Page 177
EPILOGUE
TWENTY YEARS LATER
Ice breakers were proof adults had run out of useful ideas sometime after they invented cell phones. I mean, no sane person looked at a circle of sweaty teenagers dumped in the woods for the summer and thought: You know what would make this better? A bunch of fun facts nobody cares about.
Yet here we were. Sixty or so “troubled youths” gathered around a circle in the middle of the field, while the same stupid rules got explained for probably the millionth summer in a row. I could rattle them off because I’d been here basically my entire life.
“Name, age, where you’re from, and one interesting fact.”
A boy across from me raised his hand. “What if we’re not interesting?”
“Then lie convincingly.”
I looked up. A few brainless sheep laughed. And our lead counselor appeared pleased with himself.
A whistle hung around his neck, even though he barely ever used it. Sunglasses shoved into his bright-pink hair and one hand permanently planted on his hip, because he thought it made him seem cool or something, while the other was looped around his co-counselor. The shiny gold band on his finger catching the light whenever he gestured it out in front of him.
More than a dozen summers and somehow he still acted surprised when we acted annoying.
“Okay,” he said, clapping his hands once. “Who wants to start?”
Nobody volunteered. Obviously.
He sighed. “I forgot how miserable teenagers are.”
“You work at a camp,” somebody reminded him. “That sounds like a personal choice.”
He pointed towards the voice. “Congratulations. You’re first.”
The boy appeared horrified.
I grinned—I loved misery—and shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my black cargo shorts before glancing around the field. Camp Dix looked exactly how summer camps always looked. Old cabins named after trees. Way too many actual trees and a pretty dope skate area where some lake used to be.
The guys had drained it years ago and converted the basin into ramps, rails, and concrete bowls. The old shoreline was still visible around the edges, a pale scar beneath the weeds and wildflowers. A rundown chapel sat off in the distance, like it was judging everybody for the annual sins they committed, but that place was all but abandoned now.
Same picnic tables from last year, and we had the same stupid flagpole. The gravel paths that ruined every pair of shoes I owned were apparently never being touched, but I kinda understood that one.
Nothing ever really changed around here. Except the people. The names, the faces. Those were usually different from year to year.
“Ellory.”
I blinked. I’d stopped listening. Shocking, I know. “What?”
“You with us?”
“Physically.”
Counselor Douche Canoe stared at me, and I stared right back. His co-counselor made a noise behind him. A tiny one that earned the poor guy a glare. “Don’t you start too.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was breathing.”
“Yeah, well, you breathe like an asshole.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Counselor Douche Canoe looked in my direction, and I wiped the smirk off my face. Too late.
