My heart drops.
NOW
The next time I see Luke is just before lunch when Willow and I and our eleven campers file into one of the classrooms on the second floor of the Community Center. Our previous science coordinator was a retired schoolteacher who missed days in a row because her MS was acting up. Her real name was Sunny, but she went by Sunshine in front of the kids.
As all the kids file in, Willow and I help them get settled and then retreat to the back of the room.
Luke claps his hands once to get their attention. “Hey, everyone.” He settles on the wooden desk that Sunny used to sit behind and introduces himself. “I’m Duke. I’m the new guy here, so I’m counting on you guys to tell me what’s what.”
“Duke,” Willow repeats so only I can hear. “He’s cute.”
He’s asking the kids what they think of when they hear the wordscience.
I mumble something noncommittal to Willow, but the truth is that I’m kind of mesmerized by Luke. The least surprising thing obviously is his affinity for STEM. I’m used to bookish, quiet, thoughtful Luke.MyLuke. But the boy in front of me is the same only on the surface. This boy is animated and lively and charming. He talks with his hands and holds the attention of every kid in the room.
He gets a volunteer to hand out sticky notes, asks the kids to write down their three favorite scientific facts, and makes his way to the back of the room, where Willow and I are leaning against the wall.
“Hey,” Luke says, his eyes finding mine for half a second before totally focusing on Willow. “I’m Luke.”
“Ohh,” Willow says as she shakes his hand. “I was wondering about that. I’m Willow, but I go by Oak.”
“Like the tree,” Luke says.
“Yes. Oh my God, you’re like the only one who has gotten and appreciated that.”
Luke grins, and his smile makes something turn in my stomach. Of course Willow would love him on sight. My Luke, but with different eyes. My Luke, but different.
So not my Luke at all.
“This is Jessi,” Willow says, introducing us for the second time in the space of four hours. “But she goes by J.J.”
Luke’s eyes dart back to me. Neither of us makes a move to shake hands.
“It’s like this thing where they want leaders to be relatable and fun and all that,” Willow explains to Luke, “but still be authority figures, you know? So kids can’t use our first names. But sometimes one of us will slip up and use somebody’s real name.”
He nods in understanding, tells us he’ll be right back, and resumes his role as teacher. I’m mesmerized by his energy, his easy rapport with the students. I wonder what other sides of Luke I’ve never seen.
Thankfully, the science lesson passes uneventfully, and then it’s lunchtime. All the camp leaders eat together in the cafeteria, at one table when we can all fit. Two, when we can’t.
I spend the whole forty-five minutes with my eyes peeled to the cafeteria door, waiting to see him stride in wearing the T-shirt that is way more flattering on him than it is on most of us. Brett and Willow are sitting on my left side, practically spoon-feeding each other. A college-age student I don’t know very well is on my right side, the only person between me and Eric, who is the sports coordinator here, so overall, it’s a pretty uncomfortable lunch.
I breathe a sigh of relief after the period passes, relieved to get back into the swing of things for the rest of the day and not have to worry about seeing Luke again. The day does pass quickly, and before I know it, I’m saying goodbye to Willow and making my way into the staff parking lot. I stop when I see Luke leaning against the back of my car, his head down as he reads something on his phone.
He doesn’t see me coming, and it takes everything I have to keep walking. I’m wondering if I can just get in and drive away without saying anything. Sure, it might surprise him a little, but I doubt there will be too much damage.
“Hi,” I say, coming to a stop in front of him against my better judgment.
“Hi.” He tucks his phone away in his back pocket. It’s a total one-eighty from this morning, when he wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of his full attention.
“I went about it all wrong,” he says now. “The other day. Today.”
“So, wearegoing to acknowledge that your getting a job here just to mess with me was going a bit too far?” I ask.
“I didn’t get a job here to mess with you. I swear, it was a coincidence. Meant to be, I guess,” he says, and I flinch at the idea that anything about us was ever meant to be.
The art coordinator, a girl in her early twenties with more piercings on her left ear than on my whole body, walks by us and waves. “See you later, J.J.”
“Bye, Rouge,” I call back.
