Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1
“Mom, you were supposed to turn left, not right!” I say impatiently as my mom turns down a bumpy dirt road.

“Recalculating,” announces the computer voice of the GPS.

“See? I told you!” I exclaim.

My mom brushes a strand of brown hair from her face. “I’m just doing what the machine told me to, Quinn,” she explains in a frustrated voice.

“Actually, that is not what the machine told you to do,” I point out. “By the time we get to camp, summer will be over!”

My mom grips the steering wheel. “Quinn, I’m doing my best, okay? Just let me concentrate.”

I lean back in my seat and resist the urge to make another comment. My mom has been such a mess since my dad died last fall. Losing my dad has been hard on everybody, but my mom just doesn’t seem to be getting any better. It sounds harsh, but sometimes I wish she would just get it together already.

I sigh and look out the window. Camp is an hour and a half away from home. The roads are lined with green trees, and the sky above is a perfect July blue. But looking at the familiar scenery kind of makes me feel sad.

When my dad was alive, the trip to camp had been one of the most fun parts of the whole summer. Dad would sing songs that he’d learned at camp when he was a kid, and he’d roll down the windows, and my mom and I would sing loudly along with him. Then he’d make corny jokes about camp, and even though he told the same ones every year, I would still crack up.

“Why did the camper put a snake in the other camper’s bed?” my dad would ask. I would always pretend I didn’t know the answer.

“Why?” I would ask.

“Because she couldn’t find a frog!” Dad would finish, and he and I would laugh while my mom rolled her eyes—but she was always smiling.

Then when we got to camp, he would give me the biggest, tightest goodbye hug ever, and he would even pretend to cry, making all my camp friends laugh. I was always a little sad when my parents left, but I never ended up missing them for too long because my dad always left a funny note hidden somewhere that I would eventually find—under my pillow or tucked in one of my slippers or even in the pocket of my bathrobe.

Suddenly I realize there won’t be a note this year. I start to tear up a little bit, but I turn to the window to make sure my mom doesn’t see me.

I take a deep breath and glance at the clock. It is 11:12. I start to feel anxious. Check-in started over an hour ago, and the girls who check in first get to pick their beds first. If I don’t get to sleep near Olivia, my camp bestie, it is going to be terrible. It’s our camp tradition!

I’ll probably end up with a bed next to the shower or the bathroom or something, I think gloomily. Olivia told me she would try to save me a bed, but we aren’t supposed to do that. I wouldn’t be surprised, considering how things had been going wrong ever since last night. After I had packed my duffel bag with everything I’d need for six weeks of summer camp, my mom realized that she couldn’t lift it and drag it down the stairs to the car. That had never been a problem for my dad. He would always hoist it high over his head and say, “Oof, Quinn, what did you pack? Brick bathing suits?”

So this morning my mom called Mr. Crosby from next door, and he put the bag in the car for us. He was really nice about it, but the whole thing made me miss my dad even more. Besides that, my mom forgot to make my special going-away breakfast. My dad always made me French toast or pancakes.

“Eat up, Quinn,” he’d say. “You’re going to be eating that icky camp food for weeks!”

But all my mom said this morning was, “Are you hungry?” I shook my head no, but she handed me a bagel as we left the house.

I sneak a look over at my mother. She is leaning close to the steering wheel and gripping it tightly. I know that my mom hates driving far from home, but she didn’t accept my uncle Ryan’s offer to drive us to camp this year. I’m not sure why, but Mom has been funny about accepting help from anyone lately.

I look at my watch. I can’t wait to see my camp friends. Olivia, Emma, and Leah came to the funeral last fall, but that whole thing is a blur. I have been texting them all year long, but it isn’t the same as seeing them in person. I can’t wait until we can all hang out together, laughing and talking like we always have. Just as long as they don’t want to talk about my dad…. I don’t care if Emma tells the story about when the opossum surprised her in the bathroom that one summer, even though Emma has told it a million times already. I’d rather talk about anything but my dad.

“Camp is going to be good for you, Quinn,” my mom told me when I talked about skipping it this year. “It’ll take your mind off things.”

Maybe Mom is right, I think. I am really excited to see my friends again, and I haven’t been excited about something in kind of a long time.

“Recalculating,” announces the GPS… again.

“Mom!” I yell, and my mother almost jumps out of her seat.

“Don’t yell while I am driving, Quinn!” she shouts back.

I pout quietly while my mom makes another turn. Finally I see the familiar sign down the road to the right: CAMP WHISPERING WOODS, ENTRANCE A.

“Finally!” I cheer, and a look of relief comes over my mom’s face as she turns down the narrow winding road to camp.

The tree-lined road emerges into a clearing of rustic wood cabins. Cars fill the parking lot as parents drop off their campers, but I don’t recognize any of them… because they are all… boys!

My mom and I slowly get out of the car. We are so confused. A boy counselor wearing a red Camp Whispering Woods T-shirt walks over to us.

“Here for drop-off?” he asks.

“Yes,” my mom replies, anxiously looking around. “Quinn is in the Susan bunk this year.”

Camp Whispering Woods is divided into a boys’ camp and a girls’ camp, and each camp is divided into bunks, or cabins. In the girls’ camp the bunks are named after former counselors from, like, forever ago: Susan, Jessica, Angelica, and Sasha.

“We’ve rearranged camp this year,” the counselor tells us. “We sent out a map and a note, but some parents didn’t get them, I’m afraid.”

My mom looks a little guilty. Great, I think. More changes.

“You should have gone to Entrance B,” the counselor explains. “It’s about a quarter mile down the road and then you make a left.” Mom takes a little notebook from her belt bag and hands it to the counselor, who starts to draw a map for her.

I remember that Entrance B leads to the camp where the “baby” camp division is—the camp for kids who are, like, six to eight years old. And now that is where the girls’ camp is? How embarrassing! Why didn’t my mom read that email? I start to head back to the car before anyone notices that I am in the wrong place, but I am also so curious. It is weird to think that the boys are now living where the girls used to live!

Just then a mom and dad walk by with a crying little boy. I know EXACTLY how he feels. I cried during my first year at camp too. Just then I look over at my cabin from last year and see a couple of boys around my age hanging around on the steps: Steve and Luke. They both look so much taller than they were last summer! Then Miles walks up to them. He lives only one town over from me, and we took a tennis class together in the spring. He nods at me, half waving. I quickly look away.

He’s probably wondering why I’m standing in the middle of the boys’ camp like a loser, I think. I turn to open the car door, eager to become invisible before anyone else notices me!

But the sound of a voice coming from a nearby bunk makes me stop in my tracks. It’s a boy’s voice, a really cool, deep voice with a British accent. I turn slightly and see a boy about my age—a boy with the most beautiful face I have EVER seen.