The Unveiling of Brielle Davis (The Brielle Davis Series Book 1)

  Copyright © 2016 by Nissa Leder

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Nissa Leder

  Edited by Jessica West

  Interior formatting by Caitlin Greer

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2016

  www.NissaLeder.com

  To my mom, Loretta

  For always believing in me and encouraging me to shoot for the moon.

  The noises started the night Grace died. A whisper in the night, a shuffling in the bushes, an echoing laugh in the gym at school. Sounds no one else seems to notice haunt me now.

  Maybe I’m paranoid. Sleep is a luxury I rarely find. When I do sleep, Grace fills my dreams—her smile, her laugh, all the things gone forever—and I wake up hollow inside. I like to blame my lack of sleep for how stupid I’ve been the last few months, for everything that led to me being sent to summer camp. Maybe I’d be excited if I was seven, but I’m seventeen.

  I browse the brochure in my hand. I think it’s the fiftieth one my mom has given me since she mentioned her brilliant idea to get me out of the house: Cabin Creek Falls, where today’s youth experience the abundance of nature in the Pacific Northwest in a nurturing, emotionally purging environment.

  Gag. Could they have written a more condescending description? I haven’t had much time to dread this whole summer camp plan. Mom mentioned it over pancakes on Sunday morning, as if syrup would sweeten the idea. She tried to get me to agree, but she’d already signed me up so I didn’t have much choice. I had been waiting for something to happen after she caught me sneaking in past curfew last Friday. Mom expected sober Bri, but she got drunk Bri instead. I told her it could have been worse, at least I waited until the summer before my senior year for my teenage rebellion to blossom. She wouldn’t have it, though, so here I am, riding in the back seat of the Durango past curve after curve and on to Cabin Creek Falls.

  We’ve left the city miles behind. Tall pine trees now enclose the endless twisting road. Earbuds hide in my ear, turned up as loud as they’ll go. Music blocks the noises that plague me. I don’t hear things all the time, but whenever a voice or rustle creeps into my ear, I can’t help but shiver. Sometimes I’m blessed with a few days of silence, but it never lasts, and now I’ll have no music. To make this camp even better, it’s an “electronic free” camp—where campers free themselves from technology dependence in order to strengthen their connection to their inner selves. Yuck.

  Rain splashes against the window and blocks my view of the forest. I’m from Seattle where rain and cloudy skies are normal. Apparently, they aren’t as common here on the east side of the Cascade Mountains, especially in the summer. The one thing about camp I was looking forward to was some sunshine. So much for that. As I turn to the front of the car, a figure catches my attention. A woman with long, blonde hair is standing on the side of the road staring. Our car speeds past before I can get a better look.

  “Did you see that lady?” I ask my parents who have the benefit of windshield wipers.

  Mom answers, “No. Why would someone be outside getting soaked?”

  No one normal would be, but I know I saw someone.

  I look out the back window, but we’re too far away now to see much. My finger slides across the thick, slick paper of the brochure in my hand. I read it again, hoping somehow it will have miraculously changed to a normal summer camp. Paragraphs fill the paper. This camp is more sophisticated than any summer camp I’ve ever heard of. The gold font twists into elegant letters and reminds me of a wedding invitation. If I have to be sent to summer camp, why can’t it be one that has me make macaroni necklaces? This camp has acrylic painting, glass bead making, and other fancy classes. My favorite part of the woods is its quiet simplicity and this camp seems anything but simple.

  I try to ignore the empty seat next to me, but I can’t. Up until three months ago, Grace would have been sitting in the now vacant spot, consumed by some classic book. I never understood how she wouldn’t get carsick. Maybe leaving my so-called normal life for camp will help. Escaping the memories etched into our house walls, avoiding run-ins with people I don’t want to see. Both perfectly good reasons to spend the summer away, even if it’s at some weird camp. My practical side knows this, but I still feel like my parents are shipping me away. Good girl strays from the narrow path and gets sent to summer camp. Sounds like some bad 80s movie.

