I head to the opposite end of the table, where Casey is listening to the counselors play a game of Do, Dump, or Marry. I remember it well, having played it fifteen years ago with Vivian, Natalie, and Allison. Only Vivian had given it a more brutal name—Fuck, Marry, Kill.

As the counselors choose between the men at Camp Nightingale, I sneak a glance at Casey, as if to say, Isn’t this such a silly, sexist game? Yet I suspect Casey is mulling the choices, just like I secretly am.

“I’d do Chet, dump the janitor, and marry Theo,” the counselor named Kim or Danica announces.

“I think he’s technically a maintenance man,” another one says.

“Groundskeeper,” Casey tells them. “He’s worked for the family for years. He’s kind of creepy but also kind of hot. He’d be my Do.”

Both counselors look scandalized, their mouths forming twin ovals of shock. “Over Chet and Theo?”

“I’m being realistic here. There’s no way Mindy’s going to let Chet out of her sight.” Casey nudges me with an elbow. “And Emma’s already got her hooks into Theo.”

“Definitely not,” I say. “He’s all yours, ladies.”

“But the rumor is the two of you had a picnic lunch in the woods.”

Across the table, Becca looks up, clearly surprised. She stares at me a second too long before returning her gaze to her phone.

“We were just catching up,” I say. “It’s been years since we last saw each other.”

“Of course,” Casey says before leaning closer and whispering, “You can tell me all the sordid details later tonight.”

On the other side of the mess hall, I see Mindy enter and make a beeline for our table. She’s smiling, which doesn’t necessarily mean good news. I’ve come to realize Mindy’s the kind of girl who wields a smile like a scythe.

“Hi, Emma,” she says without a hint of friendliness. “Next time you decide to vanish for an entire afternoon, I’d appreciate it if you told someone. Franny would, too. She was distressed to hear that you left with a group of campers without telling anyone where you were going.”

“I didn’t know that was a requirement.”

“It’s not,” Mindy says. “But it certainly would have been a courtesy.”

“I went canoeing with the girls from my cabin. In case you’re keeping a record of my whereabouts.”

I assume Mindy knows about the camera. And everything else, for that matter. Especially when she says, “It’s just very noticeable when a group of campers goes missing. As you well know.”

She stands there, pleased with herself, her next move predicated on how I react. I know because it’s right out of the Vivian playbook. I opt for a curveball.

“Sit with us,” I say, my voice chirpy, so unlike my natural tone. “Have some fries. They’re so good.”

I hold out a fry, the end sagging, its tip dripping grease. Mindy stares at it with thinly veiled repulsion. I suspect she hasn’t consumed a trans fat since junior high.

“No, thanks. I have to get back to the Lodge.”

“Not even one fry?” I say. “If it’s calories you’re worried about, don’t be. You look . . . fine.”

* * *

—

Later in the night, I wait until the girls leave for the campfire before reclining in my bunk with the meager collection of snacks from my backpack. Gnawing absently on the granola bar, I open the book Vivian had left behind.

On the first page, I see a date written in her hand.

The first day of camp. Fifteen years ago.

This is a diary.

Vivian’s diary.

I suck in a breath, exhale it back out, and begin to read.

June 22,

Well, here I am, back at Camp Nightmare for another six weeks. I can’t say I’m thrilled to be back, unlike The Senator and Mrs. Senator, who were ECSTATIC when I told them I wanted to spend the summer here and not slutting my way through Europe with Brittney, Patricia, and Kelly. If they only knew that I would absolutely love to be in Amsterdam with those bitches, sucking face with some stubbled douchebag wannabe deejay just for the weed.

Everyone seems to think I adore this place. That couldn’t be further from the truth. It creeps me out. It has ever since I first got here. There’s something not right about it.

But here is where I need to be. Just for one more summer. As they say in those shitty movies The Senator likes to watch, I’ve got unfinished business. But will I finish it? That’s the big question hanging over this whole summer. Before I left, I asked it to Katherine’s stupid Magic 8 Ball that she loved so much. All signs pointed to yes.

In the meantime, tomorrow I’ll get the pleasure of hearing F give that goddamn speech for the umpteenth time. It’s so pathetic how she goes out of her way trying to sound folksy when the rest of us know she’s worth a billion dollars. You are not fucking fooling us! At least, not for long.

Nat and Ali are here, of course. Fourth camper to be announced. I hope that bottom bunk stays empty. It’ll make things easier for all of us, but mostly me. If not, I’ll settle for Theodore. I’d sleep on top of him any damn day of the week. My God, he’s looking fine. Don’t get me wrong, he’s always looked fine. But I’m talking FINE. Worthy even of a dozen lame exclamation points.