Sunrise Read online

  “Are you?”

  She stared, unblinking, into his eyes. Hers were a perfect shade of crystal clear green. Then, when he couldn’t take his eyes off hers, she broke away and smiled a faint flirty smile. This was the Danica he remembered, the Danica he fell for last summer. “We’ll see,” she said.

  Cassie was late to orientation, so late she pretty much missed the whole deal. She didn’t know how it happened—she’d gone off to stow her surfboard somewhere, ran into Tori, met Tori’s bunkmates, talked for a while, called her parents to say she’d settled in, took a walk by the water, maybe a longer walk than she’d meant to, and when she realized she was supposed to be at the C.I.T. and counselor orientation she was already an hour late. She ran across campus, but by the time she arrived she’d missed all the counselors’ and junior counselors’ names and hearing whatever assignment they all had for the evening.

  In fact, the orientation was now breaking up and everyone was heading off as if they all had somewhere to be. Cassie followed some of the C.I.T.s toward what appeared to be the makings of a luau on the beach. She was relieved to find Tori sitting with her bunkmates near a small bonfire.

  Cassie made her way over to her cousin. “Tor, I totally missed orientation,” she confessed.

  “What orientation?” Tori said.

  “Exactly!” Cassie said.

  “You should go tell someone,” Tori said. “You should—”

  Then a large shadow fell over the sand.

  “Cassie,” Simona said nicely enough—though so loud it broke up the girls’ chatter, “aren’t you one of my C.I.T.s? You’re not here as a camper. The rest of the C.I.T.s are over there, making this luau happen.” Then she walked away and left Cassie sitting there, her face hot and not because she was sitting so close to the fire.

  “Oooooooh,” said Tori’s bunkmates in a hush.

  Tori poked Cassie in the side. “Um, you should totally get up.”

  “Yeah,” Cassie mumbled. She wasn’t sure how she’d managed this one, but it looked like she was officially in trouble with the C.I.T. director on her very first night at camp. Cassie the surfer had been a trophy-winning phenom. Cassie the C.I.T. was turning out to be a bit of a mess.

  “See you guys later,” she said quickly to Tori’s bunkmates and hustled over to the group of C.I.T.s that had gathered away from the bonfires.

  “Here she is,” Simona said as Cassie ran up. “As I was saying, the C.I.T.s have time for social hour later. Right now we’re on the clock, and we want to make this a great first night for everyone. There’s work to do, so hop to it!”

  When the group scattered, Cassie rushed over to Simona. “I’m so, so sorry,” Cassie said. “I got lost and missed orientation and—”

  Simona held a hand up so she would stop talking. She gazed at Cassie for a long moment. “Some girls have wanted to be C.I.T.s for years,” she said. “Not everyone who applies gets a position.”

  “Oh,” Cassie said. She looked down at her feet. “I’m really sorry.”

  But Simona’s face softened. “Just try not to miss anything else,” she said. She waved Cassie toward the rest of the C.I.T.s, who had broken up into groups of three or four. Cassie noticed that the snobby C.I.T. from that morning, Danica, was with two girls who gave Cassie a shared stare-down as they passed on their way to the barbecues. Cassie looked for Micah but didn’t see him.

  “You’re with us,” a girl with auburn hair said to Cassie. “I’m Andi, remember?” Cassie recalled the blur of a girl who’d introduced herself quickly outside the C.I.T. bunk.

  “Sure,” Cassie said, relieved to be with someone she sort of knew.

  “And there’s one more,” Andi said. “Where is he?” She shaded her eyes to search the crowded beach.

  Cassie’s stomach sunk. It would be just her luck to have to work all night with the guy who’d witnessed her first mortifying moment of the summer. She felt sure he would be the one, so sure—until Andi started yelling out a name and Micah wasn’t it.

  “Charlie! Did you get lost or something?”

  A floppy-haired guy came up. He was probably sixteen, the same age as Cassie, but there was something a little off about him, making him seem out of place on the island. It was like that song from way back on Sesame Street, about how one of these things is not like the other . . . He was that thing not like the other. All the other C.I.T.s—guys, girls—were tanned and fit and wearing swimsuits and shorts, and Charlie was exceptionally pale and skinny. Plus, he was wearing long pants. It was an understatement to say he stood out. He was cute, at least to someone who was into skinny pale boys in pants, which, surely people somewhere, in less sunny climates, were.

