I take a deep breath and untuck my red shirt. I’ve spent the last thirty minutes tucking it in. And then out. And then in. I hate the first day. Of anything. I hate not knowing what I’m supposed to do, or where to go, or what to expect. I’m not afraid of spiders, or heights, or dying in a plane crash (okay, maybe if the turbulence is bad enough), but I am most definitely scared of the unknown. I spent months researching Lake Lights, and here I am walking into River Depot with one day’s notice and nothing more than a two-minute overview.

At least I’ll know Aiden. Sort of. It’s better than nothing, and maybe yesterday was a fluke. Everyone has always said how “surprisingly nice” he is. The thought of having someone to talk to, and ask questions, calms me enough to leave my shirt alone. I walk to the kitchen and grab the little pad of paper off of the fridge, and the pen Aunt Sarah always has lying on the butcher block island in the middle of the kitchen.

1. Buy tick spray

2. Order water shoes

3. Pack sunscreen

4. Extra shorts & underwear

Loosen up, Olivia. My mother’s voice whispers in my ear like the little devil on my shoulder you see in cartoons. She can tell me herself when I call her this afternoon after my shift. I flick that little guy off my shoulder and tuck my list in my pocket. I’ll get Day One over with, and I’ll feel better. You can do this, Olivia. You’ve got this.

When I arrive at River Depot the circle drive is still dotted with puddles from last night’s rain. Past the building and the little covered walkway where people line up to buy canoe trips, the bike rack sits under a tree, next to an old weathered picnic table, tucked in alongside the woods. You wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t looking for it, and there’s only one other bike sitting there. It’s June, so it’s still cool in the morning—the air feels light, not yet dragged down by the humidity that will hit by midday when I’ll drip with sweat. As I round the front of the building, I can hear the river, the soft tinkling over the rocks, the gentle lapping against the docks that run the length of the property. Maybe working here will be like a spa day, minus the ocean-scented candles and the stress-relief. Wishful thinking.

There are five narrow docks, one after the next to my far left, and the huge dock to my right is filled with colorful Adirondacks and round tables with red umbrellas. Red, just like my shirt. Red is totally not my color, but no one is going to notice when I’m wearing these shorts. Thanks for taking the pressure off, Aunt Sarah.