Page 11

CALLIE

I f I’ve learned anything this summer, it’s that lakes don’t wait.

They don’t give warnings. Don’t send polite memos saying, “Hey, gonna toss a squall your way, grab your floaties and hold tight.”

They just go.

And today, the lake goes feral.

It happens fast.

One minute we’re running a basic treading drill in the east bay, sun high and warm like it hasn’t figured out it’s supposed to be cursed right now. The next, clouds roll in like they’ve got beef with the horizon, and the wind turns from lazy breeze to slap-you-in-the-face cold.

I look up and everything drops.

Temperature. Pressure. My stomach.

“Everyone to shore!” I yell, voice sharp. “Now!”

Kids start kicking toward the dock, splashing more from panic than propulsion. I’m about to dive in to help steer the stragglers when I hear it, screaming.

High-pitched. Distant.

And familiar.

“Penny,” I gasp. “Oh gods”

She’s out past the marker line, where the water gets real and fast. A wave slams her sideways, swallowing her for a breathless beat.

Then she pops up, flailing, mouth open, gasping.

“RYDER!” I scream before I even finish my thought.

He’s there.

Of course he is.

One second he’s on the dock, next second, slicing through the water like he was born in it.

I dive in behind him, because instincts be damned, I’m not watching this from shore.

The lake is angrier than I’ve ever felt it.

Not just wind or chop. It pushes. Like a fist under the surface.

I can barely keep my bearings, but I follow Ryder’s silver trail, eyes locked on Penny’s bobbing head.

She’s crying now, barely paddling. Water crashes into her from all angles.

Ryder reaches her first, arms circling under hers. “I got you,” he says, calm and deep like thunder.

She sobs, clinging to him like he’s solid land.

I reach them a breath later, grabbing her hand. “Hey, Penny. Deep breath, babe. We’re right here.”

“I can’t” she coughs. “It pulled”

“We know,” I say. “We’re getting you out.”

Ryder nods at me, jaw clenched. “On three. You take her left. I’ve got right.”

We move together without speaking, without thinking. I don’t even feel the cold anymore. Just her weight, her shaking, and his strength steady beside me.

When we hit shallows, I trip once in the drag, knees bruising on rock but we don’t stop until she’s flat on the sand, coughing, pale but breathing.

Jason sprints over with towels and blankets. Julie’s radio crackles in the background. Campers crowd at the edge, worried but silent.

And me?

I fall backward into the mud, chest heaving, and start laughing. Hysterically.

“Of course the lake has weather mood swings now,” I gasp. “Why not? Next it’ll start texting threats.”

Ryder drops down beside me, soaked and silent, eyes locked on the lake like it personally offended him.

“That,” he says, voice rough, “was too damn close.”

“She’s okay,” I whisper, more to convince myself than anyone else.

He nods, jaw flexing. “That squall wasn’t natural.”

I glance sideways. “You think it’s connected?”

“I know it is.”

The weight of those words sits heavy in my chest.

We sit there for a minute, shoulder to shoulder, soaked in silence.

And I realize, not for the first time, how much this man carries.

Not just rules and rotas and rescue drills.

Everything.

And somehow, when I’m next to him, the world feels a little steadier. Not calmer, necessarily. But anchored.

I don’t say any of that.

I just sit there with him, letting our shared breath and muddy clothes be enough.

Behind us, Penny’s getting checked out, Jason cracking jokes to distract her, Julie directing the rest of the kids back toward the main cabin.

The moment passes.

But something under my skin shifts.

Not a crush. Not a spark.

Something deeper.

And I don’t know what to call it yet.

But I know it’s real.

We help Penny back to the lodge, stick close until Julie declares her officially fine, fussed over, and fed.

The rest of camp slowly slips back into routine, like the lake didn’t just try to eat someone an hour ago.

But Ryder lingers.

And so do I.

It’s not awkward.

Not really.

More like a tension stretched between us, taut and hot and humming just beneath the surface.

When he glances at me across the firewood pile, something shifts in his eyes. Softer than usual. Like he’s seeing me not just as the chaos-maker or the glitter delinquent, but as something steadier. Something real.

“Hey,” I say, voice a little lower than usual.

He looks up, brows drawn. “Yeah?”

I shrug. “Thanks. For… y’know. Jumping in with me.”

He nods, and something flickers across his face, complicated and unreadable and so him.

We’re close again. Not touching, but I feel him. Every inch of tension between us.

And for one terrifying, delicious moment, I think he might kiss me.

I think I might let him.

His eyes drop to my mouth.

Mine do the same.

And then, BOOM.

A deafening crack explodes from the mess hall. A cloud of blue smoke billows out the window. A chorus of shrieks follows.

“What the”

Jason sprints past, cackling like a man possessed, wearing a snorkel, a tutu, and two pots strapped to his chest like armor.

“PRANK WAR IS LIVE, LOSERS!” he screams, launching a water balloon at a junior counselor. “LONG LIVE THE JELLYFISH KING!”

Ryder blinks.

I blink.

And the moment collapses into laughter.

I double over, wheezing. “I, he, was he wearing pasta strainers on his arms?”

“Affirmative,” Ryder deadpans, but his eyes are dancing now.

Jason zips by again. “NO ONE IS SAFE! I HAVE UNICORN GLITTER BOMBS!”

“I swear to the gods,” I gasp between giggles, “he’s why we can’t have nice things.”

Ryder chuckles, quiet and deep, and for just a second, he looks at me like we’ll pick this up later.

And I think, yeah.

We will.