Last Chance Summer Read online

“So this is where you disappeared to!” she said, smiling. “I got here late last night and tried to catch you in your cabin. Didn’t even think to look in here.

  “Kira Davis,” she said, extending her hand. “I apologize in advance for you being stuck with Grant. Loraine told me yesterday. He’s my friend and all, but girl, I was more than happy to find out I got partnered with Linc instead.”

  “You mean I’m not the only one who finds him annoying?” I said, grinning.

  “Uh, no. Ninety percent of the time he’s a pain in the rear,” she said, laughing. “He means well, but they don’t make them much thicker-headed than Grant. He comes by it naturally. You can’t blame him for his genetics.”

  “So his parents are also stubborn, annoying, and lack a personality?”

  “Kind of.”

  She leaned against the door frame, her brown eyes scanning me. “But, despite him being difficult, you should take Loraine pairing you with him as a compliment. She trusts you can handle yourself around him, or she would’ve paired you with someone else. Can’t go losing more counselors this close to camp starting. That’s asking for a disaster.”

  “More counselors?” I said.

  “Yeah, the girl originally assigned to cabin five ended up getting a summer internship and had to pull out last minute. I got switched. You took my spot in cabin two. But I’m totally okay with it. I want to be an elementary school teacher, so it’s not like I won’t be around younger kids eventually.”

  I turned back toward the mirror, frowning. Why couldn’t Loraine put me somewhere I could use my talents? Arts and crafts, for example. I could paint all day, instead of managing fourteen-year-olds.

  “So, anyway,” Kira said. “I came up here to use the bigger vanity mirror. Is it cool if I hang out while waiting my turn? Everyone else is already at breakfast. It’s biscuits and gravy day, and I recently jumped on the gluten-free train. I’d rather use this time to prep for the day, then scout out the kitchen for some fruit later. Phil always gets me the hookups on produce. It’s not like they’ll be out.”

  “Phil sounds like someone I need to be friends with.”

  “He’s the best,” she said, grinning.

  I swept a couple of coats of mascara across my lashes, then finished off my makeup with a little bit of blush. It did nothing to hide the four-inch scar, pale against my sunburned forehead, but A-plus for effort.

  Kira eyed the scar. “I’ve got one of those,” she said, shifting her gaze. “My mom calls them stories. I call them things I can cover with a little bit of creativity.”

  She motioned toward a compass tattoo inked beneath her elbow. The tattoo’s dark shadows contrasted her mahogany skin, the lines and intricate elements accentuating a jagged line inked into an arrow. It was a true piece of art. She was lucky enough hers was where she could shape it into something valuable. Mine wasn’t so easy to hide.

  “This place in Austin did it during my freshman year of college,” she said, looking at me again. “It’s the best investment I’ve ever made.”

  “I would be totally down to cover mine up with a tattoo, but I don’t think inking a four-inch tattoo on my forehead would be a great life choice,” I said, scrunching my nose. “Some people can pull off a face tattoo. I’m not one of them.”

  “Then highlight that sucker to perfection,” Kira said, shrugging.

  “Or cover it with carefully placed bangs,” I said, swooping my long bangs to the side. “The less I have to talk about it, the better.”

  “Noted,” she said, straightening against the door frame.

  “But don’t let that keep you from hurling all those inspirational quotes my way,” I said, smiling as I pulled my makeup bag from the counter. “I’ll take friends with inspirational quotes over zero friends and total isolation, any day.”

  “Well, I’m here all summer,” she said, nodding. “You need a pep talk, I’m your girl. If you’re feeling unfriended, I’m your girl. Kira Davis, positivity on fleek.”

  “Got it,” I said, giving her a thumbs-up. “And I will more than likely be hitting you up on that offer, since I still have to deal with Grant the rest of the summer.”

  “Only the strong survive,” she said, half laughing.

  My smile widened as I took one last look in the mirror. “We’ll see how that theory holds up,” I said, crossing the threshold. “If I’m still here by lunch, you’ll know you were right.”

