2006, Camp Wawa, Day One
“. . . they were, like, best friends, but then Marie hooked up with Carlos one night, even though she knew Jenny was, like, in love with him,” Ashley murmurs from the side of her mouth, leaning in so I can catch her muffled words over the buzz of laughter and soft music. “It was a total disaster.”
I covertly study Carlos, a stocky guy in a mustard-yellow T-shirt, standing across from us, laughing with his friends while he stokes the bonfire with a fresh-cut log. The two rivals for his affection sit equidistant to him—Jenny, the tall, lithe blonde on the picnic table to the right, and Marie, the petite girl with a jet-black French braid huddled with a group to the left. He’s cute enough to garner the attention, I guess. He seems to be more interested in the brunette helping him now than either of those two, though.
“So, did they work things out?”
“No.” Ashley’s emerald eyes widen with emphasis. “And then Darian had Marie and Jenny bunking together this summer. Thank God Christa saw the list and made her fix the assignments. Can you imagine how tense that would have been?”
I assume that’s a rhetorical question, so I merely shake my head as I swat the mosquito on my knee—I should have changed into pants—and make a mental note to avoid accidentally stepping into any minefields around those two girls.
When Christa asked Ashley to show me around, Ashley took that not only in the physical “girls’ restroom to the left, canteen closes at five, stay away from the weedy side of the lake” sense, but also as a rundown of key social connections and juicy gossip, and anything else she deems I might need to know about the people I’ll be living and working with for the next two months. The amount of information she’s off-loaded on me in tiny, private slips between the welcome meeting, dinner, and now is staggering. I’m doing my best to keep everything straight.
So far, aside from the Carlos-Marie-Jenny triangle, there’s also the Kate-and-Colin bet—a pool going on how long it will take for the two senior counselors to hook up again after last summer’s off-and-on-again fling. Based on the googly eyes and secretive smiles they’ve been throwing each other all evening, I’m considering throwing five bucks into the hat for tonight. And then there’s the “Will Tom and Doyle finally come out?” question mark, regarding the lanky blond guy and his friend at the picnic table to the right of us, who were campers here for years and, Ashley swears, have been secretly dating each other for the past two summers.
I’ve also learned that Claire, the girl in the oversized fleece sweatshirt with muscular legs, is the resident waterskiing and wakeboarding instructor for the summer and so good that there’s talk of her qualifying for the Pan Am Games; and that Olivia’s dad owns four gas stations, which classifies her as “rich,” especially with the brand-new Honda Civic she pulled up to camp in; and that Justin got into Columbia University for the fall with a full ride from financial aid that he’s been bragging about.
In my circle of friends, no one would ever brag about needing financial aid for anything.
I’ve also been given the quick rundown on Christa. Apparently she isn’t well-liked. Partly because she has a tendency to boss people around and she insists on always being right, but also because she’s been known to rat out counselors. Now that she’s been tapped as lead counselor—a glorified title for the camp director’s personal gopher that she announces to anyone who will listen—people have been avoiding her at all costs.
And I’m the lucky one who gets to room with her for the next two months.
I’m sure there are plenty of questions floating around about the new girl. Everyone’s been nice so far, but I haven’t missed the frequent curious glances, and there was that abrupt end to a hushed conversation between Ashley and two other girls as I returned with my burger, followed by embellished smiles.
I haven’t offered much information about my life, so I can’t imagine what Ashley would be saying about me by way of introduction. It’s nice being a mystery. So different from back home, where it seemed half the school knew my name by the end of my first day of freshman year. Or rather, they knew my family name.
The one person I’m dying to get information on, though, the one I’ve been acutely aware of since crossing the threshold to take a seat at the pavilion for orientation, is the one Ashley hasn’t divulged a single detail about yet. The one leaning casually against the trunk of a giant cedar tree, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets, his feet crossed at the ankles, talking with Olivia as she shamelessly flirts with him. The one I’ve swapped frequent glances with for hours now, allowing myself to admire that gorgeous face for a mere second or two before shifting away, so as not to be too obvious.
“So, what’s that guy’s story, anyway?” I finally ask, feigning disinterest. “You know, the one from earlier. Kurt or something . . .”
“Kyle,” she corrects, her eyes immediately locking on him, as if she’s been aware of his location all along, too. “He runs this place. At least it feels like that, sometimes. He’s . . . different.”
“How so?”
