His jaw tenses. “I wanted to tell you, but I was ashamed. And afraid.”

I frown. “Afraid of what? That I wouldn’t understand why you went to him?”

“That you’d finally realize that your father’s right about me.”

“Except that I know he’s not right about you. He never has been. It’s you who can’t seem to believe it.”

Kyle frowns at his shoes a moment before turning to study me, his gaze flittering over my features. “I’m an idiot, and I should have told you. But, if it’s any consolation, you now know everything there is to know.”

“Until the next time you can’t find the nerve to tell me the whole truth.”

He sighs, and then, nodding once, sets off toward Ashley and Eric, his head bowed.

Kyle gives the canteen door a tug, but it’s locked.

Ashley smiles wistfully at the kitschy signs that still plaster the wall. “Remember how kids used to write secrets on the backs of these?” She reaches for the one that reads, “What Happens at Camp, Stays at Camp” and lifts it off the nail, to flip it over and show me several lines of handwriting on the underside. “Here’s a good one: ‘I kissed a girl and I liked it. Izzy D. 2012.’ ”

My mouth drops. “Izzy? I think she was my camper!” Though six years older in 2012.

Eric makes a sound, beckoning Ashley to him, to read the iPad over his shoulder as he slowly types.

“Check the ‘Go Jump in the Lake’ sign, he says.”

Kyle trots over to the far end, to locate the square blue metal plaque. He unfastens the screw with his fingers and pulls the sign off. And grins, holding it up for us to read.

“Oh my God, ‘Ashley Young has a nice rack’! Who wrote that!” Ashley squeals.

“Who do you think?” Kyle laughs.

“Eric!” Her cheeks flame.

One side of Eric’s mouth lifts in a smile as he types out something else.

She leans over to see what he’s writing. “Check the ‘Happy Campers Live Here’ sign.”

Kyle secures the blue sign again and begins moving away. “We should keep going, if we want to get to the beach before the agent gets here, right?”

Kyle clearly doesn’t want us to see what’s written there, which means I need to see it. I march over to the sign in question and lift it off its hook, flipping it over.

My heart stops. Of all the silly little messages and confessions scrawled on the backside, I recognize Kyle’s handwriting instantly.

I’m going to be madly in love with Piper Calloway for the rest of my life and I only just met her.

I can’t help but meet his steady gaze. He remembers what he wrote on there, all right.

“What does it say?” Ashley asks.

I clear my throat and read another message. “ ‘Eric Vetter touched my boob, Darlene, 2005.’ ”

Ashley rolls her eyes. “You always did have an obsession with that part of the female anatomy.”

Eric laughs, but I feel his gaze shifting between Kyle and me as I hang the sign back on the wall. Clearly, he also remembers what Kyle wrote on there.

“Where to next, the beach?” Ashley asks.

“Yes,” Eric struggles to say.

“Actually . . . I’ll catch up with you guys. I have somewhere I need to go.” Kyle begins backing away.

I know instantly where he’s going. “You are not going there alone.”

“Fine.” He settles those beautiful golden eyes on me. “Come with me, then.”

My heart begins to race. What will it be like to be back there, a place that holds both my best and worst memories?

It’s probably a terrible idea, but all of my worst ideas seem to always be tied to this boy.

I manage a nod.

The walk past the girls’ cabins—the bushes and grass around them overgrown, the exteriors needing paint—and up the dark, wooded path is silent, but not altogether uncomfortable as I quietly reminisce about the many weeks of girls huddling in groups and darting to their next activity, the colorful array of wet towels and bathing suits hanging on the lines. The friendships. I wonder how many of them outlived this place.

We reach the end of Wawa’s property line. “Guess they learned their lesson,” Kyle murmurs, eyeing the multiple “Trespassing Forbidden” signs that are at least three times the size of the old one, and the stretch of fence that’s been erected across the path to cut off access to the cliff.

“How do we do this?”

“This way.” He wanders into the woods on the left, to the edge of the fence. “Careful—there’s poison ivy in here.”

“I think I’ll be okay.” I peer down at my boots and jeans.

Kyle holds out his hand.

Despite my better judgment, I take it, silently reveling in the warmth and strength of his fingers. And when we round the fence through the woods and make it to the overgrown path on the other side, neither of us lets go.

Blood rushes through my ears the moment we push through the branches and step out onto the rocky cliff. Three more large yellow warning signs are posted strategically: “No Jumping,” “Danger: Rocks Below,” and another “Trespassing Forbidden” for good measure.

Kyle cringes as he reads them. “They’ve ruined the view.”

“My memories have ruined the view,” I mutter, eyeing the rocky path down to the alcove below warily, a hint of nausea stirring.

Kyle releases my hand and wanders over to the edge. The lake is quiet, no one on it save for a sailboat in the distance, nothing more than a white speck against the dark blue water. “Not all of your memories, though, right?” he asks quietly.

It’s surreal, seeing him stand there with his back to me again. I’ve seen him in that exact position so many times—first in real life and then in my thoughts. First as the tall, slender seventeen-year-old boy who stole my heart, then as the one who broke it.

And now as the man who still holds my heart, despite everything.

I move to linger beside him and peer down over the water. It’s daunting, even more so now. If I close my eyes, I can still imagine the tomato-red camp counselor T-shirt, still feel the hot sun beating down on me and the mixture of fear and thrill churning in my stomach, still hear my terrified shriek as I plummet through the air.

I can still see the boy I was crazy about from the moment I first saw him, waiting at the bottom for me, taunting me.

“My best memories of my life will always be here, with you,” I admit. But is that where Kyle—where we—belong? In our memories?

“Would you still jump if I asked you to?” His voice is soft. “If I was down there, waiting.”

“Yes. Probably,” I whisper. “Except the climb back up feels like so much more work now, Kyle. And so much more dangerous. It’s the climb back up that I don’t know if I can do again.”

When I open my eyes, I find him staring at me, his gaze filled with a mixture of grief and resignation. “It feels off, being back here, doesn’t it?”

I wrap my arms around my body, suddenly chilled. “It feels . . . sad.” It doesn’t help that the place is shut down, but even if it were buzzing with children’s laughter, it wouldn’t be our Wawa. It’ll never be that again. “We’ll never get those days back.”