Camp Sutton

I'm so madly in love with this story that I think the final is going to end up around 60,000 words. It's a bit more romance and drama than my usual stuff, so I hope you all like it as much as I do and look forward to the next parts!

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PART ONE: JUNE

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CHAPTER ONE: Camp Sutton

I'd gone to Camp Sutton for their three-week sleepaway camp starting in sixth grade all the way through high school. When I graduated, I was invited to come back the next year as a full-time counselor for the entire summer, watching different rotations of campers from June to August. I'd been eighteen for only a few months and a high school graduate for even less when I started out. Now, I knew it was kind of lame to be a camp counselor at 21, about to start my last year of college, but it still had enough of a place in my heart to agree when I got the call that I'd been invited back yet again.

I drove my dad's truck -- which he lent me since I didn't have a car in the city -- up the winding Maine roads, down toward Acadia National Park, which neighbored Camp Sutton. The waves crashed against the rocky shoreline and the air got salty when I rolled down my windows. Past the camp's sign, I followed the familiar gravel path into the warmly lit woods, finally stopping by the main hall.

"Maybe Maisie May!" I heard Jackie's voice through my rolled-down window a long time before I saw her; it was always like that with her, though. I sighed and put the car in park. Her voice pierced through my eardrums again. "I'm so happy we're doing this!"

I cringed and jumped out of the truck. Before I could process any of my surroundings, Jackie wrapped me up in a tight hug that lingered a bit too long. I pulled away, holding her shoulders to keep the distance between us, and put on a smile. "It's good to see you, Jacks."

She squealed. I liked Jackie -- we'd been good friends for years, the kind that actually stayed in touch between summers -- but she was a bit much unless I'd gotten enough sleep, which I definitely hadn't after driving up from Pennsylvania in one day. With her blonde braided pigtails, bright green overalls, and bubblegum pink lip gloss, Jackie contrasted sharply with me. I kept my curly dark hair chin-length, usually underneath a hat, and mostly wore old tank tops. She brought acrylic sets to do her own nails; I had just stopped biting my fingernails before prom and still kept them short. She was peppy and pretty and I, well, just wasn't.

We walked around the backside of the truck while she chittered away about her last school year, the ups and downs of boyfriends, her struggle to find the right college, etc. We'd been going to camp together every summer for years now, but the sparks you find in middle school friends rarely last to college. She found theater and fashion design while I drifted toward lacrosse and late-night electric guitar sessions underneath big headphones. Despite our late-night teenage whispered promises, we'd gone to different colleges on different paths. Still, I was sure I'd find my footing among the peppier girls again. I knew everyone here, had for years, and-

"Wait, who's that?" With my larger duffel slung over my shoulders and my smaller suitcase tailing behind, I couldn't point, but I nodded toward the girl. She had a cigarette between two of her fingers -- strictly against the rules, of course -- and shorts that hung low on her hips, exposing her stomach, which was also against the rules. Her black hair was shaggy around her face, an expert kitchen scissors job, and she had three piercings in one of her eyebrows.

"Oh, her?" Jackie replied absently, "She's Mary's daughter. You know, the one who flunked out of school or whatever? I guess she's working here on maintenance this summer to stay out of trouble or whatever." Then she cut me a sharp, offended look. "And, of course, she hasn't bothered introducing herself yet."

I nodded. "Gotcha."

I let my eyes wander off the girl even though they didn't want to. As much as I loved the familiarity and cozy memories, Camp Sutton was an all-girls program and all of the counselors were preternaturally straight -- and that pouty-lipped, no-bra, menthol-smoking, chipped-nail-polish, unshaven-legs girl was definitely not. Like me. Even if she was the bitch Jackie was clearly implying, it might be nice just to know I have an ally around.

I'd heard a few stories about her in the past few years. Mary lived in nearby Bar Harbor and owned the camp, but none of her kids ever came for the summer, and she never called them by name. I figured this one was "my damn daughter," always said with a heavy sigh and a shaken head. The one who locked herself in the bathroom and shaved her head, the one who bought the motorcycle, the one who dropped out of college. We were about the same age; I guessed she was 22 to my 21.