“He’s just . . .” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how to explain it. I like him, don’t get me wrong. But no one really knows much about him.” She glances around and then lowers her voice even further. “He used to come here with his brother. He was this quiet, skinny little kid who didn’t say much. Then they just stopped coming. No one saw or heard from him for forever, until he showed up as a junior counselor last year, looking like that, and I swear, every girl had an instant crush on him. Well, except for Christa.” Ashley snorts. “She reported him for skipping out on his activity once and got him into major shit.” She pauses. “Why? Are you interested?”
“He’s decent enough, I guess,” I lie, nonchalantly. Decent doesn’t even begin to cut what Kyle is. And so different from Trevor, the guy I dated for almost five months this past year. Trevor was a senior, and six feet of brawny muscle, broad shoulders, and baby-blue eyes. He also turned out to be a pig masquerading as a nice guy—promising he wouldn’t pressure me into sex, all while sliding his hand up my shirt and spiking my drinks at parties. When I figured out the latter, I dumped his ass. His ego didn’t take too kindly to that. I mean, a sophomore dumping the Trevor Reilly? He ended up with another senior within two days, and told every guy who would listen to not bother with me unless they wanted serious blue balls.
“So, who has Kyle hooked up with around here, anyway?” Because a guy who looks like that doesn’t spend an entire summer surrounded by fawning hormonal admirers and stay celibate.
“He was with Avery last summer.”
My gaze surveys the crowd. “Let me guess, the one in the navy-striped shirt?”
“Yeah.” Ashley frowns. “How’d you know?”
“Just a hunch,” I mutter wryly, watching the leggy redhead with the bag of marshmallows as she carefully skewers several on the end of a long metal stick. Narrow hips, skinny waist, large breasts, long, glossy tresses the color of a fiery copper. She stands out from all the girl-next-door counselors around the circle, and she’s easily the most classically beautiful female here.
Kyle doesn’t sound as different as Ashley claims, after all. At least not as far as his choice of girls goes. “How old is she?”
“Twenty, I think? At least twenty. This is her second year as a senior counselor. Kyle’s only seventeen.” Ashley looks knowingly at me. “He must like them older.”
Or more experienced. If that’s the case, how quick will he be to abandon the interest he seems to be showing in me? I mean, it’s not like I’m saving myself for marriage, but I’m also not in a rush to rid myself of my virginity as if it were a hot potato. I want it to mean something when it finally happens and so far, I haven’t met a guy who fills that requirement. Trevor Reilly definitely did not.
Will Kyle?
“So, what happened between them?”
She shrugs. “Summer ended, I guess. Plus, if you ask me, she’s not the most interesting person, but I’m not sure it was her personality he was after.” Ashley accepts a marshmallow roaster stick from a nearby guy with a smile of thanks. “She bunked with Christa last year. That didn’t go over so well.”
I fish out two jumbo marshmallows from the bag and hand them to her, while stealing another glance. Olivia, or “Miss Sunoco,” is moving in on Kyle, her hips casually swaying to the languid beat of the moody alternative music playing over a portable radio, her long golden-brown hair flipping with every exaggerated laugh. Does he find her interesting, I wonder?
“He’ll never go for Olivia,” Ashley says as if reading my mind, her eyes on the two of them as she shifts a few steps to hold her stick high above the flames. “She’s a total one-upper. You’ll see what I mean soon. And she’s always talking about money. About their big house, and their cars, and where they’re going on vacation. Kyle can’t stand girls like that. That’s what Eric told me, anyway.”
Noted. So I shouldn’t mention . . . basically anything about my life around him. “Who’s Eric?”
“Kyle’s partner in crime. That one over there.”
I follow the jut of her chin to a guy across from us, busy dousing himself with bug repellent. I’d noticed him earlier. He stuck by Kyle’s side during orientation and dinner.
“He’s cute.” In a Ryan Phillippe sort of way, with dark blond curls that hug his scalp and a mischievous look in his eyes.
“He’s a loudmouth and a goof.” Ashley chews her bottom lip as if considering her next words. “Last year, Kyle told me Eric said I was pretty.” She laughs nervously and shakes her head, as if brushing it off.
I frown. “You don’t believe him?”
“Come on . . . Guys don’t like girls with this many freckles.” A flush crawls up her neck. “Especially not guys like Eric.”
