The Summer I Wasn't Me (6 page)

When I wake up the next morning, Carolyn is gone.

It’s really early and everyone else is still asleep. But Carolyn’s bed is empty and neatly made. I get out of bed and tiptoe to the bathrooms—they’re both vacant. I look out the window, but all that’s out there are woods and a rabbit hopping across the grass. Could she have left? Did something Matthew said make her change her mind so drastically that she couldn’t even wait till morning to get out of here? Or did something bad happen? Maybe she was rushed to the hospital with appendicitis or had to go home suddenly because of a death in the family.

I’m about to wake Brianna up to see if she knows anything when Carolyn comes in. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s wearing workout clothes—sports bra, cropped leggings, running shoes.

For a moment, I’m speechless. She’s sweaty, her face is bright red from exertion, and she’s slightly out of breath. Her ab muscles pulse as she takes a swig from her water bottle. She smiles at me, her lips wet from the water or sweat or both, and something strange happens—I feel like a hand has clenched around my insides and is tugging, urging me toward her, and I suddenly feel very warm. Hot, even. Like I’ve been hit with a fever. I have to remind myself to breathe.

She’s even more beautiful now than she was yesterday.

And here I am, in this ridiculous pink sack, probably with major bedhead.

I snap out of it and immediately step away from Brianna, suddenly aware of what a terrible idea waking her would have been.

“Hey, Lexi,” Carolyn whispers.

“Hey,” I say, attempting to discreetly smooth my hair. “Where, uh, were you?”

“Running,” she says, as if it’s obvious. Which, of course, it is.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to leave the group.”

“I got special permission from Mr. Martin yesterday. I was so glad when he said we could come to him with any special requests. I couldn’t go a whole summer without running—I’d go crazy.”

So she’s an athlete. It makes sense. She doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her. That’s even more evident now, looking at her in her form-fitting workout clothes, than it was yesterday—and it explains her tan. “Wow, so you run every day?”

“Yeah. I do about seven miles every morning. I went easy today though because I wasn’t sure of my route.” She checks the pedometer that’s clipped onto her sneaker. “Five point three miles. Not so bad.”

“Not so bad?” I say. “That’s amazing. I can’t even run one mile in gym class without stopping to walk.”

Carolyn laughs. “Okay, well, I guess I should go shower. See you later, Lexi.”

As soon as she’s out of sight, sanity cascades over me like an ice-cold rainfall. I
can’t
keep getting so unnerved around her. So she looks hot in her workout clothes. So what?

I figure I might as well use this time while everyone else is asleep to claim a shower of my own. When I emerge from the bathroom twenty minutes later, the scene is a lot different from when I left. The girls are all up now, some of them already dressed for the day (in pink, of course) and some still in their nightgowns. Deb, Barbara, and Kaylee have joined the group, and each counselor is assisting two campers, giving them what looks like style advice. There’s a lot of miming and gesturing to hair and clothes and stuff.

I go over to my end of the room, where Kaylee and Jasmine are midconversation.

“But
why
?” Jasmine says. But it doesn’t look like she really wants a response to whatever her question was about, because her hands are clasped tightly over her ears, like she’s trying to shut out the noisy room.

Kaylee reaches a hand up and tries to gently pry one of Jasmine’s hands away. “Because it’s all part of the process, Jasmine,” she says. “It’s important.”

“What’s important?” I ask.

“Lexi! I’m glad you’re here!” Kaylee says, whirling around to face me. But then her face changes as she sees what I’m wearing: cutoff shorts that have been spray-painted silver and an off-the-shoulder white T-shirt with a black bra strap peeking out. “Where’s your uniform?”

“Oh, um, I didn’t know what we were supposed to wear, so I thought I’d just put on my own clothes for now.” I don’t add that I was kind of hoping that once I was dressed, no one would say anything and just let me stay in my own stuff for the rest of the summer.

The corners of Kaylee’s glossed mouth turn down. She goes to my dresser and pulls out a few things. “Please change into this. This is your day uniform.”

