Nowheresville, Washington

   The tires crunch on the bouncy gravel road that winds it's way up the steepest mountain in the world. Okay, maybe not, but I swear, every time we make a turn I feel like it's my last. I sigh, and my mom shoots me a look.
   “Look honey, I know you’re upset but it’s not my fault. You brought this on yourself,” She says. Whatever. Kat’s mom didn’t send her to Nowheresville, not that I hadn’t brought that point up before…
    “Try to look on the bright side. Maybe you’ll end up loving it!” Yeah, and maybe pigs will sprout wings and fly. I say nothing, but cross my arms and glare out the window, hoping she catches my sulky vibes. Maybe she’ll feel bad and let me come home early. Again, pigs and wings.  This is going to be a long month.
   The car takes another hairpin turn and the cabin comes into view. It’s tiny, with torn screen windows and fading grey paint, embedded in trees. As we drive closer, the porch comes into view. I almost smile, but catch myself, remembering operation get-me-the-hell-out-of-here. Lindsay and I came up with it. Catchy, huh? Basically, I act as miserable as I can until Mom finally feels bad for me and comes to pick me up.
   Anyway, the porch. It’s huge, raised above the water on stilts and connected to the wooden patio by stairs. There’s a picnic table on the right, and on the left is a giant plastic yellow slide that shoots the rider ten feet and deposits them into what I take to be water. Okay, so that could be fun. There’s a cabinet thing next to the slide, which I’m guessing holds life jackets and noodles and stuff. Maybe there’s even water-skis! I force myself not to get too excited, remembering the top-notch water-ski program back home. The one that I should be practicing in right now. The one that maybee will take me as a late enrollment if our plan works. They know me, after all. Lindsay, Paige and I have been going there since we were six.
   Mom pulls into the narrow “driveway” next to a rickety old station wagon, with chipping red paint. I swear, everything in this place needs a paint job. Including, I notice when I look down, my nails. I’ll do them after I unpack.
   I open the car door and swing my pink and black duffel over my shoulder.  My mom and I walk to the swinging screen door and knock.
   “Helloo,” she calls. “Dad?” Yep, my grandfather is the only one that lives here. I see him like, once every two years when he comes to our house for Christmas. He’s been really quiet since Grams died. I knew her better; she was the one who came to my school concerts, to my ski shows. The door swings open, and a short man with white hair ushers us inside.    
   “Hi dad,” My mom hugs him and gives him a kiss on the cheek.
   “Hey.” I say, giving a little half wave. Well this is awkward. I look around. We’re standing in a living room made up of a saggy orange couch, an overstuffed armchair, a fireplace, and (drum roll please) a portable radio perched on a wooden coffee table. Yep. To my right is the center of the house, a round table with five chairs, and on the other side of that is a tiny kitchen, separated from the rest of the room, er, house, by a blue tiled counter. A doorway next to the kitchen must be Grandpa’s bedroom, and the one next to the living room leads to stairs, which I hope lead to my room. I am not sleeping on the couch.
   Grandpa clears his throat. “Let me show you you’re room,” He leads us up the stairs (thank God), “You’ll be sleeping in the attic.” The attic is the biggest room in the house. Wooden floors are covered in the middle by a round, shaggy, blue rug. The bed is fairly large, backed up against the back wall. On the right wall (across from us) are a wooden desk and a platinum dresser. Just kidding! It’s wooden, just like everything else on this mountain. Not that I'm used to platinum or anything, I swear, I'm not a spoiled brat. The stairs are on the left, and the front is covered in two huge windows, showcasing a picturesque view of the lake.
   “You can close the shades when you’re sleeping or getting dressed.”
   “How nice!” My mother says in a singsong voice. Honestly, I agree, although I would never let her know that.
   “Thanks,” I say awkwardly.
   There’s another long silence, which my mother breaks by saying, “Well, I think it’s about time for me to go.” I suck in a breath and hug her tight, resisting the urge to latch onto her legs and scream TAKE ME WITH YOU!
   “You can always call me using Grandpa’s landline phone, I don’t think there’s cell service here.” Great.
   She gives Grandpa another hug and heads downstairs.
   “Well, I’ll leave you to pack,” he says. I just nod.
   I watch Mom’s car disappear into the trees, and then turn to my overflowing duffel. First I make then bed with my light pink sheets and hot pink comforter with black polka dots. Then, I unpack my carefully folded clothes and organize them in the dresser. Mom warned me to pack casual, which let me tell you was hard. After Mom vetoing an assortment of designer jeans and expensive shirts, I ended up packing mostly ski camp shirts and Nike shorts. I couldn’t resist packing my new sundress (which, by the way, I bought just for the ski camp dance). It was a shimmery blue that Lindsay and Paige said matched my dark hair and blue eyes perfectly. I bought it back in April, when we went for our annual summer shopping spree.
   I sigh, thinking about how much fun they must be having right now. They had commiserated with me at on the last day of school, insisting that they would have zero fun without me. That just made me even more depressed. “We’ll video chat every day!” They claimed. “If there’s internet.” I had muttered, and they had pouted with me, doing their best to cheer me up. They had made sure we were busy the whole time so I wouldn’t think about it, but after talking before bed, I had lain awake for hours, dwelling on it with a stomach clenching anxiety. This was the first summer that I could remember that I hadn’t laughed with Lindsay and Paige the whole ride to Lake Sammasish, Washington, hadn’t hit the lake the second we unpacked, the first summer that I won’t stay up all night catching up with Sammy and Gabrielle and all my other camp friends, won’t flirt with the guy counselors, won’t pull endless pranks on the boy’ cabins, won’t complain jokingly about the awful food, the first summer that I won’t be gliding smoothly over that glassy surface, feel the wind in my hair and the water spraying my face as I speed through the cool morning air behind the gleaming white boat, seeing Sammy and Lindsay waiting eagerly at the dock, the only ones willing to wake up early for a morning run. We would race (late of course) to the dining hall for breakfast in our bathing suits and cover- ups, and catch another run before lunch, and after rest hour spend the afternoon at the waterfront during our actual class. We would beg Diego and Nick to take us for another run after dinner. Dusk and dawn are my favorite times to go skiing. The water is just so calm and peaceful and the air is cool and quiet and…
   I jolt myself out of my reverie. I need to stop thinking about this before I wind up in tears. I hang the dress on the side of the dresser and set my computer up at the desk. I was right, no Internet. I send Lindsay a text- GET ME OUT OF HERE!! But it gets bounced back. No cell reception. I turn back to my back and empty the rest of my stuff in the desk and bedside table.
Now what? Maybe I’ll paint my nails. I pull up an episode of What Not to Wear that I bought on iTunes to watch and get to work painting my toes pale blue, the same color as my bikini. I’m letting them dry in front of my battery powered fan when Grandpa appears at the top of the stairs. I pause the computer.
   “Hey,” I say. Haven’t we already had this conversation? I force myself to smile.
   “Hi. I was, uh, just wondering if you wanted to go out in the boat.”
I glance down at my toes. “No thanks. Maybe tomorrow?” My voice ends all squeaky, like a question.
   “Sounds good. Dinner’s in a few hours, we’re having a cookout at the Dennis’. They live down the road.” That was probably the longest sentence he’s ever said to me.
   “Great,” I say, and he turns to go. “Um, Grandpa?”
   “Yes?”
   “Do you, uh, have water-skis?” I ask nervously. Why am I so nervous? He’s my grandfather, after all.
   “Yes I do. I heard you like to water ski.” Understatement. I nod, and really smile for the first time since the sleepover.