Chapter 2
The rest of the first day passed in a blur of names, routines I was handed on laminated sheets and expected to absorb instantly, and the type of mental exhaustion that came from being on for hours without a break. Smiling. Orienting. Answering questions.
By the time all the kids were fed, settled, and asleep in their cabins, I’d learned a number of specific things.
For example, the kayak equipment shed had a door that stuck unless you lifted the handle at a certain angle while pushing with your left shoulder.
The camp's head cook took the no-sugar policy as a personal moral crusade and would look at you with serious disappointment if you asked about sugary condiments.
And the walk from the eastern cabins to the assembly hall took five minutes if you took the main path but only four if you took the narrow path by the rappelling equipment shed.
I’d also learned that despite the director’s plea for constant vigilance, the counselors fully intended to follow an age-old first-night tradition: getting drunk around a campfire deep in the eastern woods.
Alcohol, cigarettes, and drugs were strictly prohibited at Camp Blackpine, for obvious reasons, but the counselors had found a loophole years ago.
The eastern woods were considered part of the neighboring nature reserve rather than camp property, which meant drinking there while off-duty was apparently fair game.
Jasmine had explained the tradition to me earlier this afternoon. “We take turns checking the cabins,” she’d said. “Two people go back to camp every twenty minutes to walk the rounds and make sure nobody's sneaking out or causing problems. Other than that, the night is ours.”
The illicit bonfire site was hidden around ten minutes west of the main grounds, along a narrow trail worn smooth by years of use. The trees eventually opened into a small clearing where past counselors had arranged flat rocks and salvaged log sections into rough seating around a permanent firepit.
The fire was already roaring by the time I found my way down the path with Jasmine and three of her fellow Dirtbag counselors—Tamsin, Jesse, and Wren. I settled onto one of the logs with them and let the heat of the fire work on the tension the day had packed into my shoulders.
There were a little over thirty counselors out here, and the class divide was so clean it almost looked choreographed.
There was ‘our’ side, holding all seventeen of the Dirtbags arranged in little groups, and on the other side of the fire, the sixteen Legacies had arranged themselves with the unconscious ease of people who always wound up at the better end of any given situation.
I could make out Sutton, laughing at something with her head thrown back, along with a few other faces I recognized from earlier. Rhys was there too, forearms resting on his knees, a beer dangling loosely from one hand.
“S'more?” Jasmine held a stick out toward me, the pink marshmallow on the end now a perfect toasted gold.
I pulled my attention back to her and the others. “Sure. Thanks.”
She sandwiched it between two crackers and a square of chocolate and handed it over before reaching down to grab another marshmallow.
Beside us, Tamsin, Jesse, and Wren were on the subject of their types.
“I know this isn’t a popular opinion, but I absolutely love guys with blond hair,” Tamsin was saying. “They’re just sooo sexy to me.”
Jasmine wrinkled her nose as she leaned forward and put her stick back in the fire. “I can’t stand blond guys,” she said. “Something about them gives me the creeps.”
“Um, says the girl who told us she’d fold for the Woodsman,” Wren said, giving her a massive side-eye complete with a dramatic head-tilt.
With that, all four erupted into raucous laughter. I wanted to join in, but I had no idea what they were talking about.
“Sorry, who’s the Woodsman?” I asked, forehead wrinkling.
Jesse grinned over at me. “It’s just some old local legend,” he said, waving a casual hand. “He was supposedly a serial killer in the eighties who preyed on campers with an ax. Total bullshit, of course. Never happened.”
“And Jasmine is way into serial killers,” Tamsin added. “Not in an academic interest kind of way, either. She’s into them, if you catch my drift.”
Jasmine snorted with laughter. “Hey, I’m not going to apologize for my fantasies. It’s not like I’m breaking into prisons and banging these dudes in real life.”
“But you totally would hook up with some deranged ax-man if you had the chance, right?” Jesse asked, raising a brow. “Like if you happened to run into one in the woods while he’s on a killing spree?”
“Dunno.” She shrugged, grinning playfully. “Depends how hot he is, I guess.”
“Girl, you literally have zero survival instincts,” Tamsin said, shaking her head. “Fight or flight? Nope, for you it’s fight or flirt.”
Everyone started laughing again. This time I joined in, though a little part of my mind was whirring with recognition.
I understood Jasmine’s fantasies perfectly, because I’d always been drawn to that type of man too.
Not serial killers specifically, but just that general type of guy: the dangerous, sociopathic ones your instincts warned you about while the rest of your body ignored the red flags.
“What about you, Alissa?” Wren asked, peering at me. “What’s your type?”