Jackie opened up the screen door to my cabin, which would be full of 14 screaming preteens in just a week. Until then, I'd have nothing but the peaceful woodsy air to keep me company in here. Knowing Jackie, though, I figured that I'd get a roommate any time there was a storm or a twig snapping too loud outside her neighboring cabin.

I settled in for a while and Jackie went back to the main hall to catch up with other counselors and help get ready for dinner. I'd arrived later than planned, so I already felt behind while I unpacked. I'd brought about one load of laundry's worth of clothes, one pair of earrings just to keep the holes open, two pairs of shoes (sneakers, sandals, hiking boots), and just a handful of toiletries stripped down to the necessities. I hated overpacking and having to deal with the consequences later on. Beyond those basics, I'd brought my laptop even though I knew I wouldn't have many chances to use it, a book that a friend gave me for graduation, and my water bottle.

The dinner bell rang, tugging on corresponding attached bells on lines throughout the camp. I got up, my stuff mostly put away, and shrugged on a hoodie to head up to the main hall. In Maine, it got cold as evening approached. It was still early June, so the high north state hadn't quite inched into summertime yet. Hopefully by the time the girls got here, it would be warmer, but for now, it was that cool hoodie-and-shorts or pants-and-tank-top weather.

At the main hall, all the girls had already grabbed trays of chili -- the early summer staple before the fresh fruits and veggies came in full force -- and sat down, occupying three of the metal tables in the long rows of them. The girl from earlier, Mary's daughter, sat in silence with 'the adults' including her mom and the other year-round staff. My gut suddenly panged to go sit with her, but Jackie waved me over as soon as I had my food, and I didn't want to start drama so early on. Admittedly, I still had a hard time focusing while we ate. I could tell that Mary's daughter had clocked me as gay, too, so our eyes kept drifting toward one another.

After everyone had finished, Mary herded us into the gym, which doubled as an auditorium, the place we'd take the kids for activities if the weather was bad. Mary had a short gray bob, which had gotten shorter and grayer through the years, and she always wore khaki shorts, a red CAMP SUTTON tee, and a wide-brimmed sun hat. She directed us to stand in a circle. I knew the routine.

Chipper as always, Mary said, "Let's go around and everyone say your name and, hm, what brought you here this summer. And maybe where you're from." Then her eyes searched the ring for familiarity and landed on Jackie. "Why don't you start, Jacks? And then pick the next person."

Jackie grinned her candy smile. "Sure, I'm Jackie, I'm from Florida, actually, but I've been living in New York for school. And I'm here because I had such an amazing time growing up at Camp Sutton every summer and I just want to make sure that girls these days get the same opportunity to make friends and learn skills and- Sorry, rambling." She nudged my ribs with her pointy elbow. "Maybe Maisie May, you should go next."

I stood up straight, put on my best camp counselor smile, and said, "Well, most of you know me, I'm Maisie. From the suburbs of Philadelphia, but I also moved downtown for school. And, ah, I've been here every summer for years, and they just keep roping me into coming back."

I was met with a polite chuckle. Then it was my turn to choose who went next. I shuffled from foot to foot for a second, looking around for familiar faces. I made eye contact with a few of the women I'd known for ages. When my gaze finally landed on Mary's daughter, though, I knew she'd be the last to speak if I didn't pick her. I couldn't tell from her eyes if that's what she wanted or not, but I nodded in her direction anyway. Almost too soft to be heard in the echoey gym, I said, "How about you?"

Her eyebrows knit together curiously for a second, examining me, trying to read something she couldn't find. After a second or two or that, she spoke to everyone, though it felt like she was speaking only to me. "I'm Olive. I'm from, you know, here. Maine. Bar Harbor."

Mary poked her daughter, signature smile wavering. "And why you're here, too."

She offered a smile that was more like a grimace. "I guess I'm here to figure some shit out. Stuff, sorry. Have to learn to watch my mouth by the time the kids get here."

Everyone gave her a charitable smile and then we moved along.

CHAPTER TWO: Great Expectations

After introductions and going over the itinerary for getting everything ready for the campers arriving the following week, Jackie and some of the other girls went off to the showers together. I waved them off with some excuse about already showering that morning and wanting to finish getting settled.

But I wanted to talk to Olive. Introduce myself properly beyond 'from Philly.' She'd skirted out of the main hall quietly before everyone else and I wasn't sure I'd be able to catch her before she tucked into her personal cabin in the little village of cabins for the maintenance staff. She got to have her own private bed -- and toilet, which I was incredibly jealous of.

