Then she told me “I told you so” and highlighted all the ways I was better off without him. But it was what I needed to hear at the time, to help me move on.

Christa’s appearance definitely dampened whatever moment Kyle and I were having. Before I can angle to recapture it, Kyle takes a step back.

And another one.

“This was a mistake.”

“Kyle—”

“You may not want to admit it, but you will always seek your father’s approval.”

“That’s not true. I ended things with David. And he loves David.”

“So you’ll find someone else he approves of.” Kyle gives me a sad smile. “But I will never be it.”

“I don’t care—”

“Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is.” Genuine pain fills his eyes.

“Then don’t leave.” I hear the pleading in my voice and it shocks me. When have I ever wanted a man to stay this much? “You’re just scared.”

“Terrified, actually.” His jaw tenses. “Good night, Piper.” With that he turns and walks away, a lone dark figure in a black uniform along the picturesque street, his head bowed.

I watch until he disappears around the corner, barely feeling the air’s chill, wondering what thoughts are going through his mind.

Wondering if he’s right and there is no going back to what we had one summer, so long ago.

Chapter 18

THEN

Camp Wawa, 2006, Week Four

“She really has no idea how big of a dork she is, does she?” Eric stands beside me in the corner of the rec center, his long, lanky arms crossed over his chest, a wide grin on his face as we watch Darian moon-walk across the makeshift dance floor to the Michael Jackson tunes blaring over the portable stereo system.

“More like she doesn’t care,” Kyle says from my other side, and there’s a hint of admiration in his voice.

It’s Friday night of Week Four. Dance night. Every week is the same, just with different campers. They call it a “dance,” but really it’s an opportunity to stuff a horde of bodies into the rec center, feed them popcorn and Kool-Aid, and blind everyone with a disco light that sometimes short-circuits. Darian forces the more extroverted counselors into the center to dance to her own personal CD collection, sprinkled with terrible eighties songs that charted when none of us were alive. Eventually, the small groups will break free from their boy-girl segregation and join in, for no other reason than to top one another’s goofiness.

Except for the few older campers who have found first love, of course, and are clinging to each other for their last night. Darian makes us float around, pulling them apart.

Tomorrow, these kids will all leave, with glossy eyes and lofty goals of talking to one another every day, or as much as their parents and phone bills will allow.

I wonder how many will hold fast to their promises, and for how long. Eventually they’ll settle back into their reality—school friends and everyday life—and their week at Wawa will become a fond memory, something to look back on, something to look forward to next year.

What will it be like for Kyle and me?

That’s the downside of pining for our Saturdays. With each one that races past, we’re that much closer to the end of our summer.

My stomach twists with that thought.

“The Time of My Life” comes on, signaling the last song of the night.

“Oh, hell. Not this song again.” Eric groans. “I need to go to sleep just so it can be tomorrow. We’re hitting up Provisions to stock up, by the way, bro.”

“You want to get fired?” Kyle mutters.

Eric waves it away. “It’s Saturday. There’re no rules on Saturday.”

Kyle just shakes his head at his friend.

“You did this to him.” Eric jabs an accusatory finger at me. “He’s whipped.”

I roll my eyes. “Which one of you has ID, anyway?”

Eric nods toward Kyle.

“Max is twenty-one and we look a lot alike.” Kyle slips his hands into mine and walks backward, leading me onto the dance floor.

“No!” I drag my feet.

He grins. “Come on, humor me.”

“Fine, but no stupid dance moves,” I warn him. Claire and Simon reenacted the Dirty Dancing movie last Friday, after practicing the choreographed steps all week in drama.

Kyle chuckles, twirling me once before pulling me into him, close enough that our chests bump each other. “No stupid dance moves. Promise. Put your arms around me.”

I comply, roping my arms around his neck. He settles his hands on my hips, gripping me tightly, and we begin swaying as the tempo to the song picks up. “I can’t dance to this. It’s horrible.”

“Pretend it’s a different song, then.”

“What song?”

He leans in, pressing his mouth close to my ear—the cold metal of his lip ring tickling my lobe—and begins humming in my ear.

A shiver runs down my spine. “What is that?”

“You like it?”

I can feel campers’ curious eyes glancing our way and I know we should disentangle ourselves, but he feels too good. “Yeah. But what’s it called?”

“It doesn’t have a name.”

“It has to have a name.”

“It doesn’t.”

I pull back far enough so he can see me roll my eyes. “Just admit you don’t know.”

“Oh, I know it.” He flashes a crooked smile.

I raise my eyebrows, waiting.

An unreadable look passes through his beautiful golden eyes then. “It’s called, ‘I Think I’m Falling in Love with You, Piper Calloway.’ ”

A flush of adrenaline courses through my body as I absorb those words, playing them back to make sure I heard them right.

My heart is pounding inside my chest, the blood rushing in my ears as I try to keep the stupid grin from my face. “I’m so in love with you,” I blurt out, curling my arms tight around his neck, inhaling the smell of his soap as our bodies press into each other. I knew it from the moment I saw him. Others—sane people—would call it infatuation. But I knew.

Kyle’s mouth trails over my neck and down to my collarbone.

From the corner of my eye, I spot Darian approaching us. I peel myself away just as she reaches us.

“You two like to test me, don’t you?” Her short blonde hair is damp from sweat and disheveled.

Kyle groans. “Come on, Dare . . .”

“Relax. You’re not in trouble. Yet. But here.” She thrusts a basketball into Kyle’s hands. “If this doesn’t fit between you, you’re dancing too close.”

He laughs. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Darian points at her rosy face, her expression stern. “And do me a favor: think about this basketball tomorrow night, when you two are not doing the things you shouldn’t be doing, so you won’t remember to not protect yourself so you don’t end up with a more uncomfortable and serious ball between you. The kind that cries. Got it? Good.” With that, she’s gone.

I frown. “Did we just get a sex talk from Darian?”