by K. A. Tucker
“How could I? He literally dropped off the face of the earth.” His phone number went out of service a few days after he left Wawa. My emails to him went unanswered at first, and then they bounced back. He’s nowhere on social media from what I can see, and I’ve looked more than once over the years.
Even now, thirteen years later, I can hear the twinge of frustration in my voice over how things ended between us.
How confusing.
How unfinished.
“What do you think he was doing there?” Ashley asks.
“No idea. He was in a tie, so maybe he’s working for one of the other companies? Or maybe he was just a visitor.” I don’t know what’s behind that door he exited.
“Do you think he knows it’s your family’s building?” Ashley asks.
“Oh, come on,” Christa, ever the cynic, scoffs. “It says ‘Calloway’ across the front in giant, golden letters.”
“That doesn’t mean he’d make the connection,” Ashley argues. “Did you ever tell him who your father is?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“See? So how would he know?” Ashley’s big green eyes get that dreamy look in them. “Wouldn’t that be something, though, if he does work there?”
My stomach does a nervous flip. It’s been thirteen years. Does Kyle Miller remember me? Does he still think about me as I do him? And if so, are those thoughts laced with fondness?
Indifference?
Or regret?
“Those were the days, huh?” Ashley finally lets out a longing sigh. “Remember Eric? Man, that guy used to drive me nuts.”
Christa snorts. “That’s because he had a huge crush on you.”
“Couldn’t have been that big. He never returned my emails, either.” Ashley waves it off, but her face pinches. “I wonder how he’s doing.”
Silence lingers through the kitchen as we all drift into our own thoughts.
“What will you say to Kyle if you see him again?” Christa finally asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Hi?” I swallow against the sudden swell of nerves.
And Why would you hurt me like that?
Chapter 4
THEN
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 i
s. 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 l
ike 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.