My eyes flash to Christa before averting them to the grass. When Darian asked for a rundown of exactly what happened, I was bracing myself for trouble. I assumed Christa would rat on me for sneaking out to meet up with Kyle.

But instead, she went along with the lie, nodding vigorously when I explained that I saw the bat fly in just as I was coming back. Maybe she felt partly responsible, because she’s the one who left the door open. Either way, at least she didn’t throw me under the bus the first chance she got.

There’s another dramatic pause from Darian, another index-finger point. “And why don’t we want bats in our cabins at night, besides the obvious creepiness?”

Avery lets out a yelp and then, “Ew . . . gross, Eric!” Heads spin to see Eric hovering over her shoulder from behind, a frothy white substance dripping from his mouth and onto her shirt. There’s another round of laughter around the group.

“Because bats carry rabies,” Kyle offers innocently, as Eric holds up a can of whipped cream and then swallows. And grins at Avery.

“How did you get . . .” Darian shakes her head. “Never mind. Yes, Kyle, you are correct. Bats can carry rabies, and while the cases are rare, we can’t have bats hanging around our sleeping kids. Bats have very small teeth and it’s possible the kids won’t realize they’ve been bitten, especially as deep as they sleep after their days here. We’re feeling pretty confident that none of the girls came into contact with our furry little friend last night thanks to quick action by our counselors—”

“Run for your lives!” that Colin guy calls out.

“But,” Darian spears him with a warning glare, “had they not noticed it right away, it would have spent all night in there with them.”

I shudder at the thought.

“Then we’d be dealing with a very different situation, involving calls home and a lot of shots. So please remember, keep your cabin doors closed, report any tears in the window screens, and let’s all start doing visual checks around our cabins before lights-out from now on, just to be on the safe side. Okay, everyone?”

Mumbled agreement sounds.

“Great. Also . . . I happened to notice that one of our golf carts was missing last night. Y’all know that the golf carts are not to be used at night for anything except emergencies. I’m not aware of any other emergencies last night, so whoever forgot that rule and borrowed it,” her sharp blue eyes float between Eric and Kyle, who are studying their shoes, “please don’t do it again. Okay!” Darian claps her hands. “Time to finish up with breakfast and get a move on! It’s gonna be another hot, sunny day!”

The counselors disband at a leisurely pace, the promise of sweltering heat not as motivating as Darian seems to think it should be.

Kyle hangs back to fall in line with me, his walk more a swagger, his thumbs looped casually into his shorts pockets. “Sounds like you had way more fun than I did last night.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” My eyes are sore from lack of sleep and I’m sure my bags match the ones under Christa’s. “I tried to sneak out after Christa fell asleep.”

His chest lifts with a deep sigh of relief. “That makes more sense,” he murmurs, and then smiles.

I frown. “More sense than what?”

He shrugs, nudging his shoulder against mine. “I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

“About what? Jumping off a cliff at night?” I mock-gasp. “Never.”

He dips his head, and a shy smile touches his lips. “That, or . . . I don’t know, about this?”

This being us.

I can’t help but laugh at the suggestion. Does Kyle not feel my gaze glued to him whenever he’s in my line of sight? Does he not notice the stupid grin that takes over my face every time our eyes meet?

He lets out a soft chuckle and then shrugs. “I don’t know. I was standing there, waiting for you, and I started thinking, and . . . yeah . . .” Beautiful molten eyes meet mine again, and in them I see a vulnerability I hadn’t before. Or perhaps it wasn’t there before. Perhaps it took him standing on the path in the dark, waiting for me, for doubt to seed itself.

Had our roles been reversed, had I been the one waiting, and he didn’t show . . . A hollow pang stirs in my stomach with just the thought. And that tells me two things: one, that I’m already falling hard for Kyle.

And two: that it’s not just me.

My pulse begins to race as I reach out to trail my fingertips over his forearm. “No, that’s definitely not it. I was just trying to avoid getting grilled by Christa.” I add, more to myself, “Which I failed at spectacularly.”

His hand slips around to smooth over the small of my back, ever so quickly, before falling to his side. “What did she say?”

My eyes drift to the pavilion, to Cabin Nine’s candy-floss-pink picnic table. Christa stands over the campers, hands on hips, evaluating their plates to decide if they’ve eaten enough. She said a lot last night, but what was most unsettling, what I haven’t been able to gain more information about yet, is what we ended with. “That you lied about that robbery.”

“What?” He smirks, and his gaze flips to her. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

It’s more calculating than curious, I realize, studying him closely, his brow pinched with wariness.

He’s wondering what she knows.

Which means there’s something to know.

I watch him as I say, “She also told me to ask you about your father.”

He can’t hide his reaction fast enough—the way his smirk falls and panic flashes in his eyes—before smoothing his expression.

“What did she mean?” I ask as casually as I can.

His jaw hardens with tension as he stares at Christa from across the way. She must sense it because she glances over at us, her own eyes narrowing on him in a quiet challenge before she averts her gaze.

“What else did she say?” he asks quietly.

I toy with the idea of playing dumb but decide against it. Kyle’s too smart for that and I doubt he’d appreciate it coming from me. “That she’s the only one here who knows the truth about you.”

His shoulders sink.

An unsettling feeling begins to take over. “All right, I’m officially starting to freak out. What’s going on? Did you do something?”

“No, I didn’t do anything. It’s just . . .” He shakes his head and sighs again. “It’s my family.”

“What about them?”

“They’re . . .” His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “They’re not like yours. Or anyone else’s here, I’m guessing.” Kids are beginning to get up and carry their dirty dishes to the nearby trolleys. Soon they’ll come charging out. “Look, can we talk about this later?”

“I guess. As long as you tell me what’s going on.” Because now that the questions are out there, not having the answers will drive me insane.

He sighs. “Meet me on the path tonight. I’ll tell you everything.” There’s no missing the resignation in his voice.

I watch him trudge away toward his kids, his head hanging.

What could be so wrong with his family?