Silence enveloped the cabin like a blanket.

“You know my rules. We can all have fun chatting, gossiping and talking about boys, but when your voices hit screaming decibels, what does it mean?” she said, dropping the bags she had carried so she could put her hands on her hips.

“Majorly grumpy counselors,” one of the girls piped in, giggling.

“That’s right, and do we like majorly grumpy counselors?” she asked, finally cracking a smile.

“NO,” they all chorused, laughing at the same time.

“What’s the matter?” Amy asked, plopping on the bed as she took in my stressed look.

“Um, nothing, if putting my foot in my mouth is what we're supposed to do,” I said, indicating the sullen figure lying on her bunk and facing the wall.

“Oh, that's Alyssa. I should've warned you about her,” Amy whispered. “This is her third summer coming here. She’s what we call a “hard-knock camper.” She just can’t seem to catch a break. I think she’s been placed a handful of times in the last few years. Her father is a deadbeat fricker, but the judge in her town just doesn’t get it. Her dad will clean up his act, petition the court for custody and then proceed to drink himself into a stupor weeks after he gets her. She’s been bounced around more than a ping pong ball. She’s tough around the edges, but underneath, you can tell she just wants what everyone else wants, to be loved. I came close to getting under her tough shell last year, but it was just as camp was ending,” Amy whispered, sounding frustrated.

“Well, I’ll leave her to your capable hands. I’ve already alienated myself with her,” I said sighing as I stood up to help one of the girls put her bag on top of the wardrobe.

“Thanks,” she said shyly, looking at me like she still had something to say.

“Did you need anything else?” I asked as she nervously twirled one of her long locks of blonde hair around her finger.

“Um, I uh, was just wondering, is it true Rick’s really your dad?” she stuttered out.

“Yep, he is,” I answered, noticing the noise in the cabin had evaporated.

“Lucky,” she said, looking at me with wide blue eyes.

“Why haven’t you been here before?” one of the older girls asked, looking doubtful.

I looked around at the eleven pairs of eyes that were now focused on me like I was ready to disclose the location of Katy Perry’s house. I debated sidestepping their question, but instead, answered honestly. “I didn’t find out about him until last Thursday,” I said.

“What? Your mom never told you who your father was?” the same skeptical girl from before asked. “What a ho-bag,” she added.

“She had her reasons,” I said, feeling the need to defend my mom since she wasn’t able to.

“No excuse is a legit one,” the girl said, sinking onto one of the bunk beds with her arms crossed.

“True, no excuse is acceptable,” I said, agreeing with her.

“But how cool is it that Rick is your father?” one of the other girls squealed, like Rick was a movie star or something.

I laughed. “He seems like a cool guy,” I said as the girls started chattering about how awesome it would be for a parental figure to come out and claim them.

I turned back to my bed to help Amy sort through the clothes and my eyes skirted over to the bunk in the corner. I saw Alyssa had flipped over in her bed and was studying me critically. I smiled at her to show I cared and she answered by flipping me off before flopping back over.

Amy giggled. “That’s Alyssa for you,” she said when I grimaced. “Parker, come get your stack of clothes,” she added.

“Any hoodies?" the girl who had asked me about Rick asked, looking hopefully through the large stack. “Sweet,” she said, pulling one from the bottom of the stack. “And it’s pink too. Thanks, Amy,” she said, throwing her arms around Amy.

I looked at Amy smiling.

“Yeah, that’s Parker," she said, seeing my questioning look. "She was found abandoned in a park when she was a baby. Someone at the state thought it would be cute to call her Parker. She’s what we call a ‘lifer.’ She’s been in the system for ten years. Her foster mom is a ‘user,'” she added.

“Like drugs?” I asked, appalled she’d been left with a druggie.

“That would be better because at least the state would move her. No, her foster mom uses the foster care system. She takes in as many foster kids as the state allows and then refuses to spend any of the money the state pays her on the kids, which is why Parker shows up each summer without any adequate clothes.”

“How come she never got adopted if she was a baby when she was abandoned?” I asked, feeling my heart clench as I studied the petite blonde-haired beauty laughing with her friends. How was it possible no one wanted her?

“She was a drug baby,” Amy said, assembling the next stack of clothes.

“So?” I said, not getting why that would matter. I knew enough from the nutrition class I took in high school that taking drugs during pregnancy could affect the fetus, but that shouldn’t have prevented a loving family from adopting her.

“She was born with bad kidneys and urinary tract system. She needed a kidney transplant when she was three. Being in and out of hospitals half her life doesn’t bode well for adoption,” Amy said with malice in her voice.

“That’s awful,” I said, fighting sudden tears. What the hell was wrong with people?

“Yeah, sometimes you get a raw deal,” Amy said in a lackluster voice that made me wonder again what her story was.

“Oh shitz, I forgot the socks. Do you mind running over to the mess hall and grabbing four or five packages?” she asked in a more normal tone as she continued to sort through the clothes.

“Sure. Are they in the supply closet next to the kitchen or the one by Rick’s office?” I asked, heading for the door.

“By the office. Everything's labeled so you shouldn’t have any problems. Louise runs it with an iron fist.”

“Sounds good,” I said, heading for the door.

I followed the short path toward the mess hall, listening to the multiple voices ringing out around the camp. There was an exceptionally loud ruckus coming from around the building as I neared the back entrance. Peering around the corner, I was taken aback by the sight before my eyes. I shouldn't have been surprised to see Mason once again with his shirt off, he was just that type. The "I'm hot and I know it" kind of guy. The beach is filled with them. What surprised me though was the easy rapport he seemed to have with the half a dozen teenagers he was playing basketball with. I watched him give pointers to both sides as they battled three on three. By the hero worship in most of their eyes, it was glaringly obvious that he was well liked. I guess I'm the only lucky one that gets to deal with his douche bag attitude.

Lucky me, I couldn't help thinking. For some reason, the thought bothered me more than necessary. "They get the nice guy and I get the asshole," I mumbled to myself.

"What, sweetums?" Louise asked, heading out the door with her arms filled with linens.

"Oh, nothing. I was just contemplating the irony of my current situation."

"Situation?" she asked, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"Just stupid stuff," I answered, feeling dumb for even saying anything. It was one of my character flaws that I let words randomly come out of my mouth. My mom had teased me about it for years, saying I needed some kind of sensor on my lips. I was just one of those people who could never hide what I was feeling. What you see is basically what you get. I wasn't a fan of confrontations, but I was always the first to stick up for the underdog in almost any situation. Mom liked to call me her 'open book,' and even gave me a cute charm for my sixteenth birthday that was a sterling silver book that was open.