The sun had set outside, bathing the camp in inky sweet darkness offset by rows of yellow string lights that lined the paths around camp. I saw Olive down the path a ways, so I hustled to get to her, trying not to be too obvious in case someone saw me. The movement heated me up and I peeled off my hoodie, tying it around my waist.

She heard me coming, of course, and turned to look at me. Her lips had a cute smirk on them; she knew that one of us would have to chase the other at some point and she'd won. I didn't want to wait.

Finally, I got a closer look at her face. Without any makeup on, she had heavy lashes around hooded dark eyes. Her cheeks had a healthy blush, only a few shades lighter than her soft pink lips, which were wide and smooth. Her shaggy hair drew attention to her full arched brows and high cheekbones.

As I searched her face, Olive asked, "Can I help you?"

"Probably not; my mom says I'm helpless." I stood across from her, crossing my arms over my chest, which suddenly felt incredibly bare in only a sports bra. "I just wanted to, I don't know, meet you for real."

"Why's that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Can we skip the pretending phase? It'd be nice to just have a gay friend for the summer without acting like that's not what's happening."

"Yeah, that works for me." She chuckled and I liked the sound of it, low and soft and certain. "Want to have a smoke?"

I whispered like a teenager, "You brought weed?"

It was Olive's turn to roll her eyes, which I noticed were hazel as the warm lights illuminated her face. "We're adults. I won't have kids rummaging through my shit like the rest of you."

"Fair enough." I followed her inside the little cabin. She must've arrived with Mary a few weeks before the rest of us because the place was plenty lived-in, decorated with colorful fairy lights and pictures from her life down in Bar Harbor. I asked, "How often do you head back into town?"

"I don't," she replied with a sigh. "Mom drove me up here and I don't have any keys."

"That's fucked up," I replied.

"I get it, at least." Olive sighed again. This time it was heavy. She dug around in one of her backs and took out a pre-rolled joint. "I had a bit of a problem at school, so I don't blame her."

She gestured with her pinky nail to indicate coke. I asked, "Really? And you still smoke?"

"California sober." She laughed and took out her lighter. "My therapist says it's fine. Harm reduction or whatever. Mom would throw a fit if she knew, obviously. But she doesn't really understand any of it."

Olive took a quick drag and handed it to me. As the smoke filled our lungs, our conversations drifted to college and hobbies and beyond. She'd gone to Berkeley for a while but dropped out -- not flunked, like Jackie had said -- while I had to finish out my senior year at Drexel this fall. She worked at a radio station back in California, but the culture in the music scene became a problem for her, so now she didn't have any idea where she was going once August finished. I, on the other hand, would be in my final year of D1 lacrosse and...a philosophy major. So we had 'no path after college' in common.

After a while, with the joint stubbed out, our heads buzzing only a little, we leaned against the wall, both sitting on her bed. Out of the blue, she asked, "They keep calling you 'Maybe Maisie May' -- what's that about? Kind of long for a nickname."

"You haven't heard the story?" I leaned my head back, enjoying the cool breeze coming in through the screen windows. "That's so refreshing I almost don't want to tell you."

I heard Olive shift next to me, stretching out her legs in front of us. Her voice was earnest and kind and hit my ears like a new melody. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

For a minute, I debated it. I wasn't really ashamed or embarrassed anymore, especially not in front of her, so I decided to just get it over with. "Well, one of the summers I was here, a bunch of the girls in my cabin wanted to play 'spin the bottle' so they could 'practice' kissing on a girl before they met boys in high school."

"Classic," Olive acknowledged with a snicker. "Formative experience."

"And they kept nagging me to play, and I kept saying maybe, so by the last few times, Jackie would ask and then do this impression of me-" I put on my best nagging prepubescent voice "-well, maybe Maisie may. It was stupid, but we were like 14. Everyone was stupid all the time. I think, by now, they've all forgotten why they even call me that. It just stuck."

Olive was silent for a minute. Eventually I opened my eyes to find hers already meeting mine. She asked, "Why didn't you just play?"

My voice got quiet then. I watched the twinkling fairy lights making kaleidoscopes on her face. "I mean, you can guess, right?"

