrow had enjoyed the Aquarium and returned by herself very early in the morning before her bus home to watch the sting rays hover in the water.

“I hated that film.”

“I really thought you would like it.”

“You can’t possibly have.”

“Maybe I was trying to figure out if you had a thing for blondes.”

Harrow ignored this. “Substitute something else for the gun.”

“Chekhov’s bat?” Ianthe suggested. “Have Konstantin beat himself to death at the end? You’re right, that would be much more age appropriate.”

“Please don’t act like this was your only option,” Harrow huffed, running her hand over her forehead. “I have a headache.”

“It’s the children,” Ianthe drawled, “They’re absolutely insufferable this year.”

The children, who were sitting on the floor in front of them, waiting for them to finish talking, did not say anything.

“You still haven’t told me where you ran off to the first night of camp.” Ianthe pried.

“Cigarette,” she said under her breath. “I did tell you.”

“I keep asking, and you keep giving me the same answer. It’s infuriating. You don’t seriously think I can’t tell you’re not smoking them, do you?” Ianthe rolled her eyes. “I may only smoke when I’m drunk, but even I know you’re just doing it for the aesthetic. ”

Harrow did not respond.

“It had something to do with the little spat you were having with Gollum earlier, didn’t it? Come on Harry, you know I’m nosy, just tell me.”

“I do not know what you are referring to, and inquiring further will not change that.”

“I love it when you make me beg.”

A child on the floor raised their hand.

“Yes Kevin?” Ianthe straightened in her seat.

“Kevin has to go to the bathroom,” said Kevin.

Ianthe sighed heavily. “Does anyone else have to go?”

Half of the remaining group of kids raised their hands.

“It’s your turn,” she said to Harrow, who rolled her eyes, but stood up. It was not her turn.

“Oh and,” Ianthe said, as Harrow led the children to the door, “are you going to let me help you with that thing?”

Harrow sighed, “When is your day off?”

…

Corona had agreed to stay in so Camilla could meet Palamedes at the dock. It felt too easy, Camilla noted, and her, oh yes, of course, was accompanied by a confusing eyebrow arch, but she was willing to take what she could get.

“Want to smoke?” he asked her as soon as she sat down, pulling out a tiny plastic bag of contraband.

“Please,” she said, letting her head fall back against one of the wooden posts.

“I think the French kids might have stolen some,” he said, examining the bag.

“Jeannemary and Isaac?” Camilla frowned. “How old are they?”

“Fifteen.”

“Wow,” Camilla remarked, “my drug of choice at 15 was lip smackers.”

He pulled a grinder from his seemingly bottomless pockets and began to fill it. “Maybe I need to start locking it up. That would probably be safer.”

“Or we smoke it all.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Or that.”

“Where’d you get it?” They were both hesitant to keep more than a few grams on them, just in case they were to get caught with it. Neither of them wanted to risk a program dismissal.

“Girl who works in the kitchen,” he said, twisting the grinder in his hands. “Blue hair, obvious lust for life.”

“I’m guessing she ripped you off?”

“So, you’ve met her then?”

Camila smiled. “Unfortunately,”

“It’s actually a lot better than what Nav got from the dispensary.”

“Nav went to the dispensary?”

“She’s got aches,” he explained.

“I see.”

“And pains.”

“Of course.” She tilted her head and watched him pull more items from the pockets of his denim cargo shorts. A packet of rolling papers, a tiny piece of cardstock that was obviously lifted from the art supplies, and a dinky neon green gas station lighter.

“Want me to?” She asked.

He shook his head. “Let me.”

She relaxed and watched as he got to work. How many times before had she observed his fingers bend the tiny filter into shape, roll the paper between them. It was there, watching him lick the seam of the paper and twist the end of the joint closed that she realized she felt calmer than she had in almost a week.

He passed it to her, and she put it in her mouth, holding her hand out for the lighter. He smiled and shook his head, cupping his hand around the end and lighting it for her. The wonderful calm only spread as they passed the joint back and forth, his outline warm and warped under her intoxicated gaze.

Her calm was soon interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps coming toward them.

“Hey,” Gideon hit the floor of the dock with a thud, breath heavy. “You guys are cool, right?”

“Are we?” Camilla asked, passing the joint to Palamedes. “That doesn’t sound right.”

He took it from her, “you must be thinking of someone else.”

“Okay smart asses,” Gideon frowned. “I mean you like weird stuff.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Palamedes said, blowing smoke.

“I just – I want some weird music, okay? I’m burning a CD.”

“Who for?”

“Who said it was for someone?”

“You,” Palamedes started, “who told me on the ride in that your favourite song was Lord of the Rings, which is a movie, by the way, are now asking us for music recommendations.” Palamedes held the joint out to Camilla, who shook her head. He always managed to keep such a strong grip on reality while high, something she could not say about herself. “Based on the aforementioned information I know that it can’t be for you, so, I’ll ask you more directly this time; what’s her name?”

