Page 11

ALICE

I wake up in a tangle of blankets and thoughts I can’t sort through.

The sunrise is barely creeping through the cabin windows, casting the softest kind of gold across the floorboards. Everything should feel calm, dreamy even. But all I can feel is pressure.

Jason kissed me.

And I kissed him back.

Twice.

I didn’t just let it happen. I wanted it. Leaned into it. Let myself believe—just for a moment—that something real and warm and possibly dangerous could be mine.

And now?

Now I want to run so badly my bones ache.

I press my fingers against my lips like I can rewind time through skin.

God, what was I thinking?

He was there. Present. Steady. Letting me fall apart without trying to fix me. And then that kiss under the stars—heat and quiet and safety, all wrapped up in his stupid warm hands ."

And I believed him.

That’s what terrifies me most.

I see him at breakfast.

He’s leaning against the coffee machine like he’s in a cologne ad—messy hair, crooked grin, and wearing that ridiculous tank top that says Camp DILF like it’s a badge of honor. Someone must’ve given it to him as a joke, but he’s made it his entire personality.

He spots me immediately.

His eyes light up.

And my stomach drops.

I duck my head and beeline toward the juice table like it's a lifeboat.

“Alice!” he calls out.

My hands fumble with the plastic cup. I nearly spill orange juice everywhere.

He strolls over, easy and confident, like we didn’t just cross the line between friends and something terrifyingly real.

“Morning,” he says, voice low and kind like he’s checking the temperature of the air between us.

“Hey,” I mumble.

“You sleep okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

He tilts his head. “You sure? You kinda bailed after?—”

“I was tired,” I cut in quickly. “Just needed sleep.”

Jason pauses. His grin falters.

There it is. The first crack.

He’s too perceptive for his own good.

“Right,” he says. “Of course.”

I force a smile. “Thanks for... last night. The show went well.”

He’s quiet for a beat too long. “It wasn’t just about the show.”

I pretend not to hear him. I turn to the nearest camper and ask if they’re ready for their nature hike like it’s the most urgent question in the world.

Jason doesn’t push.

He just backs away, slow, like he’s realized I’ve set up a wall overnight and I’m daring him to climb it.

The hike is long and hot and exactly what I need to keep from unraveling.

I focus on the logistics. Counting kids. Water bottles. Trail markers. The way Lucy insists on picking up every pinecone and whispering secrets to them.

But Jason is everywhere.

The last person in line. Making jokes. Keeping pace with the slower kids. Letting me pretend I don’t see the way he keeps glancing up the trail, toward me.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I should feel giddy. Hopeful. Warm.

But instead I feel exposed. Raw.

And when I feel raw, I shut down. That’s just how I’m wired.

I’ve never been good at letting people see the whole of me.

Especially the messy parts.

Especially when they’re the ones that matter.

Later, back at the cabins, I’m reorganizing craft supplies that don’t need organizing when Jason finds me again.

He stands in the doorway.

Doesn’t speak.

I keep my back to him, pretending the glitter drawer requires intense focus.

“Alice.”

I close my eyes.

“Can we talk?”

I nod. Barely.

He steps inside, slow.

“I don’t want to crowd you,” he says. “But I need to know if that kiss meant something to you. Because it meant a lot to me.”

My throat tightens.

“It did,” I whisper.

“Then why are you shutting me out?”

I press my hands flat to the table. “Because it terrifies me.”

Jason’s quiet.

“I’m not him.”

That hits harder than anything else could.

“I know,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean I know how to trust myself yet.”

I finally turn to look at him. His face is open, confused, maybe a little hurt.

“I felt... too much last night,” I say. “And when I feel that much, I panic. I start doubting if I’m seeing clearly or just projecting what I want to believe.”

He takes a step closer. “You don’t have to decide anything today.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

He smiles, soft and sad. “Too late. But it’s okay. I’d rather know the real you than be fed a version that’s safe.”

My chest aches.

Jason exhales. “I’ll give you space. Just... don’t lie to me, alright?”

“I won’t.”

He nods once. Then leaves.

And I stand there in a cabin full of glitter, finally letting myself cry.

Later that evening, after the kids have been tucked in and the counselors are busy corralling leftover costumes and marshmallow debris, Julie pulls me aside.

She’s holding her clipboard—always—and wearing that bright, enthusiastic camp director smile that makes her look ten years younger than she probably is.

“Got a second?” she asks, her voice soft but purposeful.

I nod, brushing invisible lint off my sweater. “Sure.”

She leads me over to the porch steps outside the office. We sit. It’s quiet, save for a distant owl and the hum of tired generators.

“I’ve been watching you this session,” she says.

I shift awkwardly. “Oh?”

“You’re a natural, Alice. The way you handled the talent show. The fire drills. The way the kids look at you like you’re the one holding the stars together.”

My face goes hot. “That’s generous.”

She shakes her head. “It’s accurate. You’ve brought heart to this place. Structure, yes—but also grace. And patience. Things that don’t come with training manuals.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I just smile tightly.

Julie exhales and turns toward me fully. “We’re expanding next summer. More programs. More permanent positions. I’d like you to consider coming on full-time. Year-round staff, as the official activities coordinator. Paid.”

The word paid rings like a bell in my ears.

Full-time.

This place, every day. Not just for a few chaotic weeks.

It should be a no-brainer. It’s stability. Purpose. Kids who look up to me. A place where I matter.

But the weight in my chest doesn’t feel like certainty.

It feels like... fear.

Julie watches me for a moment, reading something in my silence.

“No rush,” she says kindly. “Think about it.”

I nod, throat tight. “I will.”

She pats my hand and disappears into the office, leaving me alone under the porch light, holding this shiny new offer like a stone I’m not sure how to carry.