“I thought you said this place was casual,” I say as I slide into the booth across from her and Noah. The waitress gives us menus, and I glance down at the specials. All seafood and steak. Which means expensive. Oh, well. After working so hard all summer, this is like my vacation. And on vacation, you should be able to treat yourself. Plus, last night I checked my bank balance, did some googling, and found this super-cute red Honda that I can actually afford. I emailed the guy who’s selling it, and as soon as I get back, I’m going to take it for a test-drive.
“Did I say it was casual?” Ava says, looking confused. “It’s not, really. They get more of a wealthy crowd here, the vacationers who come up on their boats to spend time in their summer homes.” She knows that she said the place was casual, and I look at Noah, waiting for him to back me up. But he just keeps his eyes on his menu, which makes me annoyed at both of them.
“Now,” Ava says. “I want you guys to order whatever you want. My treat.”
“Your treat?”
“Yes,” she says. “I get a big bonus at the end of the summer. And besides, we’re celebrating. Me, you, and my boyfriend.” She kisses Noah on the cheek, and he smiles. Me, you, and my boyfriend. God, that really sums up my life. Only I’m the “you.” Me, you, and my boyfriend. That sounds like the title of a really horrible, heartbreaking movie. Or a really bad porno.
When the waitress comes over, we order steamers to start.
“You like steamers, right?” Ava asks.
I shrug. “I dunno,” I say. “I’ve never had steamers.” Steamers seem like the kind of thing you don’t just all of a sudden start ordering. They’re steamed clams and you dip them in butter and the whole thing just seems super complicated.
“You’ve never had steamers?” Noah says. He looks at me incredulously.
“Really?” Ava says, laughing. “Well, you’re going to love them.”
I feel even more annoyed with both of them, but something tells me I can’t afford to show it, that if I do show it, there’s going to be a lot of bad things that happen, a lot of horrible things that are going to come up. So I bite my tongue and hope that when I talk I won’t sound passive-aggressive, even though it’s how I feel.
“That’s me,” I say, giving them a smile. “Totally sheltered. And I’m sure I’ll love steamers.” And then I order the Surf ’n’ Turf, not because I love it that much, but because Ava’s paying.
After lunch, Ava insists that we hit the grocery store so she can stock up on some stuff to bring back to camp. “The food at the dining hall is so disgusting,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Like, even the pizza is inedible. And they used to have a salad bar but they shut it down when a couple of campers got food poisoning.” She rolls her eyes again, like the thought of shutting down the salad bar is just way too horrible to comprehend.
I don’t understand the point of going to the grocery store now, when Noah and I are here (shouldn’t we be doing something a lot more fun than grocery shopping?) but I know better than to say anything. So I just follow Ava around the store, listening to her chatter away. Noah splits off from us and roams the aisles by himself, picking out snacks for us to eat later once we’re back in the cabin.
“I’m sooo glad you’re here,” Ava says as we look at the packages of cookies and candy. “Honestly, Hannah, the girls here are just so . . .” She wrinkles up her nose.
“What about Lulu?” I ask. I pick up some Junior Mints and add them to the basket, wishing we had a way to keep things cold. I could really go for some Butterfinger ice cream right about now. I wonder if there’s a good ice-cream stand around. You’d think that with all the summer vacationers, Maine would have excellent ice cream.
“Lulu’s cool,” she says. “But she’s not you.” My insides start to thaw out a little bit. “Oooh, Double Stuffs,” she says and drops them into the cart.
“And we have to get Bugles,” I tell her. Bugles are these really disgusting corn-chip-type things that are in the shape of, what else, bugles. Ava’s mom used to buy them constantly when we were younger, even though we hated them. We still eat them now sometimes, because they remind us of middle school.
“Oh, definitely Bugles,” she says. “I’m going to get the sour cream and onion kind.” She drops them into the basket she’s holding.
“Good idea,” I say, happy to be joking around. “And while we’re at it, why don’t we get some dip for them?”
