All I could think about was the icky feeling of sweat-drenched cloth sticking to my skin. I was never made for the beating heat of a July afternoon. My usually pale skin glowed an irritating red; with an itchy swell I’ve been trying to ignore—but scratch marks and picked skin proved otherwise.
Julie looked up from her book to throw me an annoyed glance. She’s always been quite irritable, but the sprained ankle she got at the start of camp has made her extra huffy. “Maya, stop whistling, you’re getting on my nerves.”
I didn’t even notice I was whistling, “Whoops, my b.” I tried to mean it. ‘Just whistle, the wind will hear your call.’ My dad used to say. It never worked, because it wasn’t real–just like all the other superstitions he stupidly believed in. All it gave me was the addictive urge to whistle thinking the wind will blow my problems away.
Physical labor doesn’t usually phase me. But sitting in my own sweat while making sure a bunch of seven-year-olds didn’t shoot each other with arrows wasn't my preferred way of labor. “We’re supposed to be watching them, y’know.” I throw the comment at Julie, but it’s not like either of us cared what the other was doing. There was even less reason to care given that it’s almost the last day of camp.
“I get 45 minutes of free time from you getting here late.” Julie said without lifting her eyes off the book. Her golden brown hair glowed effortlessly underneath the sunlight, making my frizzy waves look like they were being burned in comparison
Julie and I weren’t particularly close, but we ended up sticking to each other the past three years we worked at camp; I don’t snitch about her vape, and she doesn’t snitch when I accidentally sleep in. “I was late for 20 minutes.” I argued. I think it was only 20 minutes.
“Labor tax.” She coldly delivered.
“125% tax?!” I guffawed. Julie just rolled her eyes in response, it wouldn’t hurt her to crack a smile every now and then but I knew this was her own version of a joke.
“Do you have plans after camp?” She changed the subject.
I snickered knowing she wasn’t gonna like my answer. “Forgotten Chronicles comes out later this week so I’m rotting the rest of the summer away.” I’ve been trying not to think about it too much or else my fingers start twitching and the sun starts feeling too overwhelming. But the thought of finally just locking myself in a room and burning my eyes on the screen felt like distant liberation.
“Of course.” She scoffed.
“Why, what’s up?” I asked.
Once more, she answered without looking away from her book. “My brother’s throwing an end-of-summer party at home and he said I can invite people, I guess.”
“An invitation from THE Julie Kim?! Is it my lucky year?” I held my hand to my chest with an exaggerated gasp.
“Only if you act normal.”
“It’s like you don’t even know me.” I sarcastically answered.