Dead of Summer

No, I’d kill Kayde before I ever let him hurt anyone.

But I certainly can’t let that show on my face.

I grin maniacally at the two of them, and dip my head in a nod. “I’d tell you,” I tell them, crossing my fingers behind my back as I add, “I promise. And we’d go all Goodbye, Earl on him, but I do need someone else to make the black eyed peas since I think they’re nasty no matter how you cook them.”

“I’ll put bacon in them,” Liza assures me. “He won’t be able to taste anything except bacon and salt.”

“I’ll dig the hole and uh, bash him over the head if the poison doesn’t take,” Kinsley promises quickly.

“Then we’re all set. I’ll let Kayde know that there’s a contingency plan for if he lays a hand or tooth out of line.” I hold my hands up in surrender, already inching toward the cabins.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Liza advises, though she doesn’t exactly sound disapproving. Especially when she wiggles her brows as I glance her way, and snags an arm around Kinsley. “Not that we’ll be following my advice.”

Kinsley kisses her cheek, and I can’t help the warmth that blooms in my chest looking at them. I have no idea if they’ll last, but if I could wish for anything right now, it would be for Liza and Kinsley to find their soul mates in each other. God, I really want that for them.

After all, I’ve never seen my best friend more head over heels for someone. While I’ll never tell her, I also think she’d underestimated how hard she’d fall for Liza. But that, in my opinion, just makes it more perfect for them. “Love you Kins.” I wiggle my fingers at her, then at Liza. “My affection for you grows daily, Liza.”

“As does mine for you,” she promises me, kissing Kinsley’s temple. “Now go sleep.” Again with the brow wiggle, and it makes my eyes roll up in my head as I skirt the fire and head for my cabin.

Obviously, I don’t fall asleep. No matter what Kayde said—and the fact that I’m surprisingly not afraid of him actually walking in on me while I’m unconscious—I don’t feel tired enough to sleep. But that’s probably because I slept most of the day, in lieu of getting up and playing ultimate frisbee with my terrifying campers.

So instead, I change into my pajamas; a black tank top and shorts patterned on one side with creepy smiley faces and solid lavender on the other leg, and hop into bed with my nightstand lamp on. In my top drawer, I rummage around until I’ve found one of my books, and I snort at the cover of it before leaning back on my pillow.

Is it cliche to read a horror novel set in the woods, in a cabin, while I’m dealing with a murderer at my summer camp? Or is it just bad timing?

My fingers stroke the well-worn cover, over the spine that’s bent in too many places, and I smile fondly at it. This is one I’d dug out of my mom’s keepsakes, from a box she’d said was okay to throw away. But then I’d found this, and she’d admitted that she’d read it over and over as a kid, along with The Black Stallion, which also sits in my nightstand.

And okay, yeah, maybe tonight, that would be more appropriate. Especially with the way my skin prickles and every noise outside feels like it might be Kayde.

Even though it never is, no matter how many times I jump and glance at the door expectantly.

Finally I do switch books, pulling out the yellowed copy of The Black Stallion and opening it carefully to the beginning. Though I’ve read the whole series enough times that I can quote more of it than I’d like to admit, and I could open this book to any page and instantly know what’s going on.

But it’s the nostalgia that I really care about. When I want something old and comforting, something that reminds me of home, I read these two books and remember the first time my mom read this to me. They way her voice trembled and her eyes flicked to the door like she’d been afraid Dad would come back at any moment.

I’d been so scared back then. I’d still been sore from him hitting me with the broken bottle, and tears had stained my face that night even after we’d gotten home from the emergency room where they’d stitched up the cut across my brow and pressed a couple of neon pink Bandaids to it.

Absently, I touch the scar, flipping to the next page as I slowly drown in a story I’ve read a million times before.

Even though I was sure I’d know when he’s coming, I jump in surprise when my door opens; Kayde forgoing even one knock to let me know he’s here. He pauses when he closes it, eyes on me as he takes in my wide-eyed surprise and the book in my hands.

“You’re reading?” he asks, kicking off his shoes by the door and striding over to sit on the bed like he owns it. “Reading?”

“Yes,” I tell him slowly, one brow rising as I gear up to say something mocking. “You should try it sometime. They say it’s good for you. Maybe it can be your hobby, instead of, you know.” I lift one arm and make dramatic chopping motions while Kayde watches, completely flat-lipped at my stupid display.

But it’s not like I’m trying to be serious or realistic in my movements. Though judging by Kayde’s face, I’ve offended the Order of the Ax Murderers. “Sorry,” I snort, moving to rest the book on the nightstand.

Before I can, however, Kayde reaches out, his fingers closing gently on the paperback and giving a soft tug. But I hesitate, biting my lower lip. “Be careful, okay?” I request, finally letting go of it. “It was my mom’s. She gave it to me a long time ago and…” I trail off, not wanting to trauma-dump on him or tell him my whole damn life story. He’s definitely not interested, and I’d just look pathetic at the end of it.

I definitely don’t need that tonight.

“So it’s special?” He’s more careful than I could ever expect him to be as he turns it over and reads the back, blinking in what might be amusement or surprise. “Didn’t take you for a horse girl,” he drawls, handing back the book a second later.

“Oh, no I’m not. I don’t really ride or anything anymore. Though, I absolutely wanted a black stallion of my own as a kid and nothing Mom said would ever convince me otherwise. Anyway, it’s just…memories, you know? I’ve read the whole series. Mom has them all in her office. But she gave me this one and it’s”—I turn the book over in my hands, fingers stroking the cover—“just really special.”

I reach over and put the book back into my drawer beside the horror novel I hadn’t been in the mood for. That one can wait until the boogeyman isn’t sitting in front of me, or occupying the same camp as I am.

When I look back at Kayde, I draw my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them so I can rest my chin on my kneecaps and stare at him expectantly. “Okay, so, what now? There are people up around here, so if you’re going to throw me over your shoulder again and drag me away to your secret hideout, you might have to be a little more careful.”