“Nothing.” He pulled her close, ignoring the cheering kids. “Just writing a song.”
“He’s trying to help,” Mitchie said, though she wasn’t sure she believed it. That night, Mitchie couldn’t sleep. She walked to the old fire pit, where the embers of the night’s campfire still glowed. Someone was already there—Rosa, the Junior, crying into her hoodie sleeves. camp rock.2
But when the last note faded and the campers rushed the stage in a group hug, Mitchie looked at Shane. He was watching her the way he had the first summer—like she’d just played something he’d been waiting his whole life to hear. “Nothing