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When I wake up in the nurse’s office, my mouth is dry, and I taste acid in the back of my throat.

I turn my head on the thin pillow and see Adam chatting with the nurse on the other side of the room. He notices me and so does the nurse.

“Sleeping Beauty has arisen from his slumber!”

The nurse just called me Sleeping Beauty in front of Adam.

I instantly hate her.

“You two should go and stop by the mess hall, grab something to eat and drink.”

“How long have I been asleep?” I ask.

“Two hours.” Adam answers.

“You stayed?”

“I had to. Buddy system, remember?”

I bolt upright in the cot, reanimated. “Did we miss music hour?!”

The time was 7:25pm. Adam and I had just enough time to walk to the mess hall, chow down on leftover spaghetti and meatballs, and return to the music hall in time for music hour.

Music hour is from 8PM-9PM, all seven nights of camp. The counselors play sing-along songs, each with their own set of silly dances.

Over the course of music hour, the sun sets into the Chester River, casting its long light over the water and through the west-facing, screened-in porch. The packed hall heats up as we dance. The late-night summer breeze feels amazing coming in off the water, chilling the sweat beading across my forehead.

There’s this song I can’t remember the name of with a long instrumental passage. Everyone forms a bunch of conga-lines. The lines snake behind the stage and out onto the porch. People break away and head off in new directions, leading their own conga-line for a while before clasping onto someone else’s shoulders.

I’m keeping up with a long line from the back. I jump a little when I feel two hands take a hold of my shoulders. I turn around to see Adam looking so much taller than me.

I make a small prayer that he won’t let go of me until the song is over…

…and it comes true.