Summer of '99 by J. L. Hyde

Author:J. L. Hyde
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, Thriller, Murder Mystery, Michigan Authors, Oklahoma Authors
Publisher: J. L. Hyde
Published: 2022-04-26T00:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

My days at camp fall into a blissful routine. Breakfast. Swim Class. Free Time. Lunch. Arts and Crafts. Quiet Hour. Nature Hour. Dinner. Free Time. Write a letter to Jessie to tell her everything she wasn’t around to see, tuck it in my backpack, get ready for bed. Rinse and repeat. Every minute of free time is spent at the activity courts with Jessie, Aiden, and the rest of the crew. Occasionally, Cassie and her friends come uninvited to sit with us, but I don’t mind because Aiden doesn’t pay them any attention.

I absolutely love that Vinny won’t give her the time of day; it makes her seem a little more human to me. She basically throws herself at him whenever she and the clique are around, and he barely seems to notice. It’s beautiful.

At lunch each day, Dave does mail call and shouts the names of campers who have received a letter or (better yet) a package from home. Last year, I got one letter from my Aunt Betty and nothing from dad. Although my feelings were a little hurt, I understood. Jessie didn’t get any packages either.

I normally tune out as he is doing mail call to distract myself from the jealousy I feel towards the campers who get boxes filled with chocolate, chips, and magazines from their loving parents. I know there must be a mistake when Dave yells, “Quinn Harstead,” while holding a medium-sized brown package. He repeats himself, scanning the room for a camper to stand and approach him so he can set it on the table in front of him and move onto the next. Jessie nudges me hard. I walk slowly to the center of the mess hall, fully preparing myself for the embarrassment of walking back to my seat empty-handed after learning that he made a mistake.

When I’m within a few feet of the table, I recognize dad’s sloppy handwriting on the box. I can’t believe it. Dad sent me a package. I grab it very nonchalantly and tuck it under my left arm, as if I receive care packages all the time. I sit back down and casually set the box next to me while I finish my cherry pie, but I can feel Jessie staring at me.

“C’mon, Quinn, it’s the first time either of us has gotten a package; you’re really not going to open it?”

She’s right. I don’t need to be playing it cool. My dad, who doesn’t have the patience required to use his blinker (“It’s nobody’s damned business where I’m turning”) has sat down, filled a box, taped it shut, and drove it to the post office to send to me. This also required him to look up the mailing address for camp in the welcome packet we received, which makes this an even grander miracle.

“You’re right.” I smile and begin tearing open the tape. Several small items are separated by crumpled up pages from The Daily Press.

The package contains: one box of Girl Scout cookies (which

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