: Chapter 7

I HATE MYSELF FOR DRINKING last night.

Why I decided that was the night finally to relax a little and do what I want I’ll never know. I never quite reached being drunk, but the consequences of slow, constant drinking to stay buzzed is almost worse. It means this entire drive has been even more tiring, and even longer than it needed to be with a small, low ache in the base of my head. If I’d gotten blackout drunk I would have gone to bed alone and I might have had a good night’s sleep for once.

Not sleeping isn’t anything new for me, and after years of sporadic, light slumber, my body operates pretty well on empty. This drive has been rough, though, and I’m seriously regretting driving instead of flying.

If I’d flown, I could have had several more hours in bed, instead of having to get up and get on the road first thing. Henry and Robbie waved me off, both red-eyed and practically still asleep, mumbling something about rescuing me from horses and cows if I needed them to, but it meant a lot anyway, and for the first time in forever, I feel excited to come back to Maple Hills at the end of summer and see my roommates.

Maybe if I’d flown, I wouldn’t have spent the past four hours thinking about the woman in my bed last night. Well, in my bed until she wasn’t. I should accept it for what it was: a one-night stand between two consenting adults. Not something I usually do—generally it takes more than one night for me to get the confidence to make a move—but she was so confident and I wanted to match it.

I’m kicking myself for not saying more to her while I had the chance to. Although, maybe her leaving and telling me without any words that she wasn’t interested in anything more is easier in the long run. I spent so long in the bathroom hyping myself up with one of JJ’s silly pep talks to convince myself to ask her if she wanted to go on a date when I get home from camp that if she’d rejected me to my face, I’d have probably locked myself back in the bathroom.

Yeah, it was a blessing she left without saying good-bye.

Message received.

One night only.

I probably made a fool of myself, but there was something in her gaze, in her smile when I looked at her. Maybe she pitied me; that would make more sense, to be honest. Pity or not, I’ve spent the past several hours torturing myself with the memory of her soft skin beneath my fingers and her moans in my ear. I know I won’t see her again, and I should probably just forget about her, but sometimes it’s not that easy.

If I remember how fucking unbelievable she felt maybe it’ll dull the feeling of disappointment that I didn’t get to ask her out.

THE STONES CRUNCH UNDER MY tires as I turn into the large dirt track adjacent to the huge Welcome to Honey Acres sign. Anticipation drowns all the other feelings in my body and it hits me that I’m finally here after so much waiting. I didn’t go to sleepaway camp when I was younger because my family couldn’t afford it. Mom was reluctant to commit to anything so far in the future, never knowing whether Dad’s paycheck was going toward the bills or a bet.

She wouldn’t look at places for kids in families with financial insecurity because she was too busy pretending things were fine. I didn’t get it when I was younger, which I’m thankful for in many ways, because for a long time I just thought she liked having me and my brother home.

But like everything else, I’ve gotten myself here. I might not be a kid anymore, but I’ll get to see what I was missing all those years and, even better, I’ll get paid for it.

In the distance, a huge log cabin appears, and as I get closer, parked cars and a bus decorated in Honey Acres branding come into view. Pulling into an empty space, I take a deep breath and give myself a minute to adjust. It looks exactly like the brochure, even down to the people wandering around with their bags looking excited.

Grabbing my things from the backseat, I head toward the people lining up to register their arrival. Pulling out my phone, I see a string of messages in the group chat Stassie set up last week.

I always wondered what it’d be like to be in the inner circle when I was on the outside. Now that I’m in it, I realize it’s mainly chaos, but in a kind of wholesome way. By the time I’m done catching up, I’m at the front of the line, which gives me the perfect opportunity not to dwell on the fact I am once again on some shitty college gossip page, the girl I’m with on there has a super-rich family, and there’s absolutely no way I’m going to be able to fake knowing anything about race cars if I ever see her again.

It doesn’t take long for me to be given my welcome pack, told a meeting starts in an hour, and find my cabin. Pushing my way through the stiff door, I immediately spot my new roommate for the summer.

“What’s up, man,” he says coolly, nodding from the bed he’s taken on the other side of the room. “I’m Xander.”

