The Lost Summer by Kathryn Williams

I assured her.
    Ruby gave me an impatient look and set her fists on her tiny hips. Then she pouted, sticking her lower lip out comically. It was something she knew worked on almost every counselor at camp, including me.
    â€œWell,” I said, giving in, “I don’t have anyone to dance with. Would you dance with me?”
    â€œNo,” Ruby announced. She lunged at Ransome, grabbing his hands. “You’re gonna dance with him !”
    My eyes widened to take in Ransome’s reaction. He was grinning at Ruby, apparently ready to humor her.
    â€œAre you sure you wanna see me dance?” he asked her. “I’ll warn you. It’s not a pretty sight.”
    I ha-ha’ed nervously.
    â€œIt’s true,” Winn teased. She shot him with a tiny squirt of her Super Soaker.
    â€œHey!” he exclaimed at the wet spot on his shirt. Winn laughed.
    â€œYes. I want to see.” Ruby tossed her head up and down in an emphatic nod, and Ransome pretended to let her pull his weight from the bench.
    â€œWell,” he said, offering me his hand, “shall we?”
    â€œI guess so,” I answered, trying to maintain some semblance of composure while actually undergoing a full internal freak-out.
    Ruby and Melanie jumped up and down, clapping their hands. Melanie grabbed my elbow and Ruby grabbed Ransome’s, and they pulled us behind them onto the dance floor, where Dr. Spin was playing a song by ABBA. I was relieved for a fast song, unsure of how we’d dance to a slow one. Ransome spun Ruby in a circle, then me, alternating between us until we were dizzy. But after a couple quick choruses of “Dancing Queen,” the song ended. And sure enough, the low, plodding beat of a slow song took over.
    Giggling, Ruby and Melanie locked their hands around each other’s necks and swayed back and forth in imitation of the more sincere couples around them. Unsure whether I was supposed to retreat back to the bleachers with the other counselors now, I reluctantly raised my eyes to Ransome’s.
    Without hesitation, he took my right hand in his and rested the other on my back, and we proceeded to rock back and forth from foot to foot. He was right; he wasn’t a good dancer, and we were a consistent millisecond off-beat as we stepped in a tight, jerky circle. But he smelled good, like a mixture of Pert Plus and Old Spice and that guy smell that lingered on you and that you never wanted to go away, so much so that you’d avoid washing your clothes as long as possible within the realm of acceptability.
    Our bodies were a safe distance from touching, but his hand was warm through my tissue-thin shirt, its weight tentative on the small of my back. I was aware that his face, only a few inches from mine, was tilted down, as if he might whisper something in my ear any second. Insanely nervous, I kept my eyes from meeting his by looking everywhere but into his face. I was scared he’d read all the thoughts zipping through my head and even suspect I’d put Ruby up to this.
    Finally, I had to speak.
    â€œAre you going to the riflery range tonight?” I tried to sound casual.
    â€œNo,” he said, and I hoped the letdown I heard in his voice came from the same place my disappointment did. “I’m COD.”
    â€œThat sucks. I was just COD.” As soon as I said it I wanted to swallow the words. It was a stupid throwaway comment—every counselor was on duty at some point. Why couldn’t I think of something real to say to him?
    Ransome didn’t seem to notice. He explained that he was covering for another counselor who wanted the night off to be with his girlfriend; she’d driven two hours to see him. I hardly caught the details, though, because I was focused on the fact that, in the process of talking, Ransome had pulled me—just slightly—closer to him, so that I felt his body brush against mine. It was suddenly hard for me to breathe.