Lighting the Flames

Lighting the Flames

by Sarah Wendell

Copyright
©
2014 by Sarah Wendell, Smart Bitches Trashy Books
LLC

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including
information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations
in a book review.

Dedication

To Adam

And to everyone who loves and misses summer
camp.

Chapter One

Tuesday, December 16,
2014
—
24 Kislev 5775

Jeremy Gold stood up from his sunscreen-stained
canvas lawn chair, now anchored deep into a pile of plowed snow,
and pulled Genevieve up to stand with him.

“
A
moment of silence for the shit-sucker, if you
please.
”

“
It
’
s not the same when it
’
s this cold
out,
”
Gen grumbled, rubbing her gloves together and stomping her
feet. A small tanker truck rolled past them toward the slowly
opening gate that marked the main entrance to Camp Meira. The
driver waved at them both, then revved the engine to push through
the snow on either side of the road. The plow
hadn
’
t left a path quite wide enough for his
truck.

Gen looked up from the
pattern she
’
d been stamping with the treads of her boots, remembering
something she wanted to tell Jeremy, but when she saw the side of
the truck she started to laugh. The company had upgraded since the
previous summer. A sign that had clearly once belonged to a Jiffy
Lube now read, thanks to creative use of black marker and white
duct tape,
“
Jiffy Latrine.
”

“
That must have taken some work,
”
Gen said, nudging
Jeremy.

Jeremy had bowed his head in his typical gesture of
respect to the Jiffy Latrine cleaning visit, which amounted to a
twenty-minute drive to all three portable toilets in camp. When he
raised his head and saw the sign, he began laughing so hard he
could barely stand up.

“
Now, Jer, that
’
s hardly
respectful.
”

“
It
’
s
Jiffy
Lube
!
”

He bent forward, resting his hands on his knees to
try to catch his breath between howls of laughter. His position
brought his face down from his normal stratosphere, and Gen watched
as tears curled his eyelashes before she looked away.

Then he silenced
abruptly, his face serious.
“
I must have that
sign.
”

“
No.
”

“
I
must
. It is
imperative.
”

“
No.
”

“
You
must aid me in pursuit of the shit-sucker
’
s Jiffy
sign!
”

“
I
will do no such thing. Sit your behind down in your chair and wait
for the bus.
”

“
You
dare question my authority? I outrank you.
”

“
You
outrank me? In what dream?
”
Gen turned to face him, her hands on
her hips. She was biting the inside corners of her lips to keep
from smiling.

“
I
’
ve been staff for longer than you.
”

“
Yeah, you and your long staff. So
impressive.
”
Gen sat back down in her canvas chair, rolling her
eyes.
“
And yet, you
’
re out here with me on freezing bus detail.
Shouldn
’
t you have a more important job, oh highly ranked
one?
”

“
Yes. And I do. Acquisition of the Jiffy Latrine
sign.
”

“
You
’
re nuts. Have fun with that. I
’
m going to sit here
and pretend it
’
s August.
”
Or July, when the air was thick and
humid and relentlessly hot. When she never had a good hair day, no
matter what her hair products promised. When she spent three
straight months wearing a ball cap with a ponytail pulled through
the back loop, leaving her with a nearly permanent crease across
the back of her head. When it was never quiet or still, when there
were campers everywhere and noise and laughter and the smells of
marshmallows, campfires, and
—
depending on the
direction of the wind
—
horse poop followed her all day. When all those
things combined into the sensory distraction that felt like home.
Since her parents had died, camp was the most familiar home she had
within reach.

Jeremy
wasn
’
t being the distraction she
’
d expected, though.
She
’
d hoped that during the few days of Winter Camp, their
friendship could go back to being normal and easy, and she could
pretend like he
’
d never kissed her, like they hadn
’
t been apart for more
than a year with things unfinished and unsaid.
They
’
d covered up the unanswered questions with a mountain of
status updates, texts, e-mail, messages, and digital snapshots,
which were meaningful since they kept her connected to Jeremy
across oceans and time zones, but meaningless in that they
didn
’
t talk about what had really happened, and what might have
changed.

Jeremy seemed to be
acting like his usual giant, goofy self. Maybe he
’
d forgotten that
they
’
d kissed in the first place.