“Better yet,” Ava says. “Let’s skip the Bugles and just eat dip.” We both collapse into giggles, doubled over in the chip aisle. But then, suddenly, Ava’s face changes completely. She stops laughing and straightens up, her mouth set in a tight line.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, turning around, expecting to maybe see her camp archnemesis, Brooke Wilkins. Not that I know what Brooke Wilkins looks like. I know her type, though, so I bet I could spot her. But instead of an annoying looking girl, there are just two guys, around our age, both wearing green T-shirts that say CAMP IGOOANA.
“Hey, Ava,” the taller one says, stopping in front of us. “What’s going on?” He’s cute, with a lean swimmer’s body and dark hair.
“Nothing,” she says, her voice strained. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Well, it’s a grocery store,” the shorter one says sarcastically. “So probably the same thing you are.” He peers into our basket, his eyes falling on the Bugles. “Although maybe not exactly.”
I stand there, waiting for Ava to introduce me. But she doesn’t. Awwwk-ward.
“Well,” Ava says, twirling a strand of her newly long blond hair around her finger. “Enjoy your day.”
“Will I see you tonight?” the taller one says. And something about the way he says it sounds very . . . cozy. It isn’t like, oh, will I see you tonight at the student council meeting? It’s more like oh, will I see you tonight when I ravage your body and get you naked in my bunk?
“Uh, no,” Ava says. “I have a friend up.” I notice that she doesn’t say “friends” multiple, and since I’m obviously standing right there, it leads me to believe she doesn’t want them to know about Noah.
We all hover there for a second, still waiting for her to introduce us, and her still not doing it. I’m this close to introducing myself, but something tells me Ava really wouldn’t like that. So I just look down at the ground and after a few more seconds, the boys say goodbye and disappear down the aisle.
Ava and I just stand there, and then finally, I reach down and pick up the sour cream and onion bugles. “So,” I say. “Should we still get these? Or would you rather have barbeque?”
“Those,” she says, forcing a smile. But I can tell it’s not real.
I follow her to produce where she picks out some bananas, and then up to the registers where she picks out some bottles of water from the front coolers.
“Hey,” Noah says, joining us in line. He holds up a pack of Boost. “Hannah, look what I found!”
“Ohmigod,” I say. “I have to try it!”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.” I tear open the cardboard package and pull out a Boost. “Uh oh,” I say. “It says Boost Plus. What do you think that means?”
“It means,” he says, “that you need to drink it immediately. Boost Plus is, like, even better than regular Boost. More vitamins for the buck. Or the Boost.”
I grin, and Ava looks at us like we’re crazy. Which, now that I think about it, we probably are, since we’re opening up a can of Boost in the middle of the grocery store.
“What are you guys talking about?” she asks.
“Come here,” I say. “You should have some.” I hand her one of the red plastic bottles.
“Yeah,” Noah says. “Come here, you need to try one too. See, one night when Hannah and I were at the hospital waiting for Lacey—”
“Wait,” Ava says. “Why were you at the hospital waiting for Lacey?”
“Because she had an allergic reaction and broke out in hives,” I say. “So we were waiti
ng for her in the cafeteria.”
“You never told me about that,” Ava says, looking at Noah accusingly.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Noah says. “We weren’t there for that long, but we did have dinner in the cafeteria.”
“And Noah ordered a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” I say.
“And then Hannah said that was only for seven-year-olds.”
“So then Noah said I shouldn’t be ageist when it comes to food, and then he told me about how he drinks Boost.” Ava looks completely lost, and hearing the story out loud makes it sound so ridiculous that I start giggling. “I know,” I say. “It’s so stupid.”
“I guess,” Ava says. Another register opens up next to us, and the cashier calls for the next person, so Ava goes over and starts loading her items onto the belt. I open up the red container and step out of line, letting the little old couple behind us go ahead of me. “You ready?” I ask.
“Yes,” Noah says.
