Once the dark brick peak of the administration building came into view the next summer, I became restless and bounced around in the passenger’s seat. It was a painfully long school year without getting to see Roman. We mailed each other our school pictures, otherwise only communicated on the phone once a week or sent occasional emails whenever I got a chance to make a trip to the library.

I lived for our conversations. Roman had insisted on being the one to make the calls in a way that didn’t make me feel bad about not being able to afford it. The handful of times he was late, I’d stare at the phone and hold my breath until it rang. One time his basketball team played a tournament in DC and he didn’t get home until hours later than what he thought because one of his teammate’s parents took them all out for dinner. Of course I figured he either forgot to call or decided he didn’t want to talk to me, and cried myself to sleep. The next morning he called to tell me what had happened, and I was all too quick to forgive him.

Roman was almost as passionate about football and basketball as he was about singing. I literally listened for hours as he explained each of his games, nearly play-by-play. Though I loved hearing his voice, I missed the sparkle in his sea green eyes when he teased me, and the way his shoulders shook whenever he laughed. I missed the comfort that came with his back-rubs, and the warmth of his body when I sat pressed against him. I missed everything about his reassuring smile.

On Christmas morning, fortunately while my aunt was still in bed, he called me to sing “Jingle Bells,” accentuating every “bell” and teasing me afterwards that it was my song. He was the only one who ever called me Belle. The nickname never failed to make my heart race.

Once it came time for auditions in February, I made myself sick worrying whether or not I’d make the cut. I cried with relief when I got the letter, and called Roman right away to give him the good news. He cheered so loudly that I had to pull the phone away from my ear. The next day there was an adorable stuffed teddy bear delivered to our front door by a florist with a “congratulations” balloon tied to its paw. The milk chocolate colored bear was soft, with eyes too big for its head, and just the right size to hug. I slept with it every night.

After that my heart ached so badly for Roman that I started to wonder if that’s what it felt like to be in love. I knew I loved him as a friend, because it wasn’t possible to cherish him any more, but I wasn’t sure if the fluttering in my stomach meant something deeper.

The idea of loving someone that way terrified me for so many reasons. Because of how I felt, Aunt Joey never said the words out loud, though her love showed in the way she bent over backwards to take care of me. I didn’t tell her much about Roman, and planned our calls around her shifts at the diner. It’s not that I was embarrassed or anything, I just didn’t want her asking questions.

“Settle down, half-pint,” Aunt Joey teased as she pulled into the camp’s grand driveway. “I’m going to have to pee if you keep bouncing around like that.”

I instantly settled, not wanting to give her an excuse to stay as I raked my eyes over the campers for any sign of Roman. The Jeep wasn’t even in park before I grabbed my “new” bag—something less embarrassing that I had bought from the thrift store with babysitting money—and kissed Aunt Joey on the cheek.

“See you in August!” I called out.

On my way to the front desk, I only recognized one girl who threw a general “hey” out my way, but I didn’t care. My heart was beating out of my chest knowing Roman would appear at any moment. After I got my cabin assignment from Beth, my counselor the prior year, I threw my bag next to a tree and watched the cars pulling in while I gnawed on my already short nails.

Roman made me promise to wait for him before I checked into my cabin, but he must’ve been running considerably late. I twirled my sleek hair between my fingers, wondering if anyone would notice that Aunt Joey paid to have it straightened as a surprise going away gift. The salon had cut several inches from my hair so it was just past my shoulders.

And I was wearing a bra.

It’s not like I was in a DD cup or anything—more like a generous A to be exact—but I felt mature and couldn’t wait for Roman to take notice. In the school picture he sent, he had looked exactly the same since summer. That was back in October, so I hadn't expected him to have changed in that short amount of time. But it seemed the guys in my grade were transforming from boys into men in subtle ways nearly every day, so I didn’t know how many changes to imagine after all those months apart, especially when he was a year older.

A sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb and somehow, I just knew. I took slow, nervous steps toward the car. When the back door opened and I saw the top of Brooke’s blonde head, my stomach dropped to the sidewalk. Roman had warned me ahead of time that they’d once again be sharing a car, but it made me ugly jealous when I remembered how much time she would’ve spent with him the last nine months since their fathers were close. Thankfully she didn’t see me when she headed to the trunk to meet the driver.

Then I saw Roman slipping from the car. My heart stopped before I kicked it into a full-on sprint. I landed awkwardly in his arms, pressed up against something hard.