  “I’m Charlie,” he said, holding a hand out to Cassie. She didn’t know exactly what to do with the hand—shaking it seemed so formal—but that’s what he did, rigorously up and down, like they were thirty years old and at a business convention. “We’re on fire duty,” he added.

  Cassie found out what that meant soon enough. She, Andi, and Charlie were the three C.I.T.s in charge of keeping the bonfires burning, which takes wood, lots of wood, and isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially if the closest you’ve ever been to a fire was spicy chili or a sunburn.

  Cassie kept lugging loads of firewood to the beach, her arms aching. As she worked, she saw the counselors and junior counselors—not that she knew their names, thanks to missing orientation—chatting each other up by the bonfires. She saw the campers downing their volcanic punch, throwing their Frisbees, playing their getting-to-know-you games. And she saw all the other C.I.T.s busting their butts making the whole thing happen.

  At least that’s what it felt like to Cassie. She kept passing Tori and her friends, who had formed a circle for some game involving peanut M&Ms that Tori had instigated. She told them that she first played it at her old bug-infested summer camp in Pennsylvania. Basically, each girl had grabbed a handful of candy and now she had to tell as many things about herself as she had M&Ms in her hands. Tori waved Cassie over whenever she passed, but in a way Cassie was relieved she wasn’t in that circle, her hand loaded down with M&Ms. She didn’t feel so much like talking about herself. Maybe lugging around firewood wasn’t such a bad gig after all.

  Cassie was coming out of the woods when Andi joined her. “We have to be really careful back here,” Andi said. She leaned in and whispered: “Two words: Wild. Boars.”

  Cassie just shook her head. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I know for a fact you have them on this island,” Andi said, eyes widening. “My uncle traveled to Big Island in, like, 1984 and he slept on the beach and woke up surrounded by these huge monstrous pigs. They ate his breakfast, flattened his tent, and stole his socks. Dude, I am not kidding. In Minnesota, we’ve got deer. Here in Hawaii, you have to look out for, you know, pigs. But the rest of the island’s nice, really.” Andi elbowed Cassie hard. “Cassie, joke! It’s gorgeous here. I love your island.”

  Andi grabbed some wood from Cassie’s arms so she didn’t have to hold it all.

  “But you’ve been to Ohana before,” Cassie said, “last summer, right? And no attack of the wild boars then, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s what everyone says, but I play it safe, you know? Maybe you don’t know. You don’t seem like someone who would play it safe.”

  “What do you mean?” Cassie said.

  There was a pause while they heaved the rest of the wood into the pile. Cassie bent over and caught her breath. When she came up for air, Andi was staring at her curiously in the flickering firelight. “I remember when you came with the other pro surfers last year. Did that big demonstration . . .”

  In the near distance Cassie could hear the campers having a blast—everyone all relaxed and just excited to be a kid, she guessed. She never did any of that when she was younger. She sort of skipped all that stuff to compete. Maybe it would have been fun.

  “I wish I could surf,” Andi said. “I mean I can, technically, but not like you.�
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  Cassie didn’t comment.

  “You’re really good,” Andi said.

  “I guess I was,” Cassie said so quietly she wondered if she’d said it out loud.

  Andi nodded. “Definitely,” she said. “Definitely. But what do you mean was?”

  “Was what?”

  “You said you were good—like, you’re not anymore?”

  Did that slip out? Cassie thought. She hadn’t meant to talk in the past tense. Before she could try to explain herself, Charlie came running up with a bucket. He dumped the bucket on the fire, drowning out the flames and splashing a good backwash on his sneakers in the process.

  “What did you just do?” Andi cried. “Charlie, the wood’s all wet now. You can’t build a fire with wet wood! Where do you come from, anyway?”

  “New Mexico,” he said, confused. What had been the bonfire was now a pool of black soot. Cassie noticed that the campers, counselors, and C.I.T.s all seemed to be packing up, as if the bonfire was over, but Andi had her back to the crowd and couldn’t see.

