Get a job at Camp Sherwood, her father said. It would be fun, he said.

Emma Nolan was not having fun.

In fact, she wasn't sure she was going to make it to the end of the month without landing in jail for attempted murder. Or, if things continued to get even worse, actual murder.

The source of her ire?

Neal Gold, the counselor of Cabin 4, and his merry band of lost boys who loved to cause trouble to the girls of her cabin, Cabin 8.

The problem had started on the third day of camp. The kids had started settling in and getting used to the routine, and Emma had become more confident in her abilities as a camp leader.

Neal Gold had noticed this, and had planned a spontaneous water fight between their cabins, ambushing the girls on their way back from canoeing. That was fine, lighthearted enough, and it had been a hot, humid day, so the extra water had, admittedly, felt good.

But then it had all gone downhill.

Shaving cream had been next, as the girls had been coming back to their cabins from an arts and crafts lesson. Luckily (in Emma's opinion), they'd had to leave their crafts to dry, and nothing had been broken.

The third was scaring her campers when they'd had a late-night bonfire. Emma had planned it perfectly - s'mores, campfire songs, the works. And then Neal and his stupid campers had decided to jump out of the bushes just as they'd started telling scary stories. The boys had somehow constructed a monster costume and had jumped out of the bushes. If the kids hadn't already been aware of Emma's sour attitude toward Neal Gold, it would have looked like it'd been coordinated by the two counselors.

The worst prank had been when they'd returned to their cabin from a hike through the forest. It had been so nice to learn about the local wildlife and plant life, that for the afternoon, Emma had nearly forgotten about the trouble she'd been having.

Then they'd made it back to their cabin to find all of their belongings tossed onto the roof, including Emma's mattress.

Despite her complaints to Director Sherwood, nothing had been done. The pranks had been waved off as harmless summer fun, which meant Emma had only one other option: revenge.

She'd started slowly: releasing a harmless, wild garter snake into the cabin ("Goodness, Gold, you guys should learn to shut your cabin door!"), greasing the entryway so many of them slipped on their way in after their movie night.

Then, he'd caught on to what she was doing.

He'd confronted her about the pranks, she had snapped back at him, and somehow (both of them swore up and down they hadn't done it), a syrup-drenched piece of french toast from that morning's breakfast had flown through the air and landed on Director Sherwood's wife, Regina.

It had all gone wrong from there, a full-blown foodfight exploding in a second. It hadn't lasted long, but Director Sherwood had known immediately who was likely at fault (even though she and Neal absolutely weren't), and had forced the two of them to clean the mess hall alone, while he took their cabins out to the zipline and rock wall.

"I can't believe I got stuck cleaning this with you," Neal scowled, flicking a piece of bacon at her.

"Hey! I didn't want to do this either, but you're the one who's been pranking my kids all month!" she retorted, scraping drying maple syrup off one of the tables with a groan. "I just wanted to be a good counselor and give the kids a fun summer, but you had to go around disrupting us all the time!"

"You think I didn't want to do the same? Be a good counselor and have a little fun with the kids in my cabin? Isn't that why we're all here?"

Emma tossed a dirty rag into a bucket of equally-disgusting water. "Do you get off on scaring little girls? Alice had to sleep with me the night you dressed up as a knockoff Frankenstein, and we had to look for Ella's lucky blanket for three hours after you put our stuff on the roof!"

Neal went unusually quiet as he processed her words. "Oh. Emma, I'm - "

"Sure. You're 'sorry', you promise you're done, but then the minute I walk out of here, you're going to be plotting something else," she scoffed.

"No - I mean it," Neal threw a sponge down and raised his hands in a show of surrender. "I didn't know I'd scared any of your kids. Why didn't you say anything?"

Emma scowled. "I did! Director Sherwood didn't do anything."

"Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"Was I supposed to believe you'd listen, after everything that's happened this month?"

A pause. "Fair point. I'm calling a truce. No more pranks."

She looked him up and down, trying to find the catch, or to find the lie. She had always been good at it - her father had once told her she was made for detective work.

But she couldn't find any with Neal, so she sighed, holding out her hand. "Fine. Truce."

"C'mon, let's finish this up. If we're lucky, we might be able to ride the zipline once."

"Yeah, okay. Sounds like fun."

Emma's shoulders ached, from the amount of force used to scrub the mess hall, but by the time they'd finished, they had missed out on the zipline, and the kids were busy practicing their skits for that night's talent show. They'd missed the pizza that had been called in for lunch, too.

She groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Now what do we do?"

"You hungry?"

"Well, yeah, but - "

Neal smiled and pulled two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of his pocket.

"Neal!"

"What, did they expect we'd eat wild berries and dirt for lunch? Come on, let's go sit by the lake. We'll be able to hear when the rehearsal ends."

He was becoming a terrible influence, but Emma saw no other option as she followed him, plopping down on a rock and nibbling at the crust of her sandwich.

"Where you from, Emma?" he asked.

"Oh, it's this little town about two hours from here. I doubt you've heard of it."

"Try me."

"It's called Storybrooke."

Neal choked on the bit of sandwich in his mouth, taking a long drink of water. "No shit? My stepdad is from there."

She stared at him. What were the odds of that? "What's his name?"

"Jerkass. Dickwad. Motherfu - oh, sorry, you meant his real name. Killian Jones."

"Any relation to Adam Jones?"

"Think that's his twin brother. Why?"

"He's one of the deputies that work under my dad."

"He's a cop?!" Neal laughed, doubling over and wiping a tear from his eye. "Could you send him to NYC? I'm pretty sure my stepdad is some sort of thief. Or worse. Mom keeps getting some really fancy shit and then, wouldn't you know it, the news comes on with a store being robbed."

Emma frowned. "Jeez, Neal. You don't have to live with him, right?"

"Nah. Dad has custody. I live with him most of the time."

"That's good at least."

"Yeah, he and Belle are fine."

They settled into a comfortable conversation then, and Emma found that underneath all the stupid pranks, Neal Gold wasn't too bad. And he was, well… kind of cute.

Not that she'd ever tell him that.

"GOLD! NOLAN! I hope you two aren't slacking off!" Director Sherwood suddenly yelled.

The two jumped up.

"Sorry, Director!" Emma called. "See you later, Gold."

"See ya, Nolan."

The rest of the month went smoothly, much to Emma's relief. The girls had come to enjoy themselves, and she'd made a new friend with Neal.

As she lifted her duffel bag onto her shoulder the last day of camp, she frowned as something hit the ground.

A peanut butter label? How had the label to a jar of peanut butter ended up in her bag?

She carefully unfolded it, feeling her eyes widen as she took in the note scribbled on the back.

Call me if you're ever in the city. - Neal