“Belle!” he cried, gently pushing me back. “You’re going to crush my guitar!”

My face was on fire when I took a step back to look at the giant case I had crashed into. “You never told me you play guitar!”

“That’s because I just started taking lessons this spring.” He pulled me with one hand and hauled the guitar in his other over to the sidewalk. After setting the guitar in the grass, he lifted me off the ground, squeezing me tight. “That’s better!”

I think his chest was a bit broader, and he had grown at least an inch. He was wearing a strong men’s deodorant that tickled my nose. My Roman had changed, but I still felt the same when safely wrapped in his spindly arms.

In that moment I realized he would always be my Roman. I didn’t get to see him nine months out of the year, but even in those unbearably long months, he was still mine.

“Let me get a look at you, Belle,” he said, setting me back down on the sidewalk.

While he was checking me out, I did the same to him. His hair was a bit longer, his jaw was slightly more squared, and his Adam’s apple was more pronounced. Otherwise his face hadn’t changed. Well, except for the way his starry eyes seemed to take my slightly larger curves in with appreciation. An electric current ran through me from his gaze, making it clear things were different.

“I like the haircut,” he said, taking a chunk between his fingers and pulling lightly. “But you kind of look…girly.”

I made a face and set my hands on my hips. “What’s wrong with girly?”

One of his shoulders lifted. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were taking guitar lessons?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I get bored in the spring without any sports, so I thought I’d try something new. I’m not the best, but…” The smile he first gave me over the campfire the year before stretched across his lips, and joy spread through every inch of me. It felt like coming home. “Com’ere, you!”

He grabbed my shoulders and drew me closer. My heart jumped against my ribs when I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, he tucked me under his arm and ran his knuckles through my hair. It couldn’t have been any more the opposite of a kiss. I read him all wrong.

“Roman, stop!” I whined, trying to wiggle away from him. The brotherly gesture was a blow to my pride, and I was annoyed that he was messing with my hair.

“Roman!” someone called out behind us. “Dude!”

Then he released me to greet a few of his buddies with enthusiastic handshakes and hugs. I recognized all of them from the year before—especially the one who had once called me “trailer trash.” Roman completely ignored me as he caught up with his friends, like he literally forgot I was there. Feeling the burn of embarrassment, I quietly slipped away to grab my bag and headed up to my cabin.

Once I picked a bottom bunk in the corner, I changed into the camp uniform and washed the long car ride from my face. In the bottom of my bag, there was a small, narrow object wrapped in bright pink wrapping paper with an attached tag that read “Happy birthday Isabelle!”

My stomach sank when I recalled the painful conversation I had with my aunt last fall. I didn’t tell her about my melt-down with Roman, or how for a fleeting moment I wanted to drown myself in Lake Tahoe. But I did tell her that campers weren’t allowed to have flowers. I made up some story about how I was told they were in the office, and wouldn’t be allowed to keep them. It made me sick lying to her, but I couldn’t stand to look at those damn roses, knowing what they represented. I couldn’t stand the thought of being embarrassed in front of the entire camp like that again.

As I was the only one in the cabin at the time, I decided to open the present that day to spare myself from encountering another embarrassing incident. It was a tube of mascara, the kind they sold in the drug stores. Probably worth less than ten dollars, but words can’t express what that little present meant to me. It was an olive branch from my aunt, who normally insisted that makeup was ridiculous even though I told her all my friends were allowed to use it.

With a giddy smile, I held the little tube to my flat chest. I’d no longer be the odd one out at camp. And maybe Roman would finally see me as something other than his buddy.

* * *

That night, as I entered the dining hall on my own, I was so nervous that I wasn’t sure I would be able to keep anything down. The last summer I had gone to nearly every meal with Roman, but when I discovered he was already at a table with a bunch of his friends, the center of attention as always, I knew I was going to have to eat alone. The tall room lined in cedar was already bustling with other campers, so I quietly slipped into line, hoping my presence would go unnoticed.

It wasn’t until I had filled my tray that I realized I was going to have to pick a table without him. The only open seats were peppered among other campers who hadn’t exactly been friendly. Roman’s table was loud, his boisterous laughter drawing the attention of every girl in the room, so there was no way I was going to ask to sit with him. My spirits sunk. I spent an entire school year looking forward to seeing him again, and it was as if he already forgot about me.

As I looked around the room I began to sweat, wondering if it would just be better to take my food back to my cabin. Then I noticed a small girl sitting far away from a bigger group of girls with her head down and shoulders slumped. I was once that girl before Roman came along, and knew too well what it was like to be the outcast.

So I marched right over to the girl and asked, “Is it okay if I sit here?”

Her head lifted, and she smiled brightly. She was really pretty—intriguing hazel eyes and long, light brown hair that was angled around her oval face. Her skin was smooth and slightly lighter than some of my Native American friends back home.

“Yeah!” she answered excitedly.

I slipped into the open chair across from her. “I’m Isabelle.”

When her cheeks spread wider, two dimples popped into place. “Melanie.”

“Is this your first time here?” I asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“I was here last year,” I mumbled, pushing food around on my plate. “Where are you from?”

“Minnesota.” The word sounded more like “Minne-soda,” but I didn’t tease her. It’s obvious the other girls had already singled her out, so I wasn’t going to do anything to make her feel like an outsider.

As Melanie and I got to know each other over chicken and mashed potatoes, we became fast friends. She was a year younger and had also won a scholarship through tryouts. Her grandma had paid for her flight, and she had traveled all by herself. She was one of the nicest people I had ever met, and we were thrilled to discover we would be staying in the same cabin. Her voice was low and almost husky, but when she laughed it was a high, light sound like the tinkling of bells.

After we finished eating, we grabbed our sweatshirts from our cabin before I led her down to the sound off. We were so busy talking that I didn’t notice Roman was sitting in one of the chairs until we plopped down across from him. He was holding a black acoustic guitar in his lap, beautiful starry eyes glowing from the fire’s amber light. I was so enchanted by the way he looked that it didn’t register at first there was a blonde draped against his side.

Brooke.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I watched them flirt, almost like boyfriend and girlfriend. It was dumb of me to think there was anything special between me and Roman when all we had were a few phone calls and each other’s pictures. Brooke had access to the real deal. They went to the same school—she probably went to every single one of his games, and got to hug him after. They probably went to school dances together, and hung out with the same group of friends.

A wave of nausea swept through me so violently that I had to look away.

“Isabelle?” Melanie asked from my other side, her voice hesitant. “You okay?”

I wiped at my wet eyes, forgetting I was wearing mascara, and nodded. Just then Eric, our leader from the last year, stepped into the circle to greet us, and Melanie raised her hand when he asked if there was anyone new. Then Eric asked who wanted to go first and Roman once again was the first to volunteer.

I tried not to look at him, I really did. But after that first strum of his guitar, I had to watch him play for the very first time. His head was bent way down as he watched his fingers move, but he worked the instrument like it was second nature. The chords swam around the cool summer breeze, sending a chill up my spine.

Then his voice joined in. I vaguely recognized the tune as an old 80s ballad Aunt Joey had played a few times before. The chorus came in about getting closer to heaven together, and I was all at once humming along in harmony. I swear he never messed up once, although I was too wrapped up in the lyrics to pay a fair amount of attention to the guitar. I wanted to pretend the song didn’t have any meaning, especially relating to us, but just like the year before when he sang “Brown Eyed Girl,” I somehow knew better.

When the song came to an end and everyone began cheering, I realized my face was wet with tears. It wasn’t until then that I felt Roman’s eyes on me. When I met his gaze, he was giving me one of his brilliant, reassuring smiles over the flicker of orange flames. My heart slipped up into my throat. Before then, I thought he was through with me. I knew I should ignore him, give him the cold shoulder he had given me after his friends had arrived, but the pull to the boy I was sure that I loved was too strong to resist.

Then I discovered Brooke staring at me, hands clapped over her mouth, shoulders shaking, eyes wide. She leaned over to the girl on her other side and whispered in her ear until they were both looking at me, laughing hysterically. Soon their giggles were louder than the applause as all the girls joined in.

With the slow burn of humiliation sliding up my neck and settling into my cheeks, I turned to Melanie. Her eyes grew wide before her fingers latched over my wrist. “Oh my god, your makeup’s running.”

As my stomach twisted, I met Roman’s gaze once again to find him grimacing. But he wasn’t telling Brooke to stop. And although I waited for it, a smile of comfort or look of sympathy never came. He almost looked…disgusted.

Before I knew what was happening, Melanie plucked me from the chair and pulled me away from the group in the direction of our cabin.

“Better look out!” I heard Brooke cackle behind me. “There are rabid raccoons on the loose!”

I wanted to keep running, as far away from Brooke and Roman and Camp Oscines as my feet would take me. I wanted to go home. Roman had betrayed our sacred friendship.