Chapter 5

"Settle down, everyone! Looks like you're all set for some fun and excitement!" Mr. Woodhouse shouted into the microphone, slipping into an impersonation of Elvis Presley.

We gathered in an outdoor theater for our first meeting with all the counselors. It might sound impressive, but it was essentially just a wooden stage surrounded by benches. Mr. Woodhouse intended to introduce us and outline our responsibilities for the summer.

I found a seat alone in one of the rows. All other benches were occupied except mine, making me feel somewhat isolated, as if I was contagious.

Many of the counselors were familiar from the previous year, but sadly, none seemed to recall who I was. Observing their lively conversations and catching up made me wish I had someone to chat with. However, I supposed it didn't matter much since you can't miss what you've never had, right?

Zenon and I parted ways on our way here. He was intercepted by a group of girls, and I didn’t stick around to witness further enhancement of his already inflated ego.

Mr. Woodhouse went on, "I understand you’re all energetic teenagers eager for me to wrap this up, but there are important duties awaiting us this summer. Let's go over the rules and—"

Just then, Zenon entered the theater during Mr. Woodhouse’s speech. Every eye turned towards him. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, growing louder until the entire audience was buzzing with gossip about him. His name popped up everywhere, and some even snapped pictures.

This reaction caught him off guard.

"Zenon Albert!" Mr. Woodhouse called out into the microphone, shifting gears from Elvis impersonator to game show host, "Welcome to Camp Beaver, where warmth and excitement abound! With your presence, everyone knows they're at the place to be!"

Alright, Zenon has clearly become the camp’s marketing gem. I can't say I'm surprised; his face will probably be on the cover of next year's brochure.

"Why don't you have a seat, Zenon?" Mr. Woodhouse suggested. "Who's your partner again?"

"It's uh..."

Was he seriously blanking on my name? His eyes met mine.

"Candace," I silently mouthed.

"Candy," he repeated more loudly.

Candace, you jerk.

"Wonderful. We're all about dream teams here. Our famous Counselor Cup is awarded to the best counselor duo at the end of the summer. Anyway, Tamara, why don't you start us off with the logistics?"

Tamara, the camp’s resident beauty queen, stood up to speak. She was Mr. Woodhouse’s niece and also a runway model, heading to Miami Dade College in the fall. Last summer, every guy here had been eager to date her.

Zenon sat down beside me, taking advantage of the ample space since my row was empty. I tried to ignore the curious glances directed our way.

"Are you saving these seats?" he asked, puzzled by the emptiness of the bench.

"No."

I let the silence linger. There was no need to confess to Zenon Albert that I didn’t have any friends.

People were still staring at him, and standing this close to so much attention made me uneasy. I stole a quick glance at Zenon—he seemed completely unfazed.

Hot guy problems.

Wouldn’t know a thing about that.

The birds chirped as the rising sun bathed the treetops in a golden glow. Camp Beaver Hills felt like a peaceful escape, a world away from the rough reality I was used to.

For once, I woke up without my family screaming or the power cutting out because Mom forgot to pay the bills. It was like Goldilocks had lent me her cozy little cottage for the night.

Still wrapped in my fluffy green pajamas, I shuffled to the kitchen—only to freeze at the sight before me.

Tamara. In a thong and a t-shirt. Eating my Froot Loops.

"Are those my Froot Loops?" That was the first thing that came out of my mouth.

"Are they?" she replied flatly, not bothering to look up. Then, after another spoonful, she added, "You could probably stand to eat less."

Oh, she really went there.

Tamara was the reigning queen of summer camp and an actual model outside of it. I had never spoken to her before—she was always surrounded by her fan club. And yet, here she was, in my kitchen, eating my cereal.

"Does Zenon know you're here?"

"What do you think?" she shot back.

Less than 24 hours into camp, and they had already… yeah.

"Why are you asking so many questions?" she snapped.

"Because you're half-naked in my kitchen," I answered.

A deep laugh rumbled behind us. Tamara jumped at the sound, quickly fixing her hair and pouting as she turned toward the source.

Zenon. Albert.

The reason the most popular girl in camp was having a sleepover in my cabin.

I glanced at him and suddenly understood why the girls here lost their minds over him.

Leaning against the doorway, one arm braced against the frame, he watched us with an amused expression. How could his blue eyes be that bright in the morning? Meanwhile, mine were still half-shut. His hair was messily tousled in a way that somehow made him look even more effortlessly attractive.