Page 79 of Within These County Lines

And for the first time in a long time, I feel fully seen.

33

I stall getting out of bed on the first workday after the holiday weekend.

For the past two mornings, I’ve slept in, texting Xander until the sun was high and my phone was warm against my palm.

I can’t remember the last time I let my alarm wake me. My history with Murray has been bouncing around my head all year like a pinball at the Main Street arcade, every incident another steel sphere ricocheting through my skull, refusing to settle, and keeping me awake most nights.

But sharing my secrets with Xander has reset the game. The flashing images, the buzzing, the keeping score—it’s all stopped. At least for now. My mind is quiet and there’s a fresh round of waiting to begin.

Xander doesn’t text back the way most people do. He sends voice memos and GIFs that are as animated as he is. My earbuds, once reserved for music and podcasts, now play his voice instead. His infectious laugh track cuts through the morning haze like sunlight splitting the clouds.

This morning a memo comes through as he jumps from a steep cliff into the Penango River. His shout echoes before he disappears beneath the surface. Another memo follows where he shares newly acquired dog knowledge while he floats in an inner tube. I picture him grinning at the sky, his wet curls glistening in the sun.

My mattress shakes as I giggle along with him. His day is already full, while mine is slipping away, half wasted.

It’s hard to believe it’s already July seventh. Even after eighteen years, the speed at which the Fourth of July turns early summer into midsummer always catches me off guard.

July.

July.

I lock my phone and tap my chin.

What was so important about July? A forgotten task hisses for attention like a faulty firework stuck at its launch site. There is something else besides the scholarship essay.

Then it hits me. I sit up and slap my forehead. I speak Kim’s words aloud: “The first busload of campers is set to come in early July.”

Kim and Sheryl’s summer camp begins this week. Rainbow Valley’s pool still needs approval. If the campers go in that swampy, green pool, they’re bound to get sick. And if I let a group of kids get infected with some weird brain-eating amoeba, there’s no way Victor endorses my scholarship.

I throw on my uniform, grab my keys, and drive straight there.

A yellow school bus idles at the entrance when I arrive, unloading kids with colorful backpacks and duffel bags. Kim waves them down the drive toward Sheryl, who sits under a white tent, checking names off a clipboard. Beside her, Mrs. Pomers hands out name tags and watches the crowd with careful intent.

The presence of Xander’s mom means there’s no way he’s here.

The bus blocks my view of the pool, spiking my nerves, as I imagine campers splashing through algae-thick water. I park and step out, already sweating through my shirt.

“Stetson!” Kim greets me with a bright smile. “You made it for our first day.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” I say, rubbing the back of my head. “The days got away from me.”

“You’re just in time. We’re still getting settled. The welcome ceremony is in an hour, then we have a scavenger hunt planned.”

I force a laugh. “Actually, I kind of came to check on the pool again.”

Kim’s smile falters. “Did you get Sheryl’s message?”

I shake my head.

“She called the health department and spoke with a man named Victor.”

My stomach drops.

“We ended up draining the pool this weekend.” She sighs. “Nothing was fixing that stubborn green water. We’ve got a maintenance team coming to check the filtration system, but for now, no swimming. It’s just a shame this first group of kids won’t get any pool time.”

I exhale relief. “Victor didn’t tell me.”