Page 80 of Lady and the Camp
He looked at me with a blank expression.
“The fifteen and sixteen-year-olds—the oldest age bracket the camp allows,” I went on. “Some will go on to be counselors next year. We even offer mini training sessions this week with the chance to earn a junior counselor badge.”
“We don’t do badges.”
“We don’t dopatches. Seriously, you run this camp?”
Lucas scowled. I guess my grin wasn’t enough to signal I was teasing.
He ran a hand across his beard. “Should have known that, you’re right. I didn’t pay attention to the age range on the schedule.”
He said something else, but I’d already moved on to replay our last kiss for my brainwaves only. Lucas was so not my type and somehow completely hitting my buttons. Figuratively, obviously, since I had on a slouchy camp T-shirt and shorts with an elastic waistband. No actual buttons to be found.
“Is that okay?” Lucas looked at me.
“Oh, sure. Yes.” I had no idea what I agreed to.
“Good.” Lucas shifted toward me. He caught himself and straightened. “Good, good.” He sauntered away.
I suppose I’d find out later what I committed to. It wasn’t as if I could leave. Or more like, I’d committed to stay and committed to keeping the camp and staff safe.
We’d already had a meeting with the counselors to inform them of the trespasser and to radio Lucas immediately if they noticed anything off. Anything at all.
Jasmine and the other counselors were managing the bulk of the camper check-ins in Maggie’s absence. Here I was, uselessly standing around.
“Welcome to Camp Junebug,” I announced to the nearest cluster of girls.
The return looks varied from skeptical to mildly hostile. Teen angst or was I overboard with dork energy? I hadn’t felt this out of place socially since…well, the night I met Kristoff.
I’d gotten the dream invitation to a super posh party with a mix of celebrities and L.A. mainstays. The kind of people that opened real doors, not just digital ones.
I’d been practically scaling walls to get this sort of invitation.
But the friend who’d invited me hadn’t bothered to show up. Arriving in my borrowed dress with a rented designer handbag, I sensed the social level shift immediately. The people at this party were not home renovation sisters on basic cable or reality show contestants. No actors with a string of failed pilot episodes.
These were the people who ran Hollywood and the businesses around it. Powerful people who wore their wealth in their posture, who weren’t flashy because they didn’t have to be.
I was utterly out of place and hopelessly try-hard.
And then Kristoff found me. He had the most charisma of anyone I’d ever met. I vaguely knew who he was at the time, and was surprised when he approached me and pulled me into a conversation with his wealthy friends. He listened to me like I had something to say. I hadn’t expected that. My strategy at parties was to introduce myself and then ask people lots of open-ended questions to get them talking about their favorite topic, themselves. But Kristoff, he’d wanted to know aboutme.
He’d made me feel special. In that frighteningly wealthy home with no one else to support me, he’d chosenme.
I snapped to reality as more teens arrived at check-in. Now that I had a chance to observe better, I noticed I was getting some looks.
The pink hair maybe? The color had paled further, and my roots showed. Usually I’d care more and would have scheduled a salon trip by now. With salons out, even a henna box dye could do the trick. But I sort of didn’t care. Maybe the pink needed to fully fade and I’d find a new color to try.
Hold up. A girl had her phone out. We were in the parking lot, technically not deeper into camp where the phone would be confiscated or not work at all. She looked at me, then at the phone. Looked at me again.
Nope. This was not good.
“They’ve got their phones,” I said to Jasmine.
“We allow phones for the older teens. They’re restricted use. They have to secure them in their bunks for most of the day, but we let them have access.”
I should have expected this. These girls were more likely to have seen my beauty channel than the younger girls. With a simple click and a location tag, my lay-low plan would bust for sure.
“Hey,” a girl with a messy bun walked over. “Are you that butterfly skincare girl from YouTube?”
