The name hits me like a punch between the eyes, and I blink, stunned. "T-Tyler Paulson?"
"Yes, Tyler Paulson. Originally from San Diego, California. Why, are you a fan?"
The GM's question is asked in jest, he knows I don't know a lot about football, but when I don't answer, his expression grows more serious. "Miss Gray?"
I know I'm blushing, I can't help it, but I swallow the lump in my throat and continue. "Well… if it’s the same Tyler, he and I went to summer camp together when we were kids. I'm just surprised, that's all."
"Good. Then you at least have a way to break the ice. Miss Gray, I don't want to put any extra emphasis on this, I know you’re under stress, but this assignment . . . I need you to get the job done. You understand?"
"I do, sir. I’ll do my best."
“I know you will. Just remember to be forward with him, and don't let him steamroll you. I can deal with someone who's too forward — I can't help you if he just rolls over you like the others did. I'll send you an email with his information, you can start getting some things for him now. Good luck.”
As I leave the office and retreat to my desk, nervously searching for my keys, I think about what has just been dropped into my lap. Tyler Paulson… after all these years.
The Pacific Ocean thunders in the distance, but we're a few hundred meters inland, along a patch of trees that I didn't think would grow so close to the ocean. I thought pines and big trees like this would hate all the salty air, but they tower above us, as tall as anything in the London area where I live.
"So what kind of tree is that, Pocahontas?"
Rolling my eyes, I don't turn around at the voice behind me. I don't know trees, except that pine trees make good Christmas trees. "I told you to stop calling me that, Tyler."
Tyler catches up with me, walking next to me on the trail. Summer camp is supposed to be full of outdoor adventures, but so far, the majority of it has been 'nature walks,' and not a lot else. I guess I can't complain. I mean, this whole thing is being paid for by my grandparents while Daddy goes through another round of chemo. The doctors say that they're sure they're going to get it this time, and he'll be cancer free. I hope so, his hair is all gone, and without it, he looks sad all the time. I want to see that black brush cut again, and not the coppery dome he's currently sporting.
"Come on, you know I'm just joking," he says, taking my hand. We stop on the trail, and I'm caught up in his cute face. Unlike all the other boys in the camp, he's already starting to mature, his cheeks losing the chubbiness that almost everyone else still has. "I just think it's really cool that you're part Indian."
"First Nations, Tyler. I prefer the term First Nations," I remind him, but still I smile a little. He may ask all sorts of questions that make him look ignorant, but there's nothing in them that makes me think he's trying to be a jerk or anything, and he's kinda cool to hang out with, for a boy. Actually, he's really cool to hang out with, which is why I like talking to him so much. "I don't wear a sari, and there's no dot on my forehead."
Tyler smirks and taps me in the forehead with a dusty finger. "Now you do."
I push him away, laughing despite myself. He's just so cute, darn it! "Your mouth is going to get you into trouble some day."
"Maybe," he answers as we start walking again. As long as we stay between the two camp counselors, high school students who are working this for a summer job, we're free to go our own pace, which I think is best right in the middle. We’re away from the kids up front who want to treat the walks like some sort of workout and the guys who are gawking at the lead counselor Missy, who likes to wear tight khaki short-shorts, and the group of kids in the back, who are either struggling to keep up, or just want to bring up the rear. In the middle you get privacy, and a chance to just enjoy yourself.
"Maybe?" I tease. "Tyler, you've already got like . . . five people here who hate you."
"Not worried about them," Tyler says with a chuckle. "I'm worried about what you think of me."
I feel fresh heat on my neck, and I know it's not because of the summer sun, most of this trail is shaded before we reach the beach. "I'm still thinking."
Tyler gives me a look, and I can see that he's anxious, not the cool collected guy he is with everyone else. "Really? Because, like, the camp barbecue is tomorrow, you know."
I know, I know. And as a big part of it, the counselors are insisting that everyone have a 'date' for the party. Something about social skills or something. But I've never been good with social skills, even back home in Canada. I hang out with my friends and play some basketball, that's it. I'm not one of the cool kids, and I certainly never hang out with the Cutie-Pies or the Princesses. And now the cutest guy in camp is telling me he wants me to be his date for the barbecue. Why?