"Hey hey hey! Put the damn gun down, kid!" I shouted, snatching it away from you. Dutch had recently brought you to camp, and for some reason Javier had been the one you clung to 24/7, and God you were a wild child.

"You can't go through my saddle bags," He scorned, pushing your shoulders down and forcing you to sit by the fire. Everyone kept calling you 'Mini Escuella.' And he kept denying it, and then you'd go do something stupid and he'd get all protective and worried and then, well...