Primal Animals by Julia Lynn Rubin

Author:Julia Lynn Rubin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER TEN

When I wake the next morning, I’m on the top bunk, in Winnie’s bed. The sheets and pillow smell like her.

I think of the kiss we shared last night and feel hot and flushed all over.

The day is slow and lazy once more. Winnie is a little hungover, so I don’t speak of the kiss, even when we join Ginger and Jane for a walk down to the river.

Maybe she doesn’t even remember it.

“The Echo River can cure any headache,” Jane assures us. “It’s magic.”

“It’s cold, is what it is,” Ginger complains. “Y’all swim, I’ll watch. Also … there’s someone I’ve been meaning to talk to.” She nods in the direction of a tall, gangly boy sitting with a small group of friends by the willow tree, and Jane laughs.

“Go get him.”

With Jane and Ginger with us, and so many other campers and counselors at the river this time, there’s no way I can talk to Winnie now. I swallow down my feelings as hard as I can.

Still, she touches me a lot that day. Holds my hand in the water. Pushes me playfully into an incoming wave and shrieks with laughter when I splash her and then chase her to the bank. It’s a sweet, beautiful, lazy Sunday, and tonight we have Sundown Ceremony.

The yellowed piano watches us from the beach. It seems to be waiting for me.

I know the dead moths hanging from the lamppost lanterns on the path back are waiting for me, too. After we towel off and head back, I try my best not to look at them, though I sneak a glance and see: there’s dozens of corpses now where there only used to be a few.

I gag and retch.

“Are you okay?” Winnie asks. She touches my wrist.

“Fine,” I lie. “I’m fine.”

After an afternoon of lounging around in the cabin, playing cards, eating tons of Jane’s candy, and then a late dinner, Sundown Ceremony is held in the Grand Amphitheater, at the very center of the camp. The same place, I’ve been told, that the Midsummer Concert will take place on the fourth of July.

The long benches that lead down the hillside are made of dark wood, as is the openmouthed pavilion at the bottom of the slope. Much like the Little Amphitheater, the seats are carved with depictions of owls and deer and horses, but there is no large canopy to shield us from rain or sun. We are exposed to the open expanse of the sky.

A red curtain hangs from the pavilion’s rafters, as if we’re all about to watch some kind of live theater. Or maybe something like an experimental play, like Ginger suggested.

In the center of the stage is a classic vintage microphone, similar to the kind you might see in old movies or at a jazz club.

Will Caroline emerge from behind the curtain in historical garb and start reciting self-written poetry? The thought is both eerie and hilarious.

From where Unit Seven is sitting toward the rear, we have a perfect view of the sun turning the clouds to blushing pinks and purples.

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