The Player Next Door

Chapter 4

"Everyone, have a seat! I see you're ready to rock and rollllllll" Mr. Matthew screamed into the mic. He was inadvertently changing into Elvis Presley.

Our first all-counselor meeting took place in an open-air theater. It may appear opulent, but it's simply a few benches surrounding a wooden stage. Mr. Mattew wants to introduce us and go through our summer responsibilities.

Although I recognized many of the counselors from last year, no one appeared to remember me.

I observed as they conversed with one another, catching up on their lives. It made me wish I had someone to talk to, but I suppose that's fine if I have no idea what I'm missing. What you don't have, you can't miss. Right?

In one of the rows, I sat alone. People had crammed into every other bench except mine, like if I were a virus or something.

Mr Matthew went on to say, "I realize you're a bunch of hormonally charged teens eager for me to leave the stage, but I have certain obligations this summer. We're going to establish some ground rules and-"

On our way over here, Mark and I split off. He was stopped by a bunch of girls, and I couldn't wait to hear how they would further inflate his ego.

"Mark Lawson!" exclaims the crowd. Mr. Matthew, who had transitioned from Elvis impersonator to game show host, spoke over the microphone, "Welcome to the warm and welcoming Camp Meaver family! Everyone can see that this is the place to be with you here!"

He hadn't anticipated such a reaction.

In the middle of Mr Matthew's introduction, Mark walked into the theater. Everyone's gaze was drawn to him. Whispers rose like a tidal wave along the rows, till the crowd erupted in laughter. His name was mentioned in passing throughout the theater, and some people snapped photos of him.

OK. Mark has already established himself as a marketing tool for the camp. I guess I shouldn't be shocked. His picture will most likely appear on the front of next year's brochure.

"It's, um..."

"Mark, why don't you take a seat?" "Who's your partner again?" Mr Matthew inquired.

I muttered, "Billie."

Was he really so forgetful of my name? His gaze was fixed on mine.

Billie, you're a jerk.

"It's Binnie," he said again.

"Wonderful. Here, it's all about dream teams. At the end of the summer, we give our legendary Counselor Cup to the greatest counselor tandem. Anyway, Samada, how about starting with the logistics?"

Tamara, the resident beauty queen at summer camp, rose to address the counselors. She was Mr. Matthew's niece and a model on the runway. I believe she was planning on attending an Italian College in the fall. Every guy in town wanted to hook up with her last summer.

Mark took a seat next to me. Because my row was unoccupied, he had plenty of room to settle in. I tried to ignore the stares we were receiving.

"Are you conserving these seats?" he said, perplexed by the bench's emptiness.

"No."

I sat in silence for a while. Mark Lawson didn't need to know that I don't have any friends.

People continued to stare at him. Being so close to so much attention made me feel uncomfortable. I cast a sidelong glance at Mark. He appeared to be used to it.

Problems with a hot boy

I'm unable to relate.

The birds were singing, and the rising sun bathed the treetops in a golden glow. Camp Meaver Hills was an idyllic haven far removed from the bleak world in which I grew up.

The next morning, I awoke unaffected by my family's screams or the lights turning off because my mother had forgotten to pay the bills. It was as if Goldilocks had let me borrow her house.

I got out of bed and walked to the kitchen in my fluffy green pajamas. This was not something I expected to see.

Samada eating my fruit loops in a thong and a t-shirt.

"Are those my Fruit Loops?" says the narrator. Because that was the first thought that sprang to me.

"I'm not sure, are they?" "You could do with eating less," she said, her voice indifferent.

Oh, she went to that place. I stood there watching her devour another scoop.

Samada was the reigning beauty queen of our summer camp and a real-life model. I've never had a conversation with her. She wandered around camp with her admirers all the time. Despite this, she was eating my fruit loops.

"Is Mark aware that you've arrived?"

She retorted, "What do you think?"

They've just been in summer camp for less than 24 hours and they've already...

She questioned, "Why are you asking me so many questions?"

I said, "Because you're half naked in my kitchen."

I overheard a deep laugh. Samada jumped when she heard him. As she pivoted to face Mark Lawson, she spruced up her hair and pouted seductively. The reason why the hottest girl in camp was staying in my cabin for the night.

When I looked over, I could see why the girls here adore him. Mark stood against the doorway, one arm up on the door frame, staring at us. In the morning, how could his blue eyes be so bright? Mine were still half-closed, I promise. And his hair was unkempt in that I-just-woke-up way that was utterly enticing.

