Don't Ever Change by M. Beth Bloom

Author:M. Beth Bloom
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperTeen
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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I SPRINT ACROSS camp, past the abandoned swimming pool and the empty archery range, past the bungalow by Steven’s office and the outdoor amphitheater, until I get to the parking lot where the last of the big yellow buses is reversing out to leave down the long, curving exit road. I kneel over, panting from the run, wiping sweat from my forehead, and spy a few tiny campers’ faces peering out through the dirty rear window of the bus, their tiny hands flailing at what they think is my bye-bye wave.

Over on the edge of the parking lot by my car, there’re a few other cars still there, and some counselors standing around talking. Even though I can’t quite make out their faces, one of them looks like Booth, the old-timey-named nice guy I’m looking for.

“Booth!” I shout. “Booth!”

Booth turns around and looks at me like I’m insane.

“Booth! Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure!” Booth shouts back, standing there, waiting.

“No, can I talk to you over here?” I shout again, pointing to the ground next to me. Booth hesitates but then reluctantly jogs over.

“What’s up, Eva?”

“What’s up with you?”

“Everything’s . . . cool.”

“It is?”

“Yeah,” Booth says with an amused smile, “it is.”

“Okay, cool, because I just wanted to make sure you knew that Foster is really responsible, and I’m less responsible but still, you know, competent.”

“You’re not the only ones who make out in the break room,” Booth says, his smile turning sort of sleazy, like he’s looking at me differently, like he’s seen me on TV or something.

“Okay.”

“You’re just the first one to get Foster into it.”

“Well, Foster’s not that into it,” I say. “I pretty much forced him.”

“Oh ho ho,” Booth says, and then there’s that look again, that cable TV look.

“Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Trust me,” Booth says—and I don’t, I do not—“I wouldn’t want a frenzy.”

“What do you mean, a frenzy?”

“With the other girls. They’re all about Foster.”

I glance over Booth’s shoulder. Everyone’s scowling at us. Male, female, all of them.

“Foster?” I say slowly, confused.

“Every summer,” Booth tells me. “It’s like a contest.”

“And is he all about any of the other girls?”

“Who cares?” Booth says, grinning.

“Well, please don’t tell anyone, okay, Booth? Promise? Pinkie swear, promise?”

“You sound like one of your campers.”

“To me that’s a compliment,” I say, and fold my arms.

“Chill,” Booth says. “I’m not going to tell.”

“Thanks.”

“C’mon,” he says, motioning to the cars.

“Totally,” I say, but don’t move.

In high school, which I admit was basically five minutes ago, a gaggle of girls who might or might not like me wasn’t too intimidating. I had my own friends and we had our own thing and part of that thing was making fun of everyone, and that felt really solid, really stable. The trick was to exist somewhere between the Bully and the Bullied, and that somewhere was Above It All. There’s TGIF and then there’s TGFI: Too Good For It. But every day was TGFI, four years of TGFI, which

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