Never Cry Werewolf (6 page)

I decided to focus on the trail ahead, which worked until Austin glanced back at me as we crested a hill. His eyes glimmered in a sliver of moonlight. And my skin prickled with goose bumps. Me. Him.

The moon. I was toast.

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T
he sight of Camp Crescent brought camp life flooding back into my brain. The cabin cliques, the smell of apple crisp, the deformed weaving projects from arts and crafts. That feeling that no matter how much fresh air you breathed, you could never fill yourself up enough. I’d loved summer camp when I was a little kid and my parents would send me up to Camp Winnemuk or to sailing camp on Lake Michigan.

But there was one major difference at Camp Crescent. Barbed-wire fencing. From the van window, I could see it snaking around the perimeter of the property, separating Camp Crescent from the edge of the forbidden forest.

Charles noticed it, too. “That’s jail-grade,” he said in an awestruck voice.

Austin didn’t turn from gazing out the window. He’d been silent since we’d hiked out of the woods. Even during the long wait for the camp van to show up, he hadn’t said a word. Maybe he’d been trying to figure out how to get his drugs back.

I chewed my lip, replaying the whole looking-back-over-his-shoulder thing. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his eyes had reflected the light on the trail. Silvery, almost bluish, otherworldly. It was just my crappy luck the boy with the coolest eyes I’d ever seen had to be at
my
brat camp. And had to get me off to such a lame start. I mean, Mr. Winters had a GPS and a cell phone! He would have been fine without me helping out, but Austin had made me run into the woods. Totally lame.

For my own good, I focused on pushing Austin, his beautiful eyes, and his problem out of my mind. It wasn’t exactly easy to do with him in the seat across from me and the faint scent of his cologne and his leather jacket in the air.

At last, the van rolled to a stop at the end of the gravel road. The three of us followed a limping Mr. Winters down a path toward a building that resembled a barn. The dining hall must have been nearby, because the smell of frying onions hung in the air. My stomach gurgled so loudly, Charles looked over at me with a smirk.

Austin put his hand on my arm, stopping me. “Shelby,” he whispered, “it’s not what you think.
I’m
not what you must think.”

“It’s okay, Austin. Everyone has their problems. You don’t have to explain,” I said.

Austin let out a breath. “I feel as though I should. I wouldn’t want you to—”

“No dillydallying!” called Mr. Winters, waving us on before hobbling around a corner of the building with Charles.

Austin didn’t budge. “Shelby, I’m not on drugs.”

“Dude, I know what I saw, but whatever. I’m not here to judge.” I started to walk away, but Austin grabbed my hand and pulled me into the shadows.

Again, I caught a whiff of that cologne smell and something different but yummy. I tried not to breathe it in. It was like girl kryptonite for sure. “We have to go,” I said.

“My family likes its privacy. We keep to ourselves. We don’t need more rumors and lies leaked out to the press. We’ve been through enough.” He stared into my eyes, dead serious.

“I really thought guys like you had tougher skin. I mean, you actually care what some stupid reporters make up about you?”

“It’s complicated,” Austin said. “But I don’t want you to think the wrong thing about me.”

“Why would you care what I think? I mean, you don’t even know me.”

“No.” A sad look flickered in his eyes. “In the woods I thought that you…and I…”

“Oh. Ohhhh.” I sucked in a breath. So this was the moonlight-magic-look talk. This was the part where I got to be all “I don’t date drug-crazed hotties who will get me sent to boot camp.” Wait. Crap. I was probably already on my way there. “Look, I know what it’s like to crush on someone, but we just met and—”

“In the woods it seemed like we might become friends,” he said, finishing his thought.

Eek. My face felt like it was on fire. “Uh-huh.”

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“I can’t have a friend believing rubbish about me.”

“No, of course not,” I said, discreetly trying to fan my cheeks. I took a deep breath and fixed him with a stare. “So,
friend
, what was in those vials?”

“Truthfully, a prescription. Badly needed medicine.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, you said that already. So, what’s it for?”

Austin raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “Ah, that’s the difficult part.” Austin leveled his gaze at mine, like he was trying to think of how to say something important. Something flickered in his eyes.

