I climbed the front steps to the cottage I shared with my parents with Dahlia at my heels. Dumping my knapsack and radio at my feet, I lowered myself onto the porch swing and sat back to stare out at the campground.

It was quiet now, all the new students probably already asleep. Opening day at Camp Riley was always exciting. I looked forward to it every year, but it was exhausting. Combine that with the abnormally hot temperatures Virginia was experiencing, it was also physically draining. I understood why my parents handed me the responsibility of organizing the students on arrival day this year. At their age, they never would have been able to stand out there in this heat, waiting to greet the busloads of students.

Pulling a water bottle from my knapsack, I opened it and took a swig. The water was tepid since it hadn’t been on ice since that morning, but at least it was hydrating. Despite my recent swim, the relief of the cool lake had been short-lived. My body was already overheated from the walk back to the cottage. On impulse, I cupped one of my hands, poured a bit of water into it, and then splashed it over my face in an attempt to cool off. Dahlia looked up at me curiously, then licked the droplets that rained down in front of her paws.

I could hear the voices of my parents coming through the open windows of the cottage. My mother was chatting on excitedly about the plans she had for the students the following day. My father, always so encouraging, agreed with her plans and made a few more suggestions.

“Come on, girl. Let’s go inside and hear all about what Momma’s planning,” I said and reached down to ruffle one of Dahlia’s ears. Her tail wagged as she sprang to her feet. Following her lead, I walked up to the wood-framed screen door, and we went inside.

I found my father sitting at the age-worn oak kitchen table with a bourbon nightcap, listening to my mother with rapt attention. He was the epitome of everything good–a faithful and hardworking husband, and an ever-present father. My mother, always steadfast and energetic, was pacing and waving her arms about in excitement. Her graying hair was swept up into the usual tight knot on top of her head, and her tiny figure seemed lost under the long nightshirt she wore. My father nodded his head in agreement to whatever she had just said, both of them turning to look in my direction when I came in.

“Oh, Cadence! You’re finally back! How did things go today?” my mother asked enthusiastically.

“Pretty good, especially considering this was my first time running solo. A few glitches, but I handled it.”

“Oh? Such as?” She raised a brow curiously.

“I didn’t know what to do with the new boys who were added to the camp roster at the last minute. I decided to set them up to work camp maintenance with daddy.”

“I put them right to task tonight too,” my father chimed in. “They seem like good, hardworking boys. They did as I asked them to, no questions asked. I think they’ll work out just fine this summer.”

“Yeah, right. I think they’re going to be trouble,” I muttered. “I doubt boys from USC are capable of being hardworking.”

“USC?” my parents said in unison.

“University of Spoiled Children,” I clarified.

My mother laughed, a long melodious sound, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh, Cadence, give them time. How many times have I told you not to judge a book by its cover?”

“Trust me, Momma, they’re a couple of jokesters. These boys are no good.”

“Well, try to keep an open mind. If you have any problems, make sure to let us know.”

“I will,” I promised. “So, tell me about your meeting with the camp leaders. Were you able to finalize your plans for the summer? Have you decided on a production?”

My mother clapped her hands together, her excitement evident.

“The meeting was wonderful! It was probably the most productive one I’ve had to date! We have some creative geniuses with us this year, and I can’t wait to start! I was just telling your father about it. Sit down, and I’ll fill you in.”

Pulling out a chair at the kitchen table, I settled in to listen to my mother explain the musical production for the current year. She had given the leaders a choice between West Side Story and Singin’ in the Rain, and they decided on the latter for its comedic attributes. While one of the leaders was ecstatic about who they would choose to play the roles of Don Lockwood, Kathy Sheldon, and Cosmo Brown, another one of the leaders couldn’t wait to start teaching the Academy Award-nominated musical score.

Enraptured by her excitement, I couldn’t help but be in awe over her many accomplishments. It wasn’t just the music camp. My mother was successful at everything she set out to do. My parents were originally from New York. My mother had been an actress on Broadway and a fairly famous one too. My father wasn’t one for acting, but he was good with his hands. He had worked his way up the ladder at Imperial Theatre and managed the stage crew for the production of Minnie’s Boys. My mother starred as Minnie and the rest, as they say, was history.

Their engagement was short by modern standards–they were married within three months of their first meeting. With young, romantic ideas, they took a road trip to Virginia, wanting their honeymoon to be far away from the fast life of New York. I smiled wistfully as I recalled the many times they spoke about the long walks they would take amongst the vast green trees, watching the beautiful sunsets. They had been on one of their walks when they stumbled across an abandoned mining town. My mother fell in love with its quaintness and was saddened to see it had been left to ruin.

Years later, after struggling to get pregnant, my mother decided she was done with her stage career. She blamed her many miscarriages on the rigorousness of the theatre. Leaving everything behind, they went back to Virginia and purchased the old town they fell in love with so many years before. Nevertheless, theatre was still in their blood, so they converted the town into a summer camp for creatively gifted youth. With my mother’s notoriety, students poured in every summer, itching for their chance to learn from the great Claudine Benton-Riley. The impression she left on many was great. While I didn’t share her musical or stage talents, I did hope one day I would be able to impact as many as she did.

After listening to my mother carry on for close to an hour, I glanced at the wall clock in the kitchen. It was nearing eleven. My father had already gone to bed thirty minutes ago. As much as my mother’s enthusiasm was contagious, six-thirty was going to come very early. She seemed to notice I was running out of steam when I surrendered myself over to a yawn.

“I think it’s time for you to head on to bed, Cadence. You seem tired, and I’ve talked enough for one night.” She smiled softly at me.

“I’m sorry, Momma. You know I love to listen to you chatter on about the happenings at the camp, but I was up really early this morning.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved off with a flip of her small hand. “I know you’ve had a long day.”

