Page 29 of Stuck With the Billionaire Grump

“I think our definitions of ‘living a little’ are somewhat different,” I quip.

Jake snorts. “Seriously, dude. What are they going to do if they catch us? Send us home? We’re already going home tomorrow.”

“Yeah, man, it’s not like we’re doing anything illegal,” Zack adds. “We’re just going to hang out with the girls down by Cabin B.”

I roll my eyes. For whatever reason, Cabin B was abandoned years ago and sits on the very perimeter of Camp Hannefort. The most poorly behaved campers often get caught doing all sorts of stupid things there, like smoking or casual vandalism, but it’s not like much can be done to stop them beyond tearing the cabin down. Even then, the rule breakers would just find a new hub to gather in.

I cross my arms. “And don’t you think it’ll be pretty obvious when a bunch of boys and girls are making a ton of noise in the middle of the woods when we should all be sleeping?”

“It’s not even going to be that many of us,” Brandon replies.

“Come on, superstar,” Jake complains, using the nickname they made up for me during our second week of camp. For the past six weeks, whenever anyone has called mesuperstar, I’ve been forced to face the fact that they all know exactly who my parents are. I haven’t bothered to ask them to stop, especially since that would only encourage them to keep doing it.

“Just go without me,” I insist.

“Theo!”

“Dude, what’s the problem?”

“Bro, for real!”

Just like that, I know I’m not going to get out of this. For whatever reason, my lackluster social skills haven’t prevented these guys from feeling like I’m part of their group. Or maybe it’s just that they want to be able to go home tomorrow and brag about how they hung out with Daphne Shay’s son all summer.

Either way, I’m pretty sure resistance is futile. And even though we’re definitely not allowed to sneak out past curfew, I have a feeling that Dr. Sans would approve of this, if only because it means I’m behaving like a normal teenager.

“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll come.”

And that’s how I find myself traipsing through the woods with the others by the weak light of Jake’s flashlight and the crescent moon two hours later. A few more guys join us on the way to Cabin B, making us ten in total. I keep an ear out for any sign that one of the counselors might be on our trail, but I seem to be the only one who cares about getting caught. I don’t even know why I care. Like Jake said, the worst they can do is send us home, which is hardly a punishment at all considering our parents are coming to collect us in the morning.

Or rather,theirparents are coming. At least one of them, that is, considering thisisdivorce camp. Mine, on the other hand, have already arranged for a chauffeur to pick me up and bring me to the airport. And when I land at LAX tomorrow evening, another chauffeur will pick me up and bring me to my mother’s house in Malibu. She won’t be there, but our private chef will be, and I suppose Rosa’s company is better than none.

Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if both my parents have completely forgotten about me this summer. I imagine they’ll stumble upon me in the couple weeks between now and the start of my senior year, purely by accident, and play it off like they meant to cross paths with me.

I’m jolted out of my thoughts as we arrive at Cabin B. The boys file in through the crooked door, the rusted hinges groaning conspicuously in the otherwise quiet night.

Inside, I count eight—no, nine—girls. The dirty, ramshackle cabin is lit with a dozen flashlights propped up like candles around the room. It gives the whole place an oddly spooky atmosphere.

My stomach drops when I immediately recognize Abby and Katrina, because that means their beloved queen is definitely nearby.

And, sure enough, Lucy’s voice is the first to cut through the hushed whispers and muffled giggles.

“Breaking the rules is so fun!” she exclaims. Too loudly.

I cringe, but everyone else laughs. As usual.

“I have an idea,” says Abby, sidling up next to Jake with a mischievous grin.

“Oh?” he replies, looping his arm around her waist.

I fight the urge to gag.

Abby pulls a bottle out from behind her back. Dread pools in my stomach. I seem to remembernothing illegalwas one of the promises made to me by the boys.

Except, a moment later, I realize it’s just an empty coke bottle. One of the fancy, old glass ones.

“I found it outside,” Abby says. “It’s probably, like, older than I am. Look how dirty it is. Anyway, we should totally use it to play spin the bottle!”

Beside me, a boy named Charlie mutters a curse under his breath. I sneak a glance at him. He looks about as thrilled by the prospect as I am and is currently inching backwards toward the door.

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