“Russ.” I swear I nearly say muffin. “Good to meet you.”

“You, too.” His eyes drop to my T-shirt, where the white Titans logo stands out against the navy-blue material. “You at UCMH?”

Part of me dies a little bit, because I didn’t think when I put this shirt on. I hoped there wouldn’t be Maple Hills students here, since it’s so many hours away, but it was silly of me to assume they wouldn’t be attracted to the same things as me. You’d think familiar faces would be a comfort, but as soon as I mention hockey they bring up the rink, which I fucking hate talking about. I reluctantly answer Xander. “Yeah, you?”

“Nah, man. My mom’s husband is faculty and I don’t need that in my life. Plus, my stepbrother is there and we’d probably kill each other if we played on the same basketball team. I’m at Stanford. You play?”

Dropping my bags to the floor and emptying the things from my pockets, I sit on my bed and brace for the normal reaction. “Yeah, ice hockey.”

“Sweet.” He gestures toward the keys. “Was it a long drive?”

It takes me longer than it should to answer him because it wasn’t the question I was prepping for, and the more small talk we make, the more relaxed I become because he doesn’t mention the rink at all.

I’m sure it’s an anxiety thing to assume that every single person with links to Maple Hills knows about the situation I caused at the start of the year. It’s my biggest shame, the first time I thought, “Yeah, Dad’s right, I am a fuckup,” so it isn’t as easy as choosing not to think about it like my teammates suggest. Stassie says that over time it won’t be the first thing I worry about, but I’m still waiting for that to happen.

An hour flies by so quickly I don’t even get a chance to open my welcome pack before we have to head over to the main hall for the meeting. This place is huge but, thankfully Xander worked here last summer so he knows exactly where we’re going.

We grab two empty seats in the front row and wait for the rest of the room to fill up. Xander passes me a sign-in sheet being sent around the room, and at the top is the Wi-Fi password.

“The Wi-Fi fucking sucks, by the way,” he groans. “It’s not too bad if you’re in the main buildings, but in our cabin it’s nonexistent. You’ll get random service and all your messages will come through at once and scare the shit out of you.”

“No service is good for me, to be honest.” I sign my name and connect anyway, passing the sheet on to the people beside me. More messages from the group chat come through, along with some other notifications and messages from my mom.

I check the other notifications and the one that stands out is the one from my dad.

I lock my phone quickly in case anyone is looking over my shoulder and put it back into my pocket. I feel bad for ignoring Mom’s calls, but it’s always the same excuses I’d rather not hear. My brother, Ethan, only calls to give me shit about not visiting, despite the fact he fled to the East Coast with his band as soon as he possibly could, leaving me to deal with it all alone.

I’ve always been second choice: to my dad’s addictions, to my mom’s excuses for him, to Ethan’s desire to move away far enough that he can pretend nothing’s wrong.

I love my family, but I hate what we’ve become. Tiptoeing around the things that keep us divided, making excuses for Dad, refusing to work toward a solution in favor of pretending there isn’t an issue. I’ve reached the point where it’s easier to ignore them and keep my distance both physically and emotionally. Thankfully, now that I’m here, that distance I’ll be keeping is four hours north.

An older woman taps a live microphone at the same time a fluffy golden head lands on my knees. Xander immediately reaches for the dog, scratching between its ears in a way that makes the dog’s eyes close and tail wag. “Hey, Fish! I’ve missed you and your hair all over my clothes,” he coos. He looks at me to explain. “She’s Jenna’s dog; you’ll meet her, she’s a director. Jenna works in the office mainly, so Fish just roams around the camp, getting attention from everyone. She usually picks a favorite and sticks with them. Looks like you’re a contender.”

“Welcome, everyone!” the woman calls from the front. “For our newbies this year, my name is Orla Murphy and I’m the resident dinosaur here at Honey Acres. I’m the camp executive director and owner and I oversee everything and everyone here. My family founded Honey Acres and I’m so happy to welcome you to our family this year.”