“
You
dream of August. I
’
ll dream of my new sign.
”
Jeremy folded his
arms over his chest and grinned down at her. With her sitting and
him standing at full height with his horribly perfect posture, it
was like trying to look up at the sun
—
painful yet difficult
to look away.

“
You
’
re nuts, Jer,
”
Gen said, shaking her head and
curling into a ball in her lawn chair, desperate for any kind of
warmth. Maybe yoga would help. The kind of yoga where she lit her
chair on fire, hid under four blankets, and drank from a
flask.

“
The
Jiffy Latrine shall be mine! It will be
epic
!
”
Jeremy raised his arms and bellowed into the forest,
startling two birds from their branches and causing snow to fall
directly onto Gen
’
s head.

“
What the
—
Jeremy!
”
With a growl, Gen launched herself from her
chair, tackled Jeremy around the midsection, and drove him backward
into a snow pile. His surprise gave her an advantage, but it was
only momentary.

“
You
dare attack the latrine pirate? You shall pay!
”
Since he outweighed
her by at least an additional person
’
s worth of pounds, it
was no big deal for Jeremy to toss Gen into the snow pile beside
him.

But he
didn
’
t anticipate Gen coming up armed with chunks of very
tossable snow and hurling them at his head with a yell.
“
Never! I
defend the rightful signage of the Jiffy Latrine!
”

“
Rightful, my ass!
”
Dodging both of Gen
’
s snowballs, Jeremy
built a mammoth snow missile of his own and fired at her. She
ducked, rolled past him, and tried to gain her feet long enough to
run past him to the chairs. He grabbed her around the waist, hauled
her into the air and spun her around.

“
You
’
re
an ass!
”
She tried to escape,
but he was too strong, and she was laughing too
hard.

“
And
my rightful ass is incomplete! The Jiffy Latrine shall be mine, and
you shall help me attain my booty!
”

Jeremy moved to toss her into another snowbank left
behind by the plow, but he lost his balance and fell. Gen landed
under him, both of them buried past their shoulders in a slanted
drift of snow.

“
Oh,
crap, Gen, did I hurt you?
”
Jeremy looked horrified, lifting his
body away from hers. She rolled to her side, bracketed in the space
between his arms, sheltered beneath his chest and suddenly in no
need of a flask or any blankets. His proximity was enough to set
her on fire.

Then his hands slipped and he landed on her
again.

His face was so close
to hers, she could only see parts of it at a time. His eyelashes,
curled with tears from laughing. His beard, which
he
’
d
grown in the time she
’
d been away, a mix of red, brown, and gold, now
with a frosting of snow.

He laughed, but it
sounded strained. Jeremy
’
s cheeks above his
beard were already red from the cold, but they burned even deeper
when he managed to steady himself and caught her staring at
him.

He opened his mouth, and she heard him draw a breath
to reply, but he was cut off by the sound of another engine coming
down the camp road. He stood up and quickly pulled Gen to her feet.
Looking at the ground, at themselves, at the road, and not at each
other, they pushed wads of wet, clinging snow from their arms and
legs.

“
Great. We
’
re going to welcome ten families into camp like
we
’
re the abominable snow couple.
”
Gen closed her eyes,
feeling her own face burn. Great. She
’
d just made things
more awkward. But Jeremy didn
’
t seem to notice or
care that she
’
d called them a couple.

“
Excellent. Now you
’
ll have to help me
score the Jiffy sign.
”

“
Why, spousal duties?
”
She gave up worrying about what
she
’
d said. It was easier to laugh and joke they way they
always had instead of thinking twice or three times about what she
was going to say.

“
Yeah. Doodies.
”

“
You
are so twelve.
”

“
Great! Then I get presents
’
cause
it
’
s
bar mitzvah time.
”

“
Yeah, today you are a man. A snow man. Get your own sign,
Frosty.
”

Then she felt a touch behind her head. Jeremy had
removed his glove and was pulling snow from her hair with gentle
fingers. It felt like her hair had nerve endings, the feeling of
him carefully removing ice from between the dark curls sending
tingles over her head and down her back.

Sure,
she
’
d be able to pretend like nothing had happened between
them, while his touch made her jump like she
’
d scuffed her socks
on the carpet and touched a light switch. No big deal.