Read Summer Heat Page 4


  I sighed in relief when he didn’t touch me or put his hand on my back on our walk to the cabin.

  “It looks just as scary as I remember it.” He grinned at the cabin like he was pleased with himself.

  “Oh it is, I’ve made friends with at least seven spiders, and I think there’s a rat.” I leveled him with a glare.

  He just shrugged. “I don’t like surprises.”

  “And I take it I’m the surprise?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So I get to suffer because you aren’t mentally prepared for my presence?”

  “Exactly.” He winked.

  “What game are you playing?” I asked once we were at my front door. “Hours ago you wanted to murder me, and now you’re having an adult conversation with me.”

  He leaned in, placing his hands on either side of my head against the cabin door. “Maybe this is a cease fire.”

  “You don’t cease fire that much hatred,” I said softly. “Though I wish it was true.”

  “Is that a polite way of saying you don’t trust me?” He tilted his head like he was amused.

  “Yeah. It is,” I croaked.

  “Smart girl,” he whispered, his gaze lowering to my mouth.

  I needed to escape.

  Not to pull him into my cabin and ask him to get naked.

  What was wrong with me?

  All because he was the only guy to ever make me feel something other than lonely?

  “I, um, have a bag or something for you from your mom.”

  “Foster mom,” he corrected, his demeanor completely changed, like I’d somehow put division between our two positions in life, rich and poor.

  “It’s just… over here.” I flipped on the lights and grabbed the small duffel for him and tossed it.

  He caught it with one hand and then took a look around the small cabin. I wondered in that moment if he wanted to put me in this place because it was the way he’d lived his whole life.

  A small room.

  Nothing personal.

  Enough food to go around, but nothing extra.

  I knew what my parents paid them.

  I knew the house was old, just like this room.

  There were no pictures. Just two small twin-sized beds, a sink to wash up in, and numerous windows with a few shelves filled with dusty books and emergency equipment.

  “There a reason you haven’t decorated?” He pointed to the blank walls.

  “I have nothing to put there,” I admitted lamely.

  “Family? Friends? Pictures of cats?” he offered.

  “Not allowed to have any pets, I kept to myself in College, and I suck at decorating.”

  “That’s… depressing.” He crossed his arms.

  Why was he still there?

  The longer he stared at the walls the more it felt like he was staring into my soul, and I hated it. I hated that he saw all of my vulnerabilities without me even saying anything.

  It wasn’t fair.

  “I should sleep,” I blurted.

  He stared at the walls a bit longer then back at me. “Me too.”

  Why was he not moving?

  He reached into his duffel and pulled out something small. It looked like a calendar of some sort.

  “Grumpy Cat calendar.” He shrugged and tossed it to me. “Two birds with one stone, you can decorate with the pictures, and you have a fake pet.”

  I caught it midair and gawked at him. “Stop being nice. It’s weird.”

  “I’ve always been the nice one.” He smiled.

  “Um, no you’ve always been extremely rude unless drunk.”

  “And you’ve always been a spoiled princess with a stiletto up your ass… guess people don’t really change, huh?”

  I took in his massive appearance and lied. “Guess not.”

  “Sleep tight.” He winked then left without another word. The screen door slammed behind him. I flipped him off and then grabbed the little calendar, held it to my chest as a tear slid down my cheeks.

  “I just want one pet!” I told my mom. “A fish! An ant farm, something, anything!” I didn’t tell her how scared I got at night. How I hated living in that giant house without any sort of warmth, how the fact that she was leaving for a girls’ trip in Vegas over my birthday made me sick to my stomach. If I could just get something or someone to talk to. “Please?”

  “Honey…” Mom rolled her eyes. “Pets smell. You don’t need a smelly pet ruining your carpet.”

  “Fish don’t do that!”

  “Are you cleaning the fish tank? And ants can escape. Sorry but you don’t need a pet, whatever happened to that rock collection!” She beamed. “Just name a rock!”

  Name. A. Rock.

  “But Mom—”

  “I gotta catch my flight. Be good!” She blew me a kiss. The door slammed behind her.

  And my second lonely tear fell.

  THE SOUND OF Brax blowing the camp horn, signifying it was time to wake up, was the absolute last thing I wanted to hear. I’d slept like shit, tossed and turned so much that at one point had to get up and take some sleeping medication and then fell asleep for two more hours before I heard that damn horn.

  It sounded happy.

  I was anything but.

  I quickly dressed in a new staff shirt, threw on a pair of ripped jeans, washed my face and brushed my teeth in the sink provided, and called it good. I had to be the first at breakfast and since it was our first official day at camp, it was imperative I be there to answer questions and help all the teens get to their classes.

  I grabbed the main camp iPad and strolled out of my cabin in a hurry. My eyes focused on the gravel road ahead. I tried not to notice the outlier.

  The cabin I’d put Ray in.

  The one usually reserved for punishment.

  I gritted my teeth. My heart and brain at war with each other.

  Part of me realized it was ridiculous. I was twenty-two. Supposed to be a grown ass adult, and still I was fixated on making her life hell. Cease fire? It should be that easy. To just stop hating someone. But the minute you allow hate in, it sinks its talons into your soul and promises relief if you just let it stay.

