The beach in front of my family's camp transforms into the lake's social hotspot for the evening about an hour after we finish cleaning up from dinner. Some neighbors walk over, and others drive. One family arrives via the lake in their pontoon boat, which they anchor at our dock.

Summer bonfires are where my parents come to life. Dad is already in his element, spinning up tales from today's fishing adventures to Hank Reid, one of his oldest friends from a few camps down the road. I keep a low profile on the outskirts of the growing gathering. None of the guests that have arrived so far are who I'm waiting for.

"When did you get so quiet and serious?" Darla Reid, Hank's wife, teases me. "I don't remember the last time I saw you by yourself. You're usually tearing around the lake and causing mischief with those friends of yours."

She means Trinity and Landon, and our friend Adam. The next question is likely to be where the three of them are. Adam had other plans for tonight, and I don't mind his name coming up. It's the other two I would rather not talk about.

"I guess I've grown up since last summer," I reply.

"I guess so." Darla's voice takes on a note of nostalgia. "It's hard to believe you're heading into your last year of high school, and that Paisley's about to start. I swear both of you were just babies, and the same with Trinity and Brooke."

There was no chance I was getting through tonight without one of the adults here bringing up Trin. We were rarely spotted without one another during past summers at the lake, even before we dated. I search my brain for a reason I need to be somewhere else, but nothing materializes before Darla speaks again.

"Where is Trinity, by the way? I haven't seen her since last summer."

If she's asking me this question, then it means news of me being on the outs with Trinity and Landon, and why that is, hasn't yet circulated throughout the lake's gossip grapevine.

I clear my throat. "You'll have to ask Brooke. And, I apologize, but I just remembered that I didn't tie up the pedal boat earlier. I'll never hear the end of it if we find it in the middle of the lake in the morning."

I excuse myself and make a break for the beach, praying that Darla can't spot the ropes tied to the handles of my family's pedal boat from here. Once I reach the boat, I pretend to fiddle with the ropes, in case Darla or someone else is watching me.

I do this for a few minutes to buy myself as much time as possible before I'll have to return to the party. When I finally look up from what I'm doing and risk peeping in that direction, I spot the person I most want to spend time with tonight.

Like me, Deni has broken away from the group of people congregated near the fire pit. Her back is to me, and she's changed clothes from the shorts and tank top she wore this morning to jeans and a periwinkle hoodie, but I would recognize her anywhere. She holds Alfie's leash in her hand as she gazes out over the lake. I watch her until she moves again.

This might be the only opportunity I have to talk to her tonight without other people around. I abandon my spot at the pedal boat and hurry across the beach to catch up to her.

"Are you always this antisocial?" I joke. Deni jumps at my voice, even though I wasn't trying to sneak up on her. "Scared you, didn't I?"

It's the second time today I've startled her. I'm going to have to work on that.

"I didn't hear you coming." She pivots to face me.

"Don't you want to be up by the fire to roast marshmallows and hot dogs, or are you plotting your escape back to civilization?" I squint at her, trying to appear deep in thought.

"Do I look like I want to escape? Because I don't at all." Her eyes widen as she speaks, as though she's surprised I would think this. I was kidding, of course, but now her eyes have me spellbound again.

Stop staring at her. I blink and force my focus back to making conversation.

"I'd actually love to go set some marshmallows on fire," she continues.

"Ah. You're one of those people who char marshmallows." I crinkle my nose and feign disgust.

"Let me guess—you're one of those people who will sit there for half an hour to evenly brown all sides of a single marshmallow to what you consider perfection?" She purses her lips, also acting disgusted, but the mirth in her eyes gives her away.

"Correct. I do it the way nature intended." I smirk at her before turning to walk toward the fire pit.

Deni follows behind me. "I don't know that nature actually intended for there to be marshmallows, but okay."

"Tell that to the marshmallow plant and the ancient Egyptians," I call over my shoulder. "If there's a plant with the sap for it, nature intended it."

"How do you even know that?" She sounds incredulous and exasperated at the same time. I grin, even though she can't see it with my back to her.

"Ancient civilizations history. Don't they teach you the important things in California?" I stop in front of two empty chairs close to the fire pit and gesture at one. "Have a seat and prepare to be schooled in the dignified way to toast a marshmallow."

She sits down, but not before rolling her eyes at me. "I prefer well-done. Pass me one of those roasting sticks, would you?"

I hand her one of the roasting skewers, along with a bag of marshmallows. She takes a marshmallow, spears it with the skewer, and then returns the bag to me. I wait while she examines the fire, and fake-shudder when she plunges the marshmallow directly into a flame.

"Sad." I cluck my tongue. "No marshmallow deserves that."

Teasing her is almost too much fun. She arches an eyebrow, defiance blazing in her eyes. I get ready for the zinger she's certain to throw at me. Her lips part, and she's about to speak, but then Paisley interrupts us.

"Hey nerd, we were sitting there."

It's true that she and Brooke occupied these chairs earlier, but I'm not about to let her kick Deni out of her chair. Or me, for that matter.

"Hey geek, have some manners," I tell her. "We have guests, and guests get chairs."

"She's fine, but you're not a guest," Paisley huffs. "Give me my chair, or at least give it to Brooke since she's a guest."

I ignore her demand and turn to Deni. "You remember my sister from when she was yelling at me this morning, right? As you can see, she's always a joy."

"I am always a joy," Paisley says. "He's just too much of a pest to see it. I'm Paisley, by the way, and this is Brooke."

"Deni."

"Cool name," Paisley remarks. "Is it short for anything?"

Confusion creeps across Deni's face, and I can't blame her for this reaction. Paisley asks the most random questions, and often at strange times.

"Denise," she answers. "Why do you ask?"

