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“Hey, just wanted to let you know the buses are arriving,” she says.
“Great. Thanks, Mags,” I say. “I’ll be right out.”
Maggie closes the door behind her, and I turn to Pia and offer her a small smile. The buses are earlier than I’d anticipated their arrival when I set this interview up. I’d hoped to have this thing done and over with long before they arrived.
“Looks like I timed it perfectly,” she says.
“Looks like,” I reply. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t allow you to be here when we have a new class coming through. The privacy of the people who come through here is paramount. Which means I don't want you talking to any of them. Am I clear?"
She nods. “You’re clear.”
“Feel free to speak with any of the staff, but you are to stay away from our guests.”
“Understood.”
“See that you do because I won’t hesitate to toss you out of here.”
She gives me a patient smile but nods. “I get it. I won’t cause you any problems.”
“Good. Then follow me.”
I lead her out of my office and through the warren of hallways in the administrative offices then hold the front door open for her as she steps onto the covered deck. I follow her out and step to the railing that overlooks the yard. The doors to the buses open and our new guests start piling out, most of them looking dull and lifeless with their heads down and shoulders slumped. Not a one of them is excited to be here. Not that I blame them for that. Stepping onto these grounds probably ranks up there among the worst days of a person’s life.
The deck I’m standing on is about six feet above the yard where they’re all assembling below me. It’s the usual array of mostly kids, but I see a couple of people who are probably in their mid-twenties who are most likely here by court order. As part of our agreement with the city, we accept ten court-appointed guests with every class. The rest are an assortment of kids from affluent families and kids from families of lesser means. We don’t discriminate and take sixty guests into each six-week session.
Forward Path runs year-round, and we receive funding from the state as well as enrollment fees from the affluent families. We use that money to open up “scholarship” spots for people of lesser means who apply for the program. Any gaps in the funding are made up by the foundation my father opened to honor his sister—the Hannah Ballard Memorial Foundation. In addition to helping with Forward Path, the foundation has a number of other charitable endeavors.
My breath catches in my throat when I see her step off the bus. She’s wearing a black skirt, which shows off her shapely legs, and a tight t-shirt that accentuates her round, full breasts. She can’t be more than five-five and has a thin, petite frame, but is still somehow deliciously curvy. The sunlight catches her deep red hair, setting it ablaze, which provides a striking contrast to her cool, alabaster-colored skin. The girl is stunning, but she can’t be more than nineteen or twenty at most. Still, just looking at her ignites a fire below my beltline and I feel myself start to stiffen.
“Micah?”
Maggie’s voice cuts into the flurry of impure, hedonistic thoughts flashing through my mind and I turn to her. She looks from me to the crowd assembled in the yard below the deck o. My staff is assembled in their usual spots on the staircase beside the deck I’m standing on that leads from the administrative building down to the yard. They’re all staring at me with questioning expressions on their faces. I give myself a little shake then turn to the crowd of guests below, doing my best to keep my eyes off the redhead and drive the impure thoughts out of my mind.
I clear my throat and try to survey the entire group but find my eyes continually drifting back to the young, sultry redhead. The weight of all those gazes is pressing down on me but all I seem able to see is her. I need to find out who she is. I need her name. But right now, I need to get my head out of her panties and back in the game. I’ve got sixty people—more if you count my staff—staring at me like I’ve gone deaf, dumb, and blind.
“Good afternoon and welcome to Forward Path,” I intone. “My name is Micah Ballard and I’m the Director here. In time, you’ll get to know the rest of the staff, each of whom will be helping guide you over the next six weeks.”
A group of mid-to-late teen girls and boys huddle together off to the side, whispering and giggling with each other. I know exactly what they’re thinking. They see the cabins and the idyllic setting in the shadow of Mt. Rainier, see that they’re surrounded by soaring pines and the crystal-clear waters of the lake down below, and think this is a joke. That this is a vacation. I know exactly what they’re thinking because I thought the same thing when my father dropped me here.
“Allow me to disabuse you of the notion that this is a summer camp, people. You are not here to dry out so you can go back home and start drinking and using again. You’re here because it’s time for you to grow up. To change,” I say. “The work you do here is going to be difficult, I won’t lie. But if you honestly do the work, it will change your life for the better. As somebody who went through the program myself, I promise you it will. But you have to do the work.”
As a low murmur runs through the crowd, my eyes drift to the redhead again. She has her head turned and is talking to a twenty-something dark-haired guy standing next to her and I feel my entire body clench. I grit my teeth and have to suppress the urge to walk down there and knock him the fuck out for talking to her. It’s an irrational response, I know. But that urge is real.
“Okay, you are going to be split up into groups and you will be assigned a senior counselor who will take you to the cabins you’ll be living in for the next six weeks. They will explain the rules and give you all a brief overview of the program,” I go on. “Lunch will be served in the mess hall in two hours. So, get settled in start getting to know your cabinmate, and start getting yourself in the mindset that will allow you to do the work necessary. Are there any questions so far?”
I scan the crowd again and once again, my eyes drift over to the redhead. The guy next to her says something that makes her laugh quietly, which stokes the fires of rage inside of me. It’s getting harder to keep myself from going down there and putting that guy in his place. His smile though is beautiful. It lights up her entire face and casts an ethereal glow around her. It softens her gaze and makes her look even younger than she is. Feeling my cock stiffening in my jeans, I force my eyes away from her and onto the crowd.
“Let me be clear about something. Breaking our rules will not be tolerated. Nor will we tolerate you just trying to cruise by and run out the clock,” I tell them. “If you do not complete our program to our satisfaction, you will not receive your certification, which for some of you, means you go to jail. For others, I’m sure your families, which sent you here, will not be pleased. This is not a summer camp where you will be playing games and getting a tan. You are here to work on yourself, both inside and out. And we will be pushing you. Hard.”
My eyes drift back to the redhead, and I feel a physical jolt in my heart when our gazes meet. There’s a long moment of connection between us and I watch as her full, red lips part and her eyes widen. She seems to have felt the same sort of jolt I did and looks just as surprised by it. Feeling my cock twitching again, I clear my throat and turn to my staff.
“All right,” I say. “Time to get to work.”
2
“It’s bullshit they took our phones, right?” she growls.
I look over at the girl I’m bunking with. She pulls her dark hair back into a ponytail, her green eyes fixed on me. She’s wearing jeans, a black, long-sleeved t-shirt bearing the name of some thrash metal band I’ve never listened to, and black Doc Martens. She looks like the sort of girl who hung out with the skaters and burners back at my high school. She looks like the sort of girl who acts tougher than she is. Not that I’m somebody who’s got any business commenting on anybody else’s toughness, or lack thereof. I’m a marshmallow and I know it. Fighting has never been in my wheelhouse and likely will never be.
