I’ve only seen him briefly since last night. The counselor meet ’n’ greet shut down promptly at nine forty-five. Counselors had just enough time to get back to their cabins and settle in, Darian’s curfew warning heeded. I crawled into my top bunk and expected to spend the night memorizing the knots in the pine boards above my head while obsessing over every little gesture, glance, and word exchanged between me and Kyle, but somehow drifted off to the rhythm of Christa’s soft snores.

Kyle didn’t make his grand appearance until the end of breakfast, sauntering in just long enough to throw a casual smile my way. Then he scooped up a bagel and orange juice, and strolled off with Eric at his side.

I haven’t seen him since and, even with that quick but obvious flirtation, I can’t help but wonder if he’s now avoiding me, if maybe he’s already lost interest.

The very thought threatens to sink my spirits.

“Hey!”

I glance back over my shoulder to find Avery grinning mischievously, showing off her perfectly straight, white teeth. “I’ll bet Christa told you that you’re not allowed to cut your T-shirt?”

“Um . . .” My wary eyes flitter between her face and the enormous silver blades of the scissors as she rounds the counter.

She laughs. “You look like you’re worried that I’m going to stab you.”

“Well . . . are you?” I ask pointedly.

“Relax. I’m not interested in Kyle anymore.”

I feel my shoulders sink with relief and a sheepish smile form. At least I wasn’t the only one sensing that awkwardness.

“Don’t move,” she murmurs, slipping her cool fingers beneath the collar of my T-shirt to pull the cotton away. She begins snipping.

I hesitate. “So, what happened with you and Kyle anyway?” What can she tell me about him that I haven’t heard yet?

Her eyes flicker to me a moment. “Nothing really . . . Summer ended. He went back home; I started college. He’s too young for me, anyway. It was fun, but that’s all you’ll get from Kyle. Fun.”

“So he’s a player?” My stomach turns queasy.

“No. Not that. At least, he wasn’t with me.” She tosses the bound cotton collar to the trash can and sets to work on my left sleeve. “He just won’t let you get too close.” She smiles secretly, snipping off my right sleeve. “But you’ll have lots of fun. There.” She steps back to admire her work. “Just tie the waist up and you might not die.”

“Thanks,” I murmur. “See you later.” I push through the canteen’s rickety door and am immediately hit with a blast of mid-morning heat.

Christa is loitering nearby, intently studying her clipboard.

I stifle my groan to offer, “Hey.” Great. Here we go . . .

Her chest puffs out with a deep breath. “Hi, Piper.” Lifting her chin, she strolls into the shop, offering me a tight-lipped smile as she passes, making no note of my deviant attire.

I frown curiously.

Until I hear her say, “I’m here to collect your count sheets.” The air-conditioning unit has switched off for the moment, allowing her voice to carry clearly through the thin walls and poorly sealed window.

A sinking feeling hits me as I realize that Christa must have been outside when we were talking about her.

Must have heard the less-than-kind words directed toward her.

I quickly trudge off, guilt swarming my conscience.

“Can I drive on the way back?” I grip the bar as we speed along the narrow gravel path, the golf cart bumping and jolting as Ashley manages to hit every pothole so far, and there aren’t that many to avoid.

“Didn’t you just get your license?”

“I’ve had mine longer than you’ve had yours!” It’s not a wonder she failed the driving test three times before finally passing just two weeks ago, something she admitted to with a sheepish grin as she jumped into the driver’s seat.

“Fine. We’ll switch when we get to—ahh!” She jams on the brake just as Eric jumps out from behind a thick crop of bush. “Are you crazy? I could have hit you!” she shrieks, her face flushing instantly.

“Ahoy, fair maidens!” he booms, stalking forward in an exaggerated stiff gait, waving a stick in the air. “I seek you now by order of . . .” He falters. “Maximus Decimus Meridius to commandeer said fine vessel hence forth.”

Ashley rolls her eyes. “We don’t have time for this.” She gestures at the little trailer attached to our hitch, stocked with Tupperware bins full of plastic trash bags, toilet paper, hand soap, and flashlights. We’ve been tasked with stocking the girls’ cabins and shower room before the campers begin arriving.

“Forthwith!” He takes a step forward. “Tout suite!”

I bite my tongue against the urge to correct him, as Madame Monroe’s squeaky voice fills my head. My French teacher drilled the proper phrase into our heads by yelling “Tout de suite!” at the beginning of every class to rush us to our seats.

Meanwhile, Ashley’s nose crinkles with confusion. “What?”

Eric tosses the stick to the ground and reaches in to scoop Ashley from her seat. As tall as she is, he still manages to throw her over his shoulder with surprising ease.

“Put me down, Eric!” she squeals, but she’s giggling as she thumps her fists against his back.

Kyle suddenly appears from behind another thicket.

“Don’t you dare . . .” I begin, my hands in the air to block him from any attempt to pull me off. Meanwhile, my heart is leaping in my chest with the thought of his hands on me.

But he slides into the driver’s seat instead, reaching back to smoothly unfasten the hitch, releasing the wagon. “Hark! A captive!” he yells, and then throws the cart into forward. The electric engine whirls as we speed away, leaving Eric and Ashley behind with the trailer of supplies.

“What are you doing?” I say with a laugh. “We have to deliver those!”

He glances at his wristwatch, and I can tell that it’s all for show. “You’ve got tons of time. Plus it’s right there.” He nods toward the girls’ cabins as we pass the turnoff.

“Where are you taking me?”

“For a tour. Why? You worried?”

“About getting fired on my first day? Kind of.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re not gonna get fired. And, don’t worry, Eric and Ashley will be done in no time.”

“But if Christa sees that we’re not—”

“Christa’s busy driving people crazy in the rec center.” Suddenly we’re whipping around a bend in the path and I’m squealing with a mix of glee and fear, my body pressing against Kyle’s.

“You’re going to roll us!” I warn.

“These things don’t roll. Trust me, I’m an expert.”

“My brother broke his arm rolling one of these.” Rhett and his buddies—drunk—decided to take a shortcut down a steep hill at the thirteenth hole and ended up putting the cart into the country club’s duck pond. He’s lucky it wasn’t worse, though the tongue-lashing and financial penalties my father laid on him more than made up for the lack of serious injuries.