  So I did.

  And now it demanded to be fed.

  She was everything to me.

  I’d been half obsessed with her throughout my life.

  “You look funny,” she said in a haughty voice even at six years old.

  I self-consciously patted down my long hair and shrugged. “Well, you have ugly metal in your mouth. Metal mouth!”

  “That the best you got?” She sneered.

  “Yeah.” I said with a laugh.

  She joined in and then wrapped an arm around my scrawny body. “Do you like to swim?”

  We were friends for one summer, the summer before everything changed, before everyone started caring about clothes, body types, cliques.

  I shook my head in disgust and looked away from the cabin. I didn’t have time to think about where things went wrong or how it was even fixable. Brax was right.

  My best bet was to use her as a human shield while simultaneously getting my revenge. Maybe it would make the pain go away. The pain of rejection, of never being enough, of trying with everything in you, holding hope close to your chest, and then getting it ripped from you by the very person who gave it to you in the first place.

  The more I thought about it the more the anger burned in my chest like a searing hot flame.

  Teens were already starting to linger around the mess hall. I shoved the front door open and made my way toward the coffee. At this rate, I’d need at least two pots of coffee before I could even function without yelling at the first person who said his na—

  “Marlon!” Jackson’s voice rang through the nervous chatter from the campers. “Heard you had an invigorating shower last night.”

  Damn it, Brax. Was it that impossible to keep his mouth shut?

  “It was hot.” I filled my cup to the rim and then added three packet
s of sugar. “If that’s what you mean.”

  Jackson followed suit and then leaned against the coffee counter. “So, she makes you hot and bothered, is that it?”

  “Ah just bothered, actually,” I pointed out as Ray made her way into the mess hall and then locked eyes with me.

  “Sure…” Jackson let out a low whistle. “If that’s the look of being bothered, you should go back for seconds. Lust looks good on you man. How long has it been?”

  Too long.

  A year.

  I was tired of girls who wanted more commitment from me.

  And to be honest nothing had ever compared to that one awkward night where I stared at her bra for a solid two minutes perplexed on how to get the hooks undone and get my palms on her breasts as fast as possible.

  I hated that she smelled like sunshine as she made her way past me and to the coffee station. I tortured myself with memories of watching her walk to her car with coffee in hand. I’d take a breath only after she left, then walk to school savoring the flavor on my tongue.

  I deserved to be shoved into lockers for the thoughts I had about her. On most days, it was a very critical balance between obsession and hate. Hate typically won out, especially when it was her boyfriend who was shoving me into said locker. She always looked away, like she couldn’t handle my pain and my embarrassment, like she’d break if she said one word.

  Stop. That’s all I wanted someone to say.

  Stop.

  The thing is, people rarely think about saving the guy, guys are used to physical fighting. But all I ever wanted was the words, not even actions, just words. For someone to step in and say this is wrong.

  Nobody ever did.

  Maybe that’s why being Camp Director was so important to me. Because I had the chance to make a difference with nerds everywhere.

  God help us all if I was the role model.

  “You look nice today.” Jackson leaned way too close to Ray’s coffee, basically heaving hot breaths into it as he watched her stir like it was the most interesting thing in the world, the way her bracelets clanged against each other, the way she gripped the stir stick.

  Idiot.

  And yet I was fixated by the same movement.

  I wiped a hand over my face. “Jackson, when you’re done being creepy can you go make sure that all the cabins are empty for morning announcements.”

  He winked at Ray and then stood to his full height. “You got it boss. See ya later, Sunshine.”

  I took a long sip of coffee and waited.

  Waited for her to say something offensive.

  Waited for the perfect timing where I could say something equally offensive back.

  “You still drink it with three sugars,” was what she said.

  I almost spit out my coffee all over her face. Instead, I choked it down and then flashed her a confused look. “How the hell do you know how I drink my coffee?”

  She shrugged. “Probably the same way you know how I take mine.”

  I rolled my eyes and smirked. It was impossible not to with the way she was grinning up at me like I meant something. “Oh yeah? And what makes you think I know that?”

  “We’re both perceptive.” She offered a one-shoulder shrug. “Just because we were never friends didn’t mean I never paid attention.”

  Some might say I paid too much.

  I snorted out a noncommittal word that made no sense whatsoever and left her grinning at me.

  Winning. Damn it. She was winning without even trying. Wasn’t I supposed to be seducing her? Making her want me? Not thinking about her dimples or the way she grinned at me like fucking sunshine?

  Well done, Marlo. Less than twenty-four hours with your high school crush, and you’re going to go into obsessive mode again.

  I clenched my jaw, Not happening.

  I took another sip of the bittersweet coffee and grabbed a banana from one of the baskets we put in the middle of each table in an effort to encourage the students to eat something from a tree rather than coffee and pastries.

  Jackson was taking a while. We didn’t have a huge camp. Fifteen cabins total, and they all put up a white flag when they were out of their bunks, so all we really had to do was make sure they woke up in time to put up their flag and we were good to go. Plus the mess hall looked like its name, messy with nervous sweaty teens. I sniffed way too many tears — and way too much cologne.

