At seventeen Emma was no stranger to weed. She’d done her share of experimenting but she’d never cared for the high. She’d abused alcohol some, too. Got drunk just enough times to regret some of the things she’d said and done, and so her interest in marijuana and booze had fallen off a cliff.
Rona, seated a few spaces over from Emma, jumped up and circled the fire to take the joint, press it between her lips, and inhale deeply. She kept her eyes on the guy who’d offered it up, Donovan, even though he was still looking at Emma. He liked Emma, she knew, but she didn’t care. She was used to male attention. But his interest in her had clearly pissed off Rona, which amused her.
Brooke, on Emma’s right, said, “Joy’s not leaving us overnight by ourselves. She’ll be back.”
“Nah, she’s gone,” another one of the guys answered. That was Lanny. Kind of a douchebag. Kinda funny. Emma wasn’t sure what she thought of him. “The sad sack’s not here. We’ve got the place to ourselves till tomorrow afternoon, so party on, dudes.” Lanny got to his feet and did an impromptu bump and grind with his hips, part sexual, part plain stupid. He wore baggy shorts and a camp T-shirt and made goofy faces. His ears stuck out from beneath a shaggy haircut of brown hair. Everyone laughed and even Emma smiled.
Joy, who was kind of down and mopey, was the midthirty-ish director of the summer camp owned by Mr. and Mrs. Luft-Shawk. The Luft-Shawks had tried to entrench the name “Camp Fog Lake” but everyone still called it Camp Love Shack not only because it sounded like their names, but also because it had the reputation of being a hot, hook-up place. Emma could attest to that last part. She’d spent an exploratory half hour with Donovan behind the mirror, a space about the size of Mom’s broom closet, but in truth her mind had been set on someone else. Donovan and his ilk were just a summer distraction and when he’d tried to jam himself into her standing up, Emma had pushed back as far as the space would allow and let him know that was the end of whatever was between them.
As if realizing her thoughts had touched on him, Donovan, who’d stretched out on the ground after passing the joint, roused himself again and sat up. His longish hair was dark in the shadows but she knew it was brown, streaked blond from weeks in the sun as a lifeguard at the lake. He had a great body, strong arms and chest that showed beneath the unbuttoned white shirt he’d tossed on over a pair of khaki shorts. All the girls wanted to be with him, which was, truthfully, why Emma had considered giving him a whirl behind the mirror. But like Lanny and Owen, Donovan was really just another horny guy looking to get laid. None of them knew the first thing about how to treat a woman. Hell, how to treat another human being. Bring up the word “relationship” and they would run away as if chased by a hive of hornets. Respect, consideration, and basic kindness were foreign concepts as well. All they were good for was quick sex with a hard body, if you were so inclined. She didn’t even like kissing him or his ilk and had gotten a reputation around the camp for “no mouth stuff.” They were all too eager, too slobbery, too much tongue. Took the thrill of a summer fling right out of it.
There was another guy who’d caught her eye. He wasn’t hanging out with any of them around tonight’s campfire and was a bit of a mystery, which was what intrigued her the most. He wasn’t part of the camp as far as she could tell. She was still debating on him. A last hurrah before the rest of her life began. Just thinking about the future made her happy and anxious and determined all at the same time.
She glanced over at Rona and Brooke. They were both regarding Donovan reverently. They knew he’d been with Emma and they wanted a crack at him themselves.
Good luck, girls.
“You know why it’s called Fog Lake, don’t you?” Donovan said. He arched a brow for effect and threw a glance over at Brooke and Rona.
“Let me guess. Uhhhh . . . because of the fog?” Rona smirked at him. She was medium height with short, dark hair that flopped into her eyes in a cute, boyish way and yet she was all curves and knew how to use them. She slid a look Emma’s way as if to say, I’ve got his attention now, bitch.
Emma could feel herself rise to the challenge and reminded herself that this summer was just a pause before the beginning of her real life. Let Rona have him.
“Not just a fog. It’s this dense curtain of—I’m not making this up—water crystals and tiny cells that are part plant and animal in origin,” Donovan said in all seriousness.
Emma squinted her eyes at him. Was he for real?
“Animal?” Brooke questioned, cocking her head. She swept back the curtain of light brown hair that fell across her face. She, too, was medium build; both she and Rona were a bit shorter than Emma. Brooke was seemingly more reticent than Rona, but Emma had caught her assessing her more than once with those green eyes and suspected Emma Whelan had been a very lively topic amongst the “three hottest chicks at camp, after Emma,” according to the boys. Those chicks included Rona, Brooke, and their third friend, Wendy, who was seated one over from Brooke.
Now Wendy, who up till this point had been sitting like a statue, stirred. She was petite with curly brown hair she tried to constantly tame into a ponytail. Her elfin chin quivered slightly and she complained, “You’re just trying to scare us.”
“No shit,” was Lanny’s jovial reply. He grinned and waggled his fingers at her, as if he were throwing a hex on her. Wendy shrank into herself and hid behind Brooke.
“So, the fog is alive?” Emma questioned dryly.
Donovan shrugged. “It’s not regular fog. It’s thicker. And it moves in slowly and creeps across the lake and hangs there. After it recedes, dead bodies have been found. Ask Joy, if you don’t believe me.”
Emma said, “The fog kills people. It’s alive and it kills people. Let me write that down.”
“People die when it comes around,” Owen Paulsen jumped in quickly, shooting a glance toward Donovan. He was shorter and more compact, with longish, dark brown hair and was Donovan’s lieutenant, always ready to defend his friend and maybe catch some of his hero’s hand-offs, where the ladies were concerned.
“So, the fog can think, too,” said Emma. “Very evolutionary of it. If it was just made up of plant crystals, well then, the killing would be more reactionary, like plants, I suppose. But made up of animal crystals . . . that means it can think. If that’s the case, the fog might actually know who it’s killing.”
“Shut up,” said Donovan with admiration.
Lanny groaned. “You sound like a teacher.”
Rona stately flatly, “The bottom line is: stay away from the fog. Fine with me.”
“That’s right. Don’t go out in it,” warned Owen, once again looking to Donovan for support. “When it rolls in, just stay in your cabin and don’t come out.”
Donovan said in a hushed voice, “The last time it crept over Camp Love Shack there was a body left on Suicide Ledge.” He glanced back in the dark to his left, as if throwing a look in the direction of the infamous slab of rock that daredevils used as a means to launch themselves into the lake. That was how people died. By underestimating how far out you needed to leap in order to avoid the lurking boulders in the water just below the surface of the lake far below.