The old joke of "That's not a tan, that's rust," took on new meaning for Casey by the second week of her summer as a lifeguard at Camp Sunnyside.
She felt rusty, and not all of it was because this was Colorado's wettest summer on record. She spent more time helping supervise indoor recreation in the dining hall than she did sitting in the lifeguard chair. Casey hadn't planned on getting to know any of the girls under her care. How well could a lifeguard get to know the wide range of fashionistas, divas, geeks and rebels who walked the beach below her lonely, elevated perch, anyway? "Ignored" was safer and more comfortable when it came to the rich and elite girls who were sent to Sunnyside. She was too clean for one group, too smart for another, not pretty enough for a third, not fashionable enough for a fourth group, not cool enough, not enough of an athlete. Forget about the other rich girls who were ostensibly here as part of the staff. They were almost worse, as if they had to put everyone else down to make up for being expected to work. Why were they here, anyway? To get them out of their parents' way, just like their high school and middle school sisters and cousins?By now, Casey had decided that money had a certain smell that only social climbers and people in possession of lots of it could detect. Since she didn't carry the right aroma, she didn't exist to anyone in the high school cabins. The middle school girls were different. They liked Casey -- maybe because their older sisters and cousins were as snotty to her as they were to the younger girls. Funny, but they were the best part of her summer, so far.