By Kaia Boyer

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This piece was selected as an Honorable Mention in the First Chapters Contest, hosted in partnership with Penguin Random House and Electric Lit.

Deja Evans and Vivian Wu are thrown into collaboration at summer camp after six months of no contact. Reluctantly, working together is the only option, even as the memories of their time together invade.

1 

Now 

Deja 

The car door slams with a definitive sound that will change lifetimes. 

“You don’t have to,” her mother cautions for the thousandth time. 

Deja shakes her head. “I want to.” 

Overhead, the clouds drift around and loiter like some grayed-over memory, uncharacteristic for sunny, summer Alameda. Maybe it’s because it’s seven in the morning, or maybe it’s because it knows the situation about to unfold. 

Dramatic! she would comment. 

Deja glances down at her phone. Twenty minutes until departure, no texts from Luci (the last thing Luci said being you’re gonna be FINEEEEE before Deja’s response of i don’t want her to be there). She huffs, her breath forming a wispy cloud. 

There’s been moments where Deja’s thought of backing out of this, particularly at the end of it. It wasn’t like she tormented Deja at school, barely even looked at her at that. But the mere thought of spending another six weeks in near solitude with her sounded like a nightmare, bad enough that it wasn’t even worth the volunteer hours. Then she realized that she probably wouldn’t even remember that they signed up anyway and why would Deja give up a good thing for her? 

Deja looks over the hood of the car and scans the crowd a few meters away, queues flowing from cheap tables with young women sitting behind them, parents already hugging their daughters goodbye, then the parking lot. No sign of that familiar Corolla. 

Good. Fine. 

“James, help me with your sister’s luggage, please?” her dad asks.

“Why do I need to?” James says, a roaring number of one foot flat on the asphalt. “I don’t even want to be here. It’s too early. I could’ve just said bye to her last night—” 

“You suck,” Deja calls over her shoulder. 

“Imagine being shorter than your younger brother that’s three years younger than you—” “James!” her dad shouts. 

“I’m not even lying—” 

“Let’s check in while they… handle themselves,” her mom tells her. Deja can agree with that. A banner looms overhead, white with green letters and stark against the sky. Spruce Overnight Camp for Girls, it reads in bold, accompanied by the camp logo off to the right—a minimalist spruce tree in the middle, circled by the title. Upon closer inspection, the two tables have posters hanging off the edge, the further one for campers and the closer one for CITs—counselors in training. They line up in the short line behind that table, just one mother and daughter in front of them. Deja takes it as a welcome excuse to check her phone again, considering it doesn’t buzz because she’s on do not disturb for twenty-four hours a day. Instead of a text from Luci, there’s a reply to her story from Florence. 

won’t have much reception the next six weeks, sorry if i don’t reply, the small text of her story says with a picture of the sunrise behind it. Florence has replied with gonna miss you!!, the little green dot and the words Active now next to her name hovering just above Deja’s vision like a calling. 

Her heart does this awkward skip that makes her click off her phone and breathe deeply, and there’s this little tug at the back of her head, like a fist curling tight around one of her braids and yanking her head up, just to check if she’s there. Deja knows she won’t be. She can’t tell if the urge to look for her is hope or unease. The latter, hopefully. That’s contradicting. Damn it. 

She won’t show up. She’s forgetful and never checks her email. And more importantly, she doesn’t care.

Volunteer hours. Deja needs this for volunteer hours. This opportunity is like an infinite well of them, and all she needs is to concentrate and lower the bucket correctly, and that comes without letting any thought of her ruin this. Just focus on the volunteer hours. This’ll be much more fun without her. 

“Hi! What’s your name?” the woman behind the desk asks as they step forward, light brown hair pulled back into such a tight ponytail that it must be giving her a headache. If she wasn’t wearing a bright purple shirt with the camp logo a little too big on the front, Deja would’ve thought she was another high school senior. Stallion, her wooden-circle name tag declares. Stallion is only a nickname if Deja remembers the introductory email correctly. 

