He holds a hand in the air, palm out. “I’m sorry, but have you ever heard of anyone having a turtle farm?”

“What the hell’s the point of a turtle farm?” Eric mutters. “All they’d do is sit around in the sand all day.”

“And swim,” Kyle offers. “But you’d need a big pool, especially for a hundred and one of them.”

“A hundred and one? You mean, like the Dalmatians?”

“Exactly like the Dalmatians, Vetter. Exactly.”

Eric frowns as if considering that. “Are the spots on their shells or their bodies?”

“Okay, boys . . .” Darian interrupts the Ping-Pong match of wit between the two friends. She points toward Avery. “Can we please focus?”

“Yes. Of course. I apologize,” Kyle says somberly. “Please, Avery . . . continue telling us about your cats.”

With another wary glare Kyle’s way, Avery continues. “Their names are Snow and Coal.”

“Because one’s all white and one’s all black. She said the same thing last year,” Kyle mutters, and there’s no missing the boredom in his voice. Whatever Avery may feel for him—which right now appears to be a fair amount of resentment—there’s no love lost on his end.

“Didn’t stop you from hooking up with her all summer,” I retort before I can stop myself.

Kyle muffles another laugh through a fake coughing fit, earning a dirty look from Avery and a throat-clearing from Darian. “I see Ashley’s been busy filling you in on everything you wanted to know?”

And now Kyle is fully aware of the fact that I wanted to know about him.

My cheeks flush. But I shouldn’t be embarrassed, should I? Because, unless I’m horribly imperceptive, the signs are all there that this interest is mutual.

Avery has finished and people are now shouting out their guesses.

“I missed her third thing. What was it?” I ask.

“Probably that she has a sister who looks exactly like her, or something equally lame.” Kyle waves a dismissive hand in her direction. “Do you have a sister who looks like you?”

“No. A brother, who looks nothing like me.” He is my mother’s son, while I’m a much more feminine version of my father.

Kyle smiles smugly. “Now I know one truth about you.”

Shit.

“Come on, Piper. I’m counting on you to come up with something more interesting than siblings and cats.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I haven’t been involved in any robberies lately.”

An odd, unreadable look flickers over his face, but it’s gone in an instant. “So then shock me.” His eyes roam my face. “Say something that you wouldn’t want to stand up in front of a group of strangers and admit to.”

“Fine.” My stomach flips.

“And let’s up the stakes. Ten Fun Dips, two minutes.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” He smirks. He turns his attention back to the circle.

I feel compelled to ask him something—anything—to keep our conversation going. “So . . . do you have a brother?”

His fingers move for that leather band again, fumbling absently with it. “Yeah. One brother. Jeremy.”

“Is he going to come here this year?”

“Nah.” Kyle’s eyes roam the treetops falling into darkness, now that the sun has dropped past them. “So, what activities did you sign up for?”

“Uh . . .” I struggle to think, his diversion away from his brother swift. “Knitting and badminton.”

He cringes. “Knitting? That’s the worst.”

“Options were slim. You?”

“Kayaking and hiking.”

I frown. “But those slots were full when I signed up, and you came after me.”

“Pays to know people.”

“Apparently,” I grumble. “I’ve never even held a knitting needle.”

Kyle nods toward the counselors. They’re halfway around the circle. “Better start thinking up a good lie, unless you want to lose our bet.”

We sit quietly next to each other—me, hyperaware of Kyle’s every shift, twitch, and glance—and listen as one by one, everyone takes a turn standing before the crowd, attempting to trick the group. Most tries are unimaginative—answers people throw out just to get their turn over with and the attention off them. Then there are people like Christa, whose truths are so blatantly obvious—“I’m a Type A personality, I like to be in control”—that it’s impossible to mistake the lie—“I drive Formula One race cars in my free time.”

A few are good. A guy named Vince had everyone divided over whether he went skydiving last week or if a shark did in fact brush past his calf at Cocoa Beach during spring break. Turns out Vince is scared shitless of heights and would have to already be dead and tossed out of a plane in order to agree to skydiving.

Tom stood up and outed himself as gay—to a round of cheers, proving that many already suspected that truth.

And then there was Olivia . . . I got my first real taste of her and her “I spent New Year’s Eve in Paris,” “My dad said that if I keep my four-point-oh, he’ll buy me a Range Rover when I graduate” truths, along with her “I met Harry Styles last year” lie. Apparently she met him two years ago.

As each person pauses to wait for the consensus, Kyle holds up one, two, or three fingers for me. And he’s right, every time. I’m beginning to think there is such a thing as telepaths. At the very least, he has a natural ability to read people.

By the time my turn comes, my palms are sweating.

“Okay! And last but not least . . .” Darian makes a drum roll with her palms on the back of the cardboard box used to shuttle over wood scraps for the fire.

I stand, feeling everyone’s gaze on me once again.

“Hope you like sour apple,” Kyle murmurs, and I can hear the smug smile in his voice.

And I hope this doesn’t backfire terribly on me.

“We have turtles at home, I’m crushing hard on Kyle, and I dumped my high school soccer team captain’s ass for trying to pressure me into having sex.”

Probably not what Darian had in mind for this ice breaker, but there you have it.

Eyes flash wide, mouths drop, and shocked, nervous giggles sound, and then people begin shouting out numbers. I stand with my head held high, like I’m unfazed, even as heat crawls up the back of my neck. Thank God for the cover of night, finally.

“Okay, that was . . . interesting.” Darian’s own eyebrows are arched as she looks at me, her words failing her. “Well, Piper? What’s the lie?”

Taking a deep breath, I finally dare look over my shoulder and down.

Kyle peers up at me with a small smile on his lips, dipping his head once as if in approval. I guess I didn’t totally fail. He holds up his index finger.

Number one.

I feel the triumphant smile take over as I turn to the group. “I’d never date a soccer player. They’re a bunch of crybabies.”

Laughter and jeers explode around the circle as I settle back down next to Kyle, my blood still racing through my ears, my eyes on the flames, unable to gather the nerve to meet his gaze.