I ignore him, watching the dense forest thicken as the roads narrow just as we come up to a large wrought-iron gate out of nowhere.
The words “Camp Horizon” are scripted elegantly in the center.
The car pulls forward, the gates automatically open, and then we turn into a lot filled with cars worth more than people’s homes.
Last year, the car show came to Augusta, and Mason dragged me there. That’s the only reason I know some of the cars and their prices.
Aston Martin, Porsche, Range Rover, you name it, they’re here.
Mason steps out first, rounding the car to open my door, but I hesitate before climbing out. A sinking feeling washes over me as I take in the other campers. Especially the girls.
Immediately, I regret my entire existence.
Why the heck did I wear this dress?
Mason notices my shift. “What’s wrong?”
I scan the parking lot again. “What was I thinking?” I whisper, mortified. “I look like I’m part of the cast ofLittle House on the Prairie.”
Before he can respond, a stunning girl struts past us, swaying her hips like she’s on the runway. Her hair is pin-straight down to her barely covered bottom and her booty shorts don’t help cover any of her.
I can only hope they’re still in style when I buy a pair in college, far, far away from home.
I would be disowned for life if I dared to wear them now.
A second later, she lowers her designer sunglasses, lets out a high-pitched squeal, and throws herself into the arms of three other girls, all just as trendy, all dressed like they walked straight out ofVogue.
“You look beautiful,” Mason says.
I shoot him an annoyed glare. “I look like an Easter basket, Mase.”
Not that it’s his fault that I listened to Mama, who convinced me that florals were neutral and I’d fit right in.
Clearly, I had a brain fart because I not only wore it, but also the matching headband.
With a huff, I snatch that off the top of my head and throw it in the duffel bag. “Do you have a hoodie or something?” I frantically dig through my bag, but nothing I see would fit over the poofy sleeves.
“Maddie—”
“Mason,” I cut him off. “Hoodie. Stat.”
He sighs, pulls out his senior year sweatshirt, and hands it over. “Here. Don’t ruin it. And good luck not getting heatstroke.”
“Thanks. I’ll risk it.” The only good thing going for me right now is that I switched out my glasses for contacts once we landed.
“You’re acting crazy. You know that, right?”
I swing my arm toward the girls. “Have you seen them? I look like Humpty Dumpty next to them.”
He gives me a blank stare as if I’m speaking gibberish.
“Oh, don’t play dumb. I saw you checking them out the second the girl’s butt walked by.”
He ignores that comment entirely. “I’m giving you that look because you’re prettier than most of the girls here, and since when do you care about that?”
“I don’t,” I lie.
But he’s right. WhydoI care? I never have before, but suddenly, I feel completely out of my depth here.
