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“That’s not what you said last time we were here.”

After a few moments, my smile disappeared. His did too. The lake suddenly sounded very loud. Water splashed against the wood like a storm determined to pull us both under its depths, and the wind blew through the trees and made my skin flush with goose bumps.

Darius shifted the pile in his arms as I felt us being pulled closer, but just before my lips found the warmth of his, he whimpered and backed away from me.

I swallowed and backed away too. “Right.”

I started to step around him, trying to stop my heart from breaking as the lake swallowed more pieces even now. Dee’s voice stopped me.

“You can’t keep doing that, ya know,” he said.

I turned around and looked at him. “Doing what, Darius?”

“Keeping me locked back at this lake.”

My chest tightened. “Trust me, Dee. I’m not keeping anything of you.”

His jaw clenched and his dark eyes glistened. There was that usual fear there. And anger. And something else he wouldn’t admit. This was Darius, though. Why should I expect more?

I set my jaw and watched him walk away. Forcing myself to stand on the same dock, look over the same trees, and listen to the same fucking water.

Five years ago, I’d stood here laughing with my best friend. Now I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to punch him or drag him into the lake just to see if I could bring that same boy back.

Either way, I was definitely not letting him borrow these fucking shorts.

CHAPTER 10

The sun had this fucked-up habit of giving you hope, only to immediately squash it. From the moment it hit your face in the morning and you thought: Today, things will be different. Or worse, you prayed that everything that happened a few hours ago had all been a dream. A nightmare. But then you realized the actual nightmare was that it was all a hundred percent real.

I ignored all the little beams of light streaming in from the rec room windows, bouncing off the home-made chimes and creating a rainbow effect on the clean white walls. Ironic, considering what a rainbow represented.

The colors seemed out of place in a room where everyone was praised for their sameness. Camp Dix wasn’t just a summer retreat for troubled youths; it was church-funded, Carter-family funded, and where “impure thoughts” came to die.

That was ironic too, seeing as this place was where most of mine started.

I shook my head and tried to focus on the present the more the past tried to creep up behind me. My eyes drifting to the camp’s painted signs, which seemed inspiring from a distance: Made in HIS image, Walk with HIS love, Let FAITH be your compass.

Close up, you knew what they really meant: Don’t stand out, Know your place, Follow the herd. All synonyms for the same thing.

Different was bad. No one loved different.

I stood with my group of campers by the long white craft table, trying to pretend that I was just like them. Sure, I was good at playing my part when I knew what to expect. Meanwhile, kids were anything but predictable. They didn’t have the decency to pretend they couldn’t see right through you like most adults did. Instead, they picked at your insecurities with their stubby little, dirt-encrusted fingernails. And they laughed in your face while doing it.

“Okay,” I said. “Rule one: hands to yourself. Rule two: everyone is going to participate.”

The kids—my kids, the ones I was supposed to keep in line and could barely keep awake—snickered at my attempt at garnering control.

“Told ya he’s one of those,” the kid in the front said, smirking as he nudged his friend. I hadn’t learned his name. I hadn’t learned any of their names I just now realized.

“Shut up,” I snapped, which was exactly what they wanted.

I turned back to the activity table someone had set up: a stack of paper cutouts—figures labeled ADAM and EVE—plus a cloth-wrapped “apple” prop that looked like it had been used for a dozen Sunday school lessons and was now overdue for retirement.

Cindy hovered nearby with a bright smile and a clipboard. Neat blonde ponytail, crisp whistle, the posture of someone who’d never had to swallow an uncomfortable thought just to fit in. It was probably why I was drawn to her. Made me feel like I could fit in too.

She nodded once, her way of telling me to get on with it.

I handed out the pieces of paper. “Today we’re doing an activity about Adam and Eve. Not to—” I paused, because several boys were already waiting for me to say something stupid. “Not to argue or debate religious beliefs. Instead, we’re exploring choices and consequences.”