“One . . . Two . . . Three.” I tip the container all the way back, taking a huge chug of Boost. It’s warm and gritty and tastes a little bit like cardboard. I try to make myself swallow, but it’s so not happening, and I end up spitting it out all over the floor. I look at Noah. Noah looks at me.
“Clean up in aisle two,” he says. Which makes no sense because we’re not even in aisle two. In fact, we’re not in an aisle at all. We both burst out laughing.
“So I guess you didn’t like it,” he says.
“It’s disgusting!” I say. “I have no idea how you can drink this stuff.” I look at the package. “Twelve ninety-nine! How can they charge twelve ninety-nine for something that tastes like milk mixed with crushed up wood particles?”
“Hannah,” Noah says, pretending to be offended. “Be careful what you say about Boost. And keep in mind that each bottle is its own meal replacement. So it’s like getting six whole meals for thirteen dollars.”
“You can get six whole meals for thirteen dollars at Taco Bell,” I say. “And they taste a lot better.”
We rejoin the line and pay for our Boost and the rest of the stuff that Noah picked out, but when we’re done, we can’t find Ava. I peer through the plate-glass windows at the front of the store and see her in Noah’s car, sitting in the passenger seat with her sunglasses on, staring straight ahead. “I guess she got bored of waiting for us,” I say.
We walk out to the car, and Ava leans forward so I can climb into the backseat, and suddenly, I’m in a good mood. I mean, I’m actually having fun. Everyone is joking around, Ava was really glad to see us, and I was really glad to see her. For the first time all summer, I start to think that maybe everything’s going to work out and be okay.
“Ohmigod, Avs,” I say, pulling my seatbelt across my lap and buckling it. “I spit the Boost out all over the floor. It was totally disgusting, you should have tasted it. I really don’t think you should let Noah drink them anymore.”
But Ava doesn’t say anything. Noah’s outside, loading all the groceries he bought into the trunk. I hope he doesn’t have too many perishables in there. Our dip probably already went bad in this heat.
“Hey, listen,” she says finally, turning around. “Do you mind if Noah and I spend some time alone?”
I swallow. Hard. “Um, no,” I say, fiddling with my seat-belt. “I mean, I figured you guys would want to be alone at some point.” It’s a lie, of course. I didn’t figure that, because Ava told me specifically this wasn’t going to be a romantic weekend, that it was fine if I was here, that she wanted me here and didn’t need to spend time alone with Noah.
“I’m sorry,” she says, pulling her sunglasses off. “I just haven’t seen him all summer. And it wouldn’t be for long, I promise. Just a couple of hours.”
“Of course.” I force myself to smile.
When Noah gets in the car, Ava reaches over and turns on the music. “So we’re going to bring Hannah back to camp,” she says. “She thought it would be a good idea if we spent some time together. You know, alone.” I want to say no, I didn’t say that, but mostly I want Noah to say no, that we’re not dropping me off, that we drove all the way up here for us to spend time together, all of us, so that’s what we’re going to do.
Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror. “Is that okay, Hannah?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say brightly. “Of course!”
And then I blink back the tears until they drop me back off at camp.
They don’t come back until late that night. They just leave me. Both of them just leave me in a cabin full of people I don’t know, including the aforementioned Brooke Wilkins, who, it turns out, does have a lot of friends up visiting. Friends who ignore me when they come in and change into their bathing suits to go down to the lake. Friends who ignore me when they come back from the lake, seemingly inebriated. Friends who ignore me when they change into going-out clothes and totter down the stairs, off to some club in Portland. (I know they’re going to Portland not because they invited me, but because they were so loud that by the time they left, I knew a lot of stuff about them, their lives, and their plans. Including one girl’s brush with Chlamydia, which was definitely TMI.)
Ava and Noah don’t even call to tell me where they are, and I sure as hell don’t call them. By the time Ava gets back to the cabin at around ten o’clock, I’m furious.
“Hey,” she says. “I brought you the snacks. We left them in the car. Of course, I wouldn’t eat the dip.” She giggles.
