The summer I met Isabelle, I couldn’t sleep the first night of camp. The way Brooke had treated her pissed me off something crazy, and at the sound off, the other girls were just as big of jerks. So I sang “Brown Eyed Girl” just for Isabelle, hoping to make her feel more welcomed, because she has the richest brown eyes I’d ever seen—so dark they blend in with her pupils.

From the ratty duffle bag she held in the registration line, it didn’t seem her family had a lot of money, and I had guessed right away that she was probably there on a scholarship. Though I hadn’t heard her sing yet, I knew she must’ve had a great voice or they wouldn’t have picked her out of all the applicants.

Even though I thought Isabelle was pretty, it didn’t mean I liked her that way. There were a lot of pretty girls at camp. And I didn’t see a point in “dating” anyone there when we’d all be going our separate ways at the end of summer. At that point in my life, I was more interested in hanging out with the guys. But I knew what it was like to be the odd one out. There was a time before I was the shit at Camp Oscines, before my father became a CEO of a multi-million dollar corporation in Manhattan and before we left our home in Palo Alto, when other kids didn’t like me.

Back in kindergarten, I developed a stutter. It was ten times worse whenever I was anxious or upset, making me a prime target to bullies. Once my parents learned what was happening, they yanked me from private school and hired both a speech therapist and a tutor to work with me from home for the remainder of the school year. Over time I realized they were embarrassed by my speech impediment, so I learned to hide it from anyone else. I should’ve known my old man was more worried about his image as a stand-up father than my well-being as his son.

By the time I started the third grade, I had found a new voice both literally and figuratively. I became a cocky little shit, unwilling to let anyone knock me or any of my friends down for being different. With every year my confidence grew, and my singing voice seemed to naturally progress at the same time. Music teachers were always choosing me for solos and holding me after class to literally sing their praise.

Once I entered middle school, my mother was all at once determined to make me try out for Broadway auditions and meet with talent agents. I refused, claiming that kind of thing didn’t interest me, that I just liked to sing for fun. Most of the kids I hung out with would’ve thought singing in shows was lame, and I didn’t want a reason to stand out yet again. Deep down I was mostly worried that once I was standing in front of anyone like that for auditions, my stutter would return.

The summer I was twelve, my mother announced I was going to Camp Oscines, and I was truly excited. It was a chance to hone in on my skills on a smaller scale, and find out if I was any good, or if my mother and vocal coaches were just blowing smoke up my scrawny, pimpled ass.

Around my peers, I was more comfortable than I could’ve imagined, and by the end of the summer, they were treating me like royalty. But a part of me always wondered if they would still like me so much if my stutter returned, or if they even knew I once had that problem.

That night as my thirteen-year-old self lay on my back with my hands behind my head, I stared at the cabin’s log ceiling for hours before I finally decided that since the other girls seemed to be singling Isabelle out for having less money than the rest of us, I’d go out of my way to be her friend.

With the plan set in place, I was finally able to drift off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning I showered and changed before the other guys were even out of bed. By the time I made it to the dining hall for breakfast, the cooks were still setting up in the kitchen.

As fate would have it, Isabelle was there, sitting on the floorboards away from the tables and chairs. By herself.

Since she didn’t see me at first, I spent a minute getting a good look at her. She was a tangle of thin arms wrapped around spindly legs with her chin pressed to her knees. Her skin had an olive tone from the California sun, and her curly chestnut hair looked particularly soft.

I knew from meeting her the day before that she didn’t have big tits like some of the girls our age were starting to grow, but those mesmerizing eyes surrounded by thick lashes reminded me of the stuffed teddy bear my little sister had been dragging around since birth. It’s something I’d never admit to another living person, but that stuffed animal was cute enough to make me go all soft inside. And there was something about Isabelle that had the same effect. I started to think maybe she was a little prettier than the other girls after all.

I don’t know what made me hurry down that morning—intuition or the need to check on her to make sure the other girls hadn’t broken her and sent her running home—but I was suddenly relieved that she wouldn’t be alone. I sidled up next to her and sunk to the floor, grinning.

“Hey there, brown eyed girl.”

