Last Chance Summer - Shannon Klare Page 0,10

except the Wi-Fi password and the location of the nearest Starbucks.”

“We passed the nearest Starbucks five minutes ago,” Loraine said. “Also, the Wi-Fi password is solely for office use. We unplug while we’re at camp. It helps keep campers and counselors dialed in to why they’re there.”

“I’m starting a petition,” I said.

“Great. Focus on the petition and I’ll focus on how to get you transferred to a better-suited cabin,” Grant said, giving me a thumbs-up.

“Nothing is changing,” Loraine said.

“Yet.” He slumped into his seat, returning his earbuds to his ears.

I stared at the road the rest of the ride, impossible options burning their way through my brain. No amount of money was worth depriving myself of Starbucks. A sneak out would be imminent. Crucial to survival.

An hour later, a random Hank Wilson song was floating through the speakers when Camp Kenton’s massive wood sign greeted us. Loraine turned beside it, driving through a pair of metal gates at the entrance.

I checked my phone reception, praying for a signal.

No service.

“Damn,” I grumbled, cramming the phone in my pocket.

“AT&T is spotty out here,” Loraine said, glancing at me. “You’re welcome to use the office phone if you need to make a call.”

“We’ve gone back in time, where internet and cell phones don’t exist,” I said. “What’s next? We park the car and go the rest of the way on foot?”

“Nah. The camp has its own covered wagon,” Grant said, unbuckling his seat belt.

I surveyed him, gauging his seriousness as we neared a portable building with CAMP OFFICE painted on the side. A large metal sign hung in front of it. A single golf cart was the only vehicle in sight.

Loraine parked on the other side of the golf cart, pulling the key from the ignition and quickly opening the driver’s side door. Heat flooded the cab, amplifying warmth in my cheeks as I watched Grant unfold himself from the back of the truck. His long arms stretched above his head, revealing a sliver of skin. He was more distracting than Wi-Fi.

I slipped outside the truck, surveying the scenery as I closed the door. Trees extended in every direction, shading long patches of freshly mowed grass. My new prison was a virtual greenhouse, the canopy of leaves magnifying the stifling heat.

“Hey,” Grant said, earning Loraine’s attention. “I’m hungry. Is there any chance I could skip unpacking and get straight to the food?”

“Mess hall,” she said, nodding. “I think Subway sandwiches were on the lunch menu. If you’re lucky, Phil might have saved you some chicken salad.”

“My favorite,” Grant said, grinning.

Loraine crossed the grass toward the camp office, leaving me with Grant and zero idea of where to go next.

“You interested in food, or are you still over there trying to mentally plan your petition?” he said.

“You volunteering to be my first signature?”

“If it gets me out of the chaperone gig, then yes,” he said, fidgeting with the brim of his baseball cap. He shifted his weight, eyes assessing me beneath its shadow.

“You can stop giving me the judgy look,” I said, moving to my right. “I know I’m not Grade A counselor material.”

“Not even close,” he said, scrunching his nose.

I gawked, shooting an equally assessing gaze at him. “For the record, you don’t strike me as counselor of the year either. You look like some athletic hipster crossbreed with perfect hair and a perfect face, who would run at the first sign of chaos.”

“I’m not even remotely close to being a hipster,” he said, “and I thrive in chaos. My middle name is chaos.”

I arched a brow.

“Okay, it’s Michael, but that’s not the point. Point is: You’re horrible at reading people. These campers are going to chew you up and spit you out.”

“Wrong.” Except he was probably mostly right.

“Then I’ll happily take all my wrong personality assessments of you with me to the mess hall. You can find the way on your own. Don’t want to continue misjudging you and your expert people-reading skills.”

“Your sarcasm could use some work,” I said, hurrying after him.

After a few steps, we reached a concrete sidewalk leading to a massive cabin down the way. Grant paused, waving at the group on its large wraparound porch. “This is the counselor cabin,” he said, nodding toward the building. “And those are more judgy counselors like myself. Do you want to meet them while you’re hangry, or would you prefer to meet them after a sandwich or two?”

“I never said I was hangry.”

“It’s in your eyes,” he said, winking.

I let