I pull the curtain closed and spread out the items on my bed. It’s the same thing the other girls are wearing, and no better than the nightgown. A baby-pink lightweight cap-sleeved sweater, a white tank with an eyelet lace collar to go underneath, and a matching light-pink skort with white pinstripes. Plus white strappy sandals with a little heel—a non-pink version of the ones Brianna was wearing yesterday.

My first thought is, how the hell did they know what size I wear? But I guess my mom must have told them when she signed me up.

My second thought is, skorts? Really? Shorts that look like a skirt. Probably invented by the same genius who came up with the spork.

“Lexi?” Kaylee calls through the curtain. “Are you almost done?”

“Just a minute!” I say. With a deep sigh, I change into the New Horizons outfit. At least we get to wear our own underwear.

When I pull back the curtain, Kaylee and Jasmine are still arguing. “It’s not gonna happen,” Jasmine says, shaking her head, her ears still covered.

“We aren’t leaving this room until you take them out.” Kaylee turns to me. “Her earrings,” she explains.

“Why can’t she just wear them?” I ask.

“Girls are allowed only one earring in each ear,” Kaylee says, her own hoops shimmering through her hair.

I look around the room and pay closer attention to the conversations between the campers and counselors this time. The discussions are all versions of Kaylee and Jasmine’s—girls wanting to wear one thing, counselors insisting on another. Brianna and Elizabeth are actually engaged in a tug-of-war over a pair of black Toms.

Under different circumstances, I would join in the fight. But I look down at my Laura Ashley-on-crack tennis ensemble and know there’s no point. We don’t stand a chance of winning. This place is a well-oiled machine.

“Is this okay?” I ask Kaylee, gesturing to my outfit. If she’s going to harp on my appearance too, I’d rather just get it over with.

She appraises me for a moment, and then reaches into the plastic cosmetics case on Jasmine’s bed. “Here,” she says, handing me a few small items.

Two barrettes and a thick, white, plastic bracelet.

I look at her.

“Pin your hair back so we can actually see your face, and cover that up”—she points to my tattoo—“with the bracelet.”

The bracelet actually isn’t so bad, but I don’t like being told to cover up my lightning bolt. Even though I’m fully aware that what New Horizons stands for and what the tattoo stands for are entirely conflicting ideals, the lightning bolt is still a part of me. “What do you have against tattoos?”

Kaylee gives a conspiratorial smile. “Personally? Nothing.” She looks around the room and then quickly lowers her white ankle sock. I catch a glimpse of a small ink daisy at the top of her foot before the sock slips back into place. “But it’s a camp rule.”

Yet another camp rule. I’m starting to get the feeling that the New Horizons rule book is longer than the
Lord
of
the
Rings
trilogy.

But Kaylee’s gesture proves that, at least in some ways, she’s one of us. I give her a half smile to let her know I understand and slide the bangle onto my wrist. I’m pinning my bangs away from my face in the most stylish way I can manage when I hear Jasmine let out a relenting sigh. I turn from the mirror to see her miserably removing the dozens of silver studs and tiny loops from her ears. I guess she realized the same thing I did—Kaylee doesn’t make the rules, but she has to follow them, same as us.

My curiosity gets the better of me again, and I ask, “So you were a New Horizons camper once?”

Kaylee nods. “I was. Seven summers ago.”

“And it…worked, obviously?”

“Yes. It really did. You just have to think about it in the right way—no one’s going to wave a magic wand and change everything for you, but we
will
teach you how to think differently and make better choices and get on a new track. It’s like…” She thinks for a minute. “It’s like going gluten free or vegan! It’s hard work and involves a
lot
of self-discipline, and you have to keep making the choice to stick with it every day. But once you’re educated about it and your mind and body become accustomed to it, you know you’ll never go back to the way you were because you feel so much better.”

“So I guess you’re glad you came here then,” Jasmine says.

Kaylee grins. “Best decision I ever made. I’ve never been happier.”

“That’s really good to hear,” I tell her.

“Oh, and listen,” Kaylee says, her voice almost at a whisper now. “These next few days are going to be pretty intense, but just stick with it. I promise it will get easier.”

Jasmine and I exchange a look. That sounds ominous.

