Chapter 2

I’m standing 50 inches away from Zenon Albert. With all the charisma he exudes, what are the chances that some of it might rub off on me?

He looks like a Michelangelo masterpiece brought to life—a male embodiment of temptation, making sin seem virtuous and morality feel obsolete. If my description sounds dramatic, it’s because I am. I’ve just gone through a breakup.

“There must be some mistake,” Zenon stated bluntly. “That can’t be my roommate.”

“She.”

He shot me an irritated glance. “What?”

“I’m a she, not a that,” I clarified.

Ignoring me, he turned his attention back to Khloe, who was rummaging through a pile of papers behind the reception desk.

“I’m so sorry, Zenon. I don’t understand how this happened. We thought you were related,” Khloe apologized, her voice trembling.

“This has to be a joke,” he said, scanning the room as if expecting hidden cameras.

Tears welled up in Khloe’s eyes. “I didn’t mean for you to end up with a random roommate like this. Especially not her. I’ll get my boss to fix this right away.”

She hurried into the back room and returned moments later with Mr. Woodhouse, the Camp Director. He wore sunglasses perched on his cap and was munching on a Clif Bar, embodying the rugged, outdoorsy type.

“Zenon!” Mr. Woodhouse exclaimed. “Our national basketball champion! We’re thrilled you agreed to join us. Your presence alone elevates our athletic standards.”

Zenon crossed his muscular arms over his chest and nodded toward me. “Why am I rooming with her?”

He certainly doesn’t mince words.

“It’s an honest mistake, son. We thought you two were siblings. You live in the same house,” Mr. Woodhouse explained.

“We don’t.”

"We're neighbors, living just across the street from each other," I mentioned.

"Really?"

"Indeed, Zenon, we are," I replied, feeling a bit awkward, worried that I might seem like some kind of stalker.

Or perhaps just a friendly neighbor. After all, he should be aware of this! I've lived directly opposite his place my entire life. He used to frequently kick his soccer ball into our yard.

"You both have listed the same address here," Mr. Woodhouse pointed out, showing us our applications.

My address read 4 Dupont Avenue, and surprisingly, so did his.

"Did you mistakenly write down my address as yours?" I questioned, taken aback.

Is this how I achieve my moment of fame?

Just kidding.

Sort of.

"No, that's incorrect, it's my house," Zenon contested, reading aloud, "9 Dupont Avenue."

"That's supposed to be a nine?" Mr. Woodhouse asked, bringing the paper closer to examine it closely.

I leaned in over his shoulder to take another look at the address myself. His written '9' looked remarkably like a '4'.

"It looks more like chicken scratch than a number," I observed.

Khloe and Mr. Woodhouse gave me a stern look. Apparently, no one finds humor at Zenon's expense amusing. Seriously, is he untouchable now? Do they capitalize 'His' pronoun when referring to him?

"So, you two aren't related," Mr. Woodhouse mused, considering the implications of our living arrangement. "Damn."

"Maybe we could switch places," Khloe suggested enthusiastically, "I'd be happy to share the cabin with Zenon."

What a heroic offer.

"But you're a girl and not related to him," Mr. Woodhouse pointed out, highlighting how her proposal didn't solve anything. "Zenon, I could face serious consequences for messing up your situation."

"You're the key person here," he continued. "Would you mind tolerating the girl for a few days until we sort this out? I'll rearrange the cabins so you can stay wherever you prefer. For now, you both have separate bedrooms within the same cabin."

A yellow bus pulled up outside, and we heard the excited chatter of campers inside, all eager for their first day. Imagine a bus full of Minions.

Zenon wasn't in the mood to deal with any of this right now.

"I'll give you three days to fix this," he warned, grabbing the keys from the desk, "Otherwise, I'm leaving."

No one bothered to ask if I was okay with this setup. My feelings seemed irrelevant.

Zenon stormed off, Mr. Woodhouse retreated to his office, and Khloe took a few deep, meditative breaths to realign her chakras.

I get it. Zenon can really throw a girl's chakras out of whack.

Apple Cabin was a charming wooden lodge beside a clear blue lake. Inside, it was adorned with soft rugs and wooden furnishings. I dropped my duffel bag in the kitchen area and came face-to-face with none other than Zenon himself.

"Us, related? What an insult," he remarked.

One minute in and he's already insulting me. Fantastic start.

"Who writes a nine like that anyway?" I retorted, annoyed that his handwriting had caused this mess in the first place.

"I do," he replied simply.

"The top is so sharp, and there's a line jutting out from the side. It looks like a four!" I exclaimed.

"You know what else looks like a four?" Zenon smirked.

Me. I was the four. Ha. Ha. Very funny.

"You're such a child," I frowned.

His smirk only grew wider.

I tried to ignore how perfect he looked, how his well-defined features were highlighted by his blue eyes and tousled hair, and how his presence dominated any room, making him seem at home anywhere. Meanwhile, here I was, a girl who never quite fit in anywhere.

I glanced down at my faded jeans and red polka-dotted white t-shirt. I needed to get out of there.

"I heard the campers arriving. I'll go gather our group," I said, backing out of the room and nearly stumbling as I left.

I got into my car and started the engine. I shifted into reverse and began pulling out of the parking spot when someone slammed their hand on the hood of my car.

"STOP!"

Zenon appeared in my rearview mirror. But it was too late. I tried to brake, but not before the tires rolled over—

CRACK.