“Thanks,” I say sharply. “How nice of you to think of me.”
“What’s your problem?
“My problem,” I say, “is that you left me here all day!” I gesture around the room. “With nothing! No friends, no idea where I am, nothing! You didn’t even call to tell me when you’d be back! And you didn’t even apologize.” I wave the book I’m holding in her face. “I’ve been reading this ridiculous book on critical thinking someone left under one of the beds!”
“Hannah, don’t be such a drama queen,” Ava says, plopping down on the bunk across from me. She pulls off her sandals and rubs her feet, then flops back on the bed like she’s had a long day. Which she probably has. A long day of having fun and completely ignoring me. “You could have gone swimming. Or you could have taken a walk by the lake, or gone on a hike, or used a kayak.”
“By myself?”
She sits up. “Hannah,” she says. “Noah is my boyfriend. I wanted to spend some time with him. I’m really sorry I left you here, but we just lost track of time.”
I’m about to start yelling at her again, but I wonder how much of me is really mad about them leaving me, and how much of me is really mad that she was with Noah. Alone. So I close my mouth.
“Where’s Noah?” I ask.
“He had to sleep in the guys’ cabin,” she says. “I was going to sneak him in here, but the camp director found out and said no way.” She lies down on the bed and closes her eyes drowsily. And a second later, she’s asleep.
In the morning, Ava acts like nothing’s wrong. She’s up early, singing happily while she showers in the stall in the corner. The air in the cabin is cool but not cold—more of a late summer morning kind of cool—and I can hear birds chirping outside.
“Hannah!” Ava yells. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” I yell back, stretching lazily in bed, extending my arms over my head and flexing my toes.
“Oh, good!” she says. “I want to go to breakfast, just you and me. We don’t have to worry about Noah, he’ll be sleeping until at least noon.”
I snuggle back under the covers, glad we’ll be hanging out alone, even though I’m still kind of mad at her for what happened last night. She steps out of the shower, a fluffy yellow towel wrapped around her body. “I got you some papaya shampoo last time I went into town,” she says. “You know, the kind you like from Sephora? It’s in my shower caddy.”
“Really?” I ask, sitting up. “Thanks, Avs.” The papaya shampoo I love is, like, thirty dollars a bottle, but it makes
my hair smooth and shiny.
“No prob,” she says, then dances over to the cubby where she’s keeping her clothes. “I’m kinda faded but I feel alll rigghhht,” she sings, swaying her hips. It’s an old song that we used to sing in junior high, and I can’t help but laugh. She looks so silly dancing around in her towel.
“Thinking ‘bout makin’ my move tonight,” I join in, getting out of bed and twirling around the room. We keep singing as I get in the shower, and by the time we’re both dressed and ready, what she did yesterday is forgotten.
Ava and I have a great time at breakfast, talking and gossiping. We eat veggie omelettes with Swiss cheese, and she tells me about camp and I tell her about work, and it’s almost like we haven’t missed a beat.
Later, we meet up with Noah, and spend the day poking around in T-shirt shops, buying crappy souvenirs, taking a boat tour on Sebago Lake, and eating lobster rolls and ice cream from a little seafood shack on the main drag.
When it’s time for me and Noah to head back to Boston, Ava hugs me tight. “Bye Hans,” she says. It feels different now, hugging her, since I can feel the muscles in her arms and her shoulder blades are more prominent.
“Bye, Avs,” I say. I inhale the smell of her perfume one more time, and hold on tight. Then, I turn around and get in the car. I keep my eyes down and pretend to be looking at my phone, not watching as she and Noah say goodbye, not wanting to know if they kiss, if they say how much they’re going to miss each other, if they make plans for what they’re going to do when Ava gets home.
By the time Noah gets in the car, I’m thinking again about how they left me alone yesterday. And I don’t feel like talking. At all. So I turn toward the window, pull the travel pillow I brought with me out of the backseat, and pretend to be sleeping the whole two and a half hours home.