Camp Canoa // Luke Hemmings

The One Where Grace Loses Her Flower

[Day +15]

Grace's POV

I wake up sore and aching in weird places – my thighs, for example; all the muscles in my stomach; my upper arms and shoulders and as well, I'm sore in my vagina. I wake up with my cheek pressed into Luke's chest. Bare chest. Luke is naked. This revelation is followed by a second revelation that I am also naked. We are cuddling, sticky and excessively warm.

Huh.

Blinking blearily, I peel my face away from his skin, and the situation sinks in – we're pressed together almost from head to toe, legs all tangled up, arms thrown haphazardly all over each other – when Luke's eyes slowly open.

His nose scrunches up in confusion, and it's so hopeless and silly that all the weirdness dissipates instantly, and I lean forwards to kiss him. He is not a morning person; he makes a low grumble against my mouth, just barely tolerating the kiss until it's over, when he can curl back into me and fall asleep again.

"Come on," I whisper to the tightly-curled bundle of sweat and snuggles who is currently trying to burrow into my chest. "We've gotta get up... ugh. What time even is it?"

As Luke makes a bizarre yowling noise of complaint against the floor, I stretch past him to find my backpack, where I had stashed my watch last night. Unfortunately, the contents of my bag have been scattered everywhere so it takes me a good few minutes to locate my watch – eight thirty am.

"Shit!" I sit upright, shoving at Luke's shoulder. "Jesus Luke, get up – its eight-thirty!"

Luke rolls over, his face screwing up as he tries to comprehend what's happening. "That's impossible," he slurs, rubbing his knuckles against his eyes. "I set the alarm for seven, like we said..."

I strain past him to hurriedly try and gather my clothes to get dressed. The elevens are all leaving Camp Canoa on the shuttle bus at twelve, and for that they have to have had lunch and be ready and packed by eleven-thirty, and for that we have to be back at camp by nine – and the whole plan seems to be whirling down the toilet right now. We have overslept and Chuck is still probably passed out hungover in his tent somewhere and oh, Jesus Christ, this is bad.

"Well I hate to break this to you, buddy, but you failed us all," I say, wriggling into my underwear and glaring at Luke when I catch him watching. I pull up my shorts and slip on my bra. I yank my crumpled purple polo shirt from underneath him, and that's when I discover that, to my absolute horror, that one sleeve is covered in jizz. "Oh, shit."

"What?" Luke mumbles sleepily, sitting up and fumbling for his clothes.

"You came on my freaking shirt, that's what!" I hiss, brandishing the shirt and waving it in his face in outrage. "Jesus, what am I gonna – okay – uh I'm gonna see if this comes out – you get your clothes on and start waking the Humpties and  Dumpties."

Luke laughs, and obediently starts dressing as I pull on my sneakers and tear out of the tent, underwear clad, in the direction of the water pump. I glance back in the direction of the other tents, where some kids are chattering quietly, but, for the most part, where all is peaceful; I then get to furtively trying to scrub to cum out of my clothing. Who the fuck decided that losing their virginity in a tent was a good idea? Ugh.

It's sort of coming out, aside from a really gross mucus-y film, but I wipe that against a tree, and decide that it's a good enough job for now. I wriggle back into my shirt, turning around – and I nearly jump ten feet in the air when I see Albert Oiseau standing just behind me, eyes narrowed.

"Morning Albert!" I say overly brightly, trying to will down the light flush dusting my cheeks. Maybe Albert didn't hear anything. Maybe Albert doesn't even know what that means yet. Maybe Albert's parents don't love him and never gave him The Talk – they sent him away on summer camp for two weeks, so they can't love him that much – it's possible, I think. I grin with false enthusiasm. "How're you?"