  Jackson finally made his way in the door followed by six guys and six girls, who looked like they’d stayed up all night. Wrinkled clothes, messy hair, and broken dreams were painted on their faces.

  Hungover as hell was what they looked like.

  Jackson was carrying a box and grinning at me like he just won the lottery, which he probably had when it came to alcohol.

  It was the popular kids.

  One look at their expensive yet wrinkled clothes and good looks, and I knew they were sent here from money, and lots of it, which usually meant underage drinking.

  Jackson deposited the box on the table in front of me. A few gallons of alcohol greeted me along with enough pot to last the entire two months.

  Nice.

  I crooked my fingers to the twelve seniors.

  They slowly made their way to the front of the room.

  “Listen up!” I yelled.

  The room quieted down.

  “Break the rules and suffer the consequences.” I shook my head at the twelve in front of me. “You guys get kitchen cleanup for the next month. Jackson, can you grab some aprons?”

  Jackson saluted me and went off in search of the aprons.

  “I’ll just be keeping this.” I pointed to the box. “You’re dismissed.”

  They all shuffled toward a table and sat. Two of them just lay their heads down and closed their eyes.

  It brought me great pleasure to pull out the air horn and give it a little squeeze.

  The two with their eyes closed jumped a foot and then pressed hands to their temples like someone was slowly chipping away at their brains.

  Good.

  “We have a three-strike rule for every camper and staff member,” I reminded them. “Alcohol and drug use will not be tolerated. This is your future. It’s only two months — you can do anything for two months. And if you find that you can’t, maybe this camp isn’t the place for you. Ten minutes and you need to report to your first classes.”

  I handed the box over to Jackson, who had found our aprons. They were a mixture of ugly oranges and pinks, meant to stand out so people knew that the campers weren’t working to pay for camp and were under disciplinary action.

  I checked my watch as tired campers shoveled food into their mouths and chatted with one another. Ray walked to one of the staff tables and sat far away from everyone.

  Was she isolating herself purpose? Did she really think she was better than everyone? It was just proof yet again that people didn’t really change, no matter how badly you wanted them to.

  I hung my head in disgust and if I were being honest, a bit of disappointment as the chatter of campers filled the room.

  Ten minutes crept by.

  And then everyone was gone including Ray.

  It was better this way.

  Better to just get her out of my system, better to show her that the world didn’t revolve around her — not anymore.

  I WAS COMPLETELY desperate.

  I didn’t know anyone.

  The one guy I did know probably dreamed about running me over with his lawnmower on a nightly basis.

  I hugged myself as I made my way to choreography. At least all lesson plans were done in advance for staff. I’d taken one look at my binder and almost puked. Today I was supposed to go over the syllabus and then do a quick and effective jazz class, which in theory sounded easy but it was the Chicago style jazz with very slow-quick movements that made a person sore for days — if you messed anything up, people noticed.

  It was also one of the only C’s I ever got in college.

  It was like
he knew.

  It should be a happy day. Part of me expected my parents to stop by or at least send flowers or something.

  I was almost afraid to hold out hope.

  Last year they had completely forgotten my birthday and then tried to make it up to me by flying me to Disneyland with all of my nonexistent friends. I’d cried even harder.

  I didn’t know how to make real friends who wanted something other than my money. Guys in general only wanted me for my face — one had even told me that to my face. He liked what I looked like on his arm. Gross.

  I exhaled a rough breath then opened the door to the dance studio and walked to the front of the room. My class clustered in each person still in their weird cliques and groups. Their success was my success.

  Because Marlo was right. I needed an agent. My parents said the only way I could move to LA was if I already had an agent — basically the impossible. Though I’d at one point had one.

  I shook the thought away.

  Creep.

  “Listen up,” I rubbed my hands together as nerves assaulted me. I wasn’t the type of person that liked public speaking let alone teaching something I wasn’t good at. Thanks Marlo. “I’m going to go over the choreography syllabus for the first month of camp and then we’re going to do some stretching before starting in on Jazz.”

  Groans were heard throughout the group making me smile. “I know, I know, it’s not the easiest to start with — it’s no hip hop or contemporary but this is Broadway not So You Think You Can Dance, all right.”

  Teens shrugged.

  Some nodded.

  Others looked at the glass behind me and primped their hair. Nice.

  I went through the syllabus as fast as possible and then plugged in the class iPad and put on the Chicago soundtrack. I had to teach everyone Fosse moves of Jazz. Fantastic.

  All That Jazz started in the background. I remembered the steps from the year previous when we did a compilation of the most popular Broadway dances for our senior project.

  At least whoever assigned me to this knew that I could battle my way through it.

  I breezed through the steps on the iPad and then turned to face the class. “I want you guys to listen to the entire song before we start on the steps. It’s not a normal eight count the way you guys are used to, so close your eyes and envision, then I’ll show you the entire thing. We’ll work on the first few steps starting with learning how to snap your fingers and flick your wrists.” There, that sounded good, right?