Summer Heat (Cruel Summer #1)(13)

“We’re both perceptive.” She offered a one-shoulder shrug. “Just because we were never friends didn’t mean I never paid attention.”

Some might say I paid too much.

I snorted out a noncommittal word that made no sense whatsoever and left her grinning at me.

Winning. Damn it. She was winning without even trying. Wasn’t I supposed to be seducing her? Making her want me? Not thinking about her dimples or the way she grinned at me like fucking sunshine?

Well done, Marlo. Less than twenty-four hours with your high school crush, and you’re going to go into obsessive mode again.

I clenched my jaw, Not happening.

I took another sip of the bittersweet coffee and grabbed a banana from one of the baskets we put in the middle of each table in an effort to encourage the students to eat something from a tree rather than coffee and pastries.

Jackson was taking a while. We didn’t have a huge camp. Fifteen cabins total, and they all put up a white flag when they were out of their bunks, so all we really had to do was make sure they woke up in time to put up their flag and we were good to go. Plus the mess hall looked like its name, messy with nervous sweaty teens. I sniffed way too many tears — and way too much cologne.

Jackson finally made his way in the door followed by six guys and six girls, who looked like they’d stayed up all night. Wrinkled clothes, messy hair, and broken dreams were painted on their faces.

Hungover as hell was what they looked like.

Jackson was carrying a box and grinning at me like he just won the lottery, which he probably had when it came to alcohol.

It was the popular kids.

One look at their expensive yet wrinkled clothes and good looks, and I knew they were sent here from money, and lots of it, which usually meant underage drinking.

Jackson deposited the box on the table in front of me. A few gallons of alcohol greeted me along with enough pot to last the entire two months.

Nice.

I crooked my fingers to the twelve seniors.

They slowly made their way to the front of the room.

“Listen up!” I yelled.

The room quieted down.

“Break the rules and suffer the consequences.” I shook my head at the twelve in front of me. “You guys get kitchen cleanup for the next month. Jackson, can you grab some aprons?”

Jackson saluted me and went off in search of the aprons.

“I’ll just be keeping this.” I pointed to the box. “You’re dismissed.”

They all shuffled toward a table and sat. Two of them just lay their heads down and closed their eyes.

It brought me great pleasure to pull out the air horn and give it a little squeeze.

The two with their eyes closed jumped a foot and then pressed hands to their temples like someone was slowly chipping away at their brains.

Good.

“We have a three-strike rule for every camper and staff member,” I reminded them. “Alcohol and drug use will not be tolerated. This is your future. It’s only two months — you can do anything for two months. And if you find that you can’t, maybe this camp isn’t the place for you. Ten minutes and you need to report to your first classes.”

I handed the box over to Jackson, who had found our aprons. They were a mixture of ugly oranges and pinks, meant to stand out so people knew that the campers weren’t working to pay for camp and were under disciplinary action.

I checked my watch as tired campers shoveled food into their mouths and chatted with one another. Ray walked to one of the staff tables and sat far away from everyone.

Was she isolating herself purpose? Did she really think she was better than everyone? It was just proof yet again that people didn’t really change, no matter how badly you wanted them to.

I hung my head in disgust and if I were being honest, a bit of disappointment as the chatter of campers filled the room.

Ten minutes crept by.

And then everyone was gone including Ray.

It was better this way.

Better to just get her out of my system, better to show her that the world didn’t revolve around her — not anymore.





I WAS COMPLETELY desperate.

I didn’t know anyone.

The one guy I did know probably dreamed about running me over with his lawnmower on a nightly basis.

I hugged myself as I made my way to choreography. At least all lesson plans were done in advance for staff. I’d taken one look at my binder and almost puked. Today I was supposed to go over the syllabus and then do a quick and effective jazz class, which in theory sounded easy but it was the Chicago style jazz with very slow-quick movements that made a person sore for days — if you messed anything up, people noticed.

It was also one of the only C’s I ever got in college.

It was like he knew.

It should be a happy day. Part of me expected my parents to stop by or at least send flowers or something.

I was almost afraid to hold out hope.

Last year they had completely forgotten my birthday and then tried to make it up to me by flying me to Disneyland with all of my nonexistent friends. I’d cried even harder.

I didn’t know how to make real friends who wanted something other than my money. Guys in general only wanted me for my face — one had even told me that to my face. He liked what I looked like on his arm. Gross.

I exhaled a rough breath then opened the door to the dance studio and walked to the front of the room. My class clustered in each person still in their weird cliques and groups. Their success was my success.