Somebody Like You

5. Six weeks

ENYA

"What the fuck, Sky?"

I'm pacing Skylar's bedroom like a caged animal, phone clutched in my hand displaying the email that just ruined my entire summer. "Camp Pinewood Youth Counselor Program."

Six weeks. Six whole weeks of forced proximity with the one person who currently thinks I'm a sexual predator.

Skylar's sitting cross-legged on her bed, looking way too pleased with herself for someone who just threw a grenade into my life.

"I'm sorry! I thought it would be a good idea. Plus those kids were so cute, I couldn't say no!"

"Oh my— have you forgotten that Maddie and I are currently not on speaking terms?" My voice goes up about three octaves. "How do you expect us to, like, exist around one another? Breathe the same air? Share the same zip code?"

"I have that covered, don't worry." She waves her hand like she's swatting away my very legitimate concerns. "Besides, there are other counselors there too. You guys won't even be seeing each other that often."

"Won't be seeing each other—" I stop pacing to stare at her. "Sky, it's a summer camp, not a shopping mall. We're going to be living in cabins. Eating meals together. Doing trust falls and shit. There's nowhere to hide!"

"Exactly! That's the point!"

"The point is to torture me?"

"The point is to force you two to actually deal with this instead of just avoiding each other." She stands up, crossing her arms. "Look, you're my best friends. Both of you. And watching you two self-destruct over something that neither of you can even fully remember is killing me."

"So your solution is to trap us in the woods with a bunch of pre-teens?"

"Yes! Exactly! You'll be so busy making sure twelve-year-olds don't drown in the lake that you won't have time to be weird about each other."

I groan, throwing myself dramatically onto her very comfortable chair.

"This is the worst plan in the history of plans. This is worse than that time you thought we should all get matching tattoos in ninth grade."

"We were fourteen, and I still think 'Squad Goals' would've been iconic."

"It would've been a felony. We were minors."

Skylar ignores this valid point. "Come on, Nya. What else are you doing this summer? Wallowing? Refreshing Maddie's Instagram every five minutes hoping she'll post something that gives you a sign she doesn't hate you?"

The accuracy of this statement is offensive. "I do not—"

"You literally checked her story three times while you've been in my room."

Damn it. She's right. I've been obsessively monitoring Maddie's social media like it's my part-time job, analyzing every post for hidden meanings.

That sunset photo from yesterday? Clearly about me.

The cryptic lyrics she shared? Definitely a subliminal message.

The photo of her iced coffee? Okay, that one was probably just about coffee, but still.

"Fine," I admit. "Maybe I have nothing better to do. But that doesn't mean I want to spend weeks with someone who thinks I'm a creep."

"She doesn't think you're a creep."

"She literally called me a creep."

"She's scared and confused. There's a difference."

I slouch further into the couch. "Six weeks."