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eyes, like it wasn’t even possible.
    â€œYeah.” He yawned. “No offense, you’re gorgeous and everything, but it was still weird.”
    Gorgeous and everything.
    â€œI’ve got one.” I took a deep breath. “When Mr. McFadden made us kiss at rehearsal? That was my first kiss.”
    â€œOnstage?”
    â€œEver.”
    Charlie’s lips parted. He blinked rapidly.
    â€œOh my god!” I shoved him. “I’m lying.”
    â€œI know that.” He laughed nervously. “I didn’t believe you.”
    â€œYou totally believed me.”
    â€œNo.” The bus lumbered to a stop in a dusty parking lot. “It’s obvious you’ve had some, uh, experience.”
    I decided not to ask what he meant by that.
    From this angle, camp consisted of a lake, an old barn labeled MESS HALL , a tented area labeled STAGE , and a number of sinewy paths disappearing into the woods. Charlie would never have to know that my last lie had come dangerously close to the truth. Somehow he still believed the rumors about me.
    Charlie was staring out the window. “Look at that lake,” he said. “And look at those boats!”
    â€œYeah?”
    He turned to me, all wide-eyed and reverent. “I thought it was theater camp.”
    â€œI guess there’s other stuff too. Didn’t you read the pamphlet?”
    â€œBoats weren’t in the pamphlet!”
    Confused by his sudden enthusiasm, I followed Charlie off the bus. Our schedule allowed for an hour of “mingling” with the other counselors before orientation. On the wooden porch of the mess hall, adults in cargo shorts passed out name tags. Coolers were propped open to display shimmering cans of Diet Coke, attracting the majority of female counselors the moment they arrived.
    It was hot. Dust disrupted by the bus hung in the air and coated my skin and I already felt disgusting. I turned to ask Charlie what we should do for an hour.
    But he had vanished. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I located him standing in a circle of boys wearing elaborate sneakers. They looked like they had dressed for the gym and reached theater camp by mistake.
    Abruptly, the boys shed their duffel bags and bounded toward the lake. As they ran, they yanked shirts over their heads, shoes off their feet. Charlie was the first to embrace the water—arms stretched in an arrow, shoulders curling and disappearing. He emerged hollering like a lunatic.
    All around me, counselors formed loose circles, clutching backpack straps and sharing cabin assignments. I could have shuffled toward any group of kids. Instead, I kept staring at Charlie, his shoulders bobbing above the surface of the lake as he conversed with a complete stranger.
    â€œThis is the life, man!” bellowed the stranger.
    Charlie made his voice extra low and gravelly. “Hell yes,” he said. “This is it.”

CHAPTER 8

    â€œI ’m not doing that , ” said Annelise . she was wearing a bikini top, jean cutoffs, and those bulbous shoes designed for skateboarding. We had been acquainted for approximately two hours but my fear of her was increasing rapidly. She was twelve years old.
    â€œI think you have to,” I apologized. “I mean, it’s what we’re doing.”
    â€œAre you doing it?” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. As cabin mates, zip-lining was our first team event. The threat of imminent death was supposed to help my campers bond. I watched a burly staff member strap a pigtailed girl into a harness and push her off the cliff. She went zooming over the ravine, screaming bloody murder.
    â€œNo,” I said. “But it looks really fun.”
    â€œI’m not doing it unless you do it,” said Annelise.
    Courtney, Margaret, and Peyton nodded their heads in agreement. They appeared to have already bonded successfully. On the other side of the ravine, somebody pushed Pigtails back to