Things I Can't Forget by Miranda Kenneally

glances over at me and smirks again. “If he wanted that, he could’ve had her a thousand times by now.”
    “Maybe…”
    “Trust me,” Brad says quietly. “You’ve got all the power here.”
    I burst out laughing. I haven’t felt powerful since soccer season.
    “So you like him?” he asks, smiling.
    After a few moments, I nod.
    “Good for you.” He smacks my shoulder with his towel.
    It’s almost like he’s becoming a guy friend.
    •••
    The night is cool, the girls are asleep, and all I can hear are the whirring box fan and chirping crickets.
    I watch the clock tick down. 11:00 p.m. 11:21 p.m. 11:36 p.m. It’s nearly midnight, and midnight means Matt.
    I’m wearing short plaid pajama shorts and a fitted white T-shirt, something more revealing than I’d normally wear, because I want to show Matt that I can be cute like Andrea. I can act like a girl who wants a boyfriend. I have no idea what he does outside of camp, whether he sleeps around or smokes weed or drinks or what, but here he’s sweet and funny and loves music and makes all the kids laugh.
    And I want to know that Matt. I pray that Matt is the real Matt.
    At 11:58 p.m. I step out of my cabin and tiptoe down the path to my picnic area, where he’s already got a small fire crackling. He’s sitting on top of the picnic table, barefoot (of course), strumming away at his guitar. With my heart pounding like mad, I take a seat next to him and listen to the soft crooning of the guitar.
    He smiles and focuses on his fingers moving swiftly on the strings. He plays the tune over and over again, and I hum along. He softly works lyrics:
    I know you can see, out of those pale green eyes.
    He stops. Tunes his guitar. Tries out a few more notes. Sings more words.
    But maybe you’ve seen too much, ’cause you’re hiding behind that disguise. I shouldn’t talk, ’cause I’m hiding too. So how can we meet? How can I find you? Will I see you on any other day but Christmas?
    “That was insanely pretty,” I say when he finishes, hoping the green eyes in the song are the same shade of green as mine. He scoots closer to me. Our hips touch. If not for the chirping crickets, I bet I could hear our hearts. I stretch my legs out and lean back on my hands. Our silence hangs on the warm air, but it’s comfortable with him in the quiet.
    “I’d better get to sleep,” he says with a yawn.
    “Me too.”
    He climbs off the picnic table and holds out a hand to help me up. His fingers are warm and I find myself wanting to run a thumb over his knuckles. But I let go.
    Moonlight guiding us, Matt walks me back along the dirt path to my cabin. Once I’m safely back on my porch, he says, “That was fun. See you tomorrow.”
    He smiles, waves, and walks away with his guitar slung over his back. I don’t know what I was expecting. A hug? A kiss on the cheek? Something?
    Was it nothing?
    But if it was nothing, why won’t my heart stop racing?
    I climb into bed, cuddle up under the covers, and imagine his fingers touching my ankle. My body tingles again, like it did at the pool. Heat rushes between my legs. My breathing gallops away from me. I want to touch myself. I roll over and clutch my pillow, praying for relief but also not wanting the feeling to go away.
    •••
    My camper Claire and I are DJing the Thursday Night Dance. Claire’s best friend, Sophie, has already danced with a couple of guys from our group.
    It’s less than a day until I get to go home for the weekend. On Sunday, I’m going to take Emily half of my paycheck, to see if she needs it. Unless I lose my courage. Thinking of seeing her makes me feel cold all over.
    Claire picks out songs on iTunes, clicking away on my computer. I never really went to school dances in middle school and high school because Brother John railed against secular music all the time. I didn’t even go to senior prom.
    “Claire, are you about to start your first year of middle school?” I ask.
    “Yep,” she says. The