Last Chance Summer - Shannon Klare Page 0,41

The cop-car incident seemed to be easier to explain than confessing my part in Nikki’s death.

After a minute, Brie crossed her arms. “I call total BS.”

“Call it whatever you want,” I said, shrugging, “but it’s the truth. Oh, plus, also, my dad is the town sheriff. Yeah. Didn’t go down too well.”

“OMG, that’s epic,” Steff said, crossing the room. A glint of amusement simmered behind her brown eyes. “Was it his car you stole?!”

“Negative,” I said. “It was a random one from the station. We grabbed the first pair of keys we could find and took it before anyone realized.”

“Epic,” Jess said, smiling.

“Yeah,” I said. “And I was epically grounded. It was one of the most boring house arrests in the history of people. Point is, I’m not this wholesome counselor you think I am. I’m just a person who’s trying to make it through the summer while attempting to follow the rules. Something I think you can all appreciate, since you’re walking thin ice here too.”

“And you think this makes us the same?” Brie said, quirking a brow.

“I think it makes us more the same than you realize,” I said, nodding. “While I can’t bend the rules for y’all every day, I can try to meet you halfway on some things. But that means you have to meet me halfway too. If you can’t, we’ll all spend the summer miserable. I’d rather get along.”

I let out a long breath, surveying the room. The girls eyed each other, their expressions neutral.

“Do you think we can do that?” I said. “Or do I need to plan on being miserable?”

“I think we can compromise,” Brie said, looking at me. She extended her hand, a smile on her face. “Deal?”

“Deal,” I said, shaking it.

“Great,” Jess said, walking backward. She hauled an old-school boom box from the corner of the room, setting it on the table with a thud. “So, what do you say we get this party started? I’ve got the music.”

“What is that thing?” Brie said, scrunching her nose.

“No idea,” Jess said. “All I know is you turn the button and it makes the radio play. Kira had it on yesterday, when I was grabbing a new sketch pad.”

She flipped a switch and country blared from the speakers. Cringing, Jess immediately flipped to the next station. It landed on some sort of pop-hits station, playing a song I recognized.

“This is good,” I said, nodding. “Just make sure it isn’t loud enough for anyone to hear us. They’ll be doing counselor patrols later. We’re on a limited time schedule.”

“And she’s already back to being rectangular,” Brie said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the paint. Almost an hour later, I had pulled a canvas from the wall, started a rough sketch, and was mentally working out which colors to use in the background. My attention lifted for a fraction of a second, landing on the clock across the room. At 11:25, it was past time for patrols. Counselors would be by any minute.

“We need to pack it up,” I said, straightening. “Just take whatever you’ve got and work on it when we’re back at the cabin.”

“I was almost done,” Brie said, holding up a red-and-blue-toned bracelet.

“If we don’t go now, you’ll have more to worry about than whether or not you finished your bracelet,” Jess said, carrying an oblong container of multicolored sand art. She unplugged the radio, leaving the room silent.

Brie glanced at her over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. “You’re such a killjoy, Jessica.”

“Call me Jessica one more time,” Jess said, glaring at her.

Steff and Jules pulled their stuff from the tables, both of them heading for the door while I returned the rest of my paint to the shelf. Once the space was clean, I flipped the lights off and met everyone outside.

We walked the path in the dark, Jess handling the flashlight while I toted my canvas through the trees.

“Do you paint back home?” she said, glancing at the picture.

“When I can,” I said. I shifted my grip on the picture, swatting mosquitoes as they swarmed my arms. “I hate these things,” I said, slapping my arm. “They’ve been on me since I got here.”

“They’re terrible,” Jess said, laughing. “I swear they’re worse at camp.”

“They’re worse here than in Louisiana,” I said, exiting the trees.

Once we reached our cabin, the creaking of the porch beneath our feet ruined any hope of staying quiet.

“But why is it so loud?” Brie whispered.

“Because it’s old?” Jess said, opening the