Oh. Oh. Well, my eyes had been closed. I would have no idea if a baseball was hurtling towards me. And it’s entirely possible that that would have caused more damage than a bloody nose. “Well thank you for that.”
I unwrap the candy he put on my notebook, a tiny acceptance of his peace offering. We stand across from each other, awkward silence hanging between us. “It could have been a lot worse,” I say.
“I’m glad it wasn’t.”
“Me too.”
He slips his hands into his pockets and looks at me, and again I’m struck by how blue his eyes are. How striking the color is against his dark hair. “What’s your name?”
“Persephone,” I tell him. “My friends call me Seph.”
One corner of his mouth pulls up into a smile. “Well, hello, Seph,” he says, boldly declaring himself my friend. “My name is Eric.”
I don’t know what possesses me to smile, but I do.
4
Eric
Present
Seph is here. It’s the three words that have been rattling around in my brain for the last day. All the way through settling into my cabin and through last night’s orientation. I could see her across the room, her presence something I couldn’t ignore.
All through the evening when I could barely sleep, thinking about the fact that she’s here. And I woke up thinking about it too. My eyes popped open before the sun with those words on my mind.
It all seems so perfect. I wasn’t supposed to be here, and yet I am. And now that she’s here too, it’s like fate is giving us a do-over. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.
It’s entirely possible that there’s too much between us now for the stars to align in a way that gives us a second a chance. But we have the summer, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to take this chance. No matter how much I’ve pushed away the reality of this, I’ve wanted it.
When you think something isn’t possible, it’s easy to tell yourself that you don’t want it or need it.
I knew Seph before I knew Leena, but even though Leena and I split up a while ago, I haven’t had any contact with Seph. Though she hasn’t expressed the vitriol toward me that some of Leena’s other friends have. That alone gives me hope.
Thinking about Seph gives me more energy than I have any right to this early in the morning, and I need to do something with it or I’m going to be antsy all day. I don’t have time for a run, so I have to make do.
I start with the pushups, not bothering to count. I just go until my arms start to burn. The same with sit-ups. I brought a medicine ball with me in my bag and I use that for extensions, starting to work up a sweat. The clock tells me I have five more minutes, so I break out the jumping rope and push myself until my lungs are on fire.
I let myself take a breath, thankful that I took the edge off. If I have to do more later I will, though thoughts of Seph still have me wishing that there was another way that I was burning off energy.
The coffee maker beeps, and I pour myself a cup. First real day on the job, and there’s going to be a lot to do. I sit down at the desk in my cabin and flip open the schedule for today in the binder that’s going to be my bible for the summer. As much as I want to think about Seph at all times—and will have a hard time stopping myself from doing just that—I still have a job to do.
And part of that job is knowing the schedule of activities for the day so I can oversee them. Thankfully I won’t have to directly run too many of them, but I need to know exactly what’s happening so I can make sure the staff are properly in place and the equipment is ready.
My cell phone rings where it’s still plugged in next to the bed. Dread pools in the pit of my stomach. It’s early enough that anyone calling me might have an emergency. But my pulse smooths out when I see my dad’s name on the screen.
“I could have been sleeping,” I say by way of hello.
His voice is gravelly, and the chuckle grates across the line. “But you’re not.”
“No. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Excited for your first full day?” he asks.
I take a breath, pushing back a new thought about Seph. Probably not the best time to mention that. “Something like that.”
There’s a heavy silence before my dad speaks again. “I just wanted to check in with you before you started.”
“Everything is fine.” I flip the book shut. “I promise. I’ve got it covered.”
“I’m sorry that I had to ask you to do this. I know it’s not what you wanted—”