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From heartbreak.
“Tess?” Mrs. Lockhart calls out. She’s standing between Spencer and Mr. Dudley, like a purple mayoral sandwich. Hopefully she and Mr. Dudley will leave soon like everybody else.
Please leave soon, Mrs. Lockhart!
Instead she waves me over. So I grit my teeth, paste on a plastic smile, and hop toward her. I feel like Daisy hopping through life. Carefree and happy. At least I’m pretending to be.
“What’s up?” I ask, keeping my tone as nonchalant as possible.
“Mr. Dudley was about to go, but I thought you’d like to tell him how wonderful this first week of camp has been, and how everything has proceeded smoothly, just exactly according to our plans.”
I shine my fake grin at him. “This first week of camp has been wonderful, and everything’s proceeded smoothly, just exactly according to our plans.”
He nods at me, all sincerity, his slick comb-over as frozen as the movie. “Well, Tess,” he says, “you certainly appear more suited to this line of work than to construction.”
“Thank you, I guess?”
“Be that as it may, I’d better take my leave.” He glances over Mrs. Lockhart’s shoulder at the last stragglers drifting toward the parking lot. The audiovisual man is packing his supplies onto an oversized cart. “I need my own forty winks before coming back here tomorrow.”
“You’ll be here for the barbecue?” Mrs. Lockhart asks. Her eyes are wide, and I can’t tell if this is good news to her or bad.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he says, bowing at the waist again. “Adieu for now.”
As he bustles off, Spencer and I stand in confused silence with the mayor. But once Mr. Dudley is out of earshot, she rounds on me. “Please explain what’s going on between you and Chef Clive.”
I gape at her. “What?”
A wrinkle creases her brow which is unusual for her. She looks almost as disturbed as Spencer. “You became quite flummoxed when you were talking about the camp’s chef. I’ve never seen you like that before.” She lays a hand on her purple bosom. “Should I be worried? Are you”—she gasps—“attracted to Clive?”
“No!” Spencer blurts out. Then he tugs at the strings of his hoodie. “What I mean to say is, I’m here all the time, and I’ve seen Tess with Clive. She’s nothing but professional around him. Always.” He furrows his brow. “She’s professional toward everyone.”
Mrs. Lockhart narrows her eyes, flitting her focus between Spencer and me. “Well.” She squares her shoulders, primly. “I’ll have to take you at your word. But it’simperativefor the camp’s reputation that there be zero hint of fraternization between any of the employees here. It’s bad enough, having to worry about the counselors. But chaperoning grown adults—”
“There’s no need to worry,” I interrupt. “There’s nothing personal going on between anyone at camp. I promise.”
Mrs. Lockhart’s shoulders sag for possibly the first time in her life. “Well, that is a relief.” She sighs, surveying the area around us. The place is finally deserted. “I suppose I should be going too. But I’d like to thank you both first.” She bobs her head. “I really do appreciate all your hard work. And I’m sorry if I ever come off as a bit …” Her words die off, so Spencer jumps in to help.
“Dedicated?” he suggests.
“Exactly,” I interject. “And we appreciate the opportunity, Mrs. Lockhart. It can’t be easy being mayor.”
“No, it’s quite difficult.” Her mouth slips into a grim line. “You have no idea.” Spinning on a purple heel, Mrs. Lockhart wobbles toward the parking lot. Spencer and I are quiet, watching her shoes kick up gravel on the way to her car. For the first time tonight, Spencer and I are alone.
Like ALONE alone.
“Welp, we’d better get up to the cabins,” I say without making eye contact with him. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow, and I want to make sure everyone’s getting settled in.”
For the record, this is the exact opposite of what Iwantto do, which is to ask Spencer why he sat so close to me during the movie. But Mrs. Lockhart’s warning is still echoing in my head.
Zero hint of fraternization.
And anyway, I know why Spencer did it. I set him up to be with Kayla, then we had a front row seat—literally—to Kayla and Clive together. Spencer’s been disappointed before. Publicly. So cozying up to me was just a Band-aid on the bleed.
But I don’t want to be a Band-aid.
“You’re the boss,” Spencer says, but he makes no moves toward the cabin. He inclines his head an inch, like he’s appraising my face.
“You know, the first week of camp is almost over, and you’ve still got your car wash job tomorrow.”
