“Anywhere else I should look?” he asks.
“I’m good, thanks.” The elastic on my underwear is tight enough to leave indentations on my skin. No way is a tick crawling past the border.
“While we’re busy baring ourselves,” he says, “I have a confession to make.”
My mind scatters into a thousand possibilities, each one more awful than the next. I brace myself for an answer that involves either a wife and three kids at home or a preference for pineapple on pizza. “What is it?”
He hesitates, as though reconsidering.
“What is it, Charlie? Do you see something?”
He switches off the light. “I haven’t seen Star Wars,” he finally says. “Or Lord of the Rings, for that matter.”
His admission strikes me speechless. My jaw refuses to operate. It doesn’t even drop to the floor; it stays clamped shut like an oyster holding tight to its pearl.
Charlie studies my face in the shadows. “Have I done it? Have I finally broken you?”
I regain control of my mouth. “It’ll take a lot more than your pathetic childhood to break me.”
He scoffs. “Pathetic? I’ll have you know my childhood was idyllic.”
“No one’s childhood was idyllic. The only people who think that are the ones who weren’t paying attention.”
He whistles. “Wow. That has to be the bleakest view of humanity I’ve ever heard. No wonder you hide away in your nerd camp every summer. Why bother to take a chance on people when you already know they all suck?”
“I’ve taken plenty of chances with people.” And they burnt me like toast. Never again.
“Do you even have friends in real life?” he asks.
“What’s that supposed to mean? The camp is my real life.”
“I’m talking about the other ten months of the year. Do you even leave your house? Catch a movie with another local?”
“I watch movies with friends,” I say carefully.
“I’m not talking about watching a movie at the same time as someone in another state. I mean sitting in a movie theater next to someone you know, sharing a bucket of popcorn.”
“Why does it matter whether my friends live near me?”
“Because living your life online isn’t actually living a life.”
I cross my arms. “Is there where you tell me to touch grass? Because I spend the entire summer doing exactly that, thank you very much. And I don’t need a lecture on how to live outside technology from a guy who probably keeps his ringer on all night in case a client calls.” Annoyance flickers across his face. Another bullseye.
“You act like I’m the one who doesn’t step outside of my comfort zone, but you’re the one who built an entire business around staying in hers.”
I bark a laugh. “Nice try. I love what I do, unlike you.”
My comment rankles him. “What makes you think I don’t love being a lawyer?”
“It doesn’t take a law degree to read between the legalese.” His expression hardens, and I realize that I have, indeed, hit a nerve. I decide to guide the conversation back to a lighter space before he leaves me stranded in the woods without a flashlight. “Listen, I have a confession, too.” I suck in a breath and hope the others don’t kill me for this later. “There’s no prank.”
His eyes narrow. “What do you mean? You’ve been pranking me all week.”
“I know. Those were obviously real, but the one Ben mentioned… It’s a fake out. The prank is to make you worry about a prank that doesn’t exist.”
He stares at me, gobsmacked. “That’s genius.”
I can’t resist a smile. “I know, right? The most harmless prank is also the most effective.”
