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“Maybe you shouldn’t. I mean, I’m not sure I can keep them all at bay.” She laughs.
It strikes me that I’ve never seen her so carefree. I’m so happy she’s showing me this side of her. I grab my thin, long-sleeve shirt and pull it up over my head.
“And there’re all those eyes. It’s like a Chippendale dancer just came into the room. Oh wait, some of the parents are going to their purses for dollar bills. You better put that back on.”
I bend down and tickle her rib cage and Brinley howls with laughter. “Who told you?”
“We did!” Abby and Allie say in unison, smiling like traitors.
“Let me go. Seriously.” Brinley squirms and wiggles.
I eventually let her go so we don’t make too big a scene.
“I’m hot too,” Drew says next to us and takes off his sweater, leaving him in a gray T-shirt and not looking nearly as impressive as me. He’s fit but looks like he might have a runner’s body. While I don’t want to be conceited, I’m bigger and I’m built.
“I picked a shirt that was snug to keep the body heat in.” I run my palm over the shirt that’s clinging to my chest and Brinley looks back at me again.
“Yeah, I would’ve too if we were going outside.” Drew gives me a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Who is this douche? I was obviously talking to Brinley. First, he competes with me on the tent thing, and now he’s setting up shop right next to us.
I sit down and stretch out next to Brinley, propping my head up with my hand. “I hope it’s not embarrassing for you?”
“Are we talking about your shirt?”
I nod.
“Um… are you kidding me? I feel like I have what everyone wants. The women and the men.”
I chuckle. “So, what do we do at these things?”
“We make s’mores, and I have a big surprise this year,” Drew chimes in again, sitting with his knees up and his arms wrapped around his legs.
“A surprise, huh?” Brinley asks.
It better not be for just Brinley.
“The girls are going to love it. Penelope knows, but I swore her to secrecy.”
“Cute,” Brinley says with a smile.
“Do we play games? Something to keep them occupied?” I ask.
“They keep each other occupied,” Drew says.
“They do have activities, but I swear they’re the same ones every year. At least that’s how it was when I was a kid.”
I frown. “Ghost stories?” I ask Brinley.
“They’re ten,” Drew answers for her.
“Okay, buzzkill.” I sit up, not about to lie around all day and watch ten-year-olds play together as though we’re conducting a psych thesis. I turn back to Brinley, who’s staring at me and probably wondering what my game plan is.
“Let’s play some games. Maybe we can do a scavenger hunt? This is a high school. There has to be a lot to do.”
Brinley nods as though she’s game but doesn’t know what exactly to plan. I rack my brain for what could be a fun game.
“Capture the flag,” I suggest.
