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Blake tipped his water bottle at me. “That they did. So how is Team Wilson doing?”
I glanced over the girls to find them laughing and joking with the boys. “They’re okay. Erica still isn’t responding.”
He followed my gaze to where she sat on the edge of the huddle with Brianna, toasting marshmallows on their skewers. But they didn’t wear the same happy expressions as everyone else.
“It doesn’t happen right away,” Blake said. “Not for all of them. Give her time.”
“I keep forgetting you’re a pro at this.”
He shuffled beside me, sliding off the trunk and sitting against it on the ground with his knees bent. “Pro? Nah, I just get them. Hell”—he inhaled a thin breath—“we were them, Penny. After—”
“HELP! I’m on fire. Somebody help me.” Trevor, one of the boys, thrashed around on the spot, waving his skewer in the air while the rest of the kids all laughed hysterically.
Blake got to his feet and headed toward them. “Drop the skewer, Trev” he chuckled. “It’s on fire. Not you, buddy. Just let it go.”
Trevor stopped and glanced at Blake and back at the skewer, which was completely charred on one end. He threw it out in front of him and started stomping on it over and over.
“Okay bud, I think you got it,” Blake laughed, and Trevor stopped, ducking his head with realization.
“I… I thought I was on fire. My bad.” He skulked back to his seat and shrugged off a couple of his friends.
Blake didn’t come back to sit with me. Instead, he joined the boys.
Whatever had just passed between us—or had been about to pass—was over.
I couldn’t help but think that it was something significant. Something that could change things. But now he was avoiding me.
Dusting myself off, I joined the girls, and tried to push it out of my mind.
Even if it was something important, what did we know about each other anymore? I didn’t even know where he lived, or what he did with his life outside of summer camp.
We really were strangers to one another.
And maybe it was for the best.
* * *
“I’m not doing it. No way,” Erica snapped. “You can’t make me.”
She stood in her usual pose, arms folded over her chest, an icy glare aimed in my direction.
Ten days, and I was still no closer to cracking her. It was like whatever I did or said sparked a reaction from her. The only consolation was she seemed to hold the same regard for most of the other adults in the camp.
It was frustrating, but more than that, it concerned me.
Most of the kids relished the opportunity to be free for two weeks, to play and experience and grow. Some of the kids who came through the Camp Chance program were fortunate enough to have supportive and wholesome foster families. Those kids stood out—they were confident and wore a permanent smile during their adventures. But others, like Erica and Brianna, were wary and uncertain, and the foster kid in me knew it stemmed from their experiences back home.
Home.
The word caused a painful ache inside me.
If Erica was anything like I was at her age, home was not a word used to describe my foster home.
The Freemans’ house was hell on earth, a time in my life made bearable by only one person.
That was the reason why I couldn’t let Erica walk away from Camp Chance without doing something—anything—to give her hope of a better life. It was also the reason I needed Blake’s help.
He knew what it was like too, and he was so good with the kids. But that would have to wait until the group campfire tonight because, right now, I had to get six girls across the lake in canoes.
