“If that’s what you want to call it.” My eyes are sore from lack of sleep and I’m sure my bags match the ones under Christa’s. “I tried to sneak out after Christa fell asleep.”

His chest lifts with a deep sigh of relief. “That makes more sense,” he murmurs, and then smiles.

I frown. “More sense than what?”

He shrugs, nudging his shoulder against mine. “I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

“About what? Jumping off a cliff at night?” I mock-gasp. “Never.”

He dips his head, and a shy smile touches his lips. “That, or . . . I don’t know, about this?”

This being us.

I can’t help but laugh at the suggestion. Does Kyle not feel my gaze glued to him whenever he’s in my line of sight? Does he not notice the stupid grin that takes over my face every time our eyes meet?

He lets out a soft chuckle and then shrugs. “I don’t know. I was standing there, waiting for you, and I started thinking, and . . . yeah . . .” Beautiful molten eyes meet mine again, and in them I see a vulnerability I hadn’t before. Or perhaps it wasn’t there before. Perhaps it took him standing on the path in the dark, waiting for me, for doubt to seed itself.

Had our roles been reversed, had I been the one waiting, and he didn’t show . . . A hollow pang stirs in my stomach with just the thought. And that tells me two things: one, that I’m already falling hard for Kyle.

And two: that it’s not just me.

My pulse begins to race as I reach out to trail my fingertips over his forearm. “No, that’s definitely not it. I was just trying to avoid getting grilled by Christa.” I add, more to myself, “Which I failed at spectacularly.”

His hand slips around to smooth over the small of my back, ever so quickly, before falling to his side. “What did she say?”

My eyes drift to the pavilion, to Cabin Nine’s candy-floss-pink picnic table. Christa stands over the campers, hands on hips, evaluating their plates to decide if they’ve eaten enough. She said a lot last night, but what was most unsettling, what I haven’t been able to gain more information about yet, is what we ended with. “That you lied about that robbery.”

“What?” He smirks, and his gaze flips to her. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

It’s more calculating than curious, I realize, studying him closely, his brow pinched with wariness.

He’s wondering what she knows.

Which means there’s something to know.

I watch him as I say, “She also told me to ask you about your father.”

He can’t hide his reaction fast enough—the way his smirk falls and panic flashes in his eyes—before smoothing his expression.

“What did she mean?” I ask as casually as I can.

His jaw hardens with tension as he stares at Christa from across the way. She must sense it because she glances over at us, her own eyes narrowing on him in a quiet challenge before she averts her gaze.

“What else did she say?” he asks quietly.

I toy with the idea of playing dumb but decide against it. Kyle’s too smart for that and I doubt he’d appreciate it coming from me. “That she’s the only one here who knows the truth about you.”

His shoulders sink.

An unsettling feeling begins to take over. “All right, I’m officially starting to freak out. What’s going on? Did you do something?”

“No, I didn’t do anything. It’s just . . .” He shakes his head and sighs again. “It’s my family.”

“What about them?”

“They’re . . .” His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “They’re not like yours. Or anyone else’s here, I’m guessing.” Kids are beginning to get up and carry their dirty dishes to the nearby trolleys. Soon they’ll come charging out. “Look, can we talk about this later?”

“I guess. As long as you tell me what’s going on.” Because now that the questions are out there, not having the answers will drive me insane.

He sighs. “Meet me on the path tonight. I’ll tell you everything.” There’s no missing the resignation in his voice.

I watch him trudge away toward his kids, his head hanging.

What could be so wrong with his family?

I don’t bother trying to sneak out this time.

Seven minutes after lights-out, when the last girl has drifted off, I slip down the ladder and pull on my sweatshirt.

Christa’s flashlight is shining on her open book, but I feel her gaze on me.

“I’m going to talk to him,” I whisper, and walk out, pulling the door shut behind me.

She doesn’t stop me.

I rush along the path, my arms curled around my weary body. The camp is eerily quiet at night, the spruce and hemlock trees casting ominous shadows against the property’s lights.

Kyle is waiting where he said he would be, leaning against a tree, a cigarette burning between his fingers. “Hey.”

Butterflies stir in my stomach. I’m feeling oddly shy all of a sudden. “Hey.”

I expect him to pull me into him and lay a teasing kiss on my lips, but he hangs back. “Did Christa give you problems again?”

“No.”

“Good. Come on.” He nods to his left and I notice the golf cart.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to use those after lights-out.”

“You want to walk all the way up there?” He points toward the dark, wooded path.

I shake my head and slide in. “Is there any rule you actually do follow at Wawa?”

“Uh . . .” He appears to be thinking hard. “Let me get back to you on that. I can’t think of any at the moment.”

I laugh as we take off, rounding the same winding path through the trees, the only light provided by the dull headlights. The trip to the cliff isn’t nearly as long as it seemed the first time. We’re parking and climbing out in minutes. Kyle uses one of the camp’s battery-operated lanterns to guide us up the narrow footpath, until we reach the same large rock from our last time here. He sets the lantern on a higher crop of stone, allowing it to bathe the area in dim light.

It’s eerily quiet here at night. I much prefer the daytime, I decide. Though I’d sit here in a torrential downpour if it meant being with Kyle.