“Roman! Hi!” Her cheeks flushed a dark shade of red as she smiled back. Something stirred in the pit of my stomach with the sight of her blushing. Back then I didn’t completely understand the feeling of being turned on unless my dick was hard.

“What are you doing here so early?” she asked.

Not wanting to make her think I felt sorry for her, I lied. “I had to meet with the camp director.”

One of her brows quirked teasingly. “In trouble already?”

“Nah, she just had a question about something that happened last year.”

“I had fun watching you last night. Your voice…you can really sing. And perform too.” The blush in her cheeks glowed even brighter as her eyes flickered down to her feet for a moment. “Are you in musicals or something?”

“Are you kidding me? I’d rather scoop my eyes out with a spoon.” That’s probably exactly what my father would do to me, anyway.

“Being up on a stage sounds less painful,” she replied with a little laugh.

For a second I laughed too, even though I was having a hard time breathing normally when those big eyes fell back on me. “What about you? Did your parents move you to California so you’d be closer to Hollywood?”

“My mom and dad both grew up in California, so they never left,” she mumbled, looking down again.

I was bummed out thinking I had made her sad for whatever reason, so I nudged her with my elbow. “I have an idea. Today’s a free day—we don’t have to be anywhere until sound off tonight. They must figure most of us have jet lag or something. I could give you a tour of the campgrounds…I mean, if you want.”

Her big eyes flickered up to meet mine, filled with hesitation. “Don’t you want to hang out with your friends?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m asking you,” I teased, nudging her again. “We can be friends, right?”

Her lips sunk into her mouth as she thought for a minute. For a second I was worried she thought I was being a jerk. Then she released her lips and shrugged. “I don’t think the other kids will think it’s cool.”

“Why? Because you’re a girl?”

“Because everyone knows I’m here on a scholarship.”

“Screw everyone. I don’t really care how you got here. I’ll bet you could out-sing any of the girls who are only here because their parents have too much money and don’t want to have to deal with them for the summer.”

“Is that why you’re here?” she asked in a soft voice. “Your parents didn’t want you around?”

I shrugged like it didn’t bother me. “Doesn’t matter. Trust me, a few weeks from now you won’t want to leave. And I’m willing to bet by the end of summer, you’ll win the final round at sound offs.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t heard me sing yet.”

“Yeah, but sometimes I just know these things. What do you think? Winner gets to pick loser’s punishment.” I held my hand out for her to shake. “It just can’t be anything gross or illegal.”

She glanced down at my hand with a curled lip. “Are guys and girls separate? If they aren’t, that means I have to beat you too.”

“I see your point. That’s almost impossible.” Grinning, I rubbed at my jaw. “Hmmm…I’ll bet that in the final round, it’ll be down to just me and you, regardless of who wins. What do you say to that?”

She stuck her hand out, giggling. “You better be prepared to lose this bet.”

I brought a hand up to my mouth and spit in my palm. Though I’d never actually done it before, I was trying to make her laugh. And it worked.

“Ewww!” she giggled, sliding away from me. “I’m not touching your saliva!”

“Why not?” I teased, inching closer. “Afraid of cooties?”

With the taunt she straightened her shoulders and pressed her pouty lips into a hard line. “Fine.” She took my hand, pulling a face when she felt my spit. “Ick. Boys are so gross.”

“Like girls aren’t?” Holding her hand tighter, I scrambled to my feet. “Let’s steal some food from the kitchen and start that tour. I don’t feel like waiting around.”

When I pulled her up next to me, she stumbled and fell into my arms. Although we were both laughing and couldn’t get away from each other fast enough, I couldn’t make my throat swallow and my heart was suddenly pounding so hard that everything else went silent.

There was something special about the girl with big brown eyes. It was going to be the best summer of my life.

* * *

At first my buddies were pricks about me and Isabelle hanging out. One of the guys in my cabin was even dumb enough to ask why I’d want to hang around with “trailer trash.” I tackled him to the ground, earning my first disciplinary action at Camp Oscines.

But once I made it clear that she was my friend and I wouldn’t let anyone give her shit, everyone started being a little nicer to her. Well, everyone except Brooke.

