“I’d really like to be recovery positioned.”
It’s cute watching how hard she’s concentrating. She tries to lift my leg, just like I did to her, only to huff and try with two hands. “Do you want me to make it easier for you?”
“No!” she says, tugging my leg up to the correct position. “If you were passed out you wouldn’t be making it easier for me.”
“Okay then . . .”
“I feel like I’m working out, Jesus Christ. Why are you so big?” She’s going to kill me while trying to save me. “Oh, I forgot to check you were breathing!”
Before I can reassure her that I’m definitely breathing—for now—I’m drowning under a sea of blond hair that smells like peaches, as she puts her ear to my face. With all my limbs eventually in the right positions, she pulls me toward her, rolling me into the final pose.
“Well done, Aurora,” Jeremy says somewhere behind me. I hadn’t even registered he was there. “You guys can move onto the bandages now. There’s a step-by-step guide to follow, I’ll get you a pack and then you can shout me when you’re done.”
“Good job, partner,” she says, holding up her hand for me to high five. “We’re a good team.” I slap my palm against hers. “You’re really good at . . . recovering people.”
My lips quirk as I listen to her go on and on, looking more confused by herself with every word out of her mouth. “You’re good at recovering people too.”
“The sun is melting my brain. Let’s get the bandages. You can tie me up first.” She shakes her head, pressing her hand against her forehead. “I made it weird, didn’t I?”
Embarrassed Aurora is adorable. “Yeah. Good job, partner.”
Chapter Eleven
RUSS
Aurora is really, really drunk, which means I’m back to keeping my distance.
While Xander has assured me that people drank alcohol when he was here last year and nothing happened, I’m still choosing to stay away from the chaotic drinking game that appears to be half Truth or Dare half Never Have I Ever, depending on which side of the campfire circle you find yourself on.
Our cabin is one of eight counselor cabins that borders the lake, giving me the perfect vantage point to watch what all the other staff are doing, while also mind my business with my book.
My love for reading started when I was a kid and my dad would be in a bad mood because like most gamblers, he’s shit at gambling. Reading was the most fun I could have while making the least amount of noise and I always wanted to avoid drawing attention to myself when he was likely to start an argument over something.
It feels full circle to be the thing keeping me out of trouble as an adult.
I know to everyone else it makes me seem boring, but so far I love being here and, aside from the obvious reasons, that’s something else that makes me not want to be sent home. I can try not to worry about what people know about me or what they think about me, which is something I struggle to put to the back of my mind when I’m at college. I probably won’t see half of these people again and that’s what I keep telling myself when I’m trying to be myself and get involved.
There’s one person I might see again, though, and she’s currently drinking directly out of a liquor bottle and laughing loudly. It doesn’t feel authentic though, it feels like it’s for show. That’s a recurring thing I keep thinking about Aurora, about how happy she portrays herself to be, with big smiles and bigger laughs—and yet sometimes it feels forced.
I felt like the world’s biggest asshole earlier when she walked toward me, presumably to get me involved, and as soon as I saw the tequila bottle in her hand, I walked in the other direction toward my cabin and away from her. I’ve caught her looking over here a few times, but when she spots me looking back at her, she quickly focuses back on the game.
Grabbing my water bottle from the railing beside me, I stretch my legs and head to the water machines near the main lawn. It’s weird not having to worry about accidentally falling over a dog and I miss my little shadows when they’re not around.
Jenna says I should feel honored to be the chosen one and I do. I haven’t ever been anyone’s first choice, so I’m grabbing onto it with both hands. Even if they are dogs.
I’m walking past the empty kids’ cabins on the side of the main lawn when I hear shoes on the gravel path. Aurora’s cheeks are pink when she catches me up, eyes glassy. “I freaking hate running,” she pants, supporting herself against her knees as she tries to catch her breath. “What are you doing?”