In the meantime, I was wearing my night braces and fluffy pajamas. I'm in desperate need of coffee.

Samada's face brightened as he approached us. She kissed him with her arms around his neck, but he barely kissed her back. He separated them by opening the fridge.

"Is that right?" he asked, pulling out a carton of eggs and some uncooked bacon.

"Your roommate is infatuated with me," she grumbled, half-covering her ass with her shirt.

Samada approached him and nudged the salt and pepper closer to him to assist him. She cooed at him, and he cooed back "She was inquiring about us incessantly. People are envious of each other."

I could see his lovely pink lips smirking. He splashed oil into a pan and heated it, oblivious to her remark.

The sound of eggs breaking and sizzling in a skillet whetted my appetite. Samada didn't eat much, so I grabbed the carton of fruit loops and glanced inside. I made a bowl for myself.

"Billie, where's the hot sauce?"

I raised my eyes. I believe that was the first time he addressed me by my given name. It was also in a sentence that included hot sauce.

"Can you pass me the milk?" I asked, pointing to the upper cupboard with my spoon.

Mark slid his eggs onto a plate and reached up to the top shelf for his hot sauce. He hurled a little container of milk toward me.

I was completely taken aback.

I expected him to hand it to me or slide it across the counter, but THROW it without warning?! I'm not well-balanced!

I tried to dive for it, which was a waste of time because he had aimed it perfectly at me, so I just moved out of the way. It was something I had forgotten about. I tried to twist around and catch it as I was falling against the adjacent bar stool, but I only ended up plastered on the floor like a pretzel.

I heard Mark's clear voice say, "I'm still getting used to this," from down on the floor.

Samada needed to depart before the bugle call at 8 a.m. It was a daily camp ritual to wake everyone awake by playing the trumpet through a loudspeaker. Our campers would get out of bed when they heard the bugle call. And any sleepovers with the "big kids" had to be kept a secret.

Mark had yet to meet any of the campers. We were responsible for ten 8-year-olds. I walked into their room to see if they had gotten out of bed and were preparing their bunk beds. Alice, one of the girls, asked if I could assist her plait her hair.

They were all dressed and ready for the day in thirty minutes. Even 8-year-olds can tie their shoes. The tiny bus arrived at our cabin on time to transport them to breakfast and then to their day's activities. We had to assist with some of the activities as camp counselors. I believe I was playing volleyball once more.

His laptop was broken.

I put on an athletic gear – tracksuits and a white t-shirt – and walked out of my room to find Mark standing next to his laptop.

He declared, "I need a favor."

That's the one I ran over with my automobile.

"I'm sorry, but I'm out of those," I explained.

His voice was silky smooth, making it all too easy for him to do anything he pleased. That's probably what he's used to. Girls who say yes to everything.

I'd tripped and fallen far too many times since meeting Mark. I wasn't going to spend any more time with him as a volunteer.

"I wasn't looking for an answer."

"Excuse me?" says the speaker.

Was this kid hallucinating?

"This service is valued at $100."

Is it a bribe? No way.

"The money is yours to keep."

He had a sly glimmer in his eye, as if he was planning something nefarious "I intend to do so. You are the one who is responsible for getting me a new laptop."

And then it hit me: I'd made a fool of myself by swearing to give him back every penny. I locked my gaze on his laptop, which sat on the counter. My automobile had smashed it in the centre, leaving a huge dent.

"You want me to help you out... and you'll deduct it from the laptop's price?"

He sarcastically remarked, "You're a genius."

"Is that how you express your gratitude?"

He hit the power button on his laptop. Rows of fluorescent green, red, and black lights flashed across the screen, accompanied by a screeching sound. I shivered.

"Is this how you're making amends?"

Damn, it was a costly blunder.

"I'll wait for you in the car," he smirked as he turned off the computer.

I was divided between two options. Were we truly about to abandon our counselor responsibilities? Today was a work day. This job is extremely important to me.

Mark's voice pierced my consciousness. "Are you sure you didn't leave something on the driveway? I don't want to damage anything. That's how responsible I am."

"Once upon a time, I rescued a raccoon!" This is a true story. Just in time, I swerved my automobile out of the way.

UGH!

There was no reaction this time. This, I suppose, would be unexpected. As is the case with most everything surrounding Mark.

I grumbled and dragged my purse out of my bag. "Where are we going, Mark?"

My argument, however, fell on deafening deafening deafening deafening