Bookishly Ever After (31 page)

“Frak? Do you ever actually curse?”

I looked up at him with a grimace. The water actually felt slimy. “I say frak all the time.”

He coughed, but I could tell he was covering up a laugh. “That’s not a curse. That’s a
Battlestar Galactica
reference.”

“Well, frak you.”

That time, he did laugh. “You’re doing okay. Just wrap that leg back onto the rope and keep going.” I looked up. He had crouched down on his side of the creek, his hands held out encouragingly, as if he could pull me across with the sheer force of his will.

I grit my teeth and pulled myself back onto the two ropes. Eleven year olds had gotten across this thing with only a splash or two and I had almost six years on them. I
could totally do it. My arms burned as I tried to drag myself forward in the weird froggy-crawly motion Dev had used in his demo. Another half a yard and the ropes unbalanced and twisted again, flipping me over so I landed directly under them, butt-deep in muddy water. A choked, almost laugh-like sound came from the opposite bank, but when I checked, Dev still had that serious, supportive expression on his face.

I was wet and soggy from head to toe. My counselor polo was spattered with mud and clung in an unflattering way to my chest. My one pair of cute jeans was now covered in a layer of mud. I had to be honest with myself—even if Dev could see past my knitting stuff, the geekiness, and the whole book thing, how I looked at this moment was probably just icing on the cake. I should have gotten up, walked away, and tried to preserve a scrap of my dignity, but then a little laugh bubbled up in me. The universe really had a sick sense of humor.

Dev’s brows were drawn together in confusion and worry. “Are you okay over there? Do you need me to help you up?”

“No, no...” I laughed, squeezing out words between giggles. The whole situation was ridiculous. “Just hold the ropes steady so I can get back on without flipping over again.” Maeve wouldn’t have given up, and at this point neither would I.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” I pulled myself to standing, dissolving into
another round of giggles at the suction-y sound that accompanied dragging my butt up out of the mud. “Like you said, I can do this.” I plopped back onto the ropes, the mud making them slippery on top of being wobbly. Keeping my eyes trained on his, I slowly made my way across the creek.

It only took three or four more falls into the mud to get to the other side.

Dev reached out a hand to help me out, pulling me up off of the bridge as if I weighed nothing. “That was...interesting,” he said, giving my very muddy form a once-over. “Are you really okay?”

I squeezed water out of my limp and stringy ponytail. “I’m fine. Wet, but—” I plopped onto the ground beside his feet and rolled up the soggy legs of my jeans, cursing at the sight before me. “Oh, frak, these are handknit. And Malabrigo.” I tugged at my now stained socks, the colorway unrecognizable under all of the mud and silt.

He sat next to me on the bank. “You wore handknit socks to go camping?”

I shrugged, slipping off my sneaker to assess the rest of the damage. “Normal socks give you blisters and wool gets warmer when it’s wet. Plus, I kitchener the toe, which is so much better than the seam on commercial socks...” I trailed off, realizing I was babbling and that he was looking at me strangely again. “Um, yeah, it’s a knitter thing. I know it sounds strange...”

“It is,” he agreed, but instead of walking away like I thought he would, he reached over and wiped a glob of mud
off of my forehead. “You know, you really are unique, Feebs.”

My skin tingled where he had touched it, but I pushed that feeling away, trying to focus on not turning into a whimpering puddle of knitterly geek. At least I had that much self-respect.

“Thanks,” I said, dryly.

He kicked at my sock-clad foot, not meeting my eyes. “I like unique.”

My head shot up. What?

He paused for a moment before continuing, as if he— Dev, the hottie of the entire clarinet section, the guy who could have any girl in the marching band or theatre club— was trying to drum up the guts to say something to me. Sock-knitting, book-reading, hadn’t been on a date—like, ever—me.

“Most girls would have stopped the first time that they fell off of that thing. You didn’t. That’s impressive.”

“Lexie wouldn’t have fallen at all.” I shivered as a stiff breeze blew over us. It wasn’t too cold out, but being wet didn’t help with staying warm.

He laughed. “What is it with you always bringing up Lexie?” He reached over and started rubbing my arms to help me warm up.

I turned as still as a statue, heat rushing over me. Suddenly, I didn’t notice the cold. “I thought you two liked each other.” I sucked in a breath.

