A wave of nausea swept through me so violently that I had to look away.
“Isabelle?” Melanie asked from my other side, her voice hesitant. “You okay?”
I wiped at my wet eyes, forgetting I was wearing mascara, and nodded. Just then Eric, our leader from the last year, stepped into the circle to greet us, and Melanie raised her hand when he asked if there was anyone new. Then Eric asked who wanted to go first and Roman once again was the first to volunteer.
I tried not to look at him, I really did. But after that first strum of his guitar, I had to watch him play for the very first time. His head was bent way down as he watched his fingers move, but he worked the instrument like it was second nature. The chords swam around the cool summer breeze, sending a chill up my spine.
Then his voice joined in. I vaguely recognized the tune as an old 80s ballad Aunt Joey had played a few times before. The chorus came in about getting closer to heaven together, and I was all at once humming along in harmony. I swear he never messed up once, although I was too wrapped up in the lyrics to pay a fair amount of attention to the guitar. I wanted to pretend the song didn’t have any meaning, especially relating to us, but just like the year before when he sang “Brown Eyed Girl,” I somehow knew better.
When the song came to an end and everyone began cheering, I realized my face was wet with tears. It wasn’t until then that I felt Roman’s eyes on me. When I met his gaze, he was giving me one of his brilliant, reassuring smiles over the flicker of orange flames. My heart slipped up into my throat. Before then, I thought he was through with me. I knew I should ignore him, give him the cold shoulder he had given me after his friends had arrived, but the pull to the boy I was sure that I loved was too strong to resist.
Then I discovered Brooke staring at me, hands clapped over her mouth, shoulders shaking, eyes wide. She leaned over to the girl on her other side and whispered in her ear until they were both looking at me, laughing hysterically. Soon their giggles were louder than the applause as all the girls joined in.
With the slow burn of humiliation sliding up my neck and settling into my cheeks, I turned to Melanie. Her eyes grew wide before her fingers latched over my wrist. “Oh my god, your makeup’s running.”
As my stomach twisted, I met Roman’s gaze once again to find him grimacing. But he wasn’t telling Brooke to stop. And although I waited for it, a smile of comfort or look of sympathy never came. He almost looked…disgusted.
Before I knew what was happening, Melanie plucked me from the chair and pulled me away from the group in the direction of our cabin.
“Better look out!” I heard Brooke cackle behind me. “There are rabid raccoons on the loose!”
I wanted to keep running, as far away from Brooke and Roman and Camp Oscines as my feet would take me. I wanted to go home. Roman had betrayed our sacred friendship.
Chapter Four
ROMAN
I instantly regretted not chasing after Isabelle the night she ran away from the campfire. She had become my closest friend, someone I could say almost anything to without worrying about whether or not I sounded cool. And I treated her like all the other jerks at camp.
I should’ve told Brooke to shut up. I should’ve stood up and reminded them Isabelle was my friend. I don’t know why I didn’t do any of those things, except that I was taking on the burden of her embarrassment, as if it was happening to me.
Brooke and I hung out a lot back in New York. Not really because I wanted to, but we had the same friends, and our families got together often. She was decent when we were around our crew, but sometimes she’d pick on other kids who weren’t considered popular, reminding me why I was always pushing her away. I always knew she was just waiting for me to ask her out, but I would never want someone that mean to be my girlfriend.
But I didn’t want Isabelle to be my girlfriend either. Even if she didn’t live so far away, that kind of thing never lasts, and all school year I counted on our weekend calls to get me through the hard stuff. Ninth grade was a little harder. My father expected me to earn a 4.0 every semester. My mother was more determined than ever to make me a star. My coaches in football and basketball moved me up to play varsity. The pressure to please everyone had become too much. Talking to Isabelle about the kind of things in my life that made me happy seemed to be the only way to keep myself from cracking.
Still, I was no dummy. With her excited greeting, I noticed every little change from the summer before. She was no longer thin and gangly, and her body wasn’t the only thing that had filled out. Her eyelashes seemed thicker, making her big brown eyes stand out even more than before, and her cheeks were no longer round with baby fat. She wasn’t just my buddy anymore. She was starting a transformation and becoming undeniably beautiful. I knew all the other guys would start to take notice even before they started making crude comments. I figured the more attention I gave her, the more they’d give me crap. I didn’t want to draw added attention to the fact that she had changed. She was special to me, and I’d do whatever it took to protect her.