Last Chance Summer - Shannon Klare Page 0,13

bottle, condensation clinging to the plastic. I took it, my flushed cheeks and dehydrated body begging for relief.

“Can we go now?” he said. “I’ve got a mile-wide list of things to do, and I can’t sit in these woods with you while you pout and play in the dirt. I’ve done that long enough. Responsibility calls.”

I swallowed hard, dragging the rim from my lips. “What do you mean you’ve done this long enough?” I said, my grip on the bottle tightening. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to know you aren’t capable of finding your way back alone,” he said, sweat around the ring of his collar evidence enough. “And long enough to know you need a serious lesson on how to read a map.”

“The person who made the map did a crappy job,” I said, standing.

“I made the map. It’s the handler who did the crappy job. Not the mapmaker.”

Grant turned, pushing a branch out of his way as he walked. “How did you even get to this part of the woods?” he said. “I swear, it’s like you searched for the most snake-ridden area, then decided to sit down right in the middle of it. You know what a rattlesnake is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “They rattle.”

“Among other things, like biting you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” I said, trying to keep Grant’s pace.

When we reached the edge of the woods, the sun was hovering over the horizon. Grant turned, frustration flickering over his face until it neutralized to something unreadable.

“Head to the counselor cabin near the camp office,” he said.

“Is that an order?”

“No. It was a request,” he said, rolling his eyes. He let out a long breath and turned the opposite way, taking long strides through the grass. “I’ll be there in a minute. I need to do something first.”

“Like find a clean shirt?” I said, turning the opposite way.

“It would be clean if I didn’t have to stalk you all over the woods,” he said behind me.

I trekked the dirt path, heading toward the counselor cabin. When I passed, a group of counselors gathered on cabin one’s porch eyed me quietly. My muddy, sweaty, mosquito-eaten appearance had to make one heck of a first impression. Hello. I’m the swamp thing. Nice to meet you.

Near the camp office, the counselor cabin’s porch was vacant. I took its steps one at a time, crossing the creaky wooden planks toward the door at the front. Inside the cabin, the air conditioner’s chill mixed with the dampness of my shirt. I rubbed my arms; goose bumps covered my skin as I walked the wood floor.

A navy-and-white plaid couch sat in the middle of the living room. Worn cushions and frayed edges on the arm gave it an aged feel. I plopped onto it, grabbing one of two plaid pillows tossed haphazardly on the cushion. Grant entered a few minutes later, the screen door closing loudly behind him.

“I half expected to show up and find out you’d gone to the wrong cabin,” he said, tossing a granola bar at me. “At least you paid attention to something other than my backside.”

“It was only temporary,” I said, holding my ground despite heat flooding my cheeks. He wasn’t wrong.

He chuckled, plopping into the chair across from me. “At least Loraine paired me up with someone with a sense of humor. I’ll give her credit for that.”

“That was nice,” I said, looking at him.

“Nice enough for you to request a job change?”

“A bet is a bet,” I said, scratching my arms.

Littered with red splotches from all the mosquito bites, keeping that bet would be even harder now. These stupid mosquitoes were like tiny raptors bent on destroying my happiness.

“Quit scratching,” he said, drawing my attention.

“They itch.”

“You’re in Texas at the beginning of June. What did you expect? Mosquitoes are our state bird.”

His hat hit the table and messy strands of chestnut-colored hair poked out on either side of his head. His face, tanned from the sun, was somehow sharper without the shadow of his hat. He raked his hands through his hair, smoothing the strands against his forehead.

“What possessed you to go out there anyway?” he said. “Did you just see the woods and think, Wow, that looks like a great place to go?”

“I was giving myself a camp tour, since you failed so epically at it earlier,” I said.

“You could’ve stuck with something easy like touring the junction or finding the mess hall.”

“I was trying to find the pavilion,” I said. “It was