But to be fair, I wished he was there even if he hated it. The knowledge that I'd never see him again chewed on my insides like a gnawing rat. I tried to tell myself it was just as well, but I didn't believe me.

  Celeste was right. I'd never believed he could really like me. I'd done this to myself. And since the problem was me and not him, I was going to carry that problem with me. It wasn't going to stay here in camp.

  If I wanted things to be different, I needed to tell myself a different story. I didn't have to be the fat friend or the wingman, or the crazy mixed-up awkward girl, if I didn't want to be.

  Except I didn't totally know how to tell a story that felt like me, that was just Bryn. I almost went crawling to Celeste to ask her advice. But sitting there on that bench, staring at the stage, I realized I already knew where to start.

  First, I wrangled Logan's address out of Lindsey. Then I hiked up to the art shack to get a black pen and a sheet of sketching paper. I almost wrote my letter right there at the table, but instead I closed up the shack again and hiked back to the stage.

  It felt right to sit on the front of it, in the place Logan made. I spread my paper over a stencil-stained pinecone, and I started to write.

  Logan,

  My heart beat faster just writing his name, but I didn't stop.

  I heard that Lindsey sent you a letter. I'm sure you can tell that it isn't from me. I'm also sure you can tell that the sketch is. You can keep it.

  Crap. Even that sounded prickly.

  I want you to have it. I ran my fingers over the stenciled leaves on the smooth boards below me. Logan had done a fantastic job; there wasn't even a hint of a splinter.

  I drew a deep breath, and put my pen back to the paper.

  I could do this.

  There's just one thing that I have to say, even though I know it doesn't matter anymore. I get that you were probably just looking for a summer fling, and I'm sorry that I fought it. The thing is, I'd never have been happy with just the summer.

  I took a deep breath. I was still hedging, still trying to protect myself with all of my probablies and even thoughs. All my impulses wanted to leave it at that, but I forced myself to write the next sentence. My handwriting looked as strained as I felt, but I got the words down. I'm a little bit crazy about you.

  I steeled myself.

  Okay, maybe a lot bit. And I know I'll never see you again with you living on the other side of the country and all, but I just thought you should know that it's not your ability to read girls that's broken. It's me. I wanted to be with you but I just couldn't stop getting in my own way. I was the problem all along.

  I bit down on my lip, hard. My nose started to run. I wasn't going to sit here and bawl on the stage. I was not. This was the stupid boy in camp, the one that ruined my boyless summer.

  But Logan wasn't stupid, and my summer didn't feel ruined now. It was the next few months I was worried about.

  I'm sorry.

  I sucked in a sharp breath. I was sorry, for everything, but I couldn't change it. I could only move forward in time, not back.

  First, I had to finish this letter. Then I had to let go.

  Anyway, I wish you could see your stage. It looks amazing. In fact, I'm pretty sure that whatever you decide to do next is going to be amazing, too, working for your dad or not.

  I swallowed hard. And I hope you find someone who makes you happy.

  I thought about what Logan had said about Madison, about how he'd loved her, and she hadn't loved him back. And I remembered what Celeste said to me, about what my problem was.

  Better to say it than to leave it unsaid.

  In case you didn't know, you're worth that.

  I signed my name on the bottom without adding love or best or any other awkward thing before it. Really, letter format was the worst. The only benefit was that, unlike a text message, with a method of communication so old and slow, he wouldn't feel the need to respond.

  I didn't want him to respond. I wasn't reaching out. I was just saying the things I should have said all along.

  I was letting him go, so I could move into the future without him.

  I walked the letter down to the mail room before I could lose my nerve. After I dropped it into the bin, I told myself it was gone. I'd done the right thing. There was no going back.

  Once the mail got picked up, that would be true.

  The next thing I did was hunt down Celeste. She was on a ladder in the mess hall, rearranging some boxes at the top of a closet shelf to make room for the things they'd be storing there at the end of the week.

  "Need some help?" I asked.