“That’s not true.” I can’t deny that I pitied her for those freckles when I first saw her. But only hours later, I can see that Ashley has a lithe, natural way about her, and when she smiles, her entire face transforms. She’s one of those people who, the more you get to know them, the more attractive they become, wild hair, freckles, and all.
I study Eric again. He’s put down the can of bug spray and is now having a whispered conversation with another guy, their attention veering to Kyle and Olivia across the way, impish smiles on their lips. “Would Kyle do something like that to you?” Because playing on an insecure girl’s emotions like that would make him a douchebag.
Ashley’s brow furrows, as if she’s giving that question serious thought for the first time. “No. I guess he wouldn’t. I mean, they both joke around, but they’re not mean-spirited.”
“So then . . . you and Eric?”
“What?” She giggles. “No. We’re not compatible. Eric’s a Sagittarius and I’m a Pisces. It would never work.”
I wait for her to crack a smile, or laugh. Something to tell me she didn’t just invoke unsuitable zodiac signs as a valid reason for avoiding a hookup.
Her face remains serious.
“Anyway, Eric was messing around with someone else, like, a week after Kyle told me that, so he couldn’t have been that into me—”
“Freckles!” Eric hollers, attracting everyone’s attention as he marches toward us.
Including Kyle’s.
I feel my body naturally stand up straighter.
“Stop calling me that!” Ashley’s scowl quickly fades to a smile as Eric rounds the bonfire. “God, you’re so tall now!”
With a wide grin, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a friendly hug. “Yeah. Late growth spurt, I guess.”
They break apart and she playfully pokes him in the ribs. “You never emailed me.”
“You know how it is when you leave here.” His inky blue eyes flip to me. “So? Who’s your new friend?”
Ashley waves dramatically toward me. “Piper, this is Eric. Eric . . . Piper.”
He offers his hand and I take it, but the handshake quickly morphs into a weird slap-snap-flap move that leaves my hand frozen midair, my eyebrows raised in surprise, feeling foolish.
Eric frowns with astonishment. “Wow. You’ve really never been to Wawa before.”
“Uh . . . no.”
“ ’Cause you know, there’s a secret handshake.”
“There’s a secret handshake?” I echo, feigning shock.
He grins. “Oh, yeah, there’s a secret handshake. Better learn it fast because you’ll be doing it a thousand times this summer.”
“Ten thousand times,” comes a throaty male voice. I turn to find Kyle standing beside me, close enough that I can smell the mix of Deep Woods bug spray and whatever hair product he uses to get his hair to stay up.
He must have broken free of Olivia’s advances and made a beeline here as soon as he saw his best friend approaching. I swallow, forcing down the swirl of giddiness over that thought. “Ten thousand. That’s a lot.”
“It is,” he agrees with mock seriousness. “Soon you’ll be waking up to your hand doing the motions in your sleep.”
“Yeah, that’s not what your hand is doing while you’re asleep,” Eric retorts, earning himself a swift punch to the shoulder from his friend.
Kyle turns his attention back to me, his golden eyes glittering with amusement. “Hey.”
“Hey.” A blush creeps along my cheeks. Knowing I’m blushing only makes my face grow hotter. I wish the sky would plummet into full darkness right about now.
“I’m Kyle.” He holds his hand out and I eye it warily. A cute smile curves the corner of his mouth with the lip ring. “Nothing funny. Promise.”
His fingers are long and slender as they slip over mine, his skin cool to the touch. “I’m Piper.”
“Piper,” he repeats, his hand lingering a beat or two longer than normal before he releases me. “I like that. It’s different.”
“It’s definitely different.” And it has come with an arsenal of unwanted nicknames. Pipe Cleaner, before my stick figure began to fill out; Pipes, courtesy of my brother; Piper the Viper, from opposing players on the tennis courts—that one’s growing on me. And of course, there are also the gags. I’ve found more than one jar of dills in my locker this past year, and the guys’ swim team has taken to trailing me in the halls while whispering some stupid rhyme about picking their pickles.
Kyle slides his thumbs into his pockets and lets them hang in that casual way. “So, how’d you end up at Wawa for the first time ever, Piper?” He’s watching me so intently, his eyes—with a vibrant green hugging the pupils, I can see now—searching mine.
I have to clear my throat before I can manage words. “My mom used to go here, and she’s a firm believer that everyone should experience being a camp counselor at least once in their life, so . . . here I am.”