  “So didn’t they teach you how to build fires in New Mexico or what?”

  “Sure,” Charlie said, “in Boy Scouts.”

  “He does this and he was a Boy Scout!” Andi shrieked, turning to Cassie. “Cassie, explain it to him.”

  Cassie glanced back at the crowds . . . the bonfire was undeniably breaking up for the night. “I think all Charlie was doing was—” Cassie started to explain.

  But Andi broke in, impatient. “If you dump water on a fire, it goes out,” she said.

  Charlie spoke up. “Andi, the bonfire’s over. Simona said we’re on cleanup now. That means putting the fires out.”

  It took a second for it to sink in. Then Andi grinned. “Why didn’t you say so?!”

  Charlie shrugged. “Simona says we have to carry all the wood back.”

  “You have got to be kidding!” Andi said. She turned to Cassie. “Ah well. Tomorrow we’ll be in the water, and that’s all that matters.” Then she winked at Charlie. “All except you, of course.”

  “I work in the office,” Charlie explained to Cassie. “But maybe this summer I’ll learn to surf or something.” He went off, leaving Andi and Cassie alone again.

  “So back to what we were talking about,” Andi said. “What happened? You’re not good at surfing anymore?”

  Cassie shrugged. She wasn’t sure what to say. Finally she just mumbled, “I don’t know, I guess I’m the same as last year.” Another shrug. Eyes darting. Hands knotted together. It would be a miracle if Andi didn’t see that something was up.

  Cassie got her miracle. Because Andi started talking, quickly as usual, and it seemed, for some long moments, that she really didn’t think there was anything odd about what Cassie had said.

  “Good,” Andi was saying, “because I remember the expo last year. You were awesome out there. You caught this one wave and it curled over your head and you sort of crouched down and it looked like you were riding inside the wave, it was insane. I water-ski, and I’m also pretty good on a wakeboard, but put me on one of those big boards you were riding and I tip over, serious! Anyway, what’s it like? Being pro, I mean. It must be, like, the best thing ever.”

  “It’s cool,” Cassie admitted. “It’s like a dream. You travel a lot. And all you’re supposed to do is surf. It’s like someone’s paying me to do this?”

  Andi shook her head. “Wow,” she breathed. “Tell me more.” She seemed genuinely curious.

  Maybe because of that Cassie felt able to talk to her—just as long as the topic didn’t shift to what she was still hoping to avoid. So she told Andi what it was like, ever since she’d started surfing the junior circuit. She talked all about being on a surf team and having a sponsor like Coco Beach, the company that sent her free clothes and surfboards, just so she could be seen using and wearing their stuff, like a walking advertisement. She found herself talking about how weird it was not to be traveling and surfing with the rest of her team right now, like, what was she supposed to do with herself this summer? Like, what do normal people do, someone tell her please! She said that and then clammed up. It had come out all wrong. She’d probably sounded like a snob or a social reject. Or worse: a snobby social reject.

  Andi leaned in. Before she opened her mouth, Cassie knew she’d ask the big question, the one everyone was curious about. And who could blame her?

  “So, what are you doing here at camp, anyway?” Andi said. “I mean, shouldn’t you be, like, training, or competing, or something?”

  Cassie started to explain, “I—I’m just taking a break.”

  Cassie looked around the beach for Tori—her cousin was the only person here who knew why she was taking a break. But Tori must have gone back to her bunk; besides, Tori wouldn’t tell Cassie’s secret anytime soon.

  “But why?” Andi said.

  Cassie’s head filled with any number of reasons: I was tired of competing—not true, not exactly. I don’t want to surf anymore—a flat-out lie. Or just simply the catch-all reason that was no reason at all, Why not?

  But she didn’t have to settle on any of them. Charlie was back, this time with an armload of beach umbrellas. “Uh,” he mumbled behind all the umbrellas, “help?”

  Cassie jumped to his aid. So did Andi. By the time they put the umbrellas away and got all the chairs stacked, the campers had already been sent off for lights-out. It was time for the C.I.T.s to gather in the rec hall for their own set of activities.

  “You’ll love this,” Andi said, grabbing Cassie’s arm. “It’s, like, an Ohana tradition. Now that we’re C.I.T.s, we get to play.”

