Anything but Normal - Melody Carlson [9]
“You’re sure it’s okay to take the Jeep?” Sophie clutched the keys. She so wanted out of here.
“Of course. Just drive carefully. I’ll drop Carrie Anne off at your house later to pick up the Jeep. Now you just go home, take some Advil, and get some rest.”
“And put some ice on that chin,” Mrs. Morris called out.
Sophie thanked them and moved as quickly as she could toward the parking lot. All she wanted was to escape from those mothers and their aggravating conversation. And away from the others before the boats came back and they returned to camp for lunch and to gape at Sophie like she was a sideshow freak.
But mostly she just wanted to escape from Dylan. She could tell—by the way he had looked at her (or rather, the way he hadn’t looked at her), by the way he had spoken to her (or avoided speaking), and by the way he couldn’t wait to get away from her—that it really was over. Almost as if it had never been. What they’d had was finished, and it was meant to be buried and forgotten. Sophie was no fool. She should’ve known that this was how it would end.
She cautiously backed up the Jeep, thankful that her brother had taught her how to drive a clutch when she was only fifteen. She took care not to scrape against the tree trunk or the bulky SUV. How had Carrie Anne managed to wedge the Jeep there so tightly?
Finally out of harm’s way and exiting the parking lot, Sophie took in a long, deep breath. She asked herself how an intelligent girl like her had ever fallen for someone like Dylan in the first place. Why hadn’t she known better? How could someone so smart do something so freaking stupid?
“It’s easy,” he had told her on that first day they’d spent time together at camp. It was matinee Wednesday, and while the prepubescent campers were parked in front of a full-length film with unlimited junk food, the camp counselors got to enjoy a little break—two blessed hours free from all responsibilities.
“I’m really, really scared.” Sophie stood there, frozen with fear, staring at the big log that stretched like a bridge over a fast-moving creek about twenty feet below.
“Come on,” Dylan urged her. “You can do it.”
“No, I can’t,” she said. “I have absolutely no sense of balance.”
“Just hold my hand.” He calmly extended his hand to her, smiling that gorgeous smile. Without even thinking, she took it. And perhaps for the first time ever—or at least for as long as her seventeen-year-old memory served—Sophie’s body slipped into motion, moving effortlessly and almost unconsciously, following his lead. It was almost as if they were dancing. Her steps matched his, and like a dream, she gracefully made her way across the log. It was truly magical.
Of course, she had to go and lose it on the other side. She shrieked as her foot slipped on a piece of damp moss, and she knew she was history. She envisioned herself splattered down below—rescuers struggling to pluck her lifeless body from the creek, the camp director calling her parents and informing them of the sad news.
But in that very same instant, Dylan reached out and grabbed her hands with both of his and pulled her toward him onto solid ground. “Careful there,” he warned.
Her heart pounded like a jackhammer as he continued to hold on to both her hands, steadying her and gently edging her away from harm’s way and toward him. Finally they stood face-to-face. She was just inches from him, and her hands, still clasping his, were now shaking uncontrollably. Whether it was from fear or unbridled passion, she wasn’t even sure. But when he looked down into her eyes, she knew she didn’t care. His eyes were an intense blue, like a deep mountain lake. She imagined herself diving into that lake and swimming.
“See?” His face came closer to hers. So close she could feel his warm breath. “I knew you could do it, Sophie.” And then, like a dream come true, he kissed her . . .
Suddenly a horn honked from behind the Jeep, and Sophie realized now that the light had already turned green. She put the Jeep into first and too quickly released the clutch, causing the engine to stall. Bart’s words