I frown. He just jumped off a thirty-foot cliff, into a lake, twenty-four hours ago.
I wonder if he can feel my penetrating “liar, liar, pants on fire” look.
Kyle leans in to scan the clipboard. “So could you just scratch his name off there, and add me in? And then you know where everyone is and it’s all good. Right?”
Darian scans the board, then shoots a pursed-lip look my way before her gaze shifts up to his playful smile. It’s a moment before she shakes her head, but then she’s scribbling her pen across the page. “So Mark is going to do kayaking, and you are on badminton.”
Badminton.
An excited flutter stirs in my stomach. That’s my second activity. Kyle has switched his activities for the next two weeks to match mine.
“Just this one time. Make sure you know your new schedule. And . . . coordinate better from now on,” Darian, not clueless, scolds softly, but caps it off with a knowing smile.
He drags his fingers over his chest in a sign of the cross. “You’re awesome, Dare.”
“I know,” she answers lightly, but there’s no missing the way her chest puffs up with a proud, deep breath.
Meanwhile, Christa is shaking her head, her mouth working over words as if debating whether to release them. By the annoyed look on her face, she probably shouldn’t.
It’s the perfect time for Avery and another girl to stroll through the door.
“Oh, good. You’re here. The art supplies are ready for you. You’re going to be making origami!” Darian exclaims.
“Yay!” Avery holds her hands up in mock enthusiasm.
Darian thrusts a sheet of paper out to the knitting group. “Here’s your camper list. One of you should get out there now to start rounding them up.”
“I’ll go.” Marie grabs it and rushes off before anyone can suggest otherwise.
Kyle sidles up next to me as we trail Ashley toward a door marked “Storage. Staff only.”
“Knitting? Really?” I tease; meanwhile my insides are screaming with glee. “I thought you hated knitting.”
“Someone’s got to teach you. And I’m good. Way better than Freckles.”
“Yeah, right,” Ashley says over her shoulder. “You know the garter stitch?”
He grins. “I know garters.”
“Not . . . Oh my God.” She shakes her head at him, her cheeks flushing.
He reaches out to give the end of her scarf a playful tug. “You know it’s, like, ninety-four degrees outside, right?”
“It’s a prop. I’m going to take it off, after I wow them.”
Kyle pauses long enough to let me ahead of him, his hand skimming the small of my back in the process, sending shivers up my spine.
The storage room is long, narrow, and lit by one naked bulb. And jammed with supplies.
“Here’s one,” Ashley announces, tapping a Rubbermaid container that’s labeled “Knitting” across the sides and top, her eyes lighting up with an odd excitement as they skim over the clutter. “But I don’t think they’re all marked.”
“How’s it going so far?” Kyle asks me, setting aside a container marked “Drama.”
“Fine. I’m exhausted.”
“Rough night?”
“The worst. They were crying.”
“How many?”
“All of them.”
He chuckles. “It’ll get better.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Do you think any of us would come back if it didn’t?”
He makes a good point.
Kyle pulls a white mask from a nearby box and presses it against his face, covering the top half, leaving only his square jaw and pouty lips visible. “You’ll never guess who I am with this on.”
I laugh. “That’s the only musical I’ve ever been able to sit through.” Though none of the actors looked as good as he does right now.
“Which one?”
“The Phantom . . . You know?” I gesture at the mask.
“Oh . . .” Kyle tosses it back into the bin and shuts the lid. “Never seen it.”
“Seriously? You should go. I’ve seen it four times now. On Broadway, and then in Singapore, London, and . . . Vancouver, I think.” I crack open a bin to find a colorful mess of pom-poms and Popsicle sticks and other basic art supplies. “My mother’s a huge theater geek. Andrew Lloyd Webber actually spent a weekend at our summer house. She drags me to so many shows.”
“Yeah, that all sounds rough,” Kyle mutters, fishing out a ball of white yarn from an orange container. “Incoming! Two of three.”
“Hey!” Ashley scowls as the yarn bounces off her forehead, but her annoyance fades almost instantly. “ ’Kay. I’m gonna take this one out. You two find the last one.” She trots out with her arms laden, but not before offering me an exaggerated wink.
Meanwhile my cheeks have begun to burn as I replay what I just said, wondering how obnoxious that must have sounded. “I’m not like Olivia, I swear,” I blurt out.
Kyle chuckles. “Is that what you’re worried about? Me thinking you’re like the Gasoline Queen?”
“Nice. She’s Miss Sunoco in my head. And, well . . . yeah.”
Kyle shoves another tub aside. “I know you’re not like Olivia. She goes out of her way to make it sound like her family is rolling in dough and rub people’s noses in it. Meanwhile, here you are, going out of your way to pretend you’re just like the rest of us.”
“I am just like everyone else here!” Except with an enormous trust fund.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking, when I first saw you,” he murmurs as he peeks in a blue tub full of paint bottles and brushes.
“So . . . what were you thinking?” I dare ask, avoiding his gaze as I pry a lid off a green tub to discover knitting needles. My stomach clenches with anticipation of his answer.
Kyle shifts to stand behind me, his body oh so close but not touching me. “Well, I definitely was not thinking that you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“No?” I smile as a warm shiver runs down my spine.
“No way.” He leans in, until his mouth is next to my ear. “And that first night by the campfire, there’s no way I was wondering what it’d be like to kiss you.” His hands settle gently on either side of my waist, as his lips skate over my cheek. “And last night? When I was falling asleep? I definitely wasn’t thinking about you at all.”
My breathing has turned ragged.
Voices carry near the doorway then, reminding us that we’re not alone.
Kyle releases his gentle grip of my body and slides around to face me, but not without a distinctive sigh of frustration. “I’ll take this one out. It’s heavier.”
“I can handle it.” Spiking tennis balls across courts since I was eight has guaranteed me slender but strong arms. To prove my point, I lift the tub. It’s awkward but manageable.
His fingers slide over mine, weaving their way through to grasp the handles, his hands warm and strong. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I hold my breath, hoping he’ll lean in and kiss me. “You’re coming out tonight after lights-out, right? It’s a full moon. We’re going up to the cliff.”