He finally looked up, his eyes greener than ever as they reflected the barrens around us.

“Phoebe…” he reached over, flicking another blob of mud off my nose where it had settled in the last minute, “I don’t like Lexie as anything more than a friend.”

“Oh.” What would Maeve do? I mentally scanned through my library of heroines and landed on Marissa. What would Marissa do?

Dev kept staring at me, a frown tugging at his lips. “You didn’t think that she and I were dating, did you?”

I shook my head, still praying that some Marissa-wisdom would pop into my head. “No, I mean, kind of. I mean, I saw you two on New Years.” Oh, hell. Somehow, every plot in the
Hidden House
series had totally flown out of my head. I was so screwed. “You know how Em and I are always trying to keep up with everything going on with all of our friends.” And the horrible attempt at butt-saving babble started. “I mean, we’re still trying to figure out who Alec’s been crushing on, and you should have seen us with Grace and—”

“Got it,” he said. His frown grew a little deeper and he stood, holding out his hand to help me. “You need to get cleaned up and I need to get over to the mess to supervise our table.”

“Right.” I waved his hand away. “I can do this.” I pushed myself to standing, my footing a little bit uncertain between my wet sneakers, the mud, and the sand.

Dev reached out to steady me and my arms slipped in his hands, making me fall against him. “Frakin’ mud,” he choked out but laughed as he tried to straighten me up and slipped again. After another few moments of wobbliness, he
dragged us both onto the relatively dry sugar sand.

I couldn’t help it. His shirt was now stained with a meshaped imprint and I pressed a cold, muddy hand against his face and back into his hair with a giggle. I was giddy, an electric buzz running from my stomach and practically shooting out of my fingers and toes. “I think you missed a spot.”

He stealth-grabbed a blob of mud from my shirt and squished it into my ponytail. “So did you. Why are we friends when you’re so mean to me?” he asked, staring down at me with a faux-serious expression.

I swatted at that serious nose with a muddy finger and giggled so much that my side started to hurt. I was punchdrunk from the falls into the creek, or maybe there was something off about the water. Whichever one, some part of me that I couldn’t seem to control took over. Marissa would be proud. I leaned closer, feeling the heat rising off of his body.

“I have no idea. That’s okay, when you’re a big Bollywood star, you can talk about the mean girl back home who threw mud at you. And did this.” With a nudge from my hip, Dev lost his balance on the bank and landed with a splash flat on his butt on the shallow edge of the creek. The wide-eyed, O-mouthed expression on his face as he hit the water made me curl over with even more hiccup-y laughter.

Dev wiped the back of his hand across his face, spreading a streak of mud across his forehead.

“Oh, now that’s grounds for payback.” Instead of getting up, he swiped a leg under my feet and, with a totally
non-Marissa-like screech, I was back in the water and practically on his lap. And while his fall only got him a little wet, I managed to splash another layer of silty mud onto myself.

Scooping up a handful of mud and decayed plant-goo, I scooted closer to him and held it up like a baseball. “You did
not
just do that. You’re supposed to be the nice counselor.” Even though the water was cold, being this close to him made me feel like I was in a sauna.

Dev bumped my shoulder with his so I had to drop my “weapon” just to keep from getting submerged again. “I like this mud-slinging you. You know, sometimes you make yourself unapproachable. You’re always so deep in your own world that it’s hard to break in.”

I looked up at him and, unbidden, one of Kaylie’s lines straight out of
Cradled on the Waves
popped out of my mouth.

“Am I unapproachable now?” Oh my God, I did
not
just say that. It was the mud or the sun or this temporary insanity that dragged me into that book moment.

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly and he swiped some mud under my eyes, warrior-style. But his fingers lingered on my cheek. “Not so much.” He tilted his head closer to mine and I froze. This wasn’t like anything I’ve read about or planned. Still, every single molecule in my body took over, anticipating his movement, and I stretched up to meet him. We were a breath away from each other.

“Oh, there you two are. What happened here?” Mr. Hamm’s voice broke the silence and I jumped away from
Dev, scrambling ungracefully onto the creek’s bank. Flames of embarrassment rushed over me and I tried wiping my face with my wet and muddy sleeve.

