Free Things I Can't Forget by Miranda Kenneally Page A

ask Brad, wiping water off my face.
    He shakes his head. “If I manage to save enough money this summer, I’ll take a road trip across the country.”
    “I’ve always wanted to do that!” I smile, skimming the surface of the pool with my fingertips. “I’d love to drive the entire California coast.”
    “I always wanted to see the Grand Canyon…and Yosemite. I maybe want to become a park ranger…”
    “So working here is sort of like training to become a ranger?” I say with a laugh.
    He chuckles. “I’d much rather deal with snakes and bears than kids going through puberty. Seems easier.”
    We laugh together.
    Brad seems like a really good guy. A normal guy. So what’s going on with him?
    Before dinner, while the kids are forming a rowdy line, Megan pulls me aside. We sit together on a boulder outside the cafeteria. “How’s your first day going?” she asks with a smile.
    “Good so far,” I reply.
    “I really liked the candles you made in arts and crafts this morning. The campers’ parents are going to love them. I took some pictures to send to the regional conference.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Keep up the good work.”
    I smile to myself, happy that everything feels a bit lighter today. Keeping busy keeps the bad thoughts at bay.
    On Tuesday afternoon, when we’re walking back from kayaking at the lake, a kid from our group, Marcus, falls and cuts his leg open on a sharp stick. He bites into his lip as blood gushes out, coating the blond hairs on his shin. The cut looks totally tetanus-shot worthy.
    Brad picks the boy up and throws him over his shoulder. “I’ll patch him up. Can you get the fire and burgers started?” he asks me.
    I swallow and nod, not sure if I’d rather deal with burgers or blood. They both sound equally terrible. I lead the group of nineteen kids back to Cardinal by myself. While the campers change out of their bathing suits, I begin taking the spatula and frying pans out of the milk crates, and glance at the fire pit. Glance at the fire pit some more. I pick up sticks for kindling, narrowly avoiding a patch of poison ivy. Poison oak? Which is it?
    I drop the wood in front of the pit. Set my hands on my hips. The sun is setting lower and lower, and I only have about an hour to get this fire started, cook the food, and get my campers to Great Oak before the talent show starts. Not to mention I have to set up for the talent show too.
    I kneel in front of the pit, matches in hand, and arrange the logs and kindling the way Matt showed me on Saturday morning. Glancing to make sure no one’s watching, I smash some paper towels up under the logs and light them.
    Fire whips through the paper towels. I smile. But then the flame goes out and I have to start over. This happens three more times. I have no idea what to do. Where’s Brad? Was Marcus’s cut that bad? What if Brad doesn’t come back in time for dinner?
    Two boys from our group, Rick and Michael, walk out of Cardinal cabin and head my way, and then I see Sophie and Claire too. The four of them start talking about the sign. Sophie says that she heard that God spoke to a boy through a campfire last year.
    Is God trying to tell me something here? Is that why the fire won’t start? I doubt it. I just stink at all things camping.
    “Is it time for dinner yet?” Rick asks me.
    “Be right back,” I tell him.
    Matt is two cabins away at Bluebird. About a minute walk. I wring my fingers together and follow the path up to his cookout pit, where a fire is roaring. The kids are already eating burgers and sipping lemonade, and he’s lounging in a lawn chair, plucking away at his guitar strings, playing classical music for them as if these woods are a cafe. He’s like the epitome of the perfect counselor, and I can’t even start a fire.
    He sees me, sets his guitar against the picnic table bench, and hops to his feet. “What’s up?”
    “You’re really good on guitar.”
    “Thanks.” He loops his thumb around the leather cord