Don't Ever Change by M. Beth Bloom Page A

calls.
    “What’s wrong?” Michelle says, right away.
    “I’m angsty,” I tell her.
    “You’re angsty ?”
    “Antsy. I said antsy .”
    “No,” Michelle says. “You said angsty. That’s amazing, Eva. What a hilarious Freudian slip.”
    “It’d only be a Freudian slip if I actually was angsty. Which I’m not.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Anyway—I’m antsy.”
    “Remember when Steph and I used to call you Shakes?”
    “Yeah, but that was for Shakespeare.”
    “And for other reasons,” Michelle says.
    “My eyes are itchy,” I say. “Camp is making me itchy. I can’t stop rubbing my eyes.”
    “It’s been one day.”
    “Tell me about your day,” I say.
    “Well, there are about fifteen different closures for a necklace,” Michelle says. “I also learned that only a few of them are technically called ‘clasps.’”
    “It’s the summer before leaving for college and you’re learning about closures ?”
    “I knew you’d like that,” Michelle says.
    “I’m writing it down.”
    “Have you talked to Elliot?”
    “Talked or . . . communicated ?”
    “What about Foster?” Michelle asks.
    “What about Foster?”
    “You’re not in the mood to talk,” Michelle says. “Obviously.”
    “Noooo, we have to talk,” I whine.
    But Michelle doesn’t say anything else, and I can’t think of anything to say either. The nerves around my eyes twitch, like they always do when I’m stressed, so I press against the lids until I can feel my heartbeat in my eyelashes and see a thousand stars.
    “My eyes,” I say, and that’s it. Then I hear a beep and it’s Steph on the other line. “Steph’s calling.”
    “Tell Steph about your eyes.”
    “They really hurt,” I say.
    “You could start wearing your glasses again.”
    “Eh.”
    The other line beeps a second beep.
    “What did Shakespeare say?” Michelle says. “Eye, there’s the rub.”
    “I’m writing that down too.”
    “Take it, it’s yours.”
    I click over to Steph.
    “I was just telling Michelle that my eyes hurt,” I tell Steph.
    “You’re just stressed,” Steph says. “How was the first day of camp?”
    “There have been times in history when the word ‘camp’ has been used to describe a very, very bad place.”
    “Does a place called the Gap sound any better?”
    “I’m warning you,” I say, “I’ve been whining.”
    “Eva, I’m sure you’ll start to like the girls.”
    “But will they start to love me?”
    “Try harder,” Steph says.
    “I know, I know.”
    “I called to tell you that Lindsay seems nice.”
    “Does she seem illiterate?” I ask. “She seems sort of illiterate to me.”
    “You’re being a snob.”
    “And you’re living off campus, in a studio apartment, less than a mile from the beach.”
    “You hate the beach,” Steph reminds me.
    “I hate the ocean ,” I remind her.
    “And you’re going to Boston ,” Steph says. “That’s awesome.”
    “Maybe we should trade colleges. Like, have you ever thought about swapping futures with someone? Maybe you’d have more fun in my future than I would. Maybe you’d make the best of it and we’d both learn more if it wasn’t our own lives we had to learn from.”
    “You’re just stressed,” Steph says again.
    “I need a writing assignment,” I say, rubbing my eyes more. “I suck at being a counselor, and I can’t write unless someone tells me what to write about.”
    “Okay, here’s something: write like you’re me,” Steph says. “Write something I’d write, or write me as your main character.”
    “I’m too jealous of you,” I say. “Why are we always so jealous of each other?”
    “Because we’re girls.”
    “Don’t admit that.”
    “I love you, Eva,” Steph says. “And you’re not jealous of me. I’m going to a state school for hippies and you’re going to a private school for geniuses. Tomorrow I fall back into the Gap, but you get a second chance at being Camp Champ.”
    “Did you just say Camp Tramp?