Prologue
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June– Fifteen Years Ago
Katrina Parsons stoodon the edge of the dock at Camp KooKoRomo. She’d left her fishing gear—borrowed as an excuse to check out the lake—near the tall grass. If she jumped into the water and pretended to drown, would the counselors send her home?
Camp will be good for you, Kat. You’re too young to be stuck on the farm with a couple of old fogies.
So instead of being with her grandparents, whom she loved, or visiting her parents in Africa, whom she missed, she was stuck spending eight weeks of her summer vacation with kids who thought farting was a group event.
She groaned. Her angst and frustration carried across the mirror-flat water.
This was a ginormous mistake. She was going into eighth grade and should have known better than to agree to come, but she’d been swayed by the glossy brochure with pictures of fun in the sun, s’mores by the campfire, and cute boys.
Especially the cute boys.
The ones at her middle school wanted only to copy her homework. They ignored her otherwise.
But so far, in the two hours since she’d arrived, she hadn’t seen one cute boy. She’d looked. Twice.
How many others had fallen for the brilliant marketing scam?
“Help! Someone, please!”
A panicked voice came from somewhere on shore. The tall grass and reeds blocked Kat’s view, so she ran off the dock.
“Where are you?” Kat yelled.
“Here,” a girl called. “Please help my brother.”
Kat tromped through the grass and saw two teens.
The girl was around the same age as she was. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and wore a flower-print sundress and white sandals.
The boy looked to be a couple of years older. He lay on the ground and clutched his leg. He was dressed in khaki pants and a navy polo shirt.
Odd clothing choices for summer camp compared to Kat’s jean shorts and tank top. Maybe they’d come straight from church.
“What happened?” Kat asked.
“My brother got caught on something and fell.” She spoke with a slight accent.
English, maybe? Kat couldn’t tell.
The girl stood a few feet away. Her face was pale, and she wrapped her arms across her stomach. “There’s…blood.”
Blood didn’t bother Kat. Last week, she’d helped Dr. Monroe deliver a colt at the next-door neighbor’s barn. So cool.
She kneeled on the ground. “Let me see.”
The boy grimaced. “Who are you?”
His accent was stronger than his sister’s.
“It’s okay.” Kat placed her hand on his shoulder the same way she comforted an injured or sick farm animal. “I know first aid.”
The tension on his face remained, but his green eyes didn’t look nearly as dark. He raised his pant leg as much as the fishing line tangled around his calf allowed. Blood streaked the skin. A hook was caught above his ankle.