“Those damn parents, always forcing us to experience life and shit,” he murmurs, his lip twitching with amusement as he reaches up to casually scratch the back of his neck. His sleeve slips, showing off the edges of black ink. Seventeen and tatted. Did his parents actually allow that? Because mine are vehemently opposed to it. My dad has basically told me that every tattoo is a digit lost from my trust fund if he finds out.
“So you get it, then.” I smile softly.
His gaze flickers to my mouth. “I do.”
“Everyone!” Darian, our petite and energetic camp director, has climbed up onto one of the picnic tables. She claps several times, showing off toned arms. “Everyone, grab a seat! Chair, table, grass, wherever. Get comfortable!”
There’s a shuffle of bodies around the campfire as people settle in. I find myself perched on one end of a picnic table bench, next to Kyle. His jean-clad thigh softly nudges mine, momentarily distracting me from everything else.
“It looks like you’re all having fun, catching up. That is awesome!” Darian emphasizes the word awesome by throwing her arms in the air. My guess is that she was that spunky high school cheerleader in her former life. Somewhere in the last twenty or so years, she traded in her long blonde ponytail, short skirt, and pom-poms for a cropped cut, hiking boots, and a tennis visor that reads “Camper 4 Life!” across the front. “Now, I know I don’t have to remind you guys what the first day of camp is like, right? All the excitement and nerves can make for a long night. Kids are excited, nervous, homesick . . . which means they don’t sleep, which means you guys,” she jabs the air with her index fingers, “don’t sleep either.”
A chorus of groans sounds out.
“And then you’re up at the crack of dawn for an even longer day.”
More groans.
Darian holds her hands up in surrender. “I know, I know . . . But taking care of these kids and making sure they enjoy their week away is kind of why you’re here, am I right?” She pauses, waiting for a few sounds of agreement. “And you all need to get a good night’s sleep tonight so you’re ready for what’s to come. You catching my drift?” She casts a searching look around the group.
“No shenanigans?” Eric calls out with an impish grin, earning a few laughs.
“You got it, Mr. Vetter! No shenanigans! And I don’t want to have to treat you like children by watching your every move. Listen, I know there will be times when you need to unwind a bit after refereeing and corralling kids all day. I get it. I’ve been there, too. But I expect everyone in their cabins by ten tonight, snoring softly, so you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when those parents and kids pull in tomorrow. Is everyone with me on this?” Again, her arms go above her head, her question seeming more like a practiced cheer.
Kyle leans in toward me. “Darian tries hard to be ‘hip,’ ” he murmurs, his voice low, his mouth close to my ear as he air-quotes the word hip.
I take a deep, calming breath to balance my spiking heart rate. “So I’m noticing.”
“She usually misses the mark, big time.” He settles back, resting his elbows behind him on the picnic table, his long legs stretching out in front of him. “But she’s all right, as far as bosses go. No one’s allowed to be a dick to her.”
It sounds oddly like a warning. Like, if you’re a dick to Darian, you’re going to have a problem getting along with the other counselors. Or maybe just with Kyle.
“Okay! So on that note, we do have a few new people in our group. One who is brand-spanking new to Wawa.” Darian’s hand flies my way and I instinctively tense at being singled out. “So, I think it’s a good time to play our favorite ice-breaker game”—another round of groans carries—“and see what new things we can learn about one another. Come on! It’s been a year. Stuff has happened. Besides, I’m sure there’s still plenty you don’t know about even your closest friends here.” She claps her hands. “Okay! Two truths and a lie! Who’s going first? Don’t make me pick.”
Someone shouts, “New girl goes first!” and a chant of “New girl, new girl!” begins.
“Okay, then! Piper, stand up and try to fool us.” Darian nods encouragingly.
“Are you kidding me?” I mutter under my breath, squirming in my seat as forty-odd sets of eyes land on me. Two truths and a lie? What the hell do I say? Couldn’t they have given me two minutes to prepare?
My mind has gone completely blank.
“I’m going first,” Kyle announces, standing and taking a step forward, steering everyone’s attention to him.
Darian doesn’t object.
I let out a shaky sigh of relief.
“Let’s see . . . two truths and a lie . . .” He slides his fingers over his chin in exaggerated thought. “This is my second year as a counselor at Wawa, I got caught up in an armed robbery, and I just got my fifth tat last month.” He rhymes them off so smoothly, I’d think he had them long since prepared.