“Um…” I hesitated, chewing on my bottom lip.
Even though I shared Jasmine’s bad guy fantasy, I wasn’t brave or open enough to admit it out loud. I wasn’t sure why, though. My new friends had made it clear they wouldn’t seriously judge a person for whatever they were into. Still… I just couldn’t bring myself to say it.
The others were all staring at me now, awaiting my answer.
“Uhh… I guess I just like hot guys,” I finally said.
“Hot guys? Wow. Groundbreaking,” Jasmine said with a dramatic flourish, doing her best impression of Miranda Priestly.
“Yeah, way to be specific,” Jesse added, flashing me a teasing smile as everyone else erupted in peals of laughter again.
“Hey, Alissa might not have figured out what her exact type is, but it looks like she’s someone else’s exact type,” Wren said a moment later. “Someone we all know and despise.”
Jasmine’s brows furrowed. “Huh?”
“Don’t look over and make it super obvious,” Wren replied, lowering her voice. “But Rhys Usher is staring at her across the fire right now, and it’s not the first time I’ve seen him doing it.”
“Oh my god, I noticed that too!” Tamsin said. She turned to look at me. “He’s been looking over at you all night. He’s totally into you.”
I smiled weakly. “He’s probably just curious because I’m new here.”
“Simon and Grayson are newbies too, and he’s not looking at them,” Jasmine said, cocking a brow. “But trust me: don’t go there.”
“Yeah, no way.” Tamsin’s lips tightened, and she shook her head. “You don’t want to hook up with a Legacy, believe me.”
“I’m pretty sure Rhys just hits on every new woman that crosses his path,” Jasmine said. She lifted a palm. “Not that you aren’t hot, Alissa. You totally are. But he just has that vibe about him, y’know? I bet he’s fucked half the female counselors here. Or more.”
“Is this your way of admitting you’ve slept with him?” Wren asked, jokingly elbowing her.
Jasmine snorted out a laugh. “Hell no,” she replied. “To be fair to him, he’s never tried to hit on me. So maybe my read of him is totally wrong. Or maybe he can just tell I’d rather be shot in the head than go near some spoiled rich guy.”
“He’s never tried it with me either,” Wren said. She glanced at Tamsin. “You?”
Tamsin hesitated, averting her eyes slightly. “No. But… that might be because he saw me leaving the Snack Shed with Jensen two summers ago. And he might not be into his friend’s ‘sloppy seconds’, as those childish pricks like to say.”
Jasmine’s eyes went saucer-wide. “Hold on. What?”
Jesse and Wren looked stunned too.
“You hooked up with Jensen fucking Hornbacher two years ago? In the Snack Shed, of all places?” Jesse said. “And you’re only telling us now?”
I leaned a little closer, brows furrowing. “He’s a Legacy, right?”
Tamsin nodded at me before replying to the others. “The way you’re all looking at me right now is exactly why I didn’t tell you before,” she said. “And if I hadn’t just finished my fourth beer, I probably wouldn’t have said anything tonight either.”
“Oh my god.” Jasmine’s head was slowly shaking. “We need all the juicy deets. Please.”
Tamsin sighed, and then a small, good-natured smile curved up her plump lips. “All right, fine. I’ll tell you what happened,” she said. She paused, lifting a palm. “It was just a one-off thing. I never intended for it to happen, obviously. I mean… ugh. He’s such a dick.”
Wren raised a brow. “No shit.”
“Anyway, it was the middle of the night, and I was suddenly craving sugar,” Tamsin continued. “So I was in the Snack Shed pilfering as many snacks as I could fit in my—”
“Pilfering?” Jesse cut in. “Is this a Charles Dickens novel?”
“Shut up! Do you want to hear the story or not?”
He grinned and leaned back, lifting his palms in a defeated gesture. “Carry on.”
“Jensen walked in and saw me. I guess he was having late night cravings too. And then…” Tamsin slowly shook her head as she trailed off. “I don’t know how to explain it. One second I’m standing there with four Milky Way bars in my hand, and the next I’m on my knees.”
“Um, this was consensual, right?” Jasmine asked, forehead wrinkling. “Just to be clear?”
“Yes, of course. I would’ve said something if it wasn’t,” Tamsin said.
Her cheeks had turned bright pink. “It’s just…
I really don’t know how to explain it. I absolutely hate Jensen.
Always have. But it’s like he has some sort of alpha male magic powers or something.
I couldn’t resist him the second he turned on the charm. ”
“I guess he is pretty hot,” Wren said grudgingly. “Maybe not as hot as Rhys or Garrett, but still... not bad at all.”