Streetlights Like Fireworks by David Pandolfe Read Free Book Online

nice seeing you again.”
    Anthony’s smile returns. “I always liked that poster you
made. My very favorite, no doubt about it.”
    ~~~
    A few minutes later, we’re outside again and walking toward
the street.
    “I guess that didn’t exactly work out,” I say.
    “I don’t know,” Lauren says. “I mean, we learned a
little.”
    “Not sure I’m with you.”
    Lauren glances over at me. “Well, there was that thing
about devil hill.”
    Actually, that phrase had sort of jumped out at me when
Anthony said it but I assumed it was just an unfamiliar expression. Clearly,
Lauren’s thinking something else.
    “Nothing?” Lauren says.
    I know her at least enough now to suspect a raised
eyebrow. Sure enough, the eyebrow goes up. “Got nothing,” I admit.
    “Maybe Kill Devil Hills?”
    Damn, she’s right. How had I not made that connection? “As
in the Outer Banks,” I say.
    “Pretty safe bet. Can you think of any way for us to get
to North Carolina?”
    I give it a few moment’s thought since I know what it
means otherwise. But there’s just no way. “Not likely,” I admit.
    Lauren nods, her hair falling down around her face. She
pushes it back again. “Yep, exactly. Looks like a done deal.”
    After that, we walk across the parking lot in silence.
When we reach the street, the silence suddenly feels awkward. “Well, it was
worth a try,” I say.
    Lauren nods. “It was, definitely. Keep remaining open to
things, okay? You never know.”
    She hoists her backpack farther onto her shoulder. She
starts walking down the road in the opposite direction from where I’m going.
When she reaches the corner, she stops and looks back.
    I’m still standing there. Obviously, I’ve been watching
her walk away. My face grows warm but Lauren doesn’t frown or shoot me a
knowing look. She just gives a wave and calls out, “Good luck, Pajama Boy!”
Then she starts walking again without looking back a second time.
     

 
7
    Away We Go
     
    On day four, I’m doing my best to keep rowing at ten in the
morning. I’m still groggy from staying up last night, playing through a
headphone practice amp long after my fellow Leaders in Training stopped talking
and called it a day. My face is dripping sweat, my T-shirt already soaked
through from both humidity and exertion. I try to ignore my canoe team as they
keep badgering me to get in the game since we’re losing. Not that this is a
race, officially, since the camp claims all activities to be non-competitive.
The five twelve-year-old boys in my boat don’t seem particularly concerned
about being respectful of my status as an “LIT.”  Evidently, they see it pretty
much the same way I do. Just three more days to go.
    Last year was my first as a “Leader in Training” and I’d
briefly hoped that I’d at least be treated even somewhat like an adult. Not the
case, I quickly learned. We’re bound by the same rules as the younger campers.
We sleep in cabins without air conditioning alongside a bunch of smelly guys
who love sports. We can’t bring computers or use cell phones except at
specified times on weekends. We use the same bathroom shower facility that
smells like a rotting whale carcass. And, of course, we eat the same horrific
food. The only actual difference between being a camper and an LIT is that LITs
have additional responsibilities (meaning, we do what the counselors tell us
to). I have no idea why this would impress any college. If anything, I wonder
if it might have the opposite effect. Who, after all, would be stupid enough to
volunteer for this?
    Still, all I have to do is survive the situation for the
rest of the week. And there won’t be a next time, that’s for sure. This time
next year, I’ll be preparing for college. I’ll be eighteen. I try not to think
about the possibility that my parents might insist I return as a counselor. I
know for a fact, though, that some of the counselors are here as forced labor.
Their parents refuse to keep paying