“One . . . two . . . three . . .” Eric, who’s sitting on the other side of Kyle, counts out loud, his brow furrowed in thought. “Hey, Avery! Does Kyle have any ink on his ass? Or you know . . . ” He waves a hand at his own groin area.
Laughter erupts.
“Don’t pretend you guys don’t walk around butt-naked together every chance you get,” Avery throws back in a snippy tone, her face flushing to match her red hair.
“Yeah. But we don’t get up close and personal.” Eric’s eyebrows waggle. “If you know what I mean—”
“Thank you, Eric!” Darian cuts him off with a warning tone. “Anyone want to take a guess? What is Kyle Miller’s lie?”
Even I know this is his second year as a counselor. A general consensus of “Number Two!” and “Armed robbery!” echoes around the campfire as Kyle waits patiently, his arms folded over his chest, a knowing smirk on his lips.
“Well?” Darian watches him expectantly, though, I note, with a touch of apprehension in her gaze.
Kyle reaches up and tugs at his shirt collar, stretching it to reveal a slender but muscular shoulder and the fresh outline of a tattoo in progress. “This will be number four when it’s finished.”
Eyebrows pop and looks are exchanged, and then a flurry of curious questions about the robbery erupt.
“We’re going clockwise,” Kyle announces, ignoring them all, settling back into his seat beside me. He nudges a surprised-looking Eric beside him with his knee.
“Dude,” Eric mutters, peering at his best friend. “Seriously? When?”
Kyle shrugs nonchalantly. “I can’t remember. Two truths and a lie, Vetter. Go.”
Eric shakes his head and then, just like that—as if Kyle is the camp director running the show—he stands and rattles off his own three lines.
But Eric’s words don’t register for me. My focus is on the boy beside me, his elbows resting on his knees, his attention locked on the dancing flames. I have so many questions.
Golden eyes turn to me suddenly and I avert my gaze to the sparse grass at my feet, but it’s too late.
“You come up with anything yet?” he asks casually.
“Almost,” I lie. “Thanks, by the way, for buying me some time.”
He shrugs. “Being the new guy sucks.”
I guess that would have been him last year, after so many years away.
Eric is done and everyone’s shouting out numbers, most of them having chosen “one.”
Kyle discreetly holds out three fingers for me and winks. “He’s a shitty swimmer.”
I guess he was listening to his friend, after all. Meanwhile, my attention is now on his wrist, on the ink peeking out from beneath the tan leather band. I jut my chin toward it. “What’s that?”
Kyle smooths his thumb back and forth over the bracelet for a moment, his mouth working over words that don’t seem to want to come. And then he unfastens the snap and stretches his arm out to settle on my bare knee, palm up. Waiting for me to see for myself.
I struggle to ignore the feel of his hot skin against mine as I take in the tattoo. Two rows, two numbers, with several decimal points following each. The second number is a negative.
“They’re coordinates.” I look up in time to see the small, satisfied smile on his profile as he watches the fire. “To where?”
A few beats pass before he pulls his arm away and refastens the leather band, covering the tattoo. “Nowhere special,” he says casually, leaning back on his elbows once again.
“You permanently marked your body with coordinates to a place that isn’t special?”
The smile grows wider. “Maybe I did.”
I shake my head but chuckle. I can’t get a read on this guy, other than that he’s lying and we both know it.
The ice-breaker game is rolling through the group swiftly and I really should be listening, but I can’t seem to pay attention to anyone except Kyle.
“So, what’s your lie going to be?”
“If I tell you, it kind of defeats the purpose of the game, doesn’t it?”
His tongue slides out to flick his lip ring absently, drawing my attention to it. I’ve kissed three guys in my life and none of them had a lip ring. I wonder what it would feel like, to kiss Kyle.
My blood begins rushing at the thought.
“I’ll know which one it is, anyway.”
“Really . . . And what makes you so sure?” I ask playfully.
Another lip ring flick. “I’m a telepath.” He turns to look at me, catching my gaze on his mouth. “I’ll bet you.”
“How much?”
Kyle shifts ever so slightly, bringing himself closer to me. “Loser has to eat five Fun Dips in under a minute. Winner buys.”
“What?” I laugh through a cringe. “Is that even humanly possible?”
“Eric did it when he lost a bet with me. And he always loses when he bets me, by the way.” The smug smile touching his lips is downright devilish.
I set my jaw with determination. I love Fun Dips. I love winning even more. “The doubles or the singles?”