Some strange trick of the light that made goose bumps prickle on my neck.

“Campers! What is going on?” Mr. Winters called, coming back around the corner of the building.

“I told you two no dillydallying.”

“We’re coming,” said Austin.

Mr. Winters frowned. “Shelby? Are you all right?”

“Huh?” I murmured, still trying to figure out what I’d seen flash in Austin’s eyes. It’d been different from the trail. Almost dangerous.

“Shelby?” Mr. Winters repeated.

I blinked at him. “Oh. Um, I’m on my way.”

“Believe me,” Austin whispered in my ear as he passed.

Mr. Winters led us into a wood-paneled room decorated with brass animal sculptures and stuffed fish trophies. A huge desk with legs carved like talons gripping balls stood inside the door. I’m not into antique stuff or anything, but that piece alone had to be worth major cash. On the corner of the desk a brass eagle statue perched, as if it were about to take flight.

Guitar Lady looked up as we walked in. Fortunately, there was no sign of her freaking instrument.

That was enough to make me smile, though at any second she would probably whip out a harmonica from her pocket. In addition to the flowery summer dress she’d had on earlier, she now wore an old-lady crocheted cape thing and a straw safari hat. She reminded me of one of those zookeepers who always come on talk shows with three-toed sloths that pee on the host’s desk. Clueless, peed on, and smiling fakely all the while.

Next to her on the red leather couch sat a golden-haired guy in a tight-fitting tracksuit who was either a counselor or a personal trainer who’d been working out way too much. He smiled at us so brightly, I could almost hear his teeth go
ping
.

We three runaways sat down on an identical couch opposite the adults, me between the two boys.

I prepared myself to hear the lecture of a lifetime, sure I was headed for that brat camp in the desert.

Had I packed enough sunscreen?

Mr. Winters plunked down into the high-backed chair at the desk, his head level with a gaping bass trophy. The fish’s eyes, little glassy beads, stared out, eerily similar to Mr. Winters’s own.

“Campers,” he began, “first, I’d like to introduce Cynthia Crumb and Sven Jorgensen. Shelby, you’ll be in Cynthia’s cabin—Spotted Owl. Charles and Austin, I’ve assigned you to Sven’s Sapsucker.”

Charles snorted. “Sapsucker?”

“That’s a kind of bird,” explained Sven with another blinding smile and an accent thicker than the dude’s on the IKEA commercials. “Very nice bird.”

Charles gave Sven a dorky salute. Austin didn’t even look up, he just nodded, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

“Campers, you’ll meet me tomorrow after breakfast. While everyone else is trying their hand at archery, we’ll be discussing your wandering and working out your restitution. Cynthia, Sven, these folks’

ll see you back at the cabins.”

Wait. That was it? No Red Canyon? “You’re not calling my parents?” My hope-filled heart did a little cartwheel. This doughy camp director was a total walk in the park compared to evil Priscilla.

“Shelby, we operate on a second-chance basis here,” Mr. Winters said. “We will be calling your parents tomorrow morning. However, I expect they’ll let you continue the program on our advice.”

“Oh.” My hopes crashed with a thud. So, Dad and Priscilla would find out about the unauthorized
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forest field trip. That was not going to look good.

“Now then, you kids must be hungry. I’m sure the cook managed to save us a few plates.” He patted his belly, which made me realize he was the one who was completely starving. Then again, when you’re eating for two—you and your beer gut—you probably get that starving feeling a lot.

Anyway, we all rose from the couches and followed him to the door.

“What was that about restitution?” said Charles. “If you let me use your phone, I’ll wire cash directly into your account.” He flicked a piece of bark off his polo shirt; it landed on Austin’s shoe.

Mr. Winters stopped in the doorway and turned, his eyebrows furrowed. “Phones are secured for staff only, and we
work
things off here, Charles. Kitchen cleanup duty, pulling weeds, that sort of thing.

Also, for the time being, you won’t be able to participate in the trail building we’re doing on the west side of the boundary.”

Austin seemed to perk up, raising his eyes to Mr. Winters for the first time since we’d been in the room. “Trail building?” he repeated.

