I follow the directions of one of the junior counselors, who gets all bug eyed and excited when we tell him who we are and what we’re here for. We park in the staff lot and cut the engine. Two girls in shorts and camp shirts that read STAFF across the back come out of the mess hall. Randy watches them bounce across the grass toward the cabins, a huge grin on his face.

Like most sites, this one includes two separate sports camps, one for girls and one for boys. The boys’ camp is on the south side of the lake and the girls’ on the north side. The mess hall is central, so they eat together. There are coed events during the day, but at night, when it comes to sleeping, the genders are separated, with the counselor cabins at each camp reinforcing the boundaries. On the Friday before camp ends, there’ll be a dance, which will be a pre-teen hormone fest, all of them dry-humping on each other, trying to disappear into the forest.

I press the lock button before Randy can get out of the car and keep my thumb on it. “We need to set some ground rules for the week.”

“Huh?” He’s not paying attention. He’s too busy reefing on the door, staring at their asses.

“Ground rules. You need to listen.” I snap a finger in his face. That gets his attention. “The junior counselors are sixteen and seventeen. The senior counselors are eighteen and up.” I know this because Amber read me the program information when I said I wanted to volunteer here instead of at one of the serious hockey camps this summer. “There’s a no-fraternizing policy in effect.”

Randy snorts. “Does anyone actually take that seriously?”

“You need to take it seriously.”

“Do you remember hockey camp, Miller? I sure do. It was a no-holds-barred fuck fest.”

“This isn’t that kind of hockey camp, and we’re not attending, we’re volunteering. Don’t make me regret inviting you.”

A group of four girls comes out of the mess hall; one has a staff shirt on, and the other three are dressed in regular summer clothes. “How do I know if they’re senior or junior counselors?”

“You ask.”

“Awesome. Let’s go.” He reefs on the door again.

“We’re not done laying ground rules yet. If you’re going to hook up with a senior counselor, you need to limit it to one.”

“One?” He looks like his head is going to explode.

“Yeah. One. All these girls know each other. They’ve probably been coming here since they were little kids. They’re going to talk, and if you bang your way through them, I’m never going to be invited back. And I don’t need the drama.”

“So just one.” He cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders like he’s getting ready to take on an opponent. “Okay. I can do that, I guess.”

“Choose wisely, Balls.”

I release the lock, and he gets out of the car, stretching before he leans against his door and watches another gaggle of teenagers burst out of the mess hall. This time one of the counselors pushes a kid in a wheelchair. Randy’s up the stairs and offering assistance before I can unbuckle my seatbelt.

My phone dings several times in a row with new messages.

<3 the pic!

Made it 2 the camp. How ru?

Forgot my charger :( hav 2 go 2 town 2 get 1

Fuck. This isn’t good. I don’t bother with messaging. I hit her contact and call right away. She picks up on the second ring. The connection is full of static.

“Hey, sweets.”

“Miller! I don’t have much battery left.”

“That’s okay. I wanted to make sure you made it up there all right.”

“You’re sweet. The drive was great! Kale and Benji are making a fire, and me and Lily are in charge of dinner.”

It’s like a double date out in the middle of nowhere. The only good thing is the lack of shower options. I’m hoping Sunny also forgot deodorant and soap so she gets ripe fast. Knowing Kale, that would probably be an aphrodisiac. I bet he showers once a month.

“We won’t get to town for a couple of days. I’ll try to message from Lily’s phone, but her reception is almost as bad as mine.”

“That sucks. I was hoping for daily updates.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Miller. I’ll message as soon as I get a new charger. I still have to let my parents know I’m here, so I should go before my phone dies.” The crackling on the line makes it almost impossible to hear her.

“Okay. Be careful up there. When I see you next I think we should talk—”

Her shriek forces me to pull the phone away from my ear. “Kale! Stop it! I’m on the phone with Miller! Put me down—”

The call drops; beep-beep-beeping is the last thing I get.

I stare at the blank screen, a hot feeling creeping up the back of my neck. If I was on the ice right now, I’d probably get myself a penalty. I feel like I might be getting fucked around, and I don’t like it.

This is going to be a long, shitty week of wondering.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BIG BALLS

Randy manages to keep his dick in his pants for the first two days, which is a miracle. There are way more counselors than I’m used to, probably because the kids require more supervision and assistance. At least I have Randy as my shield against the female senior counselors, which are in abundant supply thanks to the neighboring girls’ camp. They aren’t bunnies, but they’re equally as interested in getting up close and personal.

I thought the Sunny wallpaper on my phone would function as a deterrent, but I discover that girls like guys who have pictures of their girlfriend on their phones. At first I think they’re hitting on me, but then I realize they want to be my friend. Girls are funny about the whole being friends with a guy business. They’re flirty, and overly touchy, but there’s no expectation that I’m going to find an empty cabin and show them what I can do with my lightning rod. It’s like having a whole bunch of sisters like Vi who engage in the overshare.

Randy has the exact opposite issue. Once it becomes clear he doesn’t have a girlfriend, he’s fair game. It’s like watching turkey vultures fight over a carcass on the highway. They’ll peck each other’s eyes out to get to him.

By the morning of day three, I still haven’t heard from Sunny. Between coaching sessions and games with the kids, I check her social media accounts, but there’s nothing new apart from a picture posted on the first day—not by her or Lily, but by Patchy Bushman. The four of them have their arms wrapped around each other, standing in front of the camping trailer-van, being all happy together. I get it better now more than ever why she reacted the way she did to those bunny pics. Bushman has his arm around Sunny. I want to rip it off and beat him with it, but I also know that things aren’t always the way they look. Unfortunately, I’m also aware that sometimes they’re exactly how they look.

The longer I don’t hear from her, the more pissy I get. I know they’re all friends, but this doesn’t seem much different than the shit she gets upset at me over.

I combat the happy, smiley picture with multiple pics of me and Sunny from our weekend at her place. Even though I’m annoyed, I message her every day with little updates. The reception up here isn’t the greatest unless I’m in the mess hall or by the water where there aren’t as many trees obstructing the signal. This means I have to type most of my messages. I won’t use the voice-to-text thing in front of other people. Some of what I have to text is private.

I’d get Randy to check the spelling, but I don’t want him to razz me about it. I’d vet them through my PA like I sometimes do, but she’s still out in the middle of the wilderness, so it’s not an option.

By the end of the fifth day, I’m bagged. Kids are a lot of work. I must’ve been hard for my dad to manage as a kid, especially having hockey practice five days a week. But I think sometimes that was a good way to get me out of my dad’s hair so he could get shit done. And eventually my practices were a good place for him to scout.