  So up the mountain to Cabin Creek Falls I go.

  A fresh start.

  A chance to be one with nature as the brochure cover promises. Acrylic painting doesn’t scream natural to me. The benefit of living in Washington is the abundance of evergreens and summer camps. What made Mom choose this one? She promises this camp will turn my life around, and Dad just doesn’t want to fight it. Since Grace died, they don’t argue much. It’s worse. They barely talk. I stare at the empty spot next to me again and picture Grace dozing off with her head propped against the window and a book open in her lap. She’d snore one of those quiet but persistent snores. Who knew I could miss something so annoying? The longer I think about her, the emptier I feel. Tears pool in my eyes, but I get it together before they fall.

  A coldness creeps through me, from my toes to my chest, tingling all the muscles in between. A sensation of being watched pierces me. I scan around the car. Nothing. No one. Of course not. Our car is traveling at sixty miles per hour. My exhaustion is just catching up with me. If I could sleep through the night, maybe I could be my old self again, or something close to her at least. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same Bri I used to be. Maybe I’ll just go crazy. Sometimes I think I already am.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve felt the presence of someone who isn’t there.

  An opening appears in the heavy forest. We turn at a large, white sign with Cabin Creek Falls painted onto it in twirly gold letters. Dad drives down the perfectly smooth dirt road to a packed parking lot and pulls into a spot between a BMW and an Escalade.

  “How’d you pay for this?” I turn off my music and pull out my earbuds. My parents owe the hospital more money than they’ll make in their entire lifetime. How’d they budget summer camp, especially one like this?

  “Don’t worry about that,” Mom answers. Of course she doesn’t tell me. My parents used to be so open with Grace and me, but when Grace got sicker, that all changed. They try to shelter me, which is pointless. I find things out eventually, and it’s never easier to take. I’m not the child they treat me like. I’ve dealt with a lot. More than they know. Why can’t they realize that?

  I hop out of the SUV. It might have bothered me before to arrive in the Durango in the midst of all these luxury cars. Stuff like that used to seem important. Now, I couldn’t care less. Money can’t bring Grace back.

  Thanks to the nearly three-hour car ride, my legs feel stiff like they haven’t been used in days. The trip might’ve been faster if we didn’t have to stop at every rest area, but Mom has a small bladder. The rain is barely a drizzle here, so at least I’m not getting soaked.

  When I get to the trunk, Mom asks for my phone. I hand it to her with a groan. Not talking to people is fine with me. Besides my parents, there’s no one back home I even want to talk to anymore. But I’m going to miss the music. It’s the one thing that blocks the noises and distracts me from missing Grace. Anytime I feel my chest constrict or my eyes swell, I blare some Metallica and feel be
tter.

  Now I’ll have no music.

  “Put it in my desk drawer at home?”

  Mom nods.

  A soft please whispers in my ear, but there’s no one else in sight. Mom’s telling Dad how fabulous this camp is. He just nods in agreement to everything she says. I grab my duffel bag from the trunk, pull up the handle, and wheel it behind me. We follow arrow signs to the registration table that sits outside at the edge of the cabins and get in the long line. Campers and their parents swarm around camp like bees on crack. Into cabins with boxes in their arms, out of cabins empty handed. They have so much stuff, you’d think they were going away to college for the whole year, not summer camp for less than three months. I brought a bag of clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, and a pillow and sleeping bag that Dad’s holding for me. It’s camping after all.

  The line moves slowly until it’s finally my turn to check in. Some perky girl in a yellow shirt with the word “counselor” written across in the same cursive as the brochure sits behind a desk. “Welcome to camp! Name?”

  “Brielle Davis.”

  The counselor digs through a box of envelopes and pulls out one with my name on it. “Here’s your cabin information, schedule, and a camp map. Are you her parents?”

  “Yes,” Mom answers.

