had to be some sort of inside joke behind the banter. Chloe and Matt clearly shared the bond of summers past. I already felt like an odd man out. It would suck if every conversation was so exclusive.
“Who’s our art freak?” Matt asked.
“Marissa,” Chloe answered.
“Oh! Thank the stars.” Matt clapped a relieved hand over his chest. “If I got stuck with Regan two years in a row, I’d have to quit.”
“What’s wrong with Regan?” I asked. I had a feeling I better start inserting myself if I wanted to be included.
“Nothing’s wrong with Regan, she’s just a little—”
“Nuts.” Matt cut off with an eyeroll and a flat tone. “Admit it, the girl’s straight-up psycho-pants.” He shuddered. “And kind of creepy.”
“Be nice,” Chloe chided.
“Hey.” He fluffed his pillow behind his neck and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. “I’m not trying to be mean. Just honest.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and a staring match ensued. Eventually, Matt cracked, looking away first. Chloe gloated by sticking her tongue out. These two had the family bit down pat.
Geek, nerd, freak? They seemed to have an affectionately condescending label for each art’s concentration. I wondered if that was a “them” thing or an everyone thing. Out of curiosity, I asked, “What do you call the writers?”
There was a short pause. Chloe and Matt glanced at each other before answering in unison, “Hermits.” They busted up laughing. I didn’t get the joke. I’d done some plays in high school, but I was mostly an athlete. And I was quickly discovering that I had a lot to learn about the “artsy” culture.
“A little help out here!” a fragile voice called from the porch. “Someone? Anyone?”
“Aww,” Matt cooed. “Is that Shelly?” He started to roll off the bed.
Chloe grinned. “Speaking of hermits.” She waved her hand at Matt. “Don’t get up. I’ve got this.” She flew out the door, calling, “Hey, Shell-bell!”
I looked at Matt. “Geez. Is she always so, so…”
“Insane?” Matt offered.
“I was going to say spunky.”
He snorted. “That’s a nicer way to put it. And yes, she’s pretty much always like that. A tornado with legs.” He raised his eyebrows up and down suggestively. “Crazy sexy legs.”
I nodded my agreement while keeping a neutral expression. Chloe and I weren’t even close to related, but something still felt wrong about perving on my fake mom. I cleared my throat. “If Shelly’s a hermit, Marissa’s an art freak, you’re a music nerd, and I’m a theater geek, what does that make Chloe?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He smirked. “Chloe’s a dance diva.”
I snickered. That was one nickname which seemed totally appropriate.
Shelly and I stood at the flagpole, waiting for new staff orientation to begin. This was Shelly’s fifth summer at Singing Oak, but her first year as a counselor. I tried to make casual conversation, though getting her to say more than a couple words was like pulling teeth. Matt had warned me that she was shy. Shy seemed to be an understatement. At this point, I was wondering if Shelly was the reason writers had the hermit label.
“Who are we waiting on?” I asked in annoyance. The meeting was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago, and there was zero shade nearby. I didn’t mind the sun cooking my skin, but I was starting to sweat. If I wanted to be that sweaty guy, I’d have applied at a summer camp in Arizona…or Dubai.
“Clint,” Shelly replied.
I wiped the moisture from my forehead as I lamented leaving my hat back in the cabin. “Is he always this late?”
“Usually,” she mumbled while looking at the ground. But she wasn’t being rude; I think I intimidated her. It felt strange, because I’d never intimidated anyone in my life.
“Well,” I pushed, willing there to be a reason for his tardiness, even if it was a bad one.
“Is he super disorganized or something?”
“Not really.”
“Hmpfh.” I pulled my shirt away from my body a few times, pushing air through to cool myself off. “So he’s just a jerk, then?”
Shelly didn’t say anything, but the corner of her mouth tipped up. After another couple of minutes, I started to walk away so I could find a tree to sit under. But I only made it a few feet before a murmur rippled through the group. I turned back around and saw a guy walking toward the flagpole. Scratch that. He was swaggering toward the flagpole.
“Hey, everyone, I’m Clint.” He waved, and his smile beamed. It was big and toothy and looked utterly