The Summer at Camazotz

Twelve

"Come on, Carter, it's really not that cold."

"Yeah, well, you're a liar."

I stare down at the dark, translucent water that laps against the wooden dock. It doesn't look the least bit inviting, but rather ominous and warning.

That, or I'm in over my head.

Tammy and Jordan are helping the campers with their life jackets while Astrid waits for me in the water below. We're supposed to help the kids into the water from the water while the other two get to help from dry land.

Jordan thinks it's hilarious.

I think it's bad luck.

And unfair.

Astrid gives me a stern look and points at the water as if to say get in here right now. I don't doubt she would drag me in herself if I don't jump in within the next thirty seconds.

"If it's freezing, I'm dunking you," I warn.

Her eyes narrow. "Don't you dare."

I close my eyes, bracing myself for the impact of the cold water as I jump in beside Astrid, showering her with water. She squeals as the water drenches her and I laugh as I surface. She flicks water in my face and I do it back until Tammy tells us to stop so we can help the kids to go in.

One by one, we each help a camper into the water slowly and safely. There are a lot of campers to watch over, but with the lake being so big and there being numerous staff in water and on deck, the issue is quickly waved away.

Once each camper has been safely lowered into the water, the "fun" can actually begin.

Jordan and Tammy hold hands and back up to prepare for a jump. There's a pang in my chest watching them on the dock. It's unfamiliar and all consuming—so much so that I have no time to avoid the large splash my two friends create as they plunge into the water.

I shake my hair out and swipe a hand across my face to stop the water from dripping. I blink a few times so my eyes can adjust to the regular light again.

Astrid is trying to gather the few strands of hair that escaped her bun and weave them back in place under the restraint of her hair tie. "I can't believe I put my hair up this high and it still got wet."

"Funny you assumed it would stay dry." Jordan is all smiles as we watch her struggle to fix her now damp, messy hair.

His eye catches mine, just for a moment, and then he's back under the surface, leaving me wondering what he's up to. I'm about to say something when I feel two hands wrap around my ankles and tug me under.

Like I said—I don't have a fear of water. But the panic that flows through me the second I'm pulled under is incomparable. Even though I know it's just Jordan, the thought of losing control over myself takes root and festers inside me.

I hold my breath and keep my eyes closed so as not to risk an eye infection of any sort, as ridiculous as that sounds. I mean, who knows how clean this lake actually is. Pulling a leg back, Jordan lets go completely and I swim toward the surface.

I gasp and rub my eyes to clear my vision. Jordan is laughing just a few inches in front of me and I seize the moment to retaliate. I swim forward and tackle him—well, as much as you can tackle someone while in water. We end up splashing each other back and forth, momentarily forgetting where we are and what we're supposed to be doing.

It reminds me of all the times Patrick and I would be hanging out in his basement—playing video games we never get sick of or binge-watching movies all day long. Sometimes I'm there to do homework with him or help him study because supposedly I'm his "lucky charm" when it comes to tests. Sometimes we're supposed to help his mom with something around the house, but the moment we set foot in that basement, everything else is forgotten. It's just us, two teenage guys, sitting on a couch into the later hours of the evening doing the total opposite of what we had meant to do.

The thought of Patrick makes me smile and my heart ache all at the same time. He's my best friend, no doubt, and I definitely miss him the most during moments like these.

But I'm also here with Jordan—someone who has quickly become one of my close friends and someone I can trust. He's someone I can make memories with, too, and smile about when he passes through my mind.

We've stopped splashing each other and are treading side by side, facing the kids as they play their own games. It's just us and it feels right. It feels like everything and nothing all at once and a thought worms its way into my head, prominent and loud, screaming to be acknowledged.

I ignore it, shooing it to the back of my mind.

Jordan nudges me with his shoulder. It's a simple action that's been done so many times before yet this time feels different. This time, the water is not so cold.

"Don't forget about tonight."

"Tonight?" I stare at him for a few seconds before the gears in my head click and I remember what he's talking about. "Wait, for real? You're not bluffing?"

He rolls his eyes, a small smile working its way across his perfectly sculpted face. "I'm not bluffing. Not with you."

The words sink in, growing roots and expanding throughout my whole body. They work their way all around, refusing to be ignored. They stick in my brain, feeding the thought that was present before it. Only it's stronger now, motivated and with more assurance.

And I want to ask Jordan about it because he might be the only person who could understand, who will listen, who maybe won't run.

But asking means confronting and that's not something I have ever or will ever be good at. And that's fine. I don't need to confront anyone or anything. I don't need to dwell on platonic actions and words that don't mean what they mean in my head. I need to focus on the now because that's the only way I'll ever be able to make it to the next.

"Alright," I say, my voice surprisingly steady. "Tell me the plan."