“Fine. Her name is,” Gideon pursed her lips, eyes flickering between them and the water. “Lake.”

Palamedes stared back at her, “her name is Lake?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a really beautiful name,” deadpanned Camilla.

She and Palamedes burst into a fit of giggles.

“Fuck you guys,” she scowled. “I feel like I’m in one of those ‘this is your brain on drugs’ ads.”

Palamedes regained his composure. “Sorry, we’re – we can help.”

“This is serious,” Gideon huffed. “She’s – she’s mad at me, okay? And I need to make her not mad, and she likes the same kind of weird stuff you two are into so I thought maybe if I made her a CD that might help.”

“That’s actually really sweet,” said Camilla.

Palamedes said, “tell us about her.”

“She’s – well, she’s kind of like if a church spire was a person. That’s like the sharp bit on the top of the – ” she thrust her finger upwards.

“Yes, we’re familiar,” Palamedes nodded.

“Okay so, she’s a bit pointy right? And if you get too close it can be dangerous, really dangerous, really really dangerous,” She held her hand out for the joint and Palamedes passed it to her. She took a short drag and made a face, resisting the urge to say ‘yucky’, and thrust it back. She said, exhaling smoke, “but she’s also beautiful, and maybe not everyone notices that part, because of how she’s up really high. Maybe they go ‘hey, that girl Lake is really pretty and I’m only noticing it now because of how she’s always really high up there being a church spire’, but once you do notice it gets really hard to stop thinking about it, and it makes you not care about the dangerous bits at all. It makes you think that being impaled might honestly not be so bad.”

“Relatable,” joked Camilla, who truly could not help herself. It was sweet, she had to admit, and likening Harrow – it was painfully obvious that was who she was talking about – to a church spire was a strangely beautiful comparison.

Gideon pointed a finger at her. “You’re lucky I only fight other women if there’s oil involved.”

“Gross.”

“Okay,” Palamedes interjected. “So, what I’m hearing is you’re trying to apologize to her.”

“Yes.” Gideon laid her hands flat on the dock. “I need to burn her a CD so beautiful she stops wanting me dead. I just need us to be okay,” and then added, as an afterthought: “Me and Lake.”

“I think,” Camilla said, gently. “That Lake likes – or might like Radiohead.”

Gideon blinked. “The radio? Cam, am I an idiot to you?”

“It’s a band, Nav,” Palamedes explained.

“Oh, right.” Gideon recovered, then grinned. “Okay, now we’re cooking with gas. What’s their best song then? Cam, you’re cantankerous (“Sorry?” asked Cam), what’s your favorite?”

“I don’t have one,” She grumbled. She was pretty sure cantankerous was a synonym for peevish, but she was also pretty high and might have had it mixed up with carnivorous. The latter made less sense, but Gideon wasn’t exactly prone to that.

“Here, I’ll write some down for you.” Palamedes pulled a pen and a small packet of rolling papers from his pocket. He pulled one out, clicked his pen, and began writing on the little sheet.

Camilla peered over his shoulder and she said, “Is that my pen?”

Palamedes ceased scribbling and had the pen back in his pocket before she could get a second look at it. He offered Gideon the flimsy sheet of paper and she grasped onto it tightly, folding it into a tiny square.

“You two are life savers,” she said, springing to her feet and sprinting back up the hill at full speed.

“Fake plastic trees, right?” Palamedes said to her, once Gideon was out of earshot.

“What?”

“That’s your favorite.”

“I wasn’t aware I had a favourite song,” she said. Granted – she hadn’t really though much into it. There were songs she liked, and songs she didn’t. It was circumstantial, not definitive.

“You do.”

“And that’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, that’s your favorite Radiohead song,” he continued, drumming his fingers on the dock. “If we’re going favorite favourite song – let’s see. Anything from Jagged Little Pill would be a good guess, since that’s your favourite album.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Someone’s feeling presumptuous.”

“You practically bit me the last time I tried to take it out of the CD player,” he held the joint out to her. “Very patriotic of you, by the way, your Dads must be so proud.”

She rolled her eyes, accepting the now very small joint from him. She took a drag, decided it was done, and put it out. Her Dads were both first generation immigrants who wanted more than anything for her to assimilate. Growing up outside of the city she’d always felt that pressure, some of it theirs, some of it the country’s, some of it her own. Toronto, however, was a melting pot, and asked a lot less of her – depending on the neighborhood.

“As I was saying,” He continued. “There are a lot of good options. You love the eighties –Never as Good as the First Time is definitely a contender. Love Will Tear Us Apart made you cry when we were at that party – ”

She was rolling her eyes, and he said, “No Cam, there were tears in your eyes.”