Dev, looking a lot more composed than I felt, stood, wiped his hands on a dry part of his shirt and turned to face the teacher. “I goaded Phoebe into trying the bridge and, um, she fell in a few times. And then I fell in when I tried to help her.”

Mr. Hamm took in both of our appearances and looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I’m used to seeing a few campers get muddy, but this is a first.”

“And a last. I’m not athletic enough for something like this. I’m sticking with archery.” I was finally steady enough to walk back over to them. I gave Dev a sidelong glance. He didn’t seem flustered at all. Maybe I had just imagined the whole moment between us.

“Good idea. How about you go get cleaned up and I’ll get one of the other counselors to help Dev with your table until you get back?” Mr. Hamm frowned at Dev. “You’re not too much of a mess.”

Dev tugged at his polo. The me-shaped mud was drying and flaking at the edges. “Sure. I’ll grab a fresh shirt and jeans on the way over.” He nodded at me. “See you in a few, Feebs.”

After the two left, I turned and headed for my cabin and the communal camp showers, turning the last few moments over and over in my head. Maybe all of these books full of fictional romances were starting to get to me.
Dev was probably just joking around, like he did with all of his friends.

That still didn’t make the goose bumps on my skin go away, or the ghost of his touch on my cheek. I shuffled my way to the showers. I needed to wash away the memory with the mud. Not even bothering to strip off my muddy clothes or sneakers, I stuck myself under the running water.

Lunch was half over by the time I reached the mess hall. I grabbed a hobo hamburger and that watered-down stuff we called bug juice and made my way over to our long table, acutely conscious of how I looked. No spare shoes meant that I had to wear my flip-flops until my sneakers dried, oh-so-fashionable with a pair of striped toe socks. My hair dripped down my back, the drying pieces starting to stand out halo-like around my head. And my shorts stood out in a mess hall full of jeans. Grace would have had a heart attack if she saw me right then.

“And the mudwoman returneth,” Dev said, sliding over to make room for me next to him.

I pretended I didn’t see him move and instead squeezed into a spot next to Bethany Two. I also pretended not to notice the confused look he gave me.

“That stuff took forever to get out of my hair,” I said lightly and then bit into my burger. I was not going to act like this whole situation was awkward. Not if I could help it. The almost-kiss was probably all in my head.

Miranda grimaced at me. “We have to do the bridge this afternoon. And I don’t like mud.”

“Believe me, no one is as clumsy as Phoebe. You’ll be fine.” Dev told her. His hair still had visible patches of mud in spots and I resisted the urge to reach across the table and smooth a stick-y out piece into place.

“I didn’t have anyone to steady the bridge for me on one side. I promise Dev and I will make sure it doesn’t wobble on you,” I said in a reassuring tone. In a fit of forced silliness, I pat my face dramatically. “Besides, mud does wonders for your complexion, you know.”

“You’re absolutely radiant, darling,” Dev said in a mock British accent before a mini pickle-fight between two of the boys in his cabin had him running to the far end of the table.

I looked at my campers, who had been watching the conversation between Dev and me like it was a tennis match. “I’m so glad I got you guys and not them. At least when you drive me crazy, it doesn’t involve food or fire.”

Diana smiled over her glass of bug juice. “It’s because girls are just so much more sophisticated.”

Bethany Two poked me to get my attention. “Phoebe, I peeked at your copy of
Cradled on the Waves
and we’re finally on the same part.”

At the moment, I wanted to forget the book that was making me so dramatic and making me feel all the screwedup feels as Kaylie and Evan’s conflict and relationship built up in it. But I schooled my expression into a curious one.

“Really? What do you think so far?”

Bethany Two dropped her chin into her hands. “I think
Kaylie needs to stay on PEI with Evan. Maybe forever, if she becomes a permanent foreign exchange student.”

“But she doesn’t even know how Evan feels. He could just be acting like one of those stereotypical über-helpful and polite Canadian farmboys, eh?” The “eh” sounded weird. Maybe I was too South Jersey to “eh” properly.

She shook her head emphatically. “Oh, come
on
. The way they talked during the performance at the Indian River Festival? No way, he’s totally into her. And the way he pushed back that loose strand of her hair at the bridge? That was H. O. T.
Hot.
” Pulling one hand out from under her chin, she fanned herself.