Last Chance Summer - Shannon Klare Page 0,40

group. Once they surrounded him, he deflected their attention while I gathered my own group. We walked slowly behind the rest of the pack, letting the space between us grow. Once everyone was out of sight, I faced my girls.

“I know we’re supposed to be heading back to camp, but we’re going to arts and crafts,” I whispered. “If anyone sees us, head back and I’ll cover it. Don’t get caught.”

“This isn’t approved?” Brie said, a smile playing at her lips.

“No. Which is why you need to run if anyone spots us,” I said, crossing my arms. “Understand?”

“Oh, we could totally get kicked out of camp for this,” Jess said, her smile wider than Brie’s.

“I’m the quickest person in the freshman class,” Steff said. “If they want to kick me out of here, they’ve got to catch me first.”

“That’s right!” Jess said, giving her a high five.

I shushed them again, turning toward the path that was supposed to lead to arts and crafts. The trees were heavier the farther we got, but they were spaced out enough to keep them from being full-on woods. My eyes strained to see the road, the dirt often covered by overgrown grass.

“It should be about three minutes that way,” I said, pointing. “Watch for snakes and spiders, or everything else that runs around here at night.”

“Like coyotes and stuff,” Brie said.

I ignored her and scanned the ground instead, keeping an eye out for any unexpected critters. Despite being familiar with the swamps, my relationship with snakes was rocky at best. Especially out here, where rattlers and copperheads ruled the terrain.

My heart pounded in my chest as a branch crunched behind us. I turned, my flashlight blinding Jules.

“My bad,” she said, covering her eyes. “I didn’t see it.”

I let out an exhale and turned as the gray portable-arts-and crafts building came into view. Marked with a large sign on its side, arts and crafts was almost identical to the camp office.

“Wait out here while I get the lights on,” I said, twisting the knob.

Given that I’d never been inside the building, how long that would take was questionable.

“Right,” Jess said with a nod. “We’ll be patiently waiting.”

“Wonder if we’ll get free stuff,” Brie said as I crossed the threshold.

The oily smell of paint felt like home. The memory of a paintbrush against a canvas soothing my nerves. Inside the well-air-conditioned room, the vents hummed with life. My flashlight beam ricocheted off shelves filled with art supplies, casting shadows on the walls.

“I need to come out here more,” I said, crossing the room. I flipped the light switch on the other side. The ceiling’s fluorescent bulbs crackled to life.

Footsteps crossed the tiled floors, and my girls chatted idly among themselves as they entered the room. Instead of talking to them, though, I scouted the different varieties of paints on the shelf.

“This place is amazing,” I said, grabbing a bottle of Artisan oil paint.

“Not if it’s one of three places you’re allowed to go,” Brie said behind me. “Anyway, question: Can we get some supplies for free? I want to make one of those friendship bracelets everyone else is making, but there isn’t enough money on my card.”

“She’s a counselor,” Steff said, grinning. “I don’t think she’s allowed to let us steal.”

“I don’t think it will be a big deal, as long as we don’t use a ton,” I said, looking at them.

“Ooh. Not totally rectangular,” Jess said.

“Meaning?”

“You like to stay inside the box,” Brie said. “It’s cool. Some people can’t help it.”

I flickered my attention between them, studying each for their level of seriousness. When no one cracked a smile, I hesitated. “You call sneaking out here being inside the box?” I said, grinning. “That’s like textbook rule breaker.”

“You broke the rules once,” Jess said, crossing her arms. “That hardly counts as being rebellious.”

“You don’t know me,” I said, looking at her. “Believe it or not, I rarely follow the rules. Out here, I have to. That’s just the way it is.”

“Right. Okay,” Jess said, nodding.

“Seriously.” I stepped away from the paint, full attention on them. “Back home I’m constantly in trouble.”

“What do you do? Skip curfew and get home around midnight?” Brie said, grinning.

“Um, no. I stole a cop car with the guy I was dating and accidentally crashed it into a lake,” I said.

Silence.

My attempt at trying to relate to them teetered on the edge of disaster. I wanted them to relate to me, but not at the expense of totally exposing my past.