Page 27 of Hate You, Maybe
Yeah. Great question, future friend and potential roommate.
Bob chuckles good-naturedly. “I suppose that’s a detail you’ll all need to know.”
Hildy hops off the trunk and moves over to his side. “Your cabin assignments are printed on the back of your name tags,” she says. “For now, the doors are unlocked, but you’ll find two keys under the mats on each porch.”
Dex flips his tag over. “I’m in cabin thirteen.”
On the other side of me, Victoria/Tori, checks her tag and lets out a little squeal. “Oooh! I’m right next door to you. Cabin twelve!”
Caroline turns to her, noting the name on her tag. “I’m intwelve, too.” She holds her lanyard up like she’s offering proof. “Should I call you Victoria or Tori?”
“Tori’s perfect!”
Of course she is.
While Tori and Caroline scoot closer together, a ball of disappointment ping-pongs behind my ribs. Glancing around at the dozen or so other women here, I decide they all look friendly enough. Drawing in a breath, I peek at my cabin number, keeping one eye open only. Then my stomach plummets.
There must be some kind of mistake.
“Umm, Bob? Hildy?” I gulp. I hate that I have to be the problem-guest twice. “I’m going to need a new cabin assignment.”
Bob furrows his brow. “Is there a problem?”
My throat tightens. “You put me in cabin thirteen.”
“Wait.” Dex huffs out a laugh. “You’re rooming with me?”
“Definitely not.”
“But Dexterisassigned to cabin thirteen,” Bob points out.
Yeah. Thanks, Bob.
So I turn to Hildy, hoping she’ll be more helpful. “The Camp Reboot brochure doesn’t mention coed cabins,” I say. “The website doesn’t either.”
“That’s because we don’t have an official policy against coed cabins.” Her gaze darts to the tag on my lanyard. “And with a name like Sailor, I figured you were a man.”
My pulse picks up. “But my nameisn’tSailor.”
“Well, I know thatnow.” Hildy hitches her shoulders. “The good news is, Bob and I aren’t opposed to you and Dexter sharing a cabin.” She smiles at us both. “You’ll see that the sleeping quarters are quite roomy and all the bathrooms are private. Locks on the door and everything. So if you both agree …”
“I don’t agree,” I say, crawling out of my skin, like a lifelong people pleaser stuck under a very public microscope.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Bob interjects, patting his fanny pack like a Sharpie might fix this. “We want everyone staying with us to be happy and comfortable. We just have to put our thinking caps on. You got your cap on, Hildy?”
“Not much to think about, Bob,” she says. “We don’t have any extra beds lying around, and all we’ve got for seating here at camp are a bunch of wooden chairs or benches. I suppose we could push a couple together.”
“That doesn’t sound too comfortable, Kroft.” Dexter runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up, like bedhead. “You think chair-sleeping’s preferable to a private bathroom and your own personal bed?” He looks adorably harmless with his hair all sticking up like that, but I’m not falling for his charm. I can’t.
“Maybe.” I square my shoulders.
“Well, I’m not gonna let you sleep in a chair.” He fixes me with a stare. “There’s just no way.”
“Why not?”
His gaze holds mine. “Because I’m a gentleman.”
“I’m just so sorry about this mix-up,” Hildy says, lifting her hands in apology. “Maybe Bob and I could ask around to see if anyone in the women’s cabins is willing to trade with Sayla.”
