Page 30 of Lovebug
“Forgettable,” I say on a sigh.
“Mabel, I find that incredibly hard to believe.”
Wow, those are some icy blue eyes. Like the color of a robin’s egg? No. More like the way the sky looks in the spring right after all the rain stops and that delicious sixty-five-degree breeze starts blowing. Yeah, like that. He shakes a few strands of his sandy-colored hair off his forehead without taking his eyes off mine. I find myself mirroring his action, and with a subtle shake of my own head, I come back to myself. He gives my hands one more squeeze, then releases them and walks down the hill.
I watch him until he’s out of sight.
I stumble back to the pavilion a flustered mess, but I try my best to appear unfazed.
“How’d it go?” Dante asks as he grabs a few more pieces of paper for his group.
“Great! Fine! He’s lovely. No need to fear him in the future,” I say and shoo Dante away.
I realize I’m completely parched, so I reach for my refillable water bottle sitting next to the art supplies and start chugging. After I’ve had my fill, I splash the remaining water all over my face in hopes that I can cool down.
I need to get it together.
“I’m on to you, girl.” April sidles up to me with a smirk.
“What’s that, April?” I ask, all faux innocence.
“You like the bad boys!” she says in a hushed voice. “I never would have guessed.”
“Um. Why would you…?”
“I may only be sixteen, but I can spot a smurfnurblin when I see one.”
“Awhat?”
“The Wall read you one chapter of clitorature, and now you want to flog his epilogue.”
“April, I have absolutely no idea what you’re saying.”
“You’re hornified!” she practically cheers. “You’ve sprouted a herection! Yep, our girl Mabel here has come down with a serious case of claustrobonia—”
“I got it, I got it, I got it,” I say under my breath. Seriously, why does this child behave this way? “For the record, you’re incorrect and alsowaytoo young for a… discussion of this nature, April. But…” I sigh. “I got it.”
“Yeahhhhh, you do. You got it,” April says with a smile, then shoots me with a series of fancy finger guns before heading back to her group.
Welp, nothing like some good old-fashioned social humiliation to get the camp season started off right.
Chapter Six
“So. Week one is under your belt. How would you say it went?” my dad asks Saturday night.
“Good,” I say between sips of lemon water.
“Just good?” His eyebrows go up.
Good has never been good enough when it comes to my father, so I course correct.
“Great, actually! Yeah, I feel like I’m really getting the hang of being the head counselor.”
“Excellent. Staff showing you the respect you deserve then?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the newspaper the whole time he’s speaking to me. My dad is one of those guys who loves having a physical newspaper in his hands. Not a fan of getting his new from the “interwebs.”
“Ohhhh, yeah. Totally.”
If respect means teasing me, running away from me, and commenting provocatively on my perceived state of arousal with the new groundskeeper, then yeah, Dad. Totally.
