I’ve also learned that Claire, the girl in the oversized fleece sweatshirt with muscular legs, is the resident waterskiing and wakeboarding instructor for the summer and so good that there’s talk of her qualifying for the Pan Am Games; and that Olivia’s dad owns four gas stations, which classifies her as “rich,” especially with the brand-new Honda Civic she pulled up to camp in; and that Justin got into Columbia University for the fall with a full ride from financial aid that he’s been bragging about.

In my circle of friends, no one would ever brag about needing financial aid for anything.

I’ve also been given the quick rundown on Christa. Apparently she isn’t well-liked. Partly because she has a tendency to boss people around and she insists on always being right, but also because she’s been known to rat out counselors. Now that she’s been tapped as lead counselor—a glorified title for the camp director’s personal gopher that she announces to anyone who will listen—people have been avoiding her at all costs.

And I’m the lucky one who gets to room with her for the next two months.

I’m sure there are plenty of questions floating around about the new girl. Everyone’s been nice so far, but I haven’t missed the frequent curious glances, and there was that abrupt end to a hushed conversation between Ashley and two other girls as I returned with my burger, followed by embellished smiles.

I haven’t offered much information about my life, so I can’t imagine what Ashley would be saying about me by way of introduction. It’s nice being a mystery. So different from back home, where it seemed half the school knew my name by the end of my first day of freshman year. Or rather, they knew my family name.

The one person I’m dying to get information on, though, the one I’ve been acutely aware of since crossing the threshold to take a seat at the pavilion for orientation, is the one Ashley hasn’t divulged a single detail about yet. The one leaning casually against the trunk of a giant cedar tree, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets, his feet crossed at the ankles, talking with Olivia as she shamelessly flirts with him. The one I’ve swapped frequent glances with for hours now, allowing myself to admire that gorgeous face for a mere second or two before shifting away, so as not to be too obvious.

“So, what’s that guy’s story, anyway?” I finally ask, feigning disinterest. “You know, the one from earlier. Kurt or something . . .”

“Kyle,” she corrects, her eyes immediately locking on him, as if she’s been aware of his location all along, too. “He runs this place. At least it feels like that, sometimes. He’s . . . different.”

“How so?”

“He’s just . . .” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how to explain it. I like him, don’t get me wrong. But no one really knows much about him.” She glances around and then lowers her voice even further. “He used to come here with his brother. He was this quiet, skinny little kid who didn’t say much. Then they just stopped coming. No one saw or heard from him for forever, until he showed up as a junior counselor last year, looking like that, and I swear, every girl had an instant crush on him. Well, except for Christa.” Ashley snorts. “She reported him for skipping out on his activity once and got him into major shit.” She pauses. “Why? Are you interested?”

“He’s decent enough, I guess,” I lie, nonchalantly. Decent doesn’t even begin to cut what Kyle is. And so different from Trevor, the guy I dated for almost five months this past year. Trevor was a senior, and six feet of brawny muscle, broad shoulders, and baby-blue eyes. He also turned out to be a pig masquerading as a nice guy—promising he wouldn’t pressure me into sex, all while sliding his hand up my shirt and spiking my drinks at parties. When I figured out the latter, I dumped his ass. His ego didn’t take too kindly to that. I mean, a sophomore dumping the Trevor Reilly? He ended up with another senior within two days, and told every guy who would listen to not bother with me unless they wanted serious blue balls.

“So, who has Kyle hooked up with around here, anyway?” Because a guy who looks like that doesn’t spend an entire summer surrounded by fawning hormonal admirers and stay celibate.

“He was with Avery last summer.”

My gaze surveys the crowd. “Let me guess, the one in the navy-striped shirt?”

“Yeah.” Ashley frowns. “How’d you know?”

“Just a hunch,” I mutter wryly, watching the leggy redhead with the bag of marshmallows as she carefully skewers several on the end of a long metal stick. Narrow hips, skinny waist, large breasts, long, glossy tresses the color of a fiery copper. She stands out from all the girl-next-door counselors around the circle, and she’s easily the most classically beautiful female here.

Kyle doesn’t sound as different as Ashley claims, after all. At least not as far as his choice of girls goes. “How old is she?”

“Twenty, I think? At least twenty. This is her second year as a senior counselor. Kyle’s only seventeen.” Ashley looks knowingly at me. “He must like them older.”

Or more experienced. If that’s the case, how quick will he be to abandon the interest he seems to be showing in me? I mean, it’s not like I’m saving myself for marriage, but I’m also not in a rush to rid myself of my virginity as if it were a hot potato. I want it to mean something when it finally happens and so far, I haven’t met a guy who fills that requirement. Trevor Reilly definitely did not.

Will Kyle?

“So, what happened between them?”

She shrugs. “Summer ended, I guess. Plus, if you ask me, she’s not the most interesting person, but I’m not sure it was her personality he was after.” Ashley accepts a marshmallow roaster stick from a nearby guy with a smile of thanks. “She bunked with Christa last year. That didn’t go over so well.”

I fish out two jumbo marshmallows from the bag and hand them to her, while stealing another glance. Olivia, or “Miss Sunoco,” is moving in on Kyle, her hips casually swaying to the languid beat of the moody alternative music playing over a portable radio, her long golden-brown hair flipping with every exaggerated laugh. Does he find her interesting, I wonder?

“He’ll never go for Olivia,” Ashley says as if reading my mind, her eyes on the two of them as she shifts a few steps to hold her stick high above the flames. “She’s a total one-upper. You’ll see what I mean soon. And she’s always talking about money. About their big house, and their cars, and where they’re going on vacation. Kyle can’t stand girls like that. That’s what Eric told me, anyway.”