I’m half trying to listen, half trying to fuss over Fish when Xander grabs me suddenly. “Oh my God,” he whispers, squeezing my arm tightly. Following his line of sight, my eyes land on the cutest two—equally as golden and fluffy, but much smaller and chubbier—dogs trotting toward us. “Baby Fishes!”

I realize I’m not listening to anything Orla says about the camp as the puppies reach us and Xander scoops them both up under his arms. Twisting the shiny aluminum name tags hanging from their collars, I try to suppress a laugh when Salmon and Trout are staring back at me.

Laughter coming through the speaker drags me back to the present, and when I look back to the front of the room Orla is staring at us. “I see the dogs are doing their usual trick of outshining me. For those of you who have been with us before, Fish had puppies and she’s very proud of them. Fully expect you may get back to your cabin one day to find them in your bed.”

There are murmurs around the room as others on the front row lean forward to catch a look at the fluffy bundles currently boxing each other in my roommate’s arms.

I commit to paying attention as Orla explains a lot of the things I already know from the brochure about a typical day, expected behavior, days off, and what to expect until the campers arrive in a week.

There’s something about the idea of team building that makes me shiver. Icebreakers are my least favorite thing to do, and I’ve basically signed myself up for a week of them.

Orla continues with her introduction and a puppy crawls into my lap, right beside its mom’s head, and falls asleep. “Onto the important stuff. I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise to you, but alcohol and drugs are strictly prohibited, even if you are of legal age… which most of you aren’t. You are here to give our campers a magical summer; if you wanted to spend your summer under the influence, you should have gone on vacation instead.”

Kris, Bobby, and Mattie’s faces immediately pop into my head. They said something similar when I countered their offer to go to Miami with working at camp with me.

“For many of our kids, this summer will be the highlight of their year, so keep that in mind when you think about showing up with a hangover. And finally, everyone’s favorite topic: romance. Here at Honey Acres we have a zero-fraternization policy, which if breached will result in contract termination. This is, of course, for the well-being of our campers, but also for your sanity. You have ten weeks together, and trust me, it goes very slowly when you desperately wish you could escape someone who seemed like a great idea when you had your camp goggles on.”

I lean toward Xander, lowering my voice. “Camp goggles?”

He chuckles. “You’ll see. Everyone is attractive after a month.”

She finishes by explaining that all staff can hang out together in the shared staff areas, but not in each other’s cabins, and a few other perfectly reasonable rules I’m going to have no problem keeping. The last thing I need is to be sent back to Maple Hills midsummer because I fucked up. Again.

Today is a settling-in day, since so many people are tired from traveling, and the final step of our welcome is meeting the group of people we’ll be working with for the next ten weeks.

The kids are separated into one of four groups: Raccoons, Brown Bears, Foxes, and Hedgehogs. Each animal represents an age group, and each group has six counselors who work on rotation to make sure there are always four counselors available each day and two overnight.

I put my preference as Brown Bears, which are kids aged eight to ten, because they’re old enough not to be totally needy, but young enough that I’m not potentially going to be fighting an attitude for just over two months. Unlike a lot of other summer camps where campers stay for a week or two before heading home, our kids are here for the entire summer.

One of the staff starts calling out names, and people head toward their groups. I try to put the puppy back on the floor in preparation, but it squeaks until I give up.

“Brown Bears, you’re up… Clay Cole… Alexander Smith…” Xander stands, opting to take the puppy with him after watching my failed attempt. “… Emilia Bennett… Russ Callaghan…”

I stand to join my group, Fish close behind my feet, as more names are called. My group is busy getting acquainted with the puppy still in Xander’s arms, and as I approach, one of them turns around.

My heart sinks as I immediately recognize the girl staring back at me.

I don’t need to calculate the probability of who Emilia might be here with—it’s written on every bit of her shocked face. I know she’s here, because the universe loves nothing more than to drag me to hell and back for fun.

Emilia’s eyes look past me and I turn instinctively, immediately spotting the same blond hair that my face was buried in less than twenty-four hours ago.

It takes her an extra second for her to spot me, but when she does, she stops abruptly, her jaw slacking slightly, her eyes widening as she takes me in. “Oh shit.”