Paisley exchanges a glance with Brooke. Something is going on in that mind of hers, but it's difficult to determine what this is. Or it is until she replies to Deni's question.

"I thought maybe it was short for Cayden. Isn't that what Cayden Indigo's friends call her?"

There it is—Cayden Indigo has entered the chat. My sister bringing up this topic within thirty seconds of introducing herself to Deni is both awe-inspiring and a new level of obsessed, even for her. I need to stop this in its tracks before Deni is on the receiving end of a million mind-numbing facts about Paisley's favorite singer.

"I'm sure Deni has no clue what Cayden Indigo's friends call her. This may come as a shock to you, but not everyone is a Cayden Indigo superfan."

Paisley isn't deterred. "Just because you don't care about music or pop culture doesn't mean other people don't. Right, Deni?"

"Sure." Deni shifts in her chair. She seems distracted by something, and I don't think she knows what floodgates she may have opened by agreeing with Paisley.

"Be careful about encouraging her," I caution. "When she starts talking about celebrities, she doesn't stop."

"It's better than obsessing about hockey or football," Paisley retorts, and then resumes peppering Deni with questions. "Do you go to Superior, too?"

"Superior?" she asks.

"She isn't from here, Pais," I say. Deni's face is still a question mark, so I explain. "It's my high school."

"Our high school," Paisley reminds me.

"It's not your high school until September. You haven't started there yet."

"I just finished grade eight, so it's my school, too," she argues. "And Mom says you're driving me every day."

"Not a chance. Freshmen take the bus."

"Listen to you, big-shot senior. If you don't drive me, you don't get the car."

"I'll ride with Adam, then, and you can take the bus."

"Are they always like this?" Deni asks Brooke. That's my cue to cool it with the sibling bickering.

Paisley is just getting warmed up, though. "You stopped riding with Adam because he pestered you every day about getting over Trin and getting back in the game. Do you want to go back to that?"

Oh no. I need to steer this conversation somewhere else, and fast. We are not discussing Trinity or the disastrous last few months of my life in front of Deni. I sneak a glance at her and am relieved to see she's engaged in conversation with Brooke and no longer listening to Paisley and me.

"I heard Hunter say you aren't from here," Brooke says to her. "Where are you from?"

"Los Angeles," Deni replies.

Paisley's face lights up. "You're from L.A.?"

"Here we go," I groan. "You just said the magic words that guarantee my sister won't stop talking."

Truth be told, I'm delighted to have Paisley's focus on something that isn't my personal life. I can still give her a hard time, though. It would be out of character for me to stop doing that.

Paisley drags an empty chair over to where Deni is. "You're so lucky. I want to go to L.A. so badly."

"She just wants to see a celebrity," I say. "She thinks she'll run into Cayden Indigo and that Bowie whatever-his-face and a bunch of movie stars the second she steps off the plane. I swear she's going to grow up to be a grade-A stalker."

"Bowie Nelson," Paisley says, as if I didn't know that and wasn't purposely badgering her. "I apologize on behalf of my brother, Deni. He's clueless about everything."

"I apologize on behalf of my sister, who spends way too much time reading gossip about famous people she doesn't know and will never meet."

"I'd meet them if I lived in L.A. instead of boring Thunder Bay," Paisley complains to Deni. "You probably run into famous people all the time, right?"

"Sometimes, I guess. They're just people, though." Deni seems indifferent to this. It makes her even more attractive, if that's possible.

"Ha, see?" My glee makes Paisley grimace. "I knew I liked you, Cali. I can't stand celebrities and the fixation people have with them."

Deni blinks a couple of times. "You can't stand celebrities?"

Okay. Maybe that was a little extreme without context. I have nothing against people I don't know personally, which includes celebrities, but so much of Hollywood and the entertainment industry is overhyped to me. I'm about to elaborate, but Paisley cuts in.

"Don't listen to him," she advises. "He idolizes sports celebrities."

"They're called athletes," I object. "And I absolutely do. Athletes are all about ability and I respect that. They aren't fake and manufactured by some movie studio or record label."

"Do you think celebrities are fake?" Paisley asks Deni. "You live in L.A., so you probably know more than we do."

"I don't really know," she answers. "It's a big city and most people who live there aren't famous."

"You have to know something," Brooke insists. "Everyone I know online who lives in L.A. knows someone famous, or knows someone who knows someone famous, or knows someone who's related to someone who's dating someone famous."

Deni appears dazed for a moment, which is also how I feel. What Brooke said is hard to follow.

"Can you imagine dating someone famous?" Paisley giggles. "That would be the ultimate, getting invited to the best parties and hanging out at the best clubs. I can't believe you live there and aren't all over this."

"You're dreaming," I scoff. "Dating a celebrity would be such a pain, can you imagine? All those dumb award shows and red carpets all the time, and having to always look perfect just to be someone's arm candy? Not to mention being followed by photographers. It sounds lame."

Deni is amused by this for some reason. "It does sound lame," she agrees. "The only thing more lame is that undercooked marshmallow you forgot you were toasting."

She scores major points for moving the subject away from celebrities so seamlessly and sassing me at the same time.

"What are you even talking about?" I pretend to be aghast. "This marshmallow is perfection. Yours doesn't even seem edible."

"Oh no? I'm about to enjoy every last morsel of it." She pops her charred marshmallow into her mouth, holding my gaze as she does this.

"You two are weird," Paisley announces. "Everyone knows the only way to eat toasted marshmallows is in s'mores."

I barely hear Paisley, because my eyes are still locked with Deni's. The way they shine and reflect the flickering firelight commands all of my attention.

I know she lives in L.A. and is only here for two months. She'll be back in California in the blink of an eye. None of this stops me from silently marveling that I'm not as dead inside as I thought I was before this morning.

It could be an amazing summer, after all.