“I’ll let you get away with the singles.”
“You’re on.”
An excited gleam sparks in his eyes.
It’s Avery’s turn now, and she hops off the picnic table to stand, showing off a set of long and slender but shapely legs. Everyone’s attention is on her as she scoops her glossy red locks back with both hands, then tucks strands behind each ear.
But I’m stealing frequent glances Kyle’s way, trying to catch any flicker of interest that may linger for last summer’s fling. Did he sleep with her? Eric’s joke implies that they’ve gone pretty far.
A tight, uncomfortable feeling stirs in my stomach with the thought.
But I remind myself that he’s sitting beside me.
He came to me.
“Okay. So . . . let’s see . . .” Avery swings her arms at her sides twice. “I’m changing my major to herpetology—”
“Lie,” he murmurs without missing a beat.
“How do you know?” And what the hell even is that?
“Because she hates reptiles.”
Ahhh . . .
“Especially turtles.”
I frown. “Who hates turtles?”
“Exactly.” His eyebrows pull together. “I need to be with the kind of girl who likes turtles.” He pauses a beat and then peers at me with intense scrutiny. “Are you the kind of girl who likes turtles?”
I struggle to suppress what would no doubt be a stupid grin, as flutters stir in my stomach. “I love turtles.” The chocolate pecan kind. As far as the living kind go, I’m indifferent. I mean, I’d swerve if I saw one crossing the road, but I have no plans to join a “Save the Turtles” advocacy program.
But this has nothing to do with turtles, anyway.
I swallow my nerves. “Actually, I have a bunch of them at home.”
“Really . . .” His eyes narrow and I can’t help but note the thick fringe of long, dark lashes. “How many?”
“A hundred and one.” I struggle to keep a straight face.
Kyle lets out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of turtles.”
“We have a turtle farm.”
His head falls back and he belts out a laugh that grabs everyone’s attention, including Avery’s, whose eyes narrow and dart from him to me.
“Something you need to share, Kyle?” Darian asks through a tight smile, her annoyance thinly veiled. I wonder if she feels the same way about Kyle that Christa does.
He holds a hand in the air, palm out. “I’m sorry, but have you ever heard of anyone having a turtle farm?”
“What the hell’s the point of a turtle farm?” Eric mutters. “All they’d do is sit around in the sand all day.”
“And swim,” Kyle offers. “But you’d need a big pool, especially for a hundred and one of them.”
“A hundred and one? You mean, like the Dalmatians?”
“Exactly like the Dalmatians, Vetter. Exactly.”
Eric frowns as if considering that. “Are the spots on their shells or their bodies?”
“Okay, boys . . .” Darian interrupts the Ping-Pong match of wit between the two friends. She points toward Avery. “Can we please focus?”
“Yes. Of course. I apologize,” Kyle says somberly. “Please, Avery . . . continue telling us about your cats.”
With another wary glare Kyle’s way, Avery continues. “Their names are Snow and Coal.”
“Because one’s all white and one’s all black. She said the same thing last year,” Kyle mutters, and there’s no missing the boredom in his voice. Whatever Avery may feel for him—which right now appears to be a fair amount of resentment—there’s no love lost on his end.
“Didn’t stop you from hooking up with her all summer,” I retort before I can stop myself.
Kyle muffles another laugh through a fake coughing fit, earning a dirty look from Avery and a throat-clearing from Darian. “I see Ashley’s been busy filling you in on everything you wanted to know?”
And now Kyle is fully aware of the fact that I wanted to know about him.
My cheeks flush. But I shouldn’t be embarrassed, should I? Because, unless I’m horribly imperceptive, the signs are all there that this interest is mutual.
Avery has finished and people are now shouting out their guesses.
“I missed her third thing. What was it?” I ask.
“Probably that she has a sister who looks exactly like her, or something equally lame.” Kyle waves a dismissive hand in her direction. “Do you have a sister who looks like you?”
“No. A brother, who looks nothing like me.” He is my mother’s son, while I’m a much more feminine version of my father.
Kyle smiles smugly. “Now I know one truth about you.”
Shit.
“Come on, Piper. I’m counting on you to come up with something more interesting than siblings and cats.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I haven’t been involved in any robberies lately.”
An odd, unreadable look flickers over his face, but it’s gone in an instant. “So then shock me.” His eyes roam my face. “Say something that you wouldn’t want to stand up in front of a group of strangers and admit to.”
