Lost in Love Read Free

everything.”
    â€œOh, it’s right. I want to take you away for a trip you will never forget.”
    â€œCould we wait until I can save up enough to pay my way? Or at least pay for most of it?”
    â€œAren’t you putting yourself through college? Haven’t you taken out student loans?”
    He was right. I was delusional to think I could afford to go anywhere before I’m thirty.
    â€œLet me do this for you,” D said. “You’d be doing me the favor. I want to go away, but I don’t want to go alone. I really want you to come with me. Please let me take you?”
    We went back and forth for a long time. But I finally accepted that D really did want to treat me. And it’s not like he couldn’t afford to. Donovan Clark is from a rich family. He can afford to do anything.
    All I want to do is get on the subway and lose myself in a few minutes of swooning over D. But I can’t. Because Addison is so nasty she’s even invading my fantasy life.
    The Lower East Side day camp where I’m a counselor is affiliated with a camp on the Upper East Side where Addison works. There was a party for the counselors and staff of both camps. Addison threw me a nasty glare assoon as I got there. Like she hated me even though I’d never seen her before. Then she intentionally spilled red punch all over my best going-out top (which was white, of course) and went over to a group of girls and started laughing.
    And then she ran into Mica, the only counselor at camp I’ve clicked with, and told her all these nasty lies about me. Lies about things I’ve said and done that came out of nowhere. Mica believed everything Addison said. Now she won’t talk to me.
    I was really hoping that Mica and I would become good friends. Our connection was so much more than the superficial friendships I had in high school. We have tons in common, like our strong opinions, high expectations, and affection for quirky cool activities. We both come from poor families. People who grew up poor understand other people who grew up poor in a way no one else can. We’ve experienced the same hard times. I don’t have to explain myself like I do with everyone else. She doesn’t make me feel like I have to defend why I don’t have a cell phone the way every other person I’ve ever met has. Mica isn’t confused about why I’ve been eating bagels for dinner most nights since I moved to New York City. Or why I wear old shirts that have holes in them instead of buying new ones. Mica knows that when money is extremely tight, luxuries like cell phones and square meals and new clothes aren’t always an option.
    I hope Darcy appreciates how lucky she is with her parents paying her bills. She won’t have a pile of student loan debt towering over her for the next ten years. I’ll be in debt long after I’ve graduated and am finally a social worker. Not that I’ll be making good money. I don’t care about being rich. I care about helping other people and making their lives better.
    The subway comes just as I’m passing through the turnstile. I get to camp—which is in part of an elementary school we’re allowed to use for the summer—ten minutes early and rush over to the main office before first period starts. The camp’s administrative assistant, Cecelia, is always so nice to everyone. The world would be a better place with more kind people like Cecelia in it. She gives me the number to the Upper East Side camp and lets me use the office phone. My palms sweat as I dial.
    â€œHi,” I say when a woman answers the phone. “This is Rosanna Tranelli. I’m a counselor at the Lower East Side camp? I was wondering if it would be possible to get the phone number of one of your counselors.”
    â€œWhich counselor?” she asks.
    â€œAddison. I don’t know her last name.” I take out the red pen and small notebook I always