  She wiped her brow and looked at me warily. "Sure," she said.

  She handed down a few boxes, and I set them on the floor beside the ladder. "Too bad I got Logan kicked out," I said. "He would have helped you with this."

  Celeste rolled her eyes. "I was doing fine on my own."

  I nodded. Whatever she liked to pretend around guys, Celeste was nothing if not capable.

  When we finished, I rested my elbow on a shelf of salt and pepper shakers. "I wrote Logan a letter," I said. "I told him."

  Celeste sat down on the top step of the ladder. "You told him what?"

  I took a deep breath. She was going to make me say it.

  She was right to. She should.

  "That I fell for him," I said. "That I got that it was too late, but I was sorry I pushed him away for so long."

  Celeste paused, like she, too, was waiting for the punch line. "Aaand, did you send it?"

  I heaved a sigh. "Yeah," I said. "So tell me. Was that the wrong thing to do? Did I screw everything up again?"

  Celeste gave me a small smile. "Actually," she said, "that sounds about right."

  I nodded. I'd already known that, but it still felt good to hear her say it.

  Celeste lifted her chin. "Maybe," she said, "maybe when he gets the letter, he'll call you."

  I shook my head. "I didn't give him my number. He lives with his dad now. If we couldn't figure things out when we were living in the same camp, there's no way we can handle long distance."

  Celeste smiled. "Might work better. It would be harder to push him away when he's already so far."

  And even though I knew that it wasn't going to happen, I couldn't help but smile back. "That's it," I said. "The solution to all my problems. I'll sign myself up as a mail-order bride."

  Celeste's laughter echoed into the depths of the supply closet, and despite the persistent ache in my heart, I couldn't help but join her.

  The last week went smoothly enough, boyless as it was. The last bus of girls left so quickly, I almost couldn't believe it. Lindsey gave me a long hug before she boarded, and I hugged her back.

  "Are you okay?" I asked.

  Lindsey shrugged. "Mom said we'd talk when I got back. She wants me to see somebody. A doctor person, I guess."

  I squeezed her hard. "I think that's a good idea. Try to tell them the truth, okay? Try to let them help you."

  "Yeah, yeah," she said. But I was pretty sure that she heard what I was trying to say. "I'm sorry about Logan."

  "It's okay," I said. "I'm sorry you had a lousy summer."

  "No way," Lindsey said. "I had so much fun with you." She shoved a piece of paper into my hand and then boarded the bus without looking back.

  The paper had Lindsey's address written on the back of it. I waited until the bus was out of sight to unfold the rest.

  It was a sketch of a fern, with an arrow pointing downward from the roots. This side up, it said.

  When I got back to my cabin I tucked it into my sketchbook, in place of the missing picture of Logan. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss Lindsey, too.

  All the counselor's contracts extended two days beyond the end of the last session, to allow for cleaning up the camp. I hid in the art shack, and no one questioned me. But instead of cleaning, I took every sketch that had been left behind by every girl, and papered the walls of the art shack with them, all the way to the ceiling beams. I even hauled the ladder up from the mess hall, to cover the places I couldn't reach.

  Next year, someone would curse me. But if I was never coming back, at least I'd left a mark. Two, including the stage. And that one would last much, much longer.

  As I walked away from the stage for the last time, I could feel the mark it had left on me, too, like a big ugly scar. But not the kind you hide—the kind you wear with pride, because it reminds you of the places you've been.

  I always wanted to remember this one.

  When the camp was finally cleaned and closed up for the season, Pigpen gave me a ride down into the city, where I caught a bus to the town where I'd be attending college, beginning in only a week. I already had an apartment, and my things were stashed in storage. Mostly, I'd wanted to avoid my mother. I'd told them I'd call them once I was settled, and they could come see my apartment after it was all set up.

  But now I was sorry. Regardless of my issues with her, I could have used a hug from my mom.