“Fine.” My stomach flips.
“And let’s up the stakes. Ten Fun Dips, two minutes.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He smirks. He turns his attention back to the circle.
I feel compelled to ask him something—anything—to keep our conversation going. “So . . . do you have a brother?”
His fingers move for that leather band again, fumbling absently with it. “Yeah. One brother. Jeremy.”
“Is he going to come here this year?”
“Nah.” Kyle’s eyes roam the treetops falling into darkness, now that the sun has dropped past them. “So, what activities did you sign up for?”
“Uh . . .” I struggle to think, his diversion away from his brother swift. “Knitting and badminton.”
He cringes. “Knitting? That’s the worst.”
“Options were slim. You?”
“Kayaking and hiking.”
I frown. “But those slots were full when I signed up, and you came after me.”
“Pays to know people.”
“Apparently,” I grumble. “I’ve never even held a knitting needle.”
Kyle nods toward the counselors. They’re halfway around the circle. “Better start thinking up a good lie, unless you want to lose our bet.”
We sit quietly next to each other—me, hyperaware of Kyle’s every shift, twitch, and glance—and listen as one by one, everyone takes a turn standing before the crowd, attempting to trick the group. Most tries are unimaginative—answers people throw out just to get their turn over with and the attention off them. Then there are people like Christa, whose truths are so blatantly obvious—“I’m a Type A personality, I like to be in control”—that it’s impossible to mistake the lie—“I drive Formula One race cars in my free time.”
A few are good. A guy named Vince had everyone divided over whether he went skydiving last week or if a shark did in fact brush past his calf at Cocoa Beach during spring break. Turns out Vince is scared shitless of heights and would have to already be dead and tossed out of a plane in order to agree to skydiving.
Tom stood up and outed himself as gay—to a round of cheers, proving that many already suspected that truth.
And then there was Olivia . . . I got my first real taste of her and her “I spent New Year’s Eve in Paris,” “My dad said that if I keep my four-point-oh, he’ll buy me a Range Rover when I graduate” truths, along with her “I met Harry Styles last year” lie. Apparently she met him two years ago.
As each person pauses to wait for the consensus, Kyle holds up one, two, or three fingers for me. And he’s right, every time. I’m beginning to think there is such a thing as telepaths. At the very least, he has a natural ability to read people.
By the time my turn comes, my palms are sweating.
“Okay! And last but not least . . .” Darian makes a drum roll with her palms on the back of the cardboard box used to shuttle over wood scraps for the fire.
I stand, feeling everyone’s gaze on me once again.
“Hope you like sour apple,” Kyle murmurs, and I can hear the smug smile in his voice.
And I hope this doesn’t backfire terribly on me.
“We have turtles at home, I’m crushing hard on Kyle, and I dumped my high school soccer team captain’s ass for trying to pressure me into having sex.”
Probably not what Darian had in mind for this ice breaker, but there you have it.
Eyes flash wide, mouths drop, and shocked, nervous giggles sound, and then people begin shouting out numbers. I stand with my head held high, like I’m unfazed, even as heat crawls up the back of my neck. Thank God for the cover of night, finally.
“Okay, that was . . . interesting.” Darian’s own eyebrows are arched as she looks at me, her words failing her. “Well, Piper? What’s the lie?”
Taking a deep breath, I finally dare look over my shoulder and down.
Kyle peers up at me with a small smile on his lips, dipping his head once as if in approval. I guess I didn’t totally fail. He holds up his index finger.
Number one.
I feel the triumphant smile take over as I turn to the group. “I’d never date a soccer player. They’re a bunch of crybabies.”
Laughter and jeers explode around the circle as I settle back down next to Kyle, my blood still racing through my ears, my eyes on the flames, unable to gather the nerve to meet his gaze.
Darian begins addressing the group—reminders for where to be tomorrow and when—but I dismiss her instantly. With Christa as my bunk mate, I basically have a walking, talking agenda anyway.
“You do not have a turtle farm,” Kyle mutters.
“I didn’t say I did.”
“Yeah, you . . .” His words drift as he realizes his own error.
“We have two snapping turtles living in our pond at home. They’ve been there since April.” My mother has tried to have them relocated, but they’ve somehow eluded the animal control guys so far. “But thank you for the idea. I never would have remembered them.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, and a soft curse slips from his lips.
