Page 21 of Lady and the Camp
He cleaned up well. Over the gray shirt from earlier—or a different shirt? Maybe he liked gray—he wore an unbuttoned plaid shirt rolled at the sleeves. No hat. Dark, well-fitting but not tight jeans. Work boots.
He stopped at the counter, looking into the open window to the kitchen. He called over to Pocket Pete and the two had a friendly conversation. Nary a grunt or growl from the big boss. His general demeanor appeared more relaxed. Comfortable.
A poke hit my ribs. “You’re drooling.”
I flashed a look at Bianca. “Am not.”
She bit her lip. “Youlikehim.”
“He’s my boss.”
“Mmm, naughty.”
I swatted her. “You’re sixteen.”
“Seventeen.Nearly eighteen.”
“I’m your superior,” I said with zero authority and we both knew it. “Besides, I am not here to find a boyfriend.”
“Why, do you already have one?”
“No, I—” I stopped myself. No wonder Maggie needed support. She was out here with the wolves. Here, the wolves wore camp shirts and scrunchies. “This conversation is not appropriate.”
“You sound like Maggie already,” Bianca whined. “No fun.”
The remaining campers and counselors arrived for what was apparently dinner. The big clock on the wall read five o’clock. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten food at this hour and labeled it dinner.
“Line up over here,” Bianca instructed.
We grabbed trays and waited single file behind a group of campers. I noted colorful bins set against the wall ahead of us. “Looks like recycling is a priority.” Cool. I could get behind that.
Bianca nodded. “Totally. You’ll need to remind the campers which color bin does what. There’s one for cans, one for plastic, and two for food waste. Only certain foods go in compost—the gray bin. That bin gets mulched. That’s where worms go town at the garbage and make it into fortified dirt for gardening.”
She went on about dinner rules, clean-up duties, and how the campers required reminders about all of it.
My head spun.Think of it like content management.All those shifting pieces that had to be set in order, scheduled, detailed, edited, curated. Only for content creation and management, I had tools. Digital tools. Here, I had bug spray. And needed more of it based on the itch screaming from my legs.
Dinner options involved a plethora of carbs and a surprising array of vegetables. Nothing too greasy looking. I took my tray and warily scanned the long tables with bench seats. This was like being a transfer student at a new school. Where did I sit? Who were my friends?
As instructed by Bianca, I sat at a camper-filled table to provide supervision. Hello, Hudson the cafeteria lady, like the lunch moms at my old elementary. What a far cry from the L.A. club scene.
I tried to focus on the girls and their chatter, but my attention drifted when their questions and stories jumbled into nonsense. I didn’t mix much with this age group. These kids didn’t watch the same shows on streaming or subscribe to what I did on YouTube. I had nothing to offer as far as conversation, so I listened. Or tried, at least.
Across two tables, Lucas looked up at the same time I did. His eyes flashed. Was he still upset I’d landed this job with no qualifications? Or maybe he was amused I’d crash landed here at all, completely out of place.
I couldn’t tell with him.
I kept my expression even and devoid of emotion.
Ha! As if. I totally blushed and looked away. How did his eyes pierce so intensely? It was like he could outline in a glance how much of a fraud I was.
And not just a fraud here at camp. When I’d first noticed the drop in my followers after my name made national news, the first major dent to my reputation, I’d assumed I would do as I always had—forge ahead and fix it. More content, better content, and reach more people. New people.
Meanwhile, the comments blew up. So many comments, on every platform. Rude, judgmental, scary. Supportive comments were mixed in, but mostly they were scary. Kristoff’s fanbase had beenactivated.
That quickly, my online clout took a nosedive. Without followers, without my social proof, my platform would weaken. I could handle being a fraud at kids’ camp, but a fraud in the online space I’d expended so much energy building—that hurt. Badly.
I risked losing everything I’d built as the Beauty Butterfly, with my lifeline being a clunky PC in a camp office out in the sticks.