  As I walked the final blocks to my new apartment complex, twenty pounds of camp duffel slung over my shoulder, the sun bore down as hot as it had that first day in the art shack. And while I didn't have a tin roof to bake under, I also didn't have any sunscreen. I could feel my skin growing redder by the second, and for once, it wasn't from a blush.

  I trudged through the parking lot, counting the blessings my new apartment would bring. Few bugs. Hot water. Daily showers. An especially long one here in a few minutes, to wash off the persistent layer of camp grime that never seemed to lift no matter how many times I bathed in the filthy camp facilities.

  As I looked for my apartment number, I spotted a couple of guys who were unloading an SUV into the apartment next door. These guys didn't have funky hair cuts or too-pronounced chins. And they certainly weren't the only guys around—the world I was entering was far from boyless. My hairline felt tacky and my armpits sweaty from my long walk up the street. But when one of them looked over in my direction, instead of averting my eyes I waved and said, "Hey."

  He didn't look at me funny. He didn't turn immediately away. Instead, he smiled and waved back. "Hey," he said back. "You live around here?"

  I pointed to my door. "I will," I said. "Right there."

  He smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Travis."

  "Bryn," I said. And I took his hand, and I shook it.

  Electric pulses didn't run up my arm. But his handshake was firm and solid, and I couldn't help but feel like something new was beginning, not with this guy, but with me and guys in general.

  If I couldn't have Logan, what I wanted was someone like him. And when I met that guy, I was going to do everything I could not to drive him away.

  Travis turned back to the trunk of his car, helping his buddies unload their boxes. And despite Celeste's advice, I knew what the next thing I wanted to do was. "Can I help you unload?" I asked.

  Travis looked at me, surprised. "Sure," he said. He reached into the back of the car to grab me a box.

  But before I could take it, the door to my apartment opened. I looked up, expecting to see one of my new roommates, and froze to the spot.

  There, standing in my doorway, was Logan. His hair looked cleaner than I'd seen it all summer, cut shorter now, just like I'd always thought it should be. He was wearing a Camp Timberpine t-shirt in all its lavender glory.

  I felt like I was about to fall over. I said the only thing I could think of to steady me. "Nice shirt. Dork."

  He laughed. "Come on. I look good in pastels."

  "You do," I said.

  That's when I became aware of Travis still holding onto his box. "Oh," I said. "Um."

  Travis hauled it toward his apartment, an amused look on his face. "I'll see you around," he said. Then he nodded to Logan and disappeared. He might have walked through a wall for all I knew; I couldn't bring myself to look at him.

  I couldn't tear my eyes off of Logan.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  He waved a pair of envelopes at me—the plain one that I'd sent him, and another, smaller envelope, decorated with flowers. "I got your letter." He smiled. "And Lindsey's."

  I wanted to know about that, but even more, I wanted to be sure I wasn't hallucinating him. "No, I mean, here. In California. Your mom said you'd flown to your dad's."

  Logan rolled his eyes. "Yeah. She tried to get me on a plane. But I took a bus to her place and packed up all my stuff. I wasn't going to move to Virginia with just the bags I had for camp. My mom might have been in a hurry to ship me off, but I wasn't in that big of a rush to go." He fiddled with my letter. "I would have called you, but you know. You didn't have a phone."

  I took slow steps toward the doorway. "How'd you know where to find me?"

  He bit his lip. "That's the thing. My mom called me and gave me your address, the one you'd given her to send your last check." He tipped his head to the side. "And get this, she apologized to me for always expecting the worst of me. Do you have any idea what that's about?"

  His eyes sparkled. He already knew. I nodded anyway. "I might have said some things that night she kicked you out."

  He grinned. "I'm impressed. No one gets my mother to apologize."

  I shrugged. "Yeah, well. I only speak the truth."

  We both grinned, like we were sharing in some private joke. The air between us seemed to vibrate. My feet carried me toward Logan like iron to a magnet. But when I reached the door, he stepped aside.

  I followed him in and dropped my duffel on the entryway tile.