  “Play what?” Cassie said, getting caught up in the excitement.

  “Truth or dare,” Andi said, a twinkle in her blue-green eyes. “The C.I.T.s always play it the first night of camp.”

  “Oh, cool,” Cassie said, though she did not feel in any way cool about it. Truth or dare was all about doing stupid things and revealing mushy and mega-embarrassing secrets. Not that Cassie would mind a dare, no matter how stupid. It was “truth” she was worried about.

  Three

  A game of truth or dare on the first night of the summer was definitely an Ohana C.I.T. ritual. When Danica had been an Ohana camper, she’d heard rumors of outrageous confessions and ridiculous dares worthy of some new Bam Margera MTV spin-off. Now, as a C.I.T. for the first time ever, Danica wanted to make sure her group of C.I.T.s lived up to the legends of those who came before. But her interest in this particular game of truth or dare went way beyond whatever so-called legends there were to live up to. Right now, her heart was beating just a little faster at the opportunity to go after “truth” with Micah. She had questions. Like, was he into her again? Did he want to start something up like last summer? Could he forgive her for dumping him? And, worse, for doing it in that note? For not calling or e-mailing to apologize? For no Facebook or a MySpace comments all year like he didn’t even exist? Could he?

  Yeah, so many questions. With “truth,” she might be able to get an answer or two.

  She’d dressed carefully for the night. Of course, the outfit she’d worn to work at the luau was the one she still had on for the game, and between then and now she’d somehow come away with a few lava-colored stains on her white bikini top and white skirt. This was thanks to manning the volcanic punch station all evening—she should have known that stuff would stain. She should never have worn white!

  She was considering running back to the bunk to change, but she didn’t want to lose her spot at the choice picnic table or, worse, come back all sweaty from the run. Then she considered sending one of her friends—Sasha or Sierra, both C.I.T.s with her this year—back to the bunk to grab her a shirt. The C.I.T. bunk was maybe a ten-minute sprint there and back from the rec hall, where the truth-or-dare game was to take place. She’d have a shirt in no time . . .

  Then she saw him—Micah. He said “Hey,” and she said “Hey,” and he was wearing a black T-shirt and his hair was lon
ger this year and she couldn’t take her eyes off him and she forgot about the mess of her outfit for the moment.

  She hadn’t told Sasha or Sierra that she wanted Micah back. She could just imagine the conversation:

  “But you dumped him.”

  “Yeah, I know that but—”

  “And you said he was boring.”

  “Yeah, I did say that but—”

  “You said you could do better.”

  She knew exactly what Sasha and Sierra would say: They’d repeat back to her everything she’d said at the end of last summer, and probably worse things she didn’t even remember saying. They wouldn’t understand that maybe—just maybe—she’d changed her mind about Micah. Like maybe she spent all year thinking about him. Feeling stupid. Regretting what she’d done.

  Not that she was 100 percent sure—or even 75 percent sure—she wanted to be his girlfriend again. But it wasn’t something she didn’t want. Let’s just say I’m open, she thought. And it all depends on whether Micah’s open to it, too. Confiding in Sierra and Sasha about it, even though they were her closest friends at camp, would just complicate the issue. Besides, if Micah wasn’t interested, no one could know she was first.

  The C.I.T.s were all gathered in the rec hall, a sheltered structure used for activities and meals when it rained. There was a thatched roof but no walls. The giant room was open to the beach and, in the darkness, the hush and roar of the ocean. This was one of many places on the Ohana campus that Danica loved. But she wasn’t at all sentimental about it—she just made sure to snag the picnic table with the best view and perch herself on top. Sasha and Sierra scrambled up beside her. It was easy for Danica to slip back into her old role: the camp VIP, the one everyone wanted to hang with. Who cared if she had only a few friends back home in Florida? Here, everyone loved her.

  Danica gazed around at the group of kids she’d be spending this summer with. She avoided looking again at Micah. Besides him, there were the usual sports fiends, the summer beach bums, and the spoiled rich kids getting a paid vacay to learn how to surf so they didn’t stay at home and take up shoplifting. Some familiar faces, too.