“There’s a panhandler near the east entrance. I’m assuming you can’t see him on the security feed and that’s why you haven’t done anything about it?”

Kyle averts his gaze to one of the monitors on the desk. “You’re right. He’s in a blind spot.”

“Well, would you please help him relocate? Immediately?”

“Yes, sir,” Kyle says, his eyes still on the screen, his face stoic. Does it burn his pride to call my father sir, I wonder?

Dad’s gaze drifts over Kyle’s sleeve of tattoos, his distaste for them clear. And then he turns to me, dismissing Kyle entirely. “Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Nodding at Gus, he swipes his badge and marches toward the bank of elevators.

Kyle exhales slowly. He meets my eyes and I can see his thoughts in them. They’re the same as mine: Kieran Calloway doesn’t recognize him.

Whether it’s the “Stewart” on his name badge, or thirteen years and thirty pounds of muscle, or simply the fact that Kyle was nothing more than an ant to squash, a pest for my father to swiftly deal with, I can’t say. Likely all of the above.

Either way, Kyle is safe from my father’s ire. For now.

I release a lung’s worth of air, relieved to have bought myself some time to figure out how—and if—to confront him for what he did to us.

“You want to kindly escort our friend to another corner, or should I?” Gus peers up at Kyle.

“I’ve got it,” Kyle murmurs, rounding the desk. “See you tomorrow, Piper?” he asks softly, and I hear the real question behind those words.

Do you want to see me here tomorrow?

All I can manage is a nod.

Because the simple truth is that I do.

Chapter 14

THEN

2006, Camp Wawa, End of Week One

Izzy’s round blue eyes are watery as she holds out her tiny hand, offering me a ball of hot pink gimp and beads in emerald green and aqua blue.

“For me?”

She nods. “I made it in art. So you can remember me.”

I chuckle as I slide the bracelet onto my wrist. It’s too loose, but there’s not enough slack for two loops. “I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget you.”

“Will you be my counselor again next year?”

“I hope so!” If Camp Wawa allows counselors who have been on probation back. That was the final verdict Darian delivered early this morning, after last night’s golf-cart fiasco. Probation for all four of us—a permanent black mark on our camp counselor employment record—but not termination for Kyle and Eric. There is to be absolutely no “shenanigans” after lights-out. We’re to be in our cabins with our campers, asleep. If we’re caught breaking these rules, it will equal immediate dismissal, no questions asked.

As much as mandatory nightly curfew sucks, it means I still get to spend my summer with Kyle. I had to fight the urge to hug Darian as she delivered our punishment to us.

Izzy’s mouth splits into a wide, toothy grin. It’s been a mad flurry of activity and emotion at Wawa today, as kids pack up and part ways, in most cases with tears streaming down their cheeks and scraps of papers revealing email addresses and phone numbers, and promises to come back the same week next year.

For these kids, summer camp is over. Meanwhile I’ve only survived the first week. I have seven more to go. Oddly enough, though, the idea of that isn’t nearly as dreadful as it was last Sunday, when I stood in this same spot, greeting frenzied children. Much of that has to do with a certain golden-eyed boy, but not all. Camp Wawa has begun to grow on me. The counselors are, for the most part, fun. Spending my days goofing off with them and the campers almost doesn’t feel like work. And Mom was right: Russell’s chocolate pudding is prison-grade bribery quality.

“Aren’t those your parents?” I point to the couple approaching.

“Mommy!” Izzy shrieks, taking off across the field as fast as her little legs can carry her under the weight of her backpack, her sleeping bag dragging across the grass. And just like that, I’m a memory.

“Hey.” Kyle sidles up beside me, his fingers discreetly skimming my outer thigh.

I turn to meet his gaze. “Hey.”

His eyes drop to my mouth, and I feel that instant urge to press my lips against his.

His smirk says he feels it, too. “Last one?”

“Yeah.” I smile, looking on as Izzy drops her things on the ground for her parents to collect and then skips along beside them, her arms gesticulating wildly in the air. “She’s so cute.”

“You know who else is so cute?”

“Eric?” I tease, feeling my cheeks flush.

Kyle chuckles. “Nice.”

I hold up my arm, letting the bracelet dangle. “Look what she made me.”

“I got some, too.” Kyle holds his arm up to display six similar gimp-and-bead bracelets of varying sizes and colors, two of them all-pink. “This one is from Maddie, this one . . .” He goes through each bracelet, identifying which little girl made what.

I roll my eyes. “Are you bragging because you have more than me?”

He shrugs. “I can’t help it if I’m well liked.”

“Nothing from your campers, though. Hmm . . . that says something.”

“Oh, no. They left me with a gift all right,” he mutters, tipping his head.

I burst out laughing at the countless specks of iridescent glitter clinging to the roots of his hair. How could I not have noticed them earlier? “That has to be half a bottle!”

“It’s all over my pillow and in my bed, my sleeping bag. I’ve already had one shower. I’m going to need two more, probably.” He sighs heavily and shakes his head, but his easy smile tells me he’s not actually annoyed.

“So?” I glance back once, in time to return Izzy’s frantic wave before she scrambles into the backseat of her parents’ car. The parking lot is mostly empty of camper vehicles. “What now?”

“Let’s see . . . Darian will do a half-hour roundup to talk about the past week and then she’ll give counselor-of-the-week stars out.”

I feel my eyebrows rise. “Stars?”

“Every week, three counselors get a star. She’s got these big gold stickers”—he holds his hands out in front of him to mimic the size—“and she makes this elaborate production of having the winners tell everyone what they love most about being a camp counselor.”

“Oh God.” I cringe.

Kyle chuckles. “Wait until you hear some of the shit people come up with.”

“Have you gotten one before?”

“Yeah. Two, actually.”

“Really.”

“Probably not gonna get one this year, though.” He flashes me a sheepish smile. I sensed the relief pouring off him when Darian told him he could stay, even as Ashley was near tears for what this could mean for her college applications, should they see it.

I feel sorry for her, but we deserve it.

“What’s after the star award?” Counselors are supposed to get the afternoon and night off.

He shrugs. “Russell serves up lunch, and then we’ve got the rest of the day to do whatever we want. Most people catch up on sleep and try to get laundry done. If it’s nice out, they swim.” He glances up at the gray sky. Rain has been threatening all morning, but it hasn’t come to pass yet. It’s only a matter of time before the skies open up. “You wanna head into town later? Grab a burger or something?”