She nodded with understanding, our eyes still lingering on one another. "Kissing a girl meant something to you."

"Yeah." I turned more toward her, our knees almost touching. "In hindsight, it would've been a pretty easy way to get a first kiss, but it felt -- I don't know -- cheap, I guess, for it to just be some throwaway. I wanted the stuff I saw on TV, you know?"

Her eyes flitted only briefly to my lips. "Did your first kiss live up to those expectations?"

"Actually, yeah," I admitted, trying very very hard not to look at her the way I thought she might be looking at me just in case she wasn't. I stammered, "At least, I think so. It was nice. Allison Jennings, after junior prom, in the woods behind our school. She wore this lip gloss that tasted like strawberries." I sighed and let my gaze walk along her barely exposed midriff. "How about you?"

Olive pushed some of her hair back out of her eyes. Her voice got casual and light, but there was an edge to it. "Nope. Sloppy and drunk in college, putting on shows for straight guys, not realizing it mattered to me." Then she paused, more serious, a touch of sadness on her lips. "Really, I don't think any of my first kisses have."

The sentence hung in the air between us and I couldn't help wondering if it was an invitation. We were practically strangers, sure, but it was also summertime and we were young and she smelled like spice and citrus and fuck it, right, because her lips were parted. I only had to wonder for a second if this was one of those moments. The one you look back on and regret not making a move or the one you remember for years because you did. I decided to remember as I leaned toward her.

I went ninety percent of the way toward her so that Olive had to close the last inch and a half, had to agree, had to want it. This was random and sudden, but if she needed a good first kiss, I knew I could do that. Her eyes looked at my lips for a split second before she leaned forward to kiss me.

When our lips met, it felt like a first kiss for me, too. My hand went to her waist, thumb resting just above the hem of her shorts, and I pulled her closer to me. She followed my lead; her left hand went to the side of my face. Then, her other hand found the back of my neck, dragging me in closer and deepening the kiss. That simple touch flipped some sort of switch in my body and a little moan left my mouth.

Olive chuckled and my face went pink as I started to back off, not wanting to be too eager or intense or anything. But, the moment our lips parted, she pulled me back in. Our lips parted against each other again. Our tongues touched tentatively as we kissed a few more times, the colorful lights around us shining through my eyelids and our hands exploring one another for just long enough that we knew we had to stop unless we were ready for things to escalate beyond that.

I leaned back, my hand lingering on her cheek, and asked, "That one any better?"

Her cheeks were blushed, her lips parted sweetly, as she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that'll do."

CHAPTER THREE: More Than Kissing

For a few days, Olive and I didn't talk much as everyone got busy with all the tasks that needed doing before campers showed up that weekend. I had to make sure my cabin was neat and clean, get the rulebook memorized again since it somehow left my mind every school year, go over our regular first aid training with other staff, make sure all outdoor activities were up to snuff (boats hole-free, obstacle courses exposed-nail-free, etc.), and every other random task that came up. Olive had to repair shingles in cabins, patch rusty railings, and clean up all the winter and early spring detritus that had accumulated on the camp's many trails.

All that combined meant our contact was limited mainly to stolen glances and brief hellos. Occasionally, we chatted in the dinner line about absolutely nothing. But I knew -- and I thought she did, too, based on the way she looked at me -- that, if we were left alone too long, I'd just want to kiss her again over and over. There was a pull between the two of us that I'd never felt before. I wasn't a virgin by a long shot, but I'd never wanted to just pounce on a stranger and rip their clothes off. And I'd never seen the same desire reflected in someone else's eyes.

It was Friday night, less than twelve hours before we'd open up the gates to let in a flood of preteens, when I walked to the communal bathroom for a shower to get myself good and ready for the busy day ahead. The other girls had either showered earlier in the evening or were planning to in the morning, so it was quiet by the old wooden building.

Inside, the patterned tile had been updated a couple years ago, covering both the floors and halfway up the walls. The first room was all stalls and sinks, then an archway with a sheer curtain for ventilation separated off the shower room. I heard the water going when I walked into the main bathroom, and the shower hall was full of steam billowing out from the last stall. Each shower had its own solid pale yellow curtain with a small sitting shelf built into the wall for toiletries and shaving.