The Never Forgotten Summer

Chapter Three

As soon as my eyes adjusted to the dim dining hall light, I quickly made my way towards my friends. My friend, Becca, a vivacious redhead, tackled me, thanking me for saving her from “the savages.” I looked towards the table, and saw that Tristan and his friend Lucas were tearing up napkins, putting them in their mouths, and spitting them through straws. Great, they’re starting spitball wars already. I told them to stop being so immature, and they mumbled something about always ruining their fun. I sat down and looked at all of my friends; they were all sharing stories of their year and laughing.

First, there was Becca. Becca was my first and best friend at camp. We both hate the “Orangutan” and love our music with a fiery passion. Becca had to be one of the coolest people I’d ever met. Next there was Chelsea. Chelsea was very hyper…and blonde. Unfortunately, she’s one of those people that made blonde jokes true. Even though Chelsea strongly resembled a Barbie, she was really nice. Then I looked at Andrew, or Andy, whichever you prefer. Andy looked like a freaking model, but was really quiet and intuitive. Lucas was right next to Andy, and you could probably tell that Lucas was a bit of a troublemaker. Luckily, Andy and I were there to straighten him out. Last of all, but certainly not least, was Tristan. As I’ve told you, Tristan was obnoxious, egotistical, and gorgeous, but I bet I know something that you don’t. People are always saying how cute we look together, but we don’t like each other like that. In fact, we have a game where we try to make each other admit that that they like the other. I have a feeling that neither one will win.

After we ate, and since it was getting dark, we decided to sit outside and look at the stars. We were all talking about anything and everything, when I felt Tristan nudge me with his shoulder. I looked over at him, trying to understand what the nudge was all about, when he started talking.

“So, Princess, when are you gunna fess up?” he asked. I looked at him like he was crazy. “Could you make it soon? I want to win already.”

“Uh, Tristan, you’re never going to win, because I don’t like you like that,” I said. He sat there for a few minutes thinking.

“You know what? I don’t believe you,” he stated. I just sat there a bit shocked. Normally, our game consisted of a few lines about how one person liked the other, but now Tristan wasted to discuss it?

“Why not?” I asked.

“I don’t believe you because otherwise you wouldn’t have given me that look,” he told me. I asked him what look he was talking about, for I was unaware that I had given him any look. “You know that look you gave me this morning, like ‘Damn he’s so hott that I want him right now.’ I’d know that look from a mile away,” he said while smirking.

“Look who has their head shoved up their arse,” I said, glaring.

“Just admit it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Shut up.”

And on it went.