Demon: Book 1

Chapter 7: He's Definitely Different

"Why am I here again?" I put my knees against the dash.

"Your mother thought it would be a good idea." My dad turned onto a dirt road with a large sign reading Dry Wood Campground posted to the side. "It's better than playing around on the internet, right?"

"I'd rather clean toilets." I laid my head back and stared at the ceiling.

"Come on, Aden. It won't be that bad." My dad pulled up to the campground manager's trailer. "Is spending the day with me really that horrible?"

"No," I breathed.

He turned the truck off. "I probably could've left you home, but your mother is worried about you."

I sunk down lower. So spending all of Tuesday sitting in my room wasn't my best decision, but it wasn't like I had anything else to do. "Nothing's wrong. My friends have been busy lately. That's it."

"Have you ever thought of expanding your circle of friends?"

"What's wrong with the ones I have?" I watched a dirty old man wander across the road to the bathrooms. I was glad I didn't have to clean that toilet.

"Nothing's wrong with them." My dad took off his seatbelt. "I'm only saying it might be nice for you to find a friend who maybe isn't as into sports, like you."

"So a fellow loser?" I undid my seatbelt and open the door. "That sounds just perfect."

"Aden."

I hopped out of the truck.

My dad met me around front. "I didn't mean it like that. I just thought it would be nice if you found someone who you had more in common with, then say, Chris."

Leaning against the truck, I folded my arms. "Chris and I have things in common."

My father let out a deep breath. "It's merely a suggestion. I need to talk to the manager. If you follow that trail, it'll take you to the creek on the other side of the trees." He motioned to a thin dirt path. "Something to keep you busy. I'll try to be quick."

I watched him walked up to the manager's trailer and knock. An old man appeared and immediately started yelling.

"They won't leave! The sign says fourteen-day limit. They've been sitting there for over three weeks."

"Calm down. We'll figure this out," said my father.

This is exactly why I didn't want to be here. Pushing off the truck, I marched down the path. I reached the creek and was glad it was far enough away that I didn't have to hear the manager throwing a tantrum.

Picking up a handful of rocks, I tried to skip them across the water. I had never been very good at it, and I was quickly finding out that I was still horrible. A stone rocketed up the water. My head snapped downstream.

"Hey." Titus wave and waded across the creek.

I simply stared. "What the hell? What are you doing here?"

He laughed and sat down on a grassy patch next to a boulder. "Good to see you, too."

I sat a couple of feet from him. "Still haven't found your shoes"—I slapped a mosquito biting my neck—"or a shirt."

He shrugged. "It's not a big deal. I have really hard feet. I don't feel a thing and I guess you're just sweeter because the bugs don't bother me."

Fidgeting, I glanced at him. "You still didn't answer why you're here."

"Just a coincidence." He leaned back.

"We're twenty minutes away from Beaver Lake and you randomly show up at the exact same place as me?" I raised an eyebrow. "You're not a stalker, right?"