“A privilege, for respected campers, son.”

Sven grinned again. “You like to build trails, Austin?”

Austin shrugged, the light in his eyes dimming.

“How about you?” asked Cynthia, her gaze sweeping over me and my filthy clothes. “Handy with a shovel?”

I nodded. “My stepmom has prize rosebushes.”

Cynthia shared a look with Mr. Winters, like she couldn’t believe I’d ever set foot in a flower bed.

“Your gardener’s work, no doubt.”

“How do you know?” I replied, because I didn’t like the tone of her comment. Was she one of those people who thought everyone who had money was lazy? If only she knew just a few years ago I’d been lucky to scrape together enough cash for the movies.

“Fine, fine. We’ve all got gardeners. Where’s dinner?” Charles said, pushing past the adults to the doorway.

“Hungry boy, this one,” said Sven, clapping Charles on the back. “We’ll feed you now.” He wrapped a beefy arm around Charles’s skinny shoulders and marched him out the door. “You come, Shelby,” called Sven over his shoulder.

Cynthia adjusted her crocheted wrap.

I took a step away, in case she was about to put her arm around me. I didn’t need a snotty middle-aged lady with guitar issues trying to be my friend. I said, “I’ll, um, find my own way.”

Her tight smile practically screamed for ChapStick. “See you at Spotted Owl,” she said, then stalked off, humming.

“Shall we?” asked Austin, holding the door for me.

“Oh, um…thanks.” I let myself breathe a sigh of relief as I stepped out into the night air and toward the smell of food.

Austin walked beside me, and there was this comfortable silence between us, at least until we entered the dining hall and heard Charles trying to send back his overcooked pork chop. Yep. I was definitely at brat camp.

After our late dinner, I was looking forward to settling into my cabin—until I heard a guitar strumming out a verse of “Michael, Row the Boat Ashore.” Groaning, I followed the sound to the end of the trail. Stuck in a grove of tall evergreens, Spotted Owl, like the seven or so other cabins I had passed, was made of fake siding rounded to look like logs. So much for rustic.

I paused on the doorstep and looked back down the dark trail to where Austin was easing through the lighted doorway of Sapsucker. He hadn’t said much during dinner, but our whispered conversation on the path earlier still haunted me. He thought of me as a friend. And I thought of him as a cute guy. A cute guy with big problems.

Sighing, I inched open the door to Spotted Owl. On a single bed near the entrance, Cynthia Crumb was rockin’ out on her guitar, while the girls in the bunk beds all around the room looked bored,
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annoyed, or had pillows over their heads. I stood there in the doorway until the song ended and then, thankfully, Cynthia packed up her so-called instrument.

I eased into the room and took the first empty lower bunk.

“Hey,” said a voice in the next bed. Two brown eyes and a mess of black hair emerged from beneath a pillow. Ariel. I’d never been so happy to see a familiar face. I took a quick look around, wondering if Jenna had been stuck here, too, but I didn’t see her.

“I thought you died out there,” said Ariel, scooching over onto my bunk.

“Huh? I was trying to save Austin’s butt. You really know him?”

“Yeah,” said Ariel, brushing her hair out of her face. “My dad’s friends with his dad. Talk about a wild old guy.”

“Shelby?” Cynthia interrupted, sticking her pinched-up face in mine. “Go get your suitcase. I need to search it.”

“Huh? You need to
what?
”

“Standard procedure,” said Cynthia in a bored voice. “Your bag is waiting on the porch. I’m surprised you didn’t trip over it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. What happened to the Bill of Rights? Am I not entitled to a little privacy and respect?”

Cynthia smiled like a shark. “While I understand your concern, your parents were happy enough to sign your rights away. Move it.”

“C’mon, I’ll help you,” said Ariel, springing up. Once we were outside, Ariel whispered, “She’s pure evil. Stay on her good side.”

“And here I thought she hated me because I don’t sing stupid songs.”

“She probably hates everyone for that,” Ariel said with a laugh.

“So, um…what else do you know about Austin Bridges?”

“What?” Ariel’s eyes got bigger, which seemed impossible considering the size of them to begin with. “Do you like him?”