I don’t bother trying to sneak out this time.

Seven minutes after lights-out, when the last girl has drifted off, I slip down the ladder and pull on my sweatshirt.

Christa’s flashlight is shining on her open book, but I feel her gaze on me.

“I’m going to talk to him,” I whisper, and walk out, pulling the door shut behind me.

She doesn’t stop me.

I rush along the path, my arms curled around my weary body. The camp is eerily quiet at night, the spruce and hemlock trees casting ominous shadows against the property’s lights.

Kyle is waiting where he said he would be, leaning against a tree, a cigarette burning between his fingers. “Hey.”

Butterflies stir in my stomach. I’m feeling oddly shy all of a sudden. “Hey.”

I expect him to pull me into him and lay a teasing kiss on my lips, but he hangs back. “Did Christa give you problems again?”

“No.”

“Good. Come on.” He nods to his left and I notice the golf cart.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to use those after lights-out.”

“You want to walk all the way up there?” He points toward the dark, wooded path.

I shake my head and slide in. “Is there any rule you actually do follow at Wawa?”

“Uh . . .” He appears to be thinking hard. “Let me get back to you on that. I can’t think of any at the moment.”

I laugh as we take off, rounding the same winding path through the trees, the only light provided by the dull headlights. The trip to the cliff isn’t nearly as long as it seemed the first time. We’re parking and climbing out in minutes. Kyle uses one of the camp’s battery-operated lanterns to guide us up the narrow footpath, until we reach the same large rock from our last time here. He sets the lantern on a higher crop of stone, allowing it to bathe the area in dim light.

It’s eerily quiet here at night. I much prefer the daytime, I decide. Though I’d sit here in a torrential downpour if it meant being with Kyle.

He slides another cigarette into his mouth.

“You know smoking is bad for you, right?”

“So I’ve been told.” I catch his smirk in the flash of his lighter as he lights the end.

“No cliff jumping tonight?”

“You wanna go?” he asks through a puff, his intense gaze on me. “We can go.”

I take in the inky sky, the moonlight dappled through the clouds. As terrifying as it was in the daylight, I doubt I could dig up the nerve to leap into the darkness. “Did you actually jump last night?”

“Nah. Wasn’t much in the mood.”

Because he was waiting for me. Because he thought I’d ditched him.

Awkward silence falls over us, this wedge that Christa managed to slide between us effective.

“So . . .” Where to start this conversation, so I can put my mind and nerves to rest? “Your dad’s a government spy. Is that it?”

He chuckles softly. “That’d be cool.”

“Assassin?”

“That’d be even cooler.”

My thoughts have been lingering on this all day, as I tried to work out what would make Kyle’s smile fall so fast when I mentioned his father. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.

“Is he alive?”

“Yeah.” He adds more quietly, “Unfortunately.”

There’s only one other thing I can think of, one thing that might make Kyle ashamed to tell me.

I swallow. “In prison?”

The long stretch of silence answers me.

I reach for him, setting my hand on his forearm. “Whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

“Right.” He chuckles darkly. “Would you say that if your father were in an orange jumpsuit right now?”

That gives me pause. First, I can’t imagine my father behind bars. Has he ever done anything to deserve to be? No, I can’t imagine so. He’s always going on and on about principles and morality.

“So, what’s your father in for?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah. I mean, my dad’s friend got nailed for fudging financials at his company to get more money from the bank. It was dishonest, and of course no one will go into business with him now, but I still see him around sometimes. People still talk to him.” Not my father, mind you, but I don’t need to share that part. “And people end up in jail for causing car accidents that kill people. It’s horrible, but it’s not the same as someone who, like, killed ten people and ate their organs. I mean, that’d be bad.”

“Yeah, about that . . .” Kyle is silent. For too long.

“Oh my God.” My stomach falls.

“I’m kidding.” He reaches out to squeeze my thigh. “Seriously, I’m kidding.”

I give his side a gentle elbow, but groan with relief. “So then, what’s he in for?”

“Let’s see.” He takes a long puff of his cigarette. “He stole a bunch of equipment from the construction company he worked for and resold it. Mainly tools.”

“That’s not the worst. I mean, no one got hurt, right?”

“I’m sure they had insurance,” he agrees. “But it was that scam where he robbed a bunch of senior citizens of their life savings that really seemed to piss the judge off.”

I cringe before I can help it. “He robbed old people? But, that’s just . . .”

“Up there with stealing medication from sick children. Don’t worry, you can say it.” Kyle kicks at a loose stone. “My dad is a lowlife.”

I try to imagine the kind of man who would do that—what he looks like, how he talks, what you’d see when you look into his eyes—and I come up empty. I’ve never knowingly met someone that vile. “When did this happen?” I ask quietly.

“Seven years ago. I was ten. It was the last time I came here. Couldn’t afford it after that.”

Ashley did say that he and his brother stopped coming. I guess I know the reason why now.

Kyle has burned through one cigarette already. He lights another. “We were living in Albany at the time. My mom was working at IHOP. She got fired because the owner figured she must have known what my dad was doing. He said he couldn’t trust her.”

“Did she? Know, I mean.”

“She’s never admitted to it, but she definitely had to know he was doing something shady. I remember this one day he came home on a Saturday night with this fat wad of cash. She had a big coffee can where she stuffed it in, then put it in the cupboard above the fridge. I asked her why she didn’t just put it in the bank. She laughed and said sometimes you have to hide your money. So yeah, I’d say she knew. But did she know he was stealing from old people?” He shrugs. “She acted all horrified when news started spreading, but I’m thinking it might have been an act. She visits him.” He studies a cut on his index finger. “She finally stopped trying to make me go, though.”

I don’t know what to say so I say nothing, and instead smooth a tentative hand over his back. His tension practically vibrates beneath my palm. He really must not like talking about this.

“Before my dad got busted, things were okay. After, though, everything turned to shit. We got kicked out of our house a few months later, for not paying rent. We moved to Poughkeepsie, ’cause that’s where my mom grew up and it’s actually closer to Fishkill, where my dad’s at. We stayed with my grandparents in their tiny bungalow for a few months until my mom landed a job working reception at a tire shop. Now we’re in this apartment, above a Seven-Eleven. You know, in one of those strip malls.”