Page 5 of Make Out With A Merman

She doesn’t understand that.

Hell, maybe she never will.

But I’ll be damned if I let this camp fall apart because of a flamingo hat and a cocky smile.

CHAPTER 3

CALLIE

I’m not saying I came to camp to stage a pool noodle rebellion on Day Two.

But, like… if the noodle fits.

"Okay, squad!" I shout, hands cupped around my mouth like a budget megaphone. "I want one group by the inflatable dolphin, one by the mushroom sprinkler, and one on Team Flaming Noodle. No, Braxton, you cannot dual-wield."

A dozen campers shriek with joy, pelting across the lake’s shallow end like caffeinated ducklings. The floating unicorn rings bounce like bumper cars. The obstacle course I slapped together in forty minutes with some duct tape, plastic hoops, and blind optimism is holding up surprisingly well.

Miracles do happen.

I lean on my oversized pool net and squint toward the deeper water. Yup. There he is.

Mr. Saltytail himself.

Ryder stands on the opposite dock, arms crossed like he’s the ancient guardian of the lake, watching my noodle circus with all the enthusiasm of a tax audit.

I ignore him. Mostly.

Because today, the kids are grinning. They’re cheering each other on, even the shy ones. Eliza who wouldn’t put more than a toe in the water yesterday is now doing battle with a foam trident like Poseidon's tiny heir.

So yeah, I think I’m winning.

“Callie!” Leo, one of the youngest, flails from the giant flamingo float. “The noodle king is trying to cheat!”

“No cheating unless it’s creative and dramatic!” I yell back. “Bonus points for flair!”

The flamingo capsizes with a whoop of laughter and an epic splash. I blow my whistle like I mean it and raise both arms. “Victory goes to Team Glittery Narwhals! MVP goes to Eliza for yelling ‘I am the storm’ before leaping off the floatie!”

The other kids cheer. Eliza beams like I handed her a trophy made of rainbows and spite.

Behind me, someone clears their throat.

I know that throat.

That’s the throat of a man who files incident reports for fun.

“Ms. O’Shea,” Ryder says, voice like ice sliding off a steel blade.

I turn slowly, smile locked and loaded. “Why hello, sir! Fancy seeing you emerge from your lake lair. Did the glitter lure you out?”

He doesn’t take the bait. Just steps closer, silver eyes flicking from me to the water to the pool noodles currently orbiting a watermelon-shaped float like it’s the moon.

“This isn’t on the approved activity list.”

“I’m fostering aquatic creativity,” I say, twirling the net like a baton. “You’d be amazed how many life skills are hidden in a properly executed noodle joust.”

“You’ve disrupted the shallow zone’s current system. You’re blocking my sightlines. And you’re exceeding the flotation device quota.”

“There’s a quota?”

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