Boy, it would really help if he was just clearly a jerk, or dating someone else, or explicitly said "it's never gonna happen." Because this ignoring, cool, aloof person one week who flirts and seems maybe, possibly, interested the next week is completely and utterly confusing.

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There's camping, and then there is Summer Camp. I love both, but the former is because of the latter. I spent every summer since the age of 8 at one summer camp or another, until I was 30 years old. For 8 years, it was a full-time job for me. So camp is in my blood. And while I've enjoyed doing some library-related poems, the camp ones are the ones with real emotion behind them. Most will be generic enough to apply to anyone who's ever worked at, or gone to, a summer camp. But this one is all about Wenonah. The final campfire. The night of fire: canoe ballet, flaming W, every person holding a candle, passing the flame from person to person, connecting everyone in that moment.