Then it was time for the introductions, which were as boring as she’d feared. Each partner was supposed to stand up and offer three facts about the person with whom they hiked up the mountain, the idea being that strangers who shared an adventure could wind up friends.
Cripes, she thought, she and Connor hadn’t bothered to learn anything about each other except that they were enemies. She didn’t know where he lived except in something he called a double-wide, if he had any brothers and sisters, what his favorite flavor of ice cream was.
There were no surprises in this group. Everybody went to the most exclusive schools on the planet: Exeter, Sidwell Friends, the Dalton School, TASIS in Lugano, Switzerland. Everybody had a horse or a yacht or a house in the Hamptons.
Big fat hairy deal, she thought. If the most interesting thing about a kid was what school he went to, then he must be a pretty boring person. It was slightly interesting that the kid named Tarik attended a Muslim school and that a girl called Stormy was home-schooled by her parents, who were circus performers, but other than that, totally yawnworthy.
Nearly all of the other factoids were equally tedious or boastful, sometimes both. One kid’s father was a publicist who had A-list celebrities on speed dial. Another girl had her diving certification. People came from families that won prizes—Pulitzer, Oscar, Clio. The kids flashed these credentials as if they were scouting badges, undoubtedly making stuff up in order to top each other.
Listening to everyone, Lolly came to a conclusion—a lie worked better than the truth.
Then it was her turn. She stood up, and she and Connor glared at each other through narrowed eyes, silent warnings leaping between them. He had more than enough information to humiliate her if he wanted. That was the thing about telling somebody something private and true. It was like handing him a gun and waiting to see if he’d pull the trigger. She had no idea what he would tell the group. All she knew was that she’d given him plenty of ammo to use against her.
She went first. She took a deep breath and started speaking even before she knew what she was going to say.
“This is Connor, and it’s his first time at Camp Kioga. He …” She thought about what she knew. He was here on scholarship and his father drank. His mother had just remarried and his stepfather was mean, which was why he had to go away for the summer. Lolly knew that with a few words, she could turn the gun on him. She could probably turn him into a kid nobody would want to be friends with.
She caught his eye and knew he was thinking the same thing about her.
“He puts ketchup on everything he eats, even at breakfast,” she said. “His favorite group is Talking Heads. And he always wins at one-on-one.” She was guessing at that last bit, based on the fact that he was so tall, and he wore Chuck Taylor high-tops. And he seemed fast and had big hands. She was guessing at everything, as a matter of fact, but he didn’t contradict her.
Then it was Connor’s turn. “This is Lolly,” he said, her name curling from his lips like an insult.
Moment of truth, she thought, adjusting her glasses. He could ruin her. She’d shown too much of herself on the way up the mountain. He cleared his throat, tossed his hair out of his eyes, assumed a defiant slouch. His gaze slid over her—knowing, contemptuous—and he cleared his throat. The other campers, who had been restless through most of the exercise, settled down. There was no denying that the kid had presence, commanding attention like a scary teacher, or an actor in a play.
I hate camp, she thought with a fierce passion that made her face burn. I hate it, and I hate this boy, and he’s about to destroy me.
Connor cleared his throat again, his gaze sweeping the group of kids.
“She likes to read books, she’s really good at playing piano and she wants to get better at swimming.”
They sat back down and didn’t look at each other again—except once. And when their eyes met, she was surprised to see that they were both almost smiling.
All right, she conceded, so he hadn’t decided to make her a human sacrifice this time, or use her for target practice. She was torn between liking this kid and resenting him. One thing Lolly was sure of. She did hate summer camp, and she didn’t even care if it belonged to her grandparents. She was never coming back here again for as long as she lived. Ever.
INVITATION
THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE IS
REQUESTED
BY JANE AND CHARLES BELLAMY
ON THE OCCASION OF OUR
50TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY.
YOU’VE SHARED IN OUR LIVES WITH
YOUR FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE.
NOW WE INVITE YOU TO JOIN US IN
CELEBRATING
OUR GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY.
SATURDAY, THE 26TH OF AUGUST, 2006.
CAMP KIOGA, RR #47, AVALON,
ULSTER COUNTY, NEW YORK.
RUSTIC ACCOMMODATIONS PROVIDED.
Two
Olivia Bellamy set down the engraved invitation and smiled across the table at her grandmother. “What a lovely idea,” she said. “Congratulations to you and Granddad.”
Nana slowly rotated the tiered array of tiny sandwiches and cakes. Once a month no matter what else was going on in their lives, grandmother and granddaughter met for tea at Astor Court in the Saint Regis Hotel in midtown. They had been doing it for years, ever since Olivia was a pudgy, sullen twelve-year-old in need of attention. Even now, there was something soothing about stepping into the Beaux Arts luxury of elegant furnishings, potted palms and the discreet murmur of harp music.
Nana settled on a cucumber slice garnished with a floret of salmon mousse. “Thank you. The anniversary is three months away, but I’m already getting excited.”
“Why Camp Kioga?” Olivia asked, fiddling with the tea strainer. She hadn’t been there since her last summer before college. By choice, she had put all the drama and angst behind her.
“Camp Kioga is a special place to me and Charles.” Next, Nana sampled a tiny finger sandwich spread with truffle butter. “It’s the place where we first met, and we were married there, under the gazebo, on Spruce Island in the middle of Willow Lake.”
“You’re kidding. I never knew that. Why didn’t I know that?”
“Trust me, what you don’t know about this family could fill volumes. Charles and I were a regular Romeo and Juliet.”
“You never told me this story. Nana, what’s up?”
“Nothing’s up. Most young people don’t give a fig about how their grandparents met and married. Nor should they.”
“I’m giving a fig right now,” Olivia said. “Spill.”
“It was all so long ago, and seems so trivial now. You see, my parents—the Gordons—and the Bellamys came from two different worlds. I grew up in Avalon, never even saw the city until after I was married. Your granddad’s parents even threatened to boycott the wedding. They were determined that their only son would marry well. In those days, that meant somebody with social status. Not some Catskills girl from a mountain camp.”
Olivia was startled by the flicker of hurt she recognized in her grandmother’s eyes. Some wounds, it seemed, never quite healed. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Nana made a visible effort to shake off her mood. “There was a lot of class consciousness back then.”
“Still is,” Olivia said softly.
Nana’s