  The inside of my apartment was empty, aside from a pair of keys thrown onto the kitchen counter. "So what are you, a burglar now?"

  He laughed. "No. I might have spent an hour telling your roommate the whole sordid story, though. She said she'd be back in a while, but she let me wait here for you. Her name's Katie. You're going to like her."

  I could barely nod. I didn't want to talk about my roommate, or his mom, or camp, or anything besides the fact that he was standing in my brand new kitchen, not somewhere far across the country. I might have thrown myself at him were I not so dazed at the surprise of seeing him at all.

  I looked down at the envelopes in his hands. I could see my sketch peeking out of one of them. "I thought we sent those to Virginia."

  Logan's grin widened. "You did. I first heard about them when Lindsey called me from the camp office in tears."

  My mouth fell open. "She called you? She had your number?"

  Logan laughed again. "She made me promise not to open the letter. But I had to see it, so I asked my dad to send it overnight. And then he sent another one a few days later. It just arrived this morning."

  I reached out and took the letters from him. "You opened hers anyway."

  "I know. Don't tell her."

  I toyed with the corner of the envelope. Inside I could see the folded corner of the page from my sketchbook, and a sheet of paper written on stationary with little, bubbly hearts.

  "I wouldn't be caught dead writing on that," I said.

  Logan laughed. "I know," Logan said. "I bet you also know how to spell Sincerely."

  I laughed. "Lindsey wrote a love letter and signed it Sincerely?"

  "I know!" he said. "It's priceless."

  I fingered the other envelope. Mine.

  I cleared my throat. "I meant what I said. I didn't say it just because I thought I'd never see you again."

  A brightness came over Logan's face. "I thought so," he said. "But that's not why I'm here."

  I felt like I'd been doused by a bucket of ice water. My mind searched for perfectly logical reasons for him to be here that weren't about wanting to see me again, but I was at a loss.

  Stop it, I told myself. For once in your life, let him explain.

  Logan took a step closer. "You said that you hoped I'd find someone who made me happy," he said. "And I couldn't help but think that I already have." He looked at me hopefully.

  Oh. A warm feeling washed over me, starting in my chest and spreading from head to toe. And for once in my life, it wasn't a blush. I closed my eyes. "You can't just move here, though," I said. "Your future is in Virginia."

  I could feel Logan move closer, the heat of him comfortably warm. "Did you know that your school has a construction management program?" he asked. "After that, I could work for my dad, or start my own company, or transfer wherever. I'd have options."

  His fingers brushed mine. I grabbed his hand.

  "If you want me to stay," he whispered.

  I opened my eyes. Logan stood just inches away.

  "I do," I said. "I want." Maybe I sounded too eager. Maybe my voice croaked like I'd swallowed a small frog.

  I didn't care. I stepped into Logan, our bodies making full contact, and brushed my forehead against his chin. I'm not going to tell you I melted into him, that I fit there perfectly, that I suddenly felt petite and dainty, like I'd been made over into the perfect fairytale princess who gets swept (literally!) off of her feet. My feet stayed planted on the floor.

  But maybe Logan wasn't looking for perfect. Maybe what he wanted was right in front of him, porcupine quills and all.

  His body pressed against mine, and this time his eyes did flick down to my lips and back up to my eyes, warning me, asking permission. I held my breath, refusing to let myself exhale at an unfortunate moment. I smiled, but I somehow managed not to laugh and ruin everything.

  Hell or high water, we were going to finish that kiss.

  His lips closed over mine; our mouths moved together. And my flushed face tingled with a new heat that had nothing to do with fear, or embarrassment.

  Logan's hands ran through my hair. And though I was sure that our bodies didn't bend into perfect silhouettes, I was equally confident that this kiss was anything but final.

  Want to read deleted scenes, including an argument between Bryn and Logan that was cut from the book, and the alternate ending in which she gets to her new apartment before him, and he catches her standing on a ladder...again?

 

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