After hanging out with Isabelle for three solid weeks, I realized I had more fun with her than with the guys. She wasn’t like the other girls at camp who were always throwing me flirty looks and giggling whenever I was around. She got excited when I pointed out different kinds of plants while hiking, and she was eager to bait a hook herself once I showed her everything I had learned the summer before. She was determined to ride a paddle board, and didn’t care how dumb she looked or how many times she fell.

Best of all, she always knew how to make me laugh, and taught me not to take everything too seriously. There were rumors going around that she was my girlfriend, but Isabelle and I were close enough friends that we didn’t care.

On the first of July, she finally agreed to practice warm-ups together before both our morning and afternoon sessions. It was the first I had heard her sing, and I can’t say I was anything less than totally blown away by the sound. She was especially happy that day, smiling non-stop and bouncing around like a little kid. At first I had no idea why until mail call at dinner.

Adele, the camp’s director, came out with the day’s mail under one arm, and carrying a simple vase filled with one pink rose and one blue in her other hand. It was a sad-looking little bouquet, like something cut fresh out of a garden. When I turned to Isabelle, intending to make some smart comment about how the director must have a boyfriend, my friend’s face was the reddest I’d ever seen it.

“Looks like we have a birthday, boys and girls!” Adele called out, setting the box on a table and holding the vase high. “Isabelle Martin, come on up here so we can give you a proper Camp Oscines birthday greeting!”

An odd little beat of silence followed as everyone turned to stare our way. At first Isabelle ducked her head against my shoulder, too embarrassed to stand. So, as her best friend at camp, I gently took her hand in mine. The look of betrayal on her face gutted me as I coaxed her to her feet. But I decided it was too late to back down without causing her even more embarrassment.

“Ooooh, Roman got flowers for his girlfriend!” one of the guys yelled out. A bunch of chuckles followed until I glared back in the direction of the voice.

“Roman wouldn’t buy anything that sad looking,” Brooke snickered, meeting my glare. “They must be from someone in her trailer park.”

There were a few giggles from Brooke’s friends, but it seemed everyone else held their breath, waiting to see what I’d say. Isabelle pulled away from me before I was fully aware she had gone. I twisted around in time to see her dark hair flying behind her as she sprung from the dining hall.

“That’s enough, Brooke,” the director warned in a sharp tone. “We don’t make fun of our fellow campers.”

I sprinted after Isabelle, ignoring the snarky comments hurled my way. She was already down the long stairway and headed for the thick of the woods by the time I made it outside.

“Slow down, Belle!” I shouted, scaling the steps two at a time. “You never told me you were a track star!”

When she didn’t turn back to laugh like she usually did with my lame jokes, I realized she was more upset than I knew. I finally caught up to her at the other end of our favorite path that split right down the center through the giant Jeffrey Pines, leading right to the lake’s shore.

I’ll never forget walking up to her that day, seeing her silhouette framed by the still water and the peaks of mountains in the background. It was the prettiest thing I had ever seen.

Wordlessly, I ran up to her, wrapping her in my arms from behind. I had never hugged a girl like that before, but it felt natural with Isabelle, like we’d done it a thousand times before. Her shoulders shook as she cried, and her little sniffles could barely be heard over the water lapping against the shore.

“Forget what Brooke said, she’s a bitch,” I said, bending to rest my head against hers. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

“Because…I don’t like…to celebrate it,” she answered with hiccuping breaths.

“Why not?” I pushed.

“I just don’t!” She wiggled away from me, running toward the water.

She didn’t say much about her life outside of camp, which was perfectly fine by me. I didn’t want to talk about New York either. But I was suddenly curious what she would be going back home to at the end of summer. What was making her so upset? Who had sent her the flowers? Who didn’t want to celebrate their own birthday?

At first I just stood there and watched as she continued into the water, wondering why the hell she’d want to get wet in her clothes. Then I started to worry that she was planning to drown herself when she ducked her head under.

“Belle!” I cried, running after her. I wrapped my fingers around one of her arms and tugged. She struggled against me. “Belle! Stop!”

Finally she gave in, and I managed to pull her back to shore. She was coughing and sputtering as I coaxed her to sit in the sand. I squatted down to her level, taking her face in my hands. “What were you doing in there?”

