Page 25 of Hate You, Maybe
Ummm … I glance at Dexter.
Am I missing the joke?
“Good to be here,” Dex says warmly. He’s already better at this than I am.
“Good to justbe.” Bob grins.
His hair is about the same color as Dexter’s, but that’swhere the comparison ends. While Dex fills out his hoodie and joggers in an annoyingly effective way, Bob is gangly, with a scraggly beard and what appears to be a total absence of muscles under his sweatshirt.
“All right, folks.” He claps to gain everyone’s attention. “I think the gang’s mostly here. So it’s time to grab your name tags.” He nods toward a picnic table under a sprawling tree. A tangle of tags is scattered across the top. Each one is attached to a forest-green lanyard I figure we’re supposed to wear around our necks.
I make my way over to the table like the good rule-follower I am, but Dex gets intercepted by a brunette who bumps into him. Accidentally. On purpose.
Her Lululemon ensemble costs almost as much as a car payment. And I know this because I looked at that exact outfit before deciding to buy a knockoff brand from Target.
Dex says something to her I can’t hear, then he debuts his megawatt smile. She tosses her hair back, laughing. A twinge of something sharp pokes at my insides. There he goes again. Winning over the masses. Like always.
While I wait my turn with the name tags, definitely not trying to eavesdrop on their conversation, a redhead with a bright smile and a face full of freckles moves past me. She sorts through the tags and finds hers.
CAROLINE.
We make quick eye contact, and I open my mouth to say something to her, but no words come out. Instead, I hang back, deferring to the hodgepodge of guests pawing through the tags. Everyone else mumbles greetings to each other. But I can’t seem to find my voice.
Them:Good morning. Good morning. Good morning.
Me:Nothing.
Why am I so bad at this?
Eventually, Dex stops flirting with Lulu Leggings longenough to follow directions and collect his name tag. He slides up beside me, but she somehow manages to squeeze into the space between us. She grabs her lanyard.
VICTORIA/TORI.
Because of course this stunning brunette has the sexiest, cutest names in history. She slips away from the table, brushing against Dexter’s entire body as she goes, and my stomach growls like I’m gestating an alien.
Terrific.
Dexter’s eyes drift to my abdomen, and I cross my arms over my middle. Guess that smoothie wasn’t enough breakfast for me after all. “You hungry?” he asks. “I’ve got an extra protein bar in my bag.”
“No, thank you.” My eyes dart to Tori, and I stuff my hands into the pockets of my bulky cargo pants. “I’ll be just fine until lunch.”
“Are you sure?”
No.
But to beat Dex at his own game, I can’t afford to be in his debt. I need to stay mentally competitive. Physically tough. Unmoved by kindness of any kind. So even though I could demolish a protein bar right now, I’m going to stick to my list of Reasons Dexter Michaels is the Absolute Worst instead of making a Nice List that should never exist.
“Anyway, it’s probably poisoned,” I mumble. “Hemlock.”
He barks out a laugh. “I’d never waste a good protein bar on murder.”
Once almost everyone else has collected their Camp Reboot lanyards, I scan the remaining tags, but I don’t see my name. Dex tips his chin, a question in his eyes.
“What’s the hold-up, Kroft?”
I nod down at the table and cringe like my failure to locate my tag is somehow my fault. “My tag’s not?—”
Oh. And that’s when I spot it.