  “I have faith in you,” Kira said, placing her makeup bag on the counter. “But if you need some backup, check cabin five. I’m not much of a fighter, but I’ve put Grant in his place a time or two.”

  “Good to know,” I said, waving at her over my shoulder.

  I hauled my makeup bag back into the living room and left it beside the couch, exiting the counselor cabin two seconds later. Outside the camp office, Loraine stood beside a tall metal bell. She heaved a piece of rope up and down, forcing it to clank loudly enough I had to cover my ears.

  “They have an actual breakfast bell,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  I stepped off the porch, walking the concrete path until it shifted into the dirt road that ran in front of the cabins. Grant caught me as I passed the second one, wearing the same black baseball cap from the day before. He had traded out his old T-shirt for a gray one and was wearing black athletic shorts and tennis shoes different from the day before.

  He matched my pace, smelling like cedarwood-and-cypress-blended body wash. Looking good and smelling like this was unfair to the human population.

  “I see you opted out of sleeping in your cabin last night,” he said, grinning. “I think that’s a first for a counselor.”

  “According to you, I’m not like the other counselors,” I said, continuing to walk. “Besides, I was worried sleeping in that cabin would leave me as dead-hearted as you.”

  “Witty.”

  “I’m a fairly witty person,” I said, glancing at him. “It’s one of my most prominent personality traits. I’d say it ranks up there with spiteful and vindictive.”

  “Did you forget to include overdramatic in this list?” he said, grinning. “If I remember correctly, that was a pretty prominent personality trait.”

  “I haven’t had near enough caffeine needed to deal with you this early in the morning,” I said, stopping. “Get to the point and get on your way. I’m hungry.”

  “I just wanted to ask how your cabin cleanout went,” he said. “If you opted to spend the night in the counselor cabin, I’m guessing it didn’t happen. On a scale of one to Dallas Cowboy football, how bad was it?”

  “That’s a stupid analogy,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Give me a minute and I can think of a better one.”

  “Do we really have to chat, though? Can we not and just say we did?”

  “We could, but since we’re stuck with each other, communication isn’t exactly optional,” he said, taking off a Texas Tech lanyard hanging around his neck. “We have to talk. Let’s start with something small and easy to navigate.”

  He handed me the lanyard, then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me too.

  “Those are your counselor keys,” he said. “I figured you had nowhere to put them, so consider that a gift. Wreck ’em Tech.”

  “I need caffeine,” I said, eyeing a calendar that included Team Building Sessions 1–5, Group Therapy, and Yoga for the Soul. “Are these optional activities?”

  “Nope. That’s our preassigned schedule, courtesy of Loraine,” he said. “Check line three, on today. See the part where you’re scheduled for counselor prep from nine to twelve?”

  My stomach dropped.

  “That lovely line means you’re stuck with me for the better part of the morning,” Grant said. “It also means I’m here for all your co-counselor needs.”

  “Where’s the nearest cliff?” I said, handing it back.

  “Just drink in the moment and reflect on how lucky you are to have me as a co-counselor,” he said, cramming the
paper in his pocket.

  “I’d rather drink whiskey,” I said, shaking my head.

  We entered a part of camp I had visited only once the day before. The mess hall sat at the end of it, its roof gleaming in the sunlight.

  “Do you want a proper introduction to the junction?” Grant said, motioning at the freestanding buildings around us. “Or would you like to forgo the official camp tour, once and for all?”

  “Is there anything I need to know about the junction?” I said, quirking a brow.

  Architecturally, the buildings were different from the cookie-cutter cabins we were supposed to sleep in. Reflecting more of a western feel, their flat porches and solid exteriors were less lodge-looking and more rustic.

  My brow furrowed as my eyes scanned their signs. MEDICINE AND MORE. THE HUT. OLD TOWNE OPRY.

  “Not really,” he said, walking ahead. “The buildings are pretty self-explanatory.”

  “Then I’ll skip this part of the tour,” I said.

