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“Sure.”

I picked up an empty water gun from the equipment bin and checked the trigger, doing whatever I could to keep my hands busy. “Did you need something?”

Cindy shrugged. “No. I was just wondering if there was a reason you’ve looked towards the north trail every fifteen seconds since I got here.”

“I have not,” I said, as my eyes immediately flicked in that direction.

“You did it just now,” Cindy pointed out.

“I was just making sure no one was wandering off.”

“All the kids are at the top of the hill.”

“Exactly, and that’s how I keep them up there. By checking that they don’t wander off.”

She made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like a laugh she was trying to turn into a cough.

I aimed the water gun towards the trees without pulling the trigger, the nozzle honing in on the wooden table in the distance.

Cindy followed my gaze. “You know, if you’re trying to make Omar jealous, you’re doing a terrible job at it.”

“I’m not trying to make anyone jealous.”

“Ah! I get it now. You’re the one who’s jealous,” Cindy said.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Then why are you aiming a gun at Omar’s head?”

“It’s a water gun,” I replied, like that made a difference.

Cindy crossed her arms over her chest. And for once, I found myself not staring at her tits when she did it. Or forcing myself to stare. I didn’t even know what I did that was innate versus what I did because it was learned anymore.

“You ruined things with me because of him,” she huffed.

I lowered the gun to my side and tried to come up with something nice to say to her. Some sort of excuse for what an ass I’d been. How I’d played with her emotions every day since we’d arrived. All I managed to do was choke on my tongue, though.

“No, it’s fine.” Cindy raised a hand and looked towards the trees again. “I’m over it. Mostly. But I’m not blind, Dee. You and Alvin have something going on.”

“We don’t.”

“Right.” She nodded slowly. “And I’m secretly the Pope.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny.”

The campers shouted behind us, drawing our attention that way. One of the kids had gotten hold of the hose and water was now arcing over the hill in a wide, uncontrolled stream.

I turned. “Who gave you permission to use that?”

The boy with the hose froze.

“You did,” Mikey said.

“Oh, right,” I grunted, and Cindy lifted a questioning brow. “But I told you not to spray it at me.”

“We’re not. We’re spraying it next to you,” Mikey replied at the exact moment a gush of cold water hit me in the face.