Page 7 of Make Out With A Merman

And I swear it looks suspiciously like a smirk.

After dinner, once the sun’s dipped low and the lake’s gone all gold and glassy, I sneak away to the quiet dock behind Cabin 3 with my journal, a half-broken pencil, and a juice box I stole from the counselor fridge.

I flop onto my stomach, legs kicking in the air, and open to a blank page.

Camp Log:Day 2.

Chaos quotient: high.

Glitter ratio: satisfactory.

Lifeguard tolerance: pending.

Today I leda full-scale inflatable uprising and only lost one child to the Noodle Abyss (he survived, thanks to our resident sea-sergeant). Eliza said I’m her “sparkle general,” which I’m definitely putting on my resume.

I chew the end of the pencil for a second, then frown. Tap it against the page.

Also… what’s Ryder’s deal?

I stare out at the lake. It’s empty now, calm like it’s pretending to be normal. But I saw it today how fast he moved, how heknewexactly where Leo had slipped under, like the water whispered it to him.

He’s so… contained. Like every muscle is on guard.

Like he’s waiting for something to go wrong. Or already thinks it has.

I don’t buy the whole “rulebot with no emotions” act. Not fully.

There’s something else there. Something deep. And old. And sad.

I pause, pencil hovering.

And it makes me want to know more.

Which is stupid.

But I still do.

I blow out a breath, scribble a little glitter heart next to the word “stupid,” and snap the journal closed.

The stars are coming out, and I swear the lake hums when I sit still long enough.

And Ryder?

Yeah, he hums too.

But I don’t think he knows it.

CHAPTER 4

RYDER

There’s a flamingo in my emergency zone.

Again.

The inflatable monstrosity floats like a smug pink beacon of anarchy, bobbing just beyond the twenty-meter swim line. Kids shriek and climb over it like it's a jungle gym. Water is sloshing where it shouldn’t slosh. And there on the diving platform, wearing a tiara made out of pool noodles like some kind of demented swim queen isher.

Callie O’Shea.

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