“So . . .” I swallow away my nervousness. “Was that shocking enough for you?”
Kyle leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees again, making it impossible for me not to look at him, short of turning away. “Well, let’s see . . .” He uses his fingers to count out. “The most fucking convenient truth, if I’ve ever heard one . . .”
I giggle.
He hesitates. “ . . . a pretty ballsy admission . . .” But by the soft smile touching his lips, I’d say one that he’s pleased with. Is that a slight flush in his cheeks? “ . . . and then your lie.” A frown touches his brow. “So who was he, then?” He tilts his head to meet my gaze, and for the first time I see a genuinely somber look.
My breath hitches at the beauty of it. “Captain of the rugby team,” I admit. “How’d you know that part was true?”
He shrugs. There’s a long pause. “Sounds like he was a real dick.”
“You’re perceptive.” Please don’t be a dick, like him.
Kyle’s face splits with a wide smile. “So I’ve been told.” His gaze dips to my lips.
I feel the overwhelming urge to find out if Kyle is as good at kissing as he seems to be at guessing lies, and the brazenness to make sure I find out on my first night at Wawa. “Hey, so do you want to—”
“Miller! Rematch time!” a guy yells out, pulling Kyle’s attention away from me. A group of guys are jogging toward the nearby field, where a bright overhead light has been turned on to illuminate the grass. A guy bounces a soccer ball off his knee.
“Oh, you mean Eric. I don’t play soccer!” Kyle hollers back.
“What? You scored five—umph!” Eric’s words cut off when Kyle elbows him in the ribs.
“These guys don’t know what they’re talking about,” Kyle dismisses, then stands and stretches, his T-shirt lifting to give me a glimpse of a narrow but chiseled waist and dark hair trailing south of his belly button, his jeans sitting below the elastic waistband of his navy-blue Calvin Kleins. “But you know, I should, uh, head over there to, you know, console all those crybabies.”
I laugh. “Right.”
“I mean, I don’t play.”
“No, of course not.” I mock-frown.
He begins walking backward, away from me, grinning. “Because I’m not a crybaby.”
“You’re not. And by the way, did you want those ten sour apple Fun Dips with breakfast or lunch tomorrow?”
He gives me a gritted-tooth smile. “Canteen opens at ten thirty.”
“Mid-morning sugar rush it is.”
“Can’t wait.” He saunters away, Eric jostling him playfully.
“Oh my God!” Ashley squeals, sliding down to me. “I can’t believe you actually said that in front of everybody!”
“I know. Me neither.” And a quick glance around the group, namely at Avery’s and Olivia’s tight expressions, tells me they aren’t exactly pleased by it. But I guess when the new girl strolls in and basically stakes claim to the boy everyone else wants on the very first night, that’s bound to happen.
Crap, did I just guarantee myself enemies for an entire summer?
“I knew you liked him, by the way.” Ashley playfully jabs my ribs with her finger. “I could just tell.”
She could tell, but she doesn’t seem bothered or annoyed by the fact that I lied. She seems genuinely . . . giddy for me. It’s at that moment that I decide Ashley is a friend I need to have this summer.
Christa sits next to Ashley. “Seriously? Kyle Miller?” Her voice drips with disapproval. Her expression isn’t much better.
I’m immediately on the defensive. “And what’s wrong with him?”
“He’s a jerk.”
“Not to me, he isn’t.” I give her a knowing look. Judas.
“He’s irresponsible, he lies, he thinks everything’s a joke,” she says, listing Kyle’s supposed faults on her stubby fingers. “He shouldn’t have been allowed back here.”
“But he was.” I flash Ashley a wide-eyed “What the hell?” look.
“Something bad is going to happen one day, and it’ll be because of him. Mark my words.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. “Mark your words? What are you, ninety years old?”
“So . . .” Ashley leans forward to effectively block Christa’s face from mine and end a brewing confrontation. “What did you two talk about?”
I struggle to shake off my growing irritation with my new roommate. “Just . . . stuff.” As if I’m going to divulge anything within Christa’s earshot. “We made a bet, to see if he could guess my lie.”
Her eyes flash with excitement. “Who won?”
I look to the field in time to see Kyle peer over his shoulder at me, the sly smile touching his lips as infuriating as it is sexy. Ashley was right, he’s just . . . different, and I can’t put my finger on exactly how.
But I’m quite certain that I’m done for.
“Definitely me.”
