I wasn’t very good at admitting I was wrong; my mother was my mother after all. So, when enough silence had passed to show I’d probably taken in what he’d said and understood it, I changed the topic of conversation.
“So what about you? What about your life?”
“I told you – what else is there to say?”
“That Andrew Lloyd Webber CD suggests there’s something.”
Another laugh.
“What’s your life like at Brown? What’s your family like?”
And it was his turn to talk. I learned how tough he found it to keep basketball up alongside getting the grades he needed to keep his scholarship. He told me about this creepy room-mate in his first year of college, Robbo, who looked like Gollum and essentially never left the room during the day, then would disappear at night. How he used to worry Robbo was out killing people or something. “Honestly, he was the type of guy you can imagine making a coat out of someone’s skin.” He liked how pretty the trees turned around campus in fall. He’d taken a photography class to try and capture the colours and then, “Discovered, sometimes, it’s best just to stick to basketball.” He had four siblings. He felt guilty every moment he wasn’t at home helping out his ma. His favourite biography was about Winston Churchill – “Honestly, that guy, he got stuff done.” Gradually, as I began to recognize the landscape, as I saw we were almost back at camp, the jigsaw pieces of Kyle assembled themselves next to me in the driving seat. He was warm, he was generous, he was insecure, he thought too much, he lived most of his life out of obligation, he liked the colour orange, he fancied Jennifer Lawrence, he wanted to grow his hair long one day, he always saw the best in everyone.
The sign for camp came up ahead – first a dot, then it was readable, then we turned into the forest and the sign was behind us. And I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to know him. What I knew wasn’t enough. It had only started some reaction in me – who are you, Kyle? Tell me more, Kyle. I want to be near you, Kyle. I want you to want to be near me.
We slowed to a crawl as we got to the camp car park. I felt like crying. All I’d ever done since I came to camp was feel like crying. If I reached out and touched his face, would he take my hand? Would he kiss me, right here? If I let him know I wanted it?
I thought maybe he would.
But then what? That sign we’d just driven past, I’d be driving past it again in a few weeks. For ever. And putting an ocean between me and him, him and me, and everything we may or may not be.
And I would crumble…
“We’re here,” I said, hollowly, as he parked.
“We are.”
I was about to say something else, but I saw trouble on the horizon.
“And so are the kids.”
A collection of them were running at the car, hooting with excitement at our return. They began smacking on the windows, yelling, “You’re back, you’re back.”
I looked at Kyle.
Kyle looked at me.
Our time alone was over.
SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:
Honesty about your feelings
+
Dishonesty about where you spent the weekend
Twenty-three
Mum hugged me so tight I thought she would break me when I got in.
“Amber, honey, how was LA? I missed you!”
I hugged her tight back – half loving it, half hating her.
“It was only two days.”
And you didn’t seem to miss me for two years.
She wouldn’t let go. “Well it seemed much longer. Thanks again for being so understanding. We were SWAMPED at the centre, I swear I’m dead on my feet.”
I released the hug, as I still had my bag in my arms and it was starting to hurt.
“I’m just putting this in my room.”
“Okay, then you can tell me all about it. I want to see your pictures. Did the guys get one of you by the Hollywood sign? Isn’t LA AWFUL? I knew you’d hate it. Are the others back yet? Would you be able to help with dinner in the hall later? I know you’re supposed to be off until tomorrow morning, but it would be great if you could help out…”
Her voice faded away as I pushed into my bedroom and plonked my stuff on the bed. Shit! Pictures! I’d taken no photos. I’d barely even made any sketches. The only thing in my sketchpad was a drawing I’d done of Kyle the night before, in the motel, and, yes, I’m aware of how totally disturbing that is. He’d fallen asleep first, but I hadn’t been able to. Just having his body so close to mine… It was like bursts of electricity were flying off me, onto him, like when you accidentally give someone a static electric shock on a trampoline. I gave up on sleeping. I couldn’t resist drawing him – like that – the way he still looked sad, even in sleep, the way his tight jaw looked so stark against the softness of the pillow.
I couldn’t show Mum that drawing, could I?
I could still hear her chatter through the walls, and I knew I was supposed to feel happy. She cared, she’d missed me, she wanted to hear all my gossip. But there was no space in my heart for her at that moment. It felt all trodden on, and ripped open, like someone had tried to wring the juice out of it. Kyle and I hadn’t even said goodbye properly. I mean, why would we? We would see each other at dinner, with the kids all around us.
I’d just said thank you, and he’d said no problem, and that was that. But it wasn’t, it wasn’t, it wasn’t. Everything had changed, everything was different.
I flopped face down on the bed, inhaling the foresty smell of my bed linen, and let myself remember the previous day – climbing through the rainbows, the coldness of my face in shadow just before he kissed me.
I wanted to cry.
I was so lost.
I needed help.
I got out my mobile phone and switched it on for the first time since leaving England. It would cost at least three quid just to connect to an American server or whatever. I didn’t care.
I messaged Lottie and Evie right away.
Videotime? SOS. America has broken me.
I checked the time as I hit send. It would be the middle of the night over there. They’d be asleep. But just knowing I’d spoken to them, even by text, helped.
I took a deep breath, picked myself up off the bed, and went to chat to Mum.
It was a mistake, to have not even thought about what I would’ve seen in LA.
“So, did you get the others to show you the movie stars’ homes?” Mum asked, over a cup of herbal tea.
“Umm.”
“Which one was your favourite?”
“Umm…” Quick, think of a celebrity. “Oprah’s?”
“Oh, I never saw that one. Whereabouts does she live?”
“Umm…” Quick, brain, think of a place in LA. “Malibu?”
Mum nodded. “Of course.”
Bumface Kevin joined us, sitting right next to me on the couch, which I didn’t appreciate one bit.
“So, who all went?” He made this slurping sound with his tea.
Think, brain, think think think.
“Umm, Melody? Bryony? Wayne? And, er, loads of others.”
“And what did you do in the evening? You guys didn’t try and get into clubs, did you? You’re underage.”
I rolled my eyes. “Like I’d tell you if we did. I don’t want you to fire all my friends.”
“Don’t take that tone with me.” Kevin tried to use his nice voice, but undertones of pissed-off-ness shone right through.
“She has a point, Kevin,” Mum said, stunning me. “We shouldn’t know what the staff are up to in their time off.”
Kevin bashed his tea down with just enough violence to make us both flinch. Immediately Mum began backtracking. “I mean, of course, you still wouldn’t do anything like that, would you, Amber? And the staff know the rules, don’t they? We can’t have you breaking the law.”