“Deja Evans,” her mom answers for her. “Rising grade twelve, seventeen, Jefferson Col—”

“Mom.” 

“Just in case she needs it!” 

Stallion looks up from her sheets of paper after a few seconds of rustling. “Yup, here you are.” She checks off a box. “How many pieces of luggage?” 

“Three,” Deja says. 

“Mmmkay,” says Stallion, tapping the paper once more before going through her scramble of paper wristbands. She comes up with three orange ones, each with the number four written in Sharpie, and one purple band that she puts on Deja’s wrist. “Just attach these to the handles and all your luggage will be delivered right to your tents. Drop them off in that pile over there.” She nods to the growing pile of luggage in front of the tour bus. “Seating will start in ten minutes, departure in twenty, and please only take up one seat, there’s a lot of kids here.” 

Her mom starts to say thanks and walk away, but Deja can’t help herself. Never has been able to when it comes to her. 

“Has Vivian Wu checked in yet?” she asks. “We—I signed up with her.” 

Stallion looks down, glancing over the check marks beside various names, and shakes her head. “Not yet. If she doesn’t end up coming, that’s fine. I think we have some single CITs registered.” She squints. “Actually, I don’t think we even have any Wus on here.”

Oh. So, she quit. Okay. That’s fine. That’s better. 

If Deja is anything right now, it’s tired, annoyed, and a little nervous, which makes her glad for once that her mother is fussing and doing everything for her, slipping the orange wristbands onto the handles of her suitcase, duffle bag and sleeping bag and dragging them over to the pile. All the while James complains about being awake so early during the summer and her dad tells him he’s going to take away his Xbox, and Luci finally starts texting Deja back. 

loser luci: 
you spent all the last week of school giving me 
an actual presentation of how she won’t be there 

Me: 
okay and 
florence texted me 

loser luci: 
WhATD SHE SAY 

Me: 
gonna miss you!! 

loser luci: 
aw me too 

Me: 
luciana tell me what to say

loser luci: 
idk i haven’t needed to flirt in years 

Me: 
you’ve literally been dating him for like 2 months 

loser luci: 
better than u!!! 

Great. Just the encouragement she needs. 

She glances at the time as she switches back to Instagram. Five minutes until boarding. Fifteen until departure. Below her, her and Florence’s conversation gleams up at her like a nebula, pulsing with energy and not that unlike the rapid beat of her heart. 

She’s not coming. She dropped out of it. Maybe immediately after. Deja won’t let herself think about her further than that. 

Deja doesn’t even know if Viv hesitates—because there’s not a second between Deja’s heart falling splat on the floor and Viv exclaiming the horrid nickname—“Frenchie!”

It’s important to note that Deja is not disappointed. Not when she glances over Florence’s profile picture—her with some mountains behind her, smiling with those red lips that brings up the best arguments in class, strawberry blonde hair streaked with cotton candy blue at the ends—and clicks on their message stream. She goes with the classic you too! ill *try* to send you pics if you send me some because Florence is currently in Cuba. 

The reply comes immediately: deal. 

The beginnings of a smile. Maybe she’s not so annoyed after all. 

“Let me check your bag,” her mom interrupts her child-like giddiness, batting at her arm. “Mom.” Deja reprimands her with a look. “You promised you wouldn’t get like this.”

“Six weeks, Deja,” her mom says, her shoulders dropping and almost sliding her faded-too-expensive purse to the ground. “I was less worried when you were going with—”

“Mom.” 

“Deja.” 

“Dad.” Deja turns to him for aid. “I’ll be fine, right?” 

“She’s not as young as she was when she first went,” her dad says, and oh, Deja is going to miss him. “She’ll be fine, Tam. She can text us at any time.” 

Deja waves a hand at him. “Thank you!” 

Her mother ignores this, but at least she asks instead of digging through her backpack. “Sunscreen?” 