***

Half an hour later, we’re all in the main room downstairs waiting for the boys so we can go to the dining cabin in our groups. For all the different heights and sizes that we are, the eight of us look eerily similar. It’s like we’re adopted siblings whose parents are trying to pass us off as twins—same pink and white outfit, same shoes, same cross, neat hair, simple accessories.

Carolyn, Jasmine, and I are leaning against the back of one of the leather couches, side by side, and I’m flipping through a New Horizons brochure. The pictures were all definitely taken at the camp—I recognize the main cabin exterior, the dining cabin, and the big open field—but the people in them have got to be models. And not one of them is wearing anything even remotely resembling the standard-issue pink and blue New Horizons gear. If the words had been covered up, I might have mistaken the brochure for a J. Crew catalog. The phrases “false advertising” and “propaganda” crop up in my mind, but I push them back and toss the brochure back onto the table.

Now that I don’t have the brochure to distract me, I notice that the couch behind me is shaking gently but steadily. Carolyn’s jiggling her leg nervously. “You okay?” I whisper.

She blinks out of whatever thought process she was lost in. “What?”

I nod at her leg, and the shaking stops.

“Oh.” She laughs softly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just ready to get started.” Her eyes dart toward the stairs. “Who would have thought it would take the boys longer to get ready than a bunch of girls?”

I smile. “If their uniforms are anything close to as bad as ours, maybe they’re staging a revolt.”

But a few moments later, the eight guys plod down the staircase, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. They’re dressed in light blue polo shirts tucked into pale blue and white seersucker shorts, accessorized with brown belts and brown loafers. It’s the perfect outfit—if you’re going as a “young Republican at a polo match” for Halloween.

Poor Matthew. He looks even more uncomfortable in his outfit than I do in mine. “Don’t say it,” he says as he and Daniel join us. “Don’t even think it.”

I hold up my palms in a surrender gesture. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” But I can’t help grinning.

He shoots me a look, and the four of us follow the rest of the group out of the cabin and down the path.

“They took my Ellen shirt,” Matthew mumbles. “That was the only thing I had here to remind me of Justin, and they took it. I’m never going to get it back.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s not your fault.”

“They took my book yesterday.
The
Great
Gatsby
.”

“Assholes,” Matthew says.

“I’ve never read that book,” Carolyn says. “Is it good?”

“It’s amazing,” I say. “It’s about a guy who will do anything for love—including change his entire identity.”

There’s a long stretch of silence.

“Plus, there are some really awesome parties.”

***

After breakfast, Brianna leads the sixteen of us on a tour of the camp, since we pretty much just jumped right into things yesterday and didn’t get much of an introduction to the place. In addition to the main cabin for the offices and dorms, the dining cabin, and the carpet cabin, there are three others I haven’t seen the inside of yet.

One is set up like a classroom. Brianna tells us it will occasionally be used for lessons and “may be utilized by campers for quiet study.” On each desk are a marble notebook and a ball-point pen.

“Please find a seat,” Brianna says. Once all the desks are occupied, she says, “The notebook in front of you will be your reparative therapy journal. We’d like you to use it to share your feelings about your experiences here at New Horizons. Keeping a personal journal is a very effective tool in helping to organize your thoughts and maintain perspective. It will also serve as a tangible way to track your progress this summer.”

I uncap the pen and write
Lexi’s Journal
in the blank space on the notebook’s cover. Then I add little embellishments—a shooting star up in the corner, a mushroom growing out of a patch of grass down at the bottom.

“And don’t worry, you won’t have to share your journals with your groups, so you can be as open and honest as you’d like,” Brianna adds.

We gather up our notebooks and continue on the tour.

The next cabin is the smallest—the infirmary. It’s pretty bare bones, with a cot, a sink, and a tall cabinet filled with first aid supplies. Brianna explains that Barbara is a registered nurse, so if we ever need medical assistance, she’ll be able to help. I think that she must be a
retired
registered nurse—she’s got to be in her seventies, at least. I hope I never need medical attention.

The final cabin is the rec cabin. It’s got several worn couches, a TV, a shelf filled with books, a game table, and an arts and crafts corner.