My stomach sank when I recalled the painful conversation I had with my aunt last fall. I didn’t tell her about my melt-down with Roman, or how for a fleeting moment I wanted to drown myself in Lake Tahoe. But I did tell her that campers weren’t allowed to have flowers. I made up some story about how I was told they were in the office, and wouldn’t be allowed to keep them. It made me sick lying to her, but I couldn’t stand to look at those damn roses, knowing what they represented. I couldn’t stand the thought of being embarrassed in front of the entire camp like that again.
As I was the only one in the cabin at the time, I decided to open the present that day to spare myself from encountering another embarrassing incident. It was a tube of mascara, the kind they sold in the drug stores. Probably worth less than ten dollars, but words can’t express what that little present meant to me. It was an olive branch from my aunt, who normally insisted that makeup was ridiculous even though I told her all my friends were allowed to use it.
With a giddy smile, I held the little tube to my flat chest. I’d no longer be the odd one out at camp. And maybe Roman would finally see me as something other than his buddy.
That night, as I entered the dining hall on my own, I was so nervous that I wasn’t sure I would be able to keep anything down. The last summer I had gone to nearly every meal with Roman, but when I discovered he was already at a table with a bunch of his friends, the center of attention as always, I knew I was going to have to eat alone. The tall room lined in cedar was already bustling with other campers, so I quietly slipped into line, hoping my presence would go unnoticed.
It wasn’t until I had filled my tray that I realized I was going to have to pick a table without him. The only open seats were peppered among other campers who hadn’t exactly been friendly. Roman’s table was loud, his boisterous laughter drawing the attention of every girl in the room, so there was no way I was going to ask to sit with him. My spirits sunk. I spent an entire school year looking forward to seeing him again, and it was as if he already forgot about me.
As I looked around the room I began to sweat, wondering if it would just be better to take my food back to my cabin. Then I noticed a small girl sitting far away from a bigger group of girls with her head down and shoulders slumped. I was once that girl before Roman came along, and knew too well what it was like to be the outcast.
So I marched right over to the girl and asked, “Is it okay if I sit here?”
Her head lifted, and she smiled brightly. She was really pretty—intriguing hazel eyes and long, light brown hair that was angled around her oval face. Her skin was smooth and slightly lighter than some of my Native American friends back home.
“Yeah!” she answered excitedly.
I slipped into the open chair across from her. “I’m Isabelle.”
When her cheeks spread wider, two dimples popped into place. “Melanie.”
“Is this your first time here?” I asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“I was here last year,” I mumbled, pushing food around on my plate. “Where are you from?”
“Minnesota.” The word sounded more like “Minne-soda,” but I didn’t tease her. It’s obvious the other girls had already singled her out, so I wasn’t going to do anything to make her feel like an outsider.
As Melanie and I got to know each other over chicken and mashed potatoes, we became fast friends. She was a year younger and had also won a scholarship through tryouts. Her grandma had paid for her flight, and she had traveled all by herself. She was one of the nicest people I had ever met, and we were thrilled to discover we would be staying in the same cabin. Her voice was low and almost husky, but when she laughed it was a high, light sound like the tinkling of bells.
After we finished eating, we grabbed our sweatshirts from our cabin before I led her down to the sound off. We were so busy talking that I didn’t notice Roman was sitting in one of the chairs until we plopped down across from him. He was holding a black acoustic guitar in his lap, beautiful starry eyes glowing from the fire’s amber light. I was so enchanted by the way he looked that it didn’t register at first there was a blonde draped against his side.
Brooke.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I watched them flirt, almost like boyfriend and girlfriend. It was dumb of me to think there was anything special between me and Roman when all we had were a few phone calls and each other’s pictures. Brooke had access to the real deal. They went to the same school—she probably went to every single one of his games, and got to hug him after. They probably went to school dances together, and hung out with the same group of friends.