  We continued walking, nearing the mess hall at the end of the road. The metal-roofed building with large screened-in windows at the front, two benches outside, and a door on each end looked more like something concocted of Lincoln Logs. It was the perfect addition to the junction’s buildings, totally camp chic.

  Grant reached the door before me. The hinges creaked as he opened it, and the smell of biscuits was overpowering from the other side.

  With its wood-paneled walls and iridescent lights, the mess hall looked like school cafeteria goes to camp. Boat oars hung on the walls, pictures scattered beneath them, while Camp Kenton’s flags hung from the ceiling.

  Large folding tables ran from wall to wall, sandwiched by metal chairs. Grant bypassed the tables and headed straight for two serving lines on the other side. Counselors stood there, divvying biscuits and gravy onto their plates.

  We reached them, my stomach growling as I grabbed a plate from the stack. Two minutes later, I left the line with a loaded-down plate of biscuits, gravy, eggs, and bacon. Grant walked ahead of me to the other side of the room, taking a chair at the longest table in the middle. I set my plate beside his, the metal chair scraping against the concrete floor. A few people looked my way. I forced a smile and sat down, nerves on end at the number of people in the room.

  “Okay, agenda for today,” Grant said, filling his glass with orange juice. “First things first, you need to meet the other counselors. I know I’m irresistibly charming, but you need friends other than me. Hard to believe, I know.”

  “Uh-huh, what am I really doing?” I said, scooping eggs onto my fork.

  “Primarily getting your side of the cabin set up,” he said, putting the pitcher of juice back on the table. “I’d consider you spending the night in the counselor cabin a complete cop-out of your responsibilities. Use today to get your cabin ready for campers. Show you’re actually capable of your position.”

  “Don’t start on me,” I said, swallowing my food. “I have bigger things to worry about than your unneeded and inaccurate opinion of me.”

  “Ooh. Did I strike a nerve?”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” I said. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of getting under my skin.”

  “Why are you acting like I don’t bug you when you obviously know I do?” he said, grinning.

  “Fine,” I said, facing him. “You get on my nerves. There. Happy?”

  “Slightly.”

  “I swear, it’s like you get satisfaction out of making me miserable,” I said, tightening my grip on the fork.

  “I mean, you’re not far off.”

  My blood simmered and my cheeks warmed with heat. “Is this how you are with campers too?” I said, my volume rising. “Those poor kids don’t stand a chance with all your nagging.”

  “Hold up,” he said. His body shifted toward me and the line in his jaw sharpened as he stared at me beneath the rim of his hat. “We can flirt, but if you’re seriously questioning my ability as a counselor we have a problem. Don’t piss me off.”

  “You spent yesterday telling me how incapable I am. Why would you get pissed off when I question your capability?” I said.

  His jaw cocked to the side, and the intensity in his gaze was enough to make me slink back into my chair. “I’m the best counselor out here,” he said slowly.

  “Why? What made you the golden boy? Couldn’t be your sympathy. Definitely couldn’t be the way you make everyone feel so warm and welcome.”

  He paused. “I’m going to pretend this is your lack of caffeine talking.”

  “Oh, I’m wide-awake and fully-functioning,” I said. “Me asking you a question has zero to do with whether or not I’ve had coffee. So, I’ll ask you again: Why are you the best? Why has Loraine handpicked you to be her number one, when there are people like Kira who are actually warm and welcoming, and willing to make me feel something other than incapable?”

  Grant cleared his throat, momentarily scanning the otherwise-quiet mess hall. When his attention resettled on me, a sense of calmness lay in his expression.

  Goose bumps tingled their way across my skin and my heart slowed in my chest.

  “I don’t know, Alex. Maybe because I proved myself,” he said, the edge in his tone harsher than I expected.

  We weren’t flirting anymore. This was something different. More serious.

  “You don’t know me,” he said, still talking low. “So, you can sit over there and toss around all the scenarios you want, but at the end of the day, everyone who’s been around me more than five seconds knows I earned my spot. They can’t say that about you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You’re nothing more than the camp director’s privileged niece.”