  “Perfect. Later in the summer, campers are invited to a scary-movie night. We like to get parental permission since some of the movies are rated R, so if you wouldn’t mind signing this waiver? If it’s okay, of course.”

  I want to tell her that I’m already seventeen and can get into a rated R movie without my mommy’s permission, but I bite my tongue.

  Mom grabs a pen and signs. “I’ve never been able to watch those types of movies. They give me nightmares.”

  My life feels like a nightmare, and the dreams I have at night are far scarier than any horror film I’ve ever seen. Mom doesn’t know, though. She’s already asked me if I need to see a psychologist and if she knew I barely sleep a few hours a night, she’d make me go.

  “Thanks, Brielle. We’re glad to have you at Cabin Creek Falls!”

  We step away and let the only camper left behind us check-in. At least I wasn’t the last one here. After being in line for so long, the rest of the camp has calmed down. Parents are saying goodbye to campers and walking back toward the parking lot. The humidity presses against me. A pit forms in my stomach as sweat drips off of my forehead. It’s time. I’m actually gonna spend my summer here at camp alone.

  “I think I can make it from here.” I stop and face my parents.

  Dad hands me the sleeping bag and pillow. He and Mom look at me awkwardly with their arms hanging by their sides.

  “You sure you don’t want us to go with you to find your cabin?” Dad asks.

  “I’m sure I can find it.” I smile to reassure them I’ll be okay. Their frowns let me know it isn’t working. I just want to get the goodbye over with. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this all alone. As much as I try to convince myself I don’t need to be babied, spending the whole summer without them scares me.

  Mom hugs me and kisses my cheek. “I really think you’ll love it here.” The hug feels foreign. I can’t remember the last time I hugged her. We spend too much time fighting lately.

  Dad hesitates until I go to him. He squeezes me tight, hanging on longer than Mom. “We’ll see you at the end of summer. Stay out of trouble, sweetie.”

  “I will.” As I step back, I notice the silver sprinkled through his hair now.

  “Really, Bri. Be good.” Dad tilts his head and gives a stern look.

  “I’ll try.” I lock my arms around him one more time.

  As they walk away, Dad glances back. I smile and give him a thumbs-up. He shouldn’t worry about me now. I’m here to stay.

  I should be relieved. For three months, I don’t have to confront people back home. People I thought were my new friends. Now I know that they were just another distraction, Jeremy the biggest distraction of all. God I was dumb. Dumber than dumb.

  My stroll through memory lane ends as I follow another arrow that says cabins. I set my sleeping bag and pillow on my propped up duffel bag and open the envelope the girl gave me, then pull out the map and unfold it. Cabin 12, my home for the summer, is here somewhere within the rows of cabins.

  As I search the map, a gust of wind blows my duffel bag over and sends my sleeping bag and pillow into a puddle of mud.

  “Well, shit,” I say.

  Another whisper in my ear sends ice up my spine as I bend over to pick everything up. The words are mumbled and I can’t understand them. The wind picks up.

  “That’s no mouth for a lady.” My eyes dart to the tall boy with honey colored hair approaching me. He picks up all my stuff and peers at me with light blue eyes—the same blue as Jeremy’s. The map crinkles in my fist.

  “Thankfully, I’m not a lady.” I reach for my stuff, but he pulls it back.

  “I’m not a gentleman, either, but I’ll help you to your cabin.”

  I glance at the useless map in my hand.

  “It’s my third year here.” He shrugs. “I know my way around.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  As my luck would have it, the rain picks back up. A loud voice echoes through camp. “Welcome to Cabin Creek Falls. Campers, please meet in front of the camp lodge for our opening ceremony.”

  “Wouldn’t want to be late your first day, now would you?”

  There’s no point in letting my stubbornness make me late. I sigh, but I mumble, “Cabin 12.”

  “Now was that so hard?” He chuckles. “Right this way.” He carries my bag on his shoulder and sleeping bag and pillow under his arm. Balancing everything accentuates his bicep muscle. I look the other way. “I’m Carter, by the way.”