“I want to know how they felt,” she sobbed, collapsing against me like a rag doll.

“How who felt?” What happened to make her this way? Wrapping my arms around her shivering body, I glanced over my shoulder, hoping a counselor would find us because I had no idea what to do.

But no one else came, and Isabelle wouldn’t answer me. I held her tight until she stopped crying, then walked her back to her cabin. She was so quiet and sullen that I was worried she had somehow broken. I ran to my cabin to change into dry clothes while she showered. When I returned to her cabin, I found her curled in a ball on her bunk, her wet hair soaking through the oversized t-shirt I guessed she normally wore to bed.

Since she still wouldn’t tell me what was going on, I crawled onto the mattress at her side. When she put her head in my lap and closed her eyes, I played with her wet hair until she was sound asleep.

* * *

That summer was over in what felt like the blink of an eye. After her birthday it took a few days before Isabelle was back to her old self. By the end of July, she was participating in solos at the nightly sound offs.

Her voice was flawless. I don’t know how else to describe it. Though she said that she was most comfortable using alto, she was able to properly project her voice at any pitch with a strong sound that gave me chills. Once she was comfortable enough to sing in front of everyone, even those who were known to call her names behind my back let up on her a little and gave her flattering compliments. One of the senior girls even started calling her “little Beyoncé.” No one could deny she was awesome. Not even Brooke, who seemed pissed that Isabelle had a better voice.

By the start of August, something had shifted between me and Isabelle. We were always touching each other in subtle ways. Without even thinking about it I’d find myself giving her a back-rub or she’d have her head on my shoulder and I’d have my hand on her leg. It’s as if we were silently comforting one another, knowing the end was near.

Too soon she’d be riding home with her family, and I’d be on a plane back to New York. It’d be nine months until we’d see each other again, assuming she’d get another scholarship. I couldn’t breathe whenever I realized it was possible she wouldn’t get one and we may never see each other again.

Although we exchanged email addresses and our home phone numbers, I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I was too comfortable in her presence, wrapped in the smell of her coconut shampoo and bubblegum lip gloss, feeling her constant touch, and hearing her angelic voice whether in song or laughter. Knowing I’d soon be back in my museum-like house, alone most nights while my parents were off at charity events and social functions, had me sick to my stomach.

Isabelle’s friendship suddenly meant the world to me, and I didn’t know how I’d get along without it.

Just as I suspected, it came down to the two of us in the final round our last night at camp. I ended up winning with a lively version of Justin Timberlake’s “Señorita.” I made her kiss me on the cheek afterwards to pay off the bet. I swear I almost cried when the car arrived that my father hired to take me and Brooke back to the airport.

“Let’s go already, Roman!” Brooke huffed, standing with the back door open and tapping her fingers against the window. She absolutely despised the fact that I gave Isabelle so much attention. “Our parents will freak if we miss our flight!”

“Wait for me in the car,” I snapped as I handed the driver my last bag. As I turned my back on her, I braced myself as I prepared to tell Isabelle goodbye.

My friend stood with her flip-flops teetering on the curb, making us almost the same height. “Don’t you…forget about me,” she sang in a playful tone, crossing her arms over her stomach. It’s like she suddenly forgot we were past the awkward stage and onto openly touching each other in subtle ways. Or maybe it was the only way she could comfort herself.

“Like that would ever happen.” I rolled my eyes and pulled her in for a hug. “I’ll listen to ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ on repeat just to make sure,” I whispered into her ear.

Her arms squeezed around me before she pulled away, laughing. “Jerk-face.”

“Don’t go breaking some poor guy’s heart this year at school,” I teased, tugging on a strand of her hair before starting for the car. But suddenly the thought of her spending time with another guy had my guts roiling with jealousy. I looked at her over my shoulder and added, “I mean it.”

“See you next year,” she replied with a casual wave.

As Brooke jabbered non-stop about all the things she wanted to do when we got back to New York, I didn’t take my eyes off Isabelle through the tinted window until she turned to walk away.

It was the first time I realized the dark-eyed girl from California stole my heart.