“Yup.” 

“Allergy pills? Advil?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Bug spray?” 

“One hundred percent.” 

“You’re confident you’re sure about this?” 

“Pretty sure.” 

“Are you sure Vivian isn’t coming? She’s always been great at keeping you—”

Her mom hesitates and stops there. A weight settles firmly in Deja’s chest, as if she hasn’t spent the last six months trying to figure out how to make it not do that.

“I’m fine, Mom,” she says, looking over her shoulder to find girls already lining up to get the best seats on the bus. “James, get your ass—” 

“Language!” says her dad. 

“—over here and say goodbye.” 

James is holding his phone horizontally, thumbs tapping hard and fast like gunfire. He raises his phone ever so slightly at the sound of his name. “I’m in a game.” 

Deja rolls her eyes. “Dad, come here.”

Her dad gives her a long and hard hug, her mother, a tight one (Deja thought she was going to pass out). Expectedly, her brother gives her a side hug before returning to his game. The first camper takes her first step onto the bus, and Deja turns and takes a breath, listening to the fading sounds of her family retreating behind her. 

Six weeks. As many volunteer hours as one could dream of—if she does a good job. And a better chance at getting into Northwestern. 

Spruce Overnight Camp for Girls, her first home away from home. Her parents sent her with her elementary friends when she was eight and came home with a desire to be an astronaut, which evolved to now, to be an astrophysicist. Again, at twelve, where she came home not only with a desire to kiss girls but a desire to reinvent herself into something better. That came with summer internships, programs, for years, where she couldn’t go back to Spruce without losing out on working toward getting into a top university. Until now. 

She’s so ready to go back, to get away from the city, see all the stars without the city lights. Really think about what she’s doing, where she’s going, despite the fact she’s already longing for her computer. To just be. She’d been informed that they would have to come up with nicknames because campers liked to snoop online as soon as they got home, so, maybe, she could let herself shake off the Deja Evans, top of her class, ambitious and stubborn, for just a bit and let herself relax while also having the comfort of knowing she’s working toward her future at the very same time. 

She hadn’t realized until right this second, staring at the line forming before her under a mellow gray sky and dry, excited chatter around her, how much she’s needed a break. 

She’s only taken one step into this newfound peace before her mother’s called out her name. “Deja!” she shouts, sandals clapping against the cement. “You forgot your ChapStick!”

Deja meets her halfway with a sigh. It is, indeed, her ChapStick, that she was pretty sure she put 

in the side pocket of her backpack and the very same she suspects her mother took during their hug to get her to say another goodbye.

“Thanks, Mom.” She already has Deja in another embrace. “But I really need to get going if I want a window seat—” 

A car swerves into the parking lot, heads turning with a murmur and a few jumps of shock. And some part of her had already known. 

The Corolla skids to a stop, somehow landing in a parking space legally. The near-collapsing engine hadn’t even turned off before someone’s clambering out of the passenger side door. Tall, lanky even with muscle, wavy black hair trimmed neatly just before her shoulders, clad in gray sweatpants and a black hoodie. Vivian Wu steps out of the car, gaze searching and landing true. In that single moment, their eyes meet. 

You’ll always be the first person my eyes land on. Fuck. Junior homecoming. 

Deja doesn’t even know if Viv hesitates, or pauses, or anything, because there’s not even a split second between this and Viv opening her arms wide, grinning with her face lifted to the sky, between Deja’s heart falling splat on the floor and Viv exclaiming the horrid nickname—“Frenchie!”

Process

It’s a major part of my process to sit and think about a piece before writing it, so when I got the idea to write this book, I spent about two months thinking about it before I even opened a planning document. By that point, I was bursting with ideas, and wrote a large majority of it on Bard College at Simon’s Rock’s college campus, full of greenery and fun to inspire my descriptions. I ended up writing the book in less than two months, and editing it is always a grand time.