She didn't see Clay at breakfast the next morning. The mess hall was chaos. It was always that way when each week's campers were due to go home. And today was even more hectic because it was the last session of the summer. There were lots of extra chores to be done to help get the camp closed up for Fall. She had enough to do keeping her girls together, helping them pack, wiping away their tears at having to leave new friends, and getting them over to where they would board the buses that would take them back to the various YMCAs that they came from. She packed up her own things too; she would be chaperoning a large group of campers on the bus ride back to her home YMCA.

Outside, the sun was so bright, she had to shade her eyes. As the kids milled about and the buses lined up, she saw Clay. Today he had his glasses on and looked harried, as all the counselors did, trying to get the campers onto the right buses. He wore his red Y shirt and khaki shorts. Those long legs. Those bony knees. She flushed, just remembering last night. She felt awkward and shy, unable to approach him. What had really happened last night, anyway? Nothing.

Clay looked up and saw her staring. He immediately came over. "Joanna," he stated. She smiled. He stepped up close to her and leaned his head into her hair. "Hey, tangerine girl. I missed you at breakfast." He put an arm around her and turned her to face him. "What about your sister? Did you call her? How is she?"

"Yes. I talked to her this morning. She's fine. I was so relieved."

"Joanna, I'm so glad." And he folded her into his arms in a hug. With her cheek against his chest and her eyes closed, she heard the beating of his heart. Or was it her own? Joanna felt in danger of melting into the ground. God, he was so physical. So casually physical. She loved it.

"Clay, would you stop nuzzling that girl-oh, it's you, Joanna-and get over here," said a wiry man with graying hair-the camp director. "I want you to manage the bus assignments this morning. Here are the lists." He held out some papers to Clay.

"OK, right away," he said, stepping back from Joanna and nodding at the director, who strode away. "Got to go," he said to Joanna. "Hey, try not to leave too soon. I have something for you." He moved off, leafing through the papers, and was soon surrounded by a tangle of campers and counselors.

A boy made his way down the aisle to where Joanna sat at the back of the bus, which was almost ready to leave. He was wearing a shirt that said "ClayNation" and featured a hand-drawn picture of a red-headed character who resembled Chuckie from Rugrats. He grinned and asked, "Are you Joanna?" She nodded and he handed her a paper bag labeled "To Joanna, from Clay."

Inside were Joanna's red YMCA T-shirt and shorts, the ones she'd left behind the boulder the night before. She'd visited the river this morning before breakfast, but her clothes had not been there. There was also a note in the bag.

Joanna, I'd like to see you again (with or without your shirt). Last night-you were just too beautiful. Can't wait to finish the song. Please e-mail me or call. Love, Clay

At the bottom of the paper he'd scrawled his phone number and e-mail. Joanna sat staring down at the note in her lap, afraid to look up. Her whole body felt warm, her breasts tingled, and she wondered if she were turning red. Trembling, she remembered how his rising chest had felt beneath her hand right before she'd fainted. To avoid having to share the moment with the young campers around her, she looked out the window. Outside the bus, a little ways away, she could see Clay standing there, talking to his junior counselor, K.C. She let herself smile at his sheer goofiness-red hair sticking up, broken glasses taped together on one side, long matchstick legs sticking out from his khaki shorts.

Clay and K.C. were studying a piece of paper-a list no doubt of campers and their bus assignments. A teary-eyed little girl-Joanna knew the look well-clutched at Clay's shirt. He bent down for a second, whispered something in her ear, and she burst into laughter. He swooped her up in his arms and balanced her on his hip while he resumed his conversation.

Clay looked up and caught Joanna smiling at him from the bus window. She held up the bag so he could see she'd gotten his message. Clay abandoned K.C. in mid-sentence, and walked toward the idling bus, the little girl still in his arms. As the bus pulled out, the girl snatched Clay's glasses from his head. Undistracted, he continued to look right at Joanna. He raised his hand to wave, and then he winked. "Call me," he mouthed. "Call me."

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this story was written in April 2003; copyright Elena Felsig

this page was last updated 5/16/03