The Stars of Summer by Tara Dairman

out rows of burger buns instead of bread slices. At the squeak of the screen door, she looked up.
    â€œHot lunch today, girlie!” she announced in lieu of a greeting. “Head on back to the pantry and grab me twelve of those jumbo cans of baked beans. Unless you’re too puny to carry ’em, that is.”
    â€œUm . . . I . . .” Gladys felt pulled in too many directions. Part of her wanted to march to the pantry and prove that she was
not
too puny, and part of her wanted to inform Mrs. Spinelli that homemade baked beans, seasoned with bacon and maple syrup, were far superior to canned ones. But the part of her that didn’t want to be screamed at by Coach Mike for being late won out.
    â€œI actually came to tell you that I can’t start my CIT work at nine o’clock anymore,” Gladys said.
    â€œGiving up already?” Mrs. Spinelli nodded to herself. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you weren’t cut out for it. It’s not for the weak of spirit, this work.”
    â€œI’m not weak of spirit!” Gladys cried. “It’s just that my swimming lessons start at nine, so I’ll have to come in a little later.”
    Mrs. Spinelli slowly set down the bun she was holding, and Gladys gulped, sure that she was about to get a final strike for sass. But to her surprise, the skinny cook chuckled.
    â€œWeak of swimming skills, then, is it? Well, you’d better get to work on that. We can’t have you bobbing around in the pool like a hot dog on the boil, can we?” She waved the back of a latex-gloved hand toward the door, dismissing Gladys. “And you tell that Coach Mike that Yolanda Spinelli sends her regards. I saw him put away six of my hamburgers at last year’s end-of-summer cookout. He’s an impressive man, that one.”
    Mrs. Spinelli looked quickly back down at her array of buns. Was she . . . blushing? Gladys stared for what was probably a moment too long, then turned and raced out the door before the cook gave her a strike for cheekiness.
    She hurried to the changing rooms, and when she emerged, the camp’s central clock said five minutes to nine. She was about to head over to the pool when a rustle sounded behind her: Hamilton turning to a fresh page in his notebook. He had not changed into his swimsuit, and he didn’t seem to have any intention of going to the pool at all.
    Forget about him,
she told herself.
Who cares if he gets into trouble?
But she couldn’t help thinking that if
she
was about to miss her lesson accidentally, she’d appreciate being warned.
    â€œHey!” she said in the sharpest voice she could muster. She might be helping Hamilton, but that didn’t mean she had to be nice about it. “We’re supposed to go to the pool for our swim lesson.”
    Hamilton glanced up, but his eyes looked vague and unfocused behind their black-framed spectacles.
    â€œIt’s almost nine!” Gladys pointed to the camp clock. Hamilton looked, then sat up straighter.
    â€œOh,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I’m only signing books between eleven thirty and noon. So if you wouldn’t mind coming back—”
    â€œI don’t want you to
sign a book
.” Gladys was trying to keep her cool, but he wasn’t making it easy. “I was just pointing out that your swimming lesson starts in three minutes.”
    â€œMy swimming—oh!” He jumped to his feet. “That’s right—I promised. I have to get dressed. Will you watch this for me?” And without waiting for an answer, he shot around the corner toward the changing rooms, leaving his notebook on the table in front of Gladys.
    â€œHey!” she cried after him, but he’d already disappeared.
    Fudge
.
    Gladys glared down at the notebook that was now going to make her late. For a moment, she considered just leaving it there