The Danger With Fireworks - Robin Daniels Page 0,1

Clint, who’s probably floating around the kitchen somewhere, is the assistant director. You’ll meet him at orientation. We also have five junior leaders, traditionally referred to as group moms or dads. All counselors are assigned to a “family” when they get here, and Chloe happens to be your mom. She might be in charge, but her word isn’t law. Don’t let her convince you otherwise.”

“I’ll do my best.” I laughed.

Vivian nodded toward Chloe, who was shouldering my backpack with one arm and hefting my giant suitcase against her hip with the other. She looked as if she were about to tip over. “You better go help her before she drops that on her toe. She’s a dancer; kind of needs her toes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I mimicked Chloe’s salute, grabbed my sleeping bag and pillow, then jogged to the trail. When I caught up, I tried to take the case from her hand.

“Watch it, buddy,” she growled. “You do that, and I’ll fall backward. I’m perfectly balanced right now.”

“You’re perfectly moving like a snail.” I chuckled. “Let me help.”

“If you must.” She sighed and dropped both bags at her feet. “You know, I’m just trying to be a good mother here.”

I shoved my sleeping bag at her and flexed my biceps like a bodybuilder. “Thanks, but how about you let your strapping son do the heavy lifting?”

She clasped her hands over her heart and fluttered her eyelashes. In a dramatic Southern accent, she replied, “Oh, goodness me. What a sweet boy, lookin’ out for his mama. I must have raised you right.” Then she stuck her finger out and bopped the end of my nose.

I blinked hard as I cleared my throat to conceal a snicker. Chloe’s theatrical flair seemed genuine, but I was struggling to reconcile myself with her personality. She couldn’t be more different from her sister. Abby told me they were close, but the thought of them intentionally hanging out blew my mind.

I wedged my pillow under my arm, grabbed my bags, and trudged onward. “Vivian said you’re a dancer, but to me, you scream actor.”

Chloe bounced around my side and walked backward so she could face me. “I sing, too.”

“Ah, the triple threat.”

She beamed at the compliment and asked, “How about you? Are you a one-trick pony?”

I chuckled. “I can carry a tune okay, but you don’t want to see me dance.”

Her brow furrowed. “You can’t be that bad.”

“Lucky for me, you’ll never know,” I replied. She grinned impishly, as if she had a wicked secret. It made me nervous. “What? I don’t like the face you’re making.”

“Nothing.” She hummed.

I snorted. “Well…that doesn’t sound suspicious.”

We’d reached a small cabin with a porch that spanned the length of the front. The roof was steep and covered in green shingles. It reminded me of these blocks I used to play with at my grandparents’ house called Lincoln Logs. There were two identical bright-red doors with screens, spaced about ten feet apart. Each door had a small window beside it and a flat mailbox mounted to the front. The box on the right was labeled boys. The box on the left read girls.

Chloe bounded up the steps and sat on a weathered rocking bench, large enough for two or three people. “Home sweet home,” she said, then added with a hint of sarcasm, “I’ve assigned you to the boys’ room.” She arched an eyebrow, her voice playful. “Unless you’d feel more comfortable on the other side?” I pursed my lips and glared at her. She held her hands up and snickered. “Hey, you never know with theater guys. I didn’t want to assume.”

I was sure Abby had told her sister about me, including the episode with our awkward love triangle. My preference for girls should have been well known, which meant Chloe didn’t need a warmup phase before razzing complete strangers. I could work with that. “The boys’ cabin will be adequate,” I replied dryly.

“Good. The girls’ side would have been crowded if we had to squeeze you in.” Chloe popped up from the bench and opened the cabin door, ushering me inside.

The space was small. It had one bunk bed and one single, a dresser with nine drawers, and a tiny side table with three stools. A lamp sat on the table, and there were frilly blue curtains hanging over the window. Along the far wall was a walk-in closet, just deep enough to make the vanity beside it feel set back from the room. The counter held a shallow