  I slumped back into my chair, shock rattling its way through my body.

  “You’re entitled, out of your league, and in for a rude awakening. This isn’t a game, Alex. It’s a job.”

  He slid back the chair and grabbed his plate. The rest of the room was silent as the dead. My cheeks burned as he stalked away, and collective murmurs slowly started as he exited the mess hall.

  For a guy so sure of himself, Grant ran at the first sign of pushback. Gold-star counselor or not, it was a flaw in his armor. If I was lucky, that would be all the leverage I would need.

  5

  Sensitivity

  Three hours later, sweat dripped down the back of my neck. I moved across the semi-clean floor of cabin two, glancing at dust-covered cobwebs scattered along exposed beams overhead.

  The windowsills, however, were cobweb-free, and the windows were open, welcoming fresh air instead of the cabin’s former musty aroma.

  A guitar’s steady rhythm drifted through the wall on my right. Grant had been playing for at least thirty minutes, the tempo switching from fast to slow and back. I stood, hands on my hips, as my ears strained to recognize the song. Nothing.

  Letting out a long sigh, I returned my attention to the room. Beds, bathroom, and cobwebs were the only things between ultimate success and me. Problem was, two of those things I could handle on my own. Finding the bedding was a whole different dilemma. Grant hadn’t spoken to me since breakfast. If I had any hope of getting the beds made, I would have to ask Kira or Loraine.

  With the bathroom a necessary must-do, I tackled it first. As I stood on the grimy tile floor, daddy longlegs hanging around me, that decision started to seem less and less smart.

  “Why are there so many spiders?!” I said, grabbing a broom.

  I took down as many cobwebs as possible, then scrubbed the floors until the grimy layer had shifted into something less disgusting. Once I could safely navigate the bathroom, I tossed the mop bucket in one of the showers and took to the walls.

  By the time the bathroom was functional, Grant’s guitar playing had stopped. I gathered the cleaning supplies and carried them back into the main room, setting them near the entrance before heading straight for the door.

  The screen slammed behind me and the wooden porch creaked as
I walked to Grant’s side. His door was propped open and the inside was arctic enough I could feel the breeze from outside.

  “Have you frozen to death?” I said, staring at him through the screen.

  Lying atop a plaid comforter, with one hand behind his head and a book in the other, he glanced at me. “You aren’t that lucky,” he said, before returning to his book.

  I stayed rooted to the porch, shifting my weight on my feet. Grant continued reading, ignoring me completely.

  “I’m not trying to be annoying,” I said after a moment. “But can you tell me where I could find my bedding? I could ask Kira, but I figured I would try to make this co-counselor thing work.”

  “Like you made it work this morning?” he said, fidgeting with the brim of his hat.

  “Grant.”

  He closed his book before laying it on top of a plastic organizer beside his bed. “I guess the better question is: What’s in it for me if I help you?” he said. “You haven’t brought much to this partnership.”

  “Because I don’t have much to offer. Remember?” I said, watching him as he stood from his bed.

  He moved slow, tennis shoes squeaking against polished wood floors. His side of the cabin was completely dirt-free. How he managed that was a mystery.

  “You were off base this morning, questioning me on my ability to do this job,” he said, learning against the door frame.

  “You were off base yesterday,” I said.

  He arched a brow.

  “Okay, so you weren’t off base, but it was messed up for you to just outright tell me how incapable of doing this job I am. I know I’m incapable, but you didn’t have to throw it out there. You could’ve kept it to yourself and just said it in your head or something.”

  “If you want things sugarcoated, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “So you’re just a dick twenty-four seven? You never tone it down? Even when you see someone who’s clearly struggling?”

  “You’re trying to guilt-trip me into feeling bad,” he said, shaking his head. “But it won’t work. You were equally feisty yesterday, and struck me as the kind of girl who could take that kind of honesty. If you can dish it, you can take it.”