Page 5

CALLIE

T he minute I step onto the Advanced Water Skills dock with Ryder standing next to me like a statue built entirely out of disapproval and muscle, I know we’re doomed.

“Morning, campers,” I chirp, tossing my clipboard into the supply bin like a frisbee. “Today we’re conquering the canoe challenge!”

“Today,” Ryder cuts in, voice like it’s been sandblasted smooth, “we’re beginning our joint instruction with a controlled multi-paddler navigation drill. Objective: teamwork, balance, and protocol.”

The kids blink at him. One of them coughs. Another whispers, “Is he a robot?”

I slap a smile on my face and clap my hands. “Translation: we’re gonna paddle stuff and not crash. Hopefully.”

Ryder’s jaw ticks.

Jason, who’s helping us kick things off, hands out life vests with a grin so wide it makes up for the glacier standing next to me. “All right, team! Who’s ready to show off their paddling prowess?”

All twenty kids scream “ME!” and charge for the canoes.

Ryder flinches like he’s been shot.

“Chaos,” he mutters.

“Optimism,” I counter.

Fifteen minutes later, we’ve got three groups in canoes, paddling erratically toward floating markers. I’m with Team B, trying to coach a left-handed eleven-year-old who insists on paddling only in reverse. Ryder’s in the rescue kayak, hovering like a very stern water vulture.

Jason’s floating nearby on a raft with a waterproof whiteboard, because he decided without telling us that the kids should score our teamwork on a ten-point scale.

This is going great.

“Callie,” Ryder calls out across the water, “you’re off-course by twenty degrees.”

“Appreciate the update, Your Saltiness!” I call back. “Now if we can get Bennett to stop yelling ‘I’m the Kraken!’ we might actually make it to the buoy.”

“I’m THE KRAKEN!” Bennett yells gleefully and jumps, which rocks the canoe so hard I grab both sides and shout, “Hold formation! I repeat, HOLD THE”

The canoe flips.

Like, spectacularly flips. Full 180. We go in backward, Bennett howling with glee while I go under and come up sputtering lake water and glitter from my freaking bathing suit.

“Oh my gods,” someone on the dock yells, “they sank it!”

Ryder’s there in two seconds flat, gliding over like the current obeys him. “Callie.”

“I’m fine,” I say between coughs, trying to gather my braid and my dignity. “I’ve been dramatically tossed from floaties twice as big.”

He eyes me. “You’re bleeding.”

I glance down and see a neat little scrape across my shin from the edge of the canoe.

“It’s a scratch,” I say, brushing it off. “I’ve had worse from tripping over lawn flamingos.”

“Get on the raft,” he orders, pulling it beside us with one hand.

“Bossy,” I mutter, climbing on.

“You’re lucky that wasn’t a head injury,” he snaps.

“You’re lucky I didn’t drown the Kraken.”

Jason’s wheezing with laughter. “Ten points for drama! Eleven for unintentional capsizing!”

The kids are chanting now.

“TEAM CALLIE! TEAM CALLIE!”

I glance at Ryder. His face is locked tight, unreadable.

And for a half-second, I wonder if I actually messed up.

Back on the dock, I towel off and try not to shiver while Julie hands me a band-aid shaped like a frog.

“Okay,” I admit, “maybe I should’ve vetoed the Kraken roleplay.”

“Maybe,” Julie says, trying not to smile. “But they loved it.”

Ryder is drying his equipment with surgical precision. Not speaking to me.

I nudge him. “Hey. Look. No fatalities. Only mild soaking.”

“You flipped a canoe.”

“I was adding excitement to the lesson.”

“You added a liability to the lesson.”

I sigh. “You can’t control everything, you know.”

“I can damn well try.”

I pause. “You always like this?”

He glances at me. “Like what?”

“Tightly wound. Like if someone moved your clipboard an inch to the left, the world would implode.”

His voice drops. “That clipboard keeps kids alive.”

I stop.

Because that… that isn’t snark. That’s heavy.

Before I can ask more, Jason jumps between us like a game show host. “Aaaand the camper consensus is… Ryder gets an eight in performance, minus one for no smiles. Callie gets a solid ten, bonus point for yelling ‘I am a canoe witch!’ mid-capsize!”

“I did no such thing,” I lie.

“You 100% did,” Jason says, handing me a juice box.

Ryder walks off without another word, shoulders tight, tail flashing once as he hits the water.

I sip my juice. Apple grape. Definitely not worth almost drowning for, but hey points are points.

Later, after the kids are at dinner and I’m drying my backup clothes on a branch like a swamp raccoon, I spot Ryder by the lake, half-submerged, staring out at nothing.

I almost leave him there.

Almost.

But something about his silence makes my feet walk before my brain agrees.

“You good?” I ask, plopping down beside the rock he’s leaning on.

He doesn’t look at me. “Fine.”

“You mad about the flip?”

“Not mad,” he says, flat. “Just done.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Done with what?”

“With pretending chaos is okay just because it’s loud and people cheer for it.”

“Ouch.”

He still doesn’t look at me. “These kids trust you. That means something. Use it well. Don’t waste it trying to prove a point.”

That one lands.

I nod, quieter than usual. “Noted.”

We sit like that for a minute. Just lake breeze, distant camper laughter, and the flick of water on rock.

Then I say, “You know, if you did want to smile, now and then, I promise it won’t fracture your spine.”

Still nothing.

But when I stand and walk back toward camp, I swear I hear the faintest sound behind me.

A single, exhausted, barely-there laugh.