Chapter 3

I let out a scream, a manic one, and was so frantic trying to unbuckle my seatbelt that it took me three full minutes. I flung the car door open and rushed to the back, where Zenon was already kneeling.

In my state of shock, I didn’t even register who I was approaching or who I was with. I ran straight up to him and fell to my knees, collapsing against him. The impact should have knocked him over, but he remained steady, supporting me with one arm without even glancing at me.

"WHAT HAPPENED?! WHO DID I HIT?! I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!"

I screamed again, panting heavily, nearly hysterical.

"I'VE NEVER GOTTEN A TICKET IN MY LIFE! Once, I almost hit a raccoon in the driveway, but I swerved just in time and ended up hitting my mother's flower pot instead. But it was fine because I saved the raccoon! I CAN'T believe I DID this!" I shouted.

Several counselors and campers were making their way up the cobbled paths towards nearby cabins. They all turned to stare at us. Everyone was watching. I couldn't gauge how embarrassed Zenon might be by being seen with me—given his lack of visible emotion—but I assumed it was significant.

I paused, breathing heavily. There was no body under the car, so at least I wasn’t a murderer. What a relief.

He waited patiently for me to calm down before finally asking, "Are you done?"

His voice was soothing and captivating, instantly calming me down. Looking at him now, I felt like I was in a dream.

"I...uh... can't... form words," I gave up trying to speak. He left me speechless.

"You ran over my bag. I think you broke my laptop."

Alright, maybe I overreacted. Just a little bit.

"I didn't mean to ruin your things," I said. "I'm actually a good driver, I promise. Once, I even dodged a raccoon in my driveway."

He covered his face with his hand, "How is that even relevant?"

"Well, you had to be there; it was quite dramatic at the time," I defended my story, feeling a bit defensive.

"Remind me of your name again?"

Crickets.

He shook his head, "Look, I don't care. Can you just get back in your car so I can grab my bag and leave?"

It was clear Zenon wasn’t thrilled by my presence. This was evident when he tried to switch our rooming arrangement earlier. Now, I was becoming more of an annoyance than ever.

"I..."

I felt terrible. But I got back into my car, and he retrieved his bag and left, just as he said he would. Part of me—the timid, mouse-like part—wanted to stay hidden. Usually, that side wins out. But today, for some reason, a more assertive side took over. Let's call it the tiger-side. Yes, even that sounded ridiculous to me.

"Wait!"

I called out to him from the middle of our driveway just as he reached the threshold of our cabin door. He paused, looking puzzled.

Gathering my courage, I got out of the car. "You didn't let me finish apologizing. It was an accident."

He sighed, his strong shoulder muscles moving as he adjusted the bag straps. "Look, I don’t want to be here, and we don’t need to pretend to get along. Just stay out of my way."

He opened the front door.

"Hey! HEY!" I surprised myself with my determination. "You can't say things like that and walk away. I don't care who you are; I'm trying to apologize here! And I'll pay you back for anything I damaged."

He gave me a once-over. "I doubt that."

"Are you implying I'm cheap? I swear I’ll repay every cent I owe you, even if you don’t deserve it. Seriously, who leaves their bag on the ground in the first place?! That was so stupid—"

"Is this an apology or an insult?"

"Can't it be both?"

"That’s not how it works. You don’t get to break my laptop and then curse at me." He turned away, pushing open the front door with a flick of his hand.

"You started it!" I yelled. Real mature, Candace...

Yeah, I messed up. But I was determined to make it right.

It was the right thing to do.

Even if he was a jer*k.

Sometimes, life feels like playing Russian roulette. We never know when we're spinning the cylinder.

For example, when I arrived at camp today, I never imagined something like this would happen. This summer, I was living with a sex symbol.

Zenon Albert.

What does he wear to bed? Does he hang out shirtless? Will my evenings turn into live screenings of Magic Mike?

Valid questions. I've heard what the girls say about him...

"What's that smell?"

"Nature."

I took a deep breath as Zenon and I stood facing 10 hyperactive campers racing up the path to our cabin, screaming and running in circles. We had drawn the short straw—ending up with the youngest group of campers (8-year-olds) to look after.

"No, seriously, I really smell something," I insisted.

"Not my issue."

"Do you think you could try being a decent person today?"

"Who says I'm not already trying?"

Ugh. This guy.

He looked incredible in a white shirt, black shorts, and Nike Zoom sneakers. His athletic build was unmistakable. I'd seen him like this before, but usually from the safe distance of my bedroom window. And usually without his cocky attitude spoiling the view.

It's amazing how much personality can tarnish an iconic image. Do other people know he's an entitled, arrogant jer*k? Or am I the lucky one who gets to experience this side of him?

"Somebody help! I burned the cookies!" a counselor from the neighboring cabin came rushing out her front door.

Now I knew what that smell was.