  I ignore him. I’m not so easily impressed. Not anymore, at least.

  As we walk past cabins, a guy hovers with his hands tucked into his dark-wash denim pockets next to a counselor who’s leaning against a cabin door. The counselor doesn’t seem to notice the hovering boy, whose eyes watch people cautiously with a scared expression on his face. No one talks to him. The counselor looks right at him without a word. Hovering boy stands there alone. His gaze meets mine, and I smile. His eyes widen. Carter keeps walking, and, since I’m already late, I hurry behind him.

  “You have a name?” Carter asks.

  “Yep.”

  “Gonna tell me?”

  “I could.”

  We stop at a cabin with a big twelve painted on the door. “Thanks, Carter.” I take my bag and give a fake grin.

  “Welcome, babe.” He smirks and walks away.

  I glare. “My name’s Bri, not babe.”

  “Later, Bri.”

  Do I knock or just go in? Before I can make up my mind, the door swings open. A girl in a mint green sundress answers with a grin. Her ombre curls stop just below her chin. “Hi! You must be Brielle. I’m Leila.”

  “Bri,” I correct her. The overwhelming scent of body spray attacks me as I enter the cabin and causes me to cough.

  “This is my best friend, Violet. We’re sharing this set of bunks, but that leaves that side for you and Sadie. She said to let you pick whichever bunk you want.”

  Two sets of knotty pine bunk beds sit on opposite sides of the room with a zebra print rug covering the floor in the middle. A matching vanity covered with eye shadows, lipsticks, and bottles of perfume is pushed against the wall in between the beds. I chuck my bag on the top bunk on the right side. It lands with a thud.

  The cabin itself looks pretty plain, but Leila and Violet have dressed up their side with a couple movie posters and a plastic rack with some clothes hanging on it. My black sleeping bag pales in comparison to Leila’s purple and Violet’s teal ones, each with a silver decorative pillow.

  Leila checks her hair and makeup in the vanity mirror. “We better go before we’re late,” Leila says.

  Leila and Violet look similar, although Vio
let’s hair is as dark brown as it can get without being black and falls all the way to her waist. Both have perfectly plucked eyebrows and manicured nails. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were sisters. Ironic, since Grace and I looked nothing alike, and we were fraternal twins.

  We head back out of the cabin. I breathe in the fresh air, thankful to be away from the body spray fumes trapped in the cabin. Dark gray skies loom in the distance, but, for the moment, the rain is gone. The mugginess presses my skin as we approach the crowd of campers. Everyone’s dressed differently. Leila’s dress doesn’t look like typical camp-wear.

  “I thought there was a dress code?”

  “There is. We’re stuck in boring t-shirts tomorrow, but for the opening ceremony, we can wear whatever we’d like,” Leila answers.

  Too bad I didn’t get that memo. I’m wearing a borrowed a worn band t-shirt from Mom’s closet that she got from a Metallica concert she went to in the 90s. That and my jean shorts might not be the most fashionable items ever, but I’m not trying to impress anyone so, oh well. I get my fashion and music taste from Mom. Grandma always says I’m just a taller version of her, from our need for adventure to our ability to make everything sarcastic.

  Leila, Violet, and I line up in the middle of the crowd of campers. A slender woman in a bright red camp shirt stands on a deck in front of a large cabin. She holds a microphone connected to a portable speaker in front of her. “Welcome Campers! I’m Betsy, your camp coordinator. We’re thrilled to have you with us for the summer. Just a few things to go over before we meet in the cafeteria for our opening dinner.”

  “Same long speech every year,” Leila says with a fake yawn.

  Betsy explains all the camp rules. We’re given a ten o’clock bedtime each night. Mornings start bright and early, and the counselors want us to be cheery and ready to face the day. I get to spend my summer waking up with the sun. Yay. The camp has a “no drugs or alcohol” policy and violators will be sent home. Campers fifteen and younger have live-in counselors, but older campers get to live without them. All seems straightforward enough.