I stood up and walked over to where my mother was sitting. Wrapping my arms around her, I gave her a brief hug and kissed her on the forehead.

“Night, Momma.”

“Good night, sweetie.”

Entering my bedroom, cold air from the window a/c unit assaulted me. As I began to strip out of my clothes, I realized how slimy my skin felt. Between sweat and the lake water, I definitely needed a shower before I could climb under the clean sheets on my bed. I looked at the comfortable twin mattress with longing, knowing I wouldn’t have time to launder the sheets tomorrow. With a sigh, I grabbed a towel and my pajamas and headed to the bathroom in our cottage. At that moment, I didn’t think I’d ever been so grateful to my father for adding a shower to our private residence. Just the thought of walking to the bathhouse made me feel even sweatier.

Fatigue seemed to make my bones physically ache, but I felt more like a human being again after the shower. I towel dried my hair and then quickly secured it back into a loose French braid. Slipping into a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, I shuffled back to the kitchen to turn off the lights. Just as I was about to go back to my bedroom, I noticed Dahlia standing by the front door. Normally she would be curled up on her pile of blankets in the corner of my room at this time of night.

“Do you need to go out, girl? Drink too much lake water?” Her tail wagged and she nudged her nose at the door. “Alright, let’s go. But be quick about it.”

I unlatched the lock for the front door, opened it, and Dahlia pranced around to the back of the cottage. Knowing she would take a few minutes to find the perfect place to do her business, I sat on the top step of the front porch and waited.

After a few moments, I heard a rustle near the side of the porch and looked to see what it was. Dahlia must have heard it too because she came bounding from the back of the cottage and was off like a shot.

“Dahlia!” I called out in a loud whisper. Then I saw what caused the rustle. A rabbit.

Damn!

I chased after her, afraid to call her name too loudly because I didn’t want to wake my parents or anyone else.

It was useless.

In and out of the brush she went, sniffing around at a rapid pace, determined to catch her prey. I loved her, but as the sweat began to run down my back, I wanted to strangle her.

“So much for the shower,” I muttered to myself.

When I finally caught up to her, I grabbed her by the collar and scolded her. Her head drooped, and her tail went between her legs. I instantly felt guilty for chastising her even though I shouldn’t have. After all, she was the one who ran from me.

I shook my head.

“Pup, when will you ever learn. Rabbits are way faster than you!”

Her tail wagged. Clearly, all was forgiven. I chuckled and motioned for her to follow me back toward home–to my bed. Sleep was calling my name.

A flicker of light caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to see where it was coming from. Someone had turned the light on in the barn. It would be odd if it was Fitz just getting in. He should have returned from his little spy adventure some time ago.

Where would he have gone after leaving the lake?

I had seen Devon chatting it up with one of the camps music instructors, so perhaps it wasn’t Fitz at all. Maybe it was his sidekick returning late.

Or, what if there was something wrong? Like, seriously wrong.

A twinge of guilt hit me for making them sleep in the barn. The night air was like a sauna, and unlike all the cottages, there were no window air-conditioning units in the barn to cool them down.

What if one of them had a heat stroke? Or worse. What if one of them fell faint from the heat and stumbled off the ladder to the loft?

The barn wasn’t that far of a walk from my cottage.

I’ll just go make sure everything is okay, then I’ll go to bed.

At least–that’s what I told myself.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, I slowly turned away from the bed that had been beckoning to me just seconds before and headed toward the light. The curiosity I felt was almost a compulsion. In a matter of a few minutes, I found myself just outside the barn, peering up at the window where I had seen the light come on. I wasn’t sure if I felt guilty for spying or if checking on a guest was somehow my duty. I only knew I was unable to look away.

I saw Fitz move into view, his back was to me, the bulk of him filling almost the entire frame of the window. His short hair was in complete disarray, the top sticking up wildly as if he had been violently running his hands through it. Suddenly, he turned to face out the window. Panicked, I skirted behind a nearby tree.

I couldn’t make out his expression, but I didn’t think he saw me. He stared out the window for a time before walking closer to it and pressing his palms to the window ledge. He dropped his head between his shoulders. He almost appeared sad, and I couldn’t help but wonder what this privileged boy had to be sad about.

After a time, Fitz stepped away from the window, and the light was extinguished. I wasn’t sure what compelled me to head toward the barn in the first place. My worries were silly. Everything was fine. Feeling guilty, I stepped away from the shadows and turned toward home. Dahlia followed alongside me, prancing happily when she found a stick on the pathway.

“No, girl. No more fetch. It’s time for bed.” She whined for a moment, but she knew the rules. As I took the stick from her mouth, she began to growl. “Dahlia! Don’t you dare growl at me!”

Then I heard the snapping of a twig to my left, and I realized she wasn’t growling at me at all. A warning flapped through my insides, as if it were carried on wings. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and goosebumps prickled down my arms.

It’s probably just another rabbit.

Another twig snapped, and I knew I wasn’t alone. Someone was within the thick trees that lined the pathway. I tried to peer through the darkness, but the lush canopy of the overhead leaves blocked the moonlight and made it difficult to see.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” I called out. No one responded. Dahlia continued to growl in a low rumble while images of every horror film I’d ever seen came to mind. I was currently playing the role of the stupid person in the movie–the one who went out into the dark all alone, only to be captured and eaten by a team of zombies.

“It’s not polite to spy on people, sweetheart,” said a voice from behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin, the words making my pulse pound violently in my ears. I knew the voice repeating my words from a few hours ago. It wasn’t a flesh-eating zombie at all. Zombies didn’t call people ‘sweetheart’.

It was Fitz.