She was more than happy to deny this accusation, knowing full well he forgot nothing and observed her so precisely that him being wrong was completely out of the question. Her reaction was reinforced by his confession of appraisal, which is how she took it – as a confession. He had confessed to knowing what she liked better than she knew herself. It made her feel a bit like she was under a microscope, and a bit like she’d been given a gift so perfectly thoughtful that no form of thank you would suffice.

The party he was referring to had been hosted by one of Corona’s friends. When they got invited to a party it was almost always one of Corona’s friends. The friend in question – Ethan maybe – or Jeff – or Carlos, was a musician, and he had a room full of guitars and records and recording equipment with a huge speaker system hooked up to a tiny little vintage record player that they were told was off limits. Ianthe had begun playing with it as soon as he’d downed his third drink and Corona had whisked him upstairs. The twins differed on many things, music being one of them. Ianthe would dabble in Corona’s taste – agreed that Britney Spears’s In The Zone was a masterpiece, but at her core she was a film student with a penchant for post-punk. “I think this is the original pressing,” she’d murmured, plastic cup in one hand as she dropped the needle onto the 7’ vinyl.

It was like nothing Camilla had ever heard. Scratchy, a bit strange and unorganized. Not the sort of thing she normally enjoyed, but the disorganization had a purpose. It was like someone had cracked their heart open and spilled the contents everywhere, spewing blood and tissue onto the carpet. She was drunk, more drunk that she’d intended to get, and yes, by the time Palamedes had found the two of them in the off-limits studio Ianthe was sitting against the wall texting on her flip phone and Camilla was sitting, eyes glassy, hugging her knees to her chest as the forgotten vinyl skipped over the last line again and again.

“Agree to disagree,” she pressed her thumbnail into a mosquito bite on her knee twice, making an X, and then said: “Joy Division is barely eighties.”

“They’re on the cusp,” he argued.

“Go on then,” she said. “I can’t exactly offer you a hint.”

“I don’t need a hint,” he planted his hands behind him and leaned back. She was finding it increasingly difficult to meet his gaze, even in the dim light. “I know what it is.”

“You seem confident.”

“I should be.”

"Are you stalling because you don’t actually – ”

“Just Like Heaven,” he said.

It was unusual, she noted, to have someone who knew you better than you knew yourself, suddenly stop holding back about it. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. He did not stop there.

“And Cam, you were right when you said that it must be what falling in love sounds like,” he sat up straight and pulled both his legs in to mirror her posture. “You remember that, don’t you? We listened to it on the floor, and you said that you’d know when you were in love, because it would feel just like that.”

She wanted to deny saying it, tell him she’d been drunk or high. She must have been overtired, had too much coffee – something, anything. There was something she must have been. The truth was that all she had been was vulnerable, and she hated that he remembered it.

The two of them, sitting on their tiny dorm room floor at midnight in first year, too drunk off their newfound independence to go to sleep. She’d had on those horrible knee socks she used to wear, and he’d hooked his finger under the top of one and snapped it in a way that felt very, very different than anything that had transpired between them before. She hadn’t thought about that night in a long time.

“Do you still think that?” he asked, looking at her expectantly.

Yes. “I’d have to hear it.”

“Right,” he let out a self-conscious chuckle, taking his glasses off so he could rub his eyes. “God I’m uh,”

“Stoned?” she smiled.

He nodded, his own smile lighting up the dark between them like a flare. “Yeah.”

The water had been calm since they’d been out, the wind a whisper of a breeze. A few translucent clouds made their way slowly across the sky, the stars disappearing and reappearing from behind them.  

“I should go,” she said, but he put his hands on her knees again.

“Will you lay down with me for a bit?”

He laid back against the hard wooden planks and, to her surprise, pulled her against his chest – which was nice, actually. They looked up at the stars and when she pointed out Cassiopeia to him, he reacted like he hadn’t already spotted it.

He smelled like deodorant and campfire smoke, and the night had grown a bit chilly, but he was a furnace against her. It had been a long while since she’d been this close to anyone, having been on the fence about physical intimacy most of her life. With him she felt comfortable and safe and a little bit giddy, but she chalked that last part up to the smoking. Her head seemed to fit perfectly into the space between his shoulder and his chest.

After a while she said, soft enough that she thought he might not hear it: “Father and Son.”

“Hmm?” he asked, and she could tell from the tone of his voice that he’d been halfway to sleep.

“Cat Stevens. That’s your favourite song.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, one hand stroking her hair, “that’s it.”

Music cue: “Father and Son” by Yusuf / Cat Stevens

“You know,” he added, after a beat. “I also would have accepted anything by R.E.M.”

“Oh, I know,” She looked up at him. “I’ll be happy if I never have to hear Orange Crush ever again.”

He laughed, closing his eyes, and she rested her head back on his chest, looking out into the distance, the quiet calm of the waves teasing her toward sleep. She allowed them both another ten minutes before dragging him to his feet and herding him to bed.

He walked like a zombie back up the hill, and she knew that neither of them would have trouble getting to sleep.