After MTV night, the summer took on a much different routine. Hayley began her day by checking the staff's nights-off schedule and plotting how she would bribe or coincide or persuade one of her fellow counselors to cover her night duty. She suffered countless exasperated sighs directed her way from Leah, who clearly disapproved but never reported her when Hayley poured herself into their shared counselor's quarters at 2, 3, sometimes 4AM. The summer wore on and the days became torturous for Hayley to endure; she kept her head in the bar down the street and people started to notice that it wasn't at camp, where it was being paid to be. She'd show up to activities late and dismiss the kids early, never conducting her leadership role with the enthusiasm she had exhibited earlier in the summer. She spent every free second secretly checking her phone, kept in her possession illegally, hoping for a text from Beth confirming or denying evening plans. Whenever she was able, she took cover behind a boulder or pine tree, her inhalations staggered and anxious, and stared at Corey's number in her phone, wondering if she'd ever have the right opportunity to use it.
Her new obsession rang no warning bells for herself, as she felt her daydreams about Corey were realistic and grounded in possibility; often times in her cloudy synapses they were drinking beers together and shooting pool in the quiet hours after the bar closed; or somtimes they were walking into the back door of a concert hall after a three-hour roadtrip out-of-state to see a band that Corey's band toured with last summer. She never fantasized about marriage or old age or even what it would be like to be his girlfriend and having to cope with his constant absence and temptation due to his touring gigs. Instead, she pictured him sitting next to her on the sidelines of the camp's basketball court, helping her referee a roller hockey scrimmage between the two oldest male cabins. She had discovered from her new friendships with the bar regulars that Corey loved hockey, specifically ice hockey. Evan and Trent told her stories about how they all got together once or twice a week whenever the boys were home from tour to play, and according to them, Corey was one of the sloppiest players of all their friends. But, Trent had said with reverence, despite being sloppy and skinny, he could take the hardest hits out of any of the other guys. "He's a beast," Trent had said. "And whenever his team wins, they get drunk and he taunts everyone for being pussies in this douchebag French accent he does. It's pretty fucking hilarious."
Hayley wished it was Corey whom she was refereeing in hockey. When she took her campers on hikes around the lake, she wished that some situation would arise in which he'd come ambling past them on the trail and decide to tag along. Everything she did, she imagined what it would be like if he was there too. After one particular week where she managed to spend four straight nights at the bar, during a cabin henna tattooing session, Shea asked her what henna she'd like, and Hayley wound up with a red bass guitar on her left ankle. She was consumed.
The routine continued and Haley found herself more and more hungover for the wake-up calls in the morning. Leah gradually assumed all responsibility for the cabin; she began to treat Hayley like one of the other eleven-year old girls, but Hayley was too fatigued and distracted to get angry about it. Her thoughts were too often dedicated to anaylyzing Corey's every facial movement and voice inflection from the evening before, considering if it might mean he was thinking about her. She spent meals sketching his face on napkins, wondeirng if the customary goodbye he had given her had lasted longer than usual or if she had just selfishly and unconsciously held on to him for a beat more than normal. When her campers asked who she was drawing, she'd just smile knowingly and say "Oh, just some boy I know. . ." Once, laden with suspicion, Leah had questioned her further about that very face that was cropping up on napkins at almost every meal, smudged with ink. "Does he have something to do with the fact that you're gone every night?" she demanded of Hayley, pulling her privately away one morning.
Hayley had shrugged and angled away from Leah, indignant. "You wouldn't understand," was all she could offer.
Leah had stood, hands on her hips, mouth straight as a ruler, and her hair pulled back in a harsh bun. "You know I could turn you in in a heartbeat," she had said authoritatively. "I don't know why I haven't yet. I don't know why anyone hasn't yet. You've taken so much of the other staff's nights off and not returned the favor once."
Leah had looked like such a mother that day; the tigther her hair was pulled, the more her voice took on a disappointed-not-mad tone. Hayley had covered her face with her hands and sighed loudly. "Okay," she said, voice muffled by the flesh barrier surrounding it. "I'll stop getting everyone to cover my night shifts for me."
That was the first night Hayley snuck out of the cabin.
---------------------------------------------------
Corey ran his hand over the CD inserts taped to the wall. "Are these in chronological order?" he asked.
Hayley flopped back onto her bed. The alcohol in her blood forced her limbs stationary, and she moaned slightly. "Yeah," her mouth mumbled. "Just by the year."
He laughed as he read off some of the album titles. "Where You Want To Be ? You actually paid for that one?"
"Twice. My first copy got ruined at the beach. Scratched up by sand."
"That album was garrrrrbageee, Hayley." He was slurring a little.
She lifted her head in protest, eyes closed, face full of expression. "It. Was. Not. You are just a hater, Corey Jackson."
He gave her a dubious look, wasted on her eyelids, but exaggerated with intoxication. "That band died when John Nolan left, my darling, and youuuuu know it."
Hayley could feel his snickering through his voice, and she shook her head. "No sir. You are wrong." Picking herself up, she pulled the insert off the wall and flipped it open with a flourish. Her vision was double, but she didn't need her eyes; she knew the lyrics she wanted to recite by heart. She had memorized them a long time ago. "this glass house is burning down, you light the match & I'll stick around, I'll give you everything you want and wish the worst of what I was..."
Corey sank down next to her on the bed, resting on his knees. He snatched the insert out of her hands and dangled it right above her head. "Tonight won't make a difference..." he sang, flinging the pages aside and falling back next to her.
Hayley smacked his arm. "You sure know the song well enough for saying that album was garrrrrbageeee," she drawled, drawing out the last word to mimic his snobby tone from earlier.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment