Unscripted - Nicole Kronzer Page 0,73

leaned back and stretched out his hands to make a point, perhaps, but slid backward off the log onto his butt. His friend laughed and offered to pull him back up. But the tall one shook the help away and stayed down. He was laughing too hard.

Across the fire, Jonas jabbed two marshmallows onto one stick. I smiled, knowing who the second marshmallow was for. At first, he held his stick at the very edge of the bonfire. He grew impatient, occasionally touching the marshmallows, evidently finding them cold. He thrust his stick into the flames and both marshmallows caught fire. I laughed under my breath at the stream of swear words that came out of Jonas’s mouth. He blew out the flames, but it was too late to save the marshmallows. They’d grown so hot, they liquified and plopped onto the dirt. Sighing, Jonas plucked two more marshmallows from a passing bag and tried again. This time, the marshmallows took only slightly longer to catch fire. Will appeared. He said something to Jonas who laughed and threw his stick and burning marshmallows into the bonfire. Then Jonas gazed at my brother who gazed back with so much tenderness, I felt like I was intruding and looked away. When I glanced back, they were gone.

Sirena’s and Hanna’s voices caught my attention next when they started singing a song about some girl named Cecilia who was breaking their hearts and shaking their confidence daily. I didn’t recognize it, but a dozen other people did. Soon they all had their arms looped around each other’s shoulders as they sang the song, even finding some harmony.

I loved nights like this. I loved the chasing and the bonfire-ing and the deep conversation-ing and the marshmallow-burning and the singing. But this whole week, I’d felt sidelined at camp from everything I loved. Especially improv.

Early on in my improv life, Mom asked me why I liked it so much when it seemed so scary. No script? No plot? Nothing preplanned?

“When I’m up there,” I’d told her in the car, “everything falls away. I can’t think about the past or the future. Just what is.”

“Wow. That’s really interesting,” she’d said. “It sounds like you love improv because it forces you to be in the true present.” She’d reached over and squeezed my knee. “And here’s a little life secret: Living in the present? Not dwelling on the past or the future? That’s where true happiness is.”

But for a week about improv, where I should pretty much be in the true-happiness present all the time, this week hadn’t been happy. There were moments, of course, with Will and Jonas and the Gildas. With the Boy Scouts. But maybe the improv hadn’t been happy because I couldn’t ever let the past or the future fall away. I couldn’t when I had to spend my energy protecting myself, worrying about what might happen. Dissecting what already had.

Somehow, Ben had stolen my present.

But what could I do? I couldn’t not think about the past or worry about the future with Ben around.

I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at the fire.

Something popped in one of the logs and sparks shot up above the flames.

If Greek mythology was to be believed, humans had had fire since Prometheus stole it from the gods. Or maybe humans figured out how to harness it when lightning struck a tree.

When we get home, I decided, Will and I should throw a backyard bonfire party for our friends.

I coughed out a laugh. When we get home . . .

I looked around at the people, the trees, the marshmallows. RMTA wasn’t forever. Ben wasn’t forever. I studied the fire. Since the dawn of humanity, there had been countless bonfires before this one, and there would be countless afterward. Even in my lifetime, this night was just—a blip.

Hands on my hips, I blinked back some swirling feeling coming up from my chest, and I stared at the sky.

Stars were starting to peer through the twilight. I shook my head. They had been burning for millennium, too.

This camp, namely this Ben, was not the pinnacle of the universe. Not even close. I had worlds outside this place, outside him.

I exhaled sharply. I had to get out of his orbit.

I just wasn’t sure how.

“You’re crying,” Paloma said, appearing by my side.

I reached up to touch my cheeks. They were wet.

I closed my eyes. “Paloma,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I’m supposed to be smart. How could I