Welcome To Camp Towels

Just as Steve’s about to take a step away in the direction of Joyce’s seen-better-days-green-pinto, he feels something cold and hard bounce off his right shoulder blade. Briefly, his brain short circuits, and Steve wonders if he’s being stoned like it’s the dark ages, but then he hears the sound of metal clanging against the pavement beneath him. The keys. Quickly, he peels them off the ground, ready to pummel Billy if this is another one of his games, but there’s surprisingly no struggle. Steve positively looks like a flailing idiot, if Billy’s rumbled laughter is anything to judge by. Joyce is the only one not staring at Steve with amusement in her eyes as he scampers over to her car. Maybe Mike too if you count the look on his face as anti-amusement. Honestly, someone needs to tell that kid to stop pulling that sour face before he’s the one getting pummeled. (In which Steve is the most melodramatic person to ever work at Camp Towels, but he loves everyone there more than he'd care to admit.)