Page 15

ALICE

T he archery tournament is supposed to be fun.

That’s what Julie tells me as she hands me the clipboard, her tone way too cheerful for the storm brewing in my chest.

“Make a show of it!” she calls. “Announce the cabins like it’s the Olympics!”

I nod and fake a grin. But my stomach’s already in knots, and I haven’t even seen him yet.

Then I do.

Jason’s across the field, barefoot in the dewy grass, his hoodie tied around his waist and his hair damp from the lake. He’s helping Nolan adjust his bow, crouched beside him with that easy smile that melts most of the staff without even trying.

Except me. Not today.

He hasn’t talked to me since the dock.

Since I left him in silence.

Since I tried to come back and he didn’t let me.

I clutch the megaphone too hard. My fingers hurt.

“Alright campers!” I shout, trying to channel fake enthusiasm through real nerves. “Cabin B, you’re up first. Let’s see those mighty orc arms!”

Ferix lets out a triumphant whoop and charges forward, bow in hand. Nolan follows, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Jason doesn’t even look my way.

The tournament rolls on.

Cabin after cabin, round after round. I keep score, call names, pretend my heart isn’t twisting every time I hear Jason laugh with someone who isn’t me.

At one point, he does a slow-motion dive to retrieve a rogue arrow for Rubi. She bursts into giggles.

I smile too, but it feels wrong on my face.

“Good form, Rubi!” Jason says, ruffling her hair.

“She’s crushing it,” I call, trying— trying —to sound like me again.

Jason nods. Doesn’t say a word.

Doesn’t look up.

And suddenly, I’m cold, even in the summer sun.

Cabin C has a dramatic flair for their turn, with one kid wearing a paper crown and narrating every shot like it’s a war campaign.

I try to enjoy it. I do.

But every time I scan the field, Jason is there.

And never with me.

He’s like a light bulb flicked off. Same shape, same face—but no warmth.

After the final round, I call out, “Alright! That’s it for archery!” and hold up a very wrinkled piece of paper that says Tournament Winners – TBD .

The kids cheer anyway.

Jason starts gathering up the bows and placing them back in the equipment bin. One of the strings snaps while he’s inspecting it, and he swears under his breath.

That’s my moment.

I take a deep breath.

Walk toward him.

He won’t look at me.

That’s the first thing I notice.

We’re halfway through cleanup after the archery tournament—a chaotic mess of broken arrows, leftover snacks, and glitter somehow—and Jason is moving through it like a ghost. Joking with the kids, helping collect bows, but his eyes? They never once flick toward mine.

It’s like I’ve turned into part of the background.

I tell myself I’m imagining it. That he’s busy. Focused.

But when I call out, “Hey, could you grab the target tarp?” and he responds with a clipped “Yeah,” without even meeting my gaze, the weight in my chest sinks all the way to my stomach.

This isn’t just distance.

This is something worse.

I find him near the shed later. Alone. Coiling ropes with the kind of intensity that makes it look personal.

My steps are slow, cautious. I feel like I’m tiptoeing into a storm that’s already swallowed half the sky.

“Jason,” I say, voice soft.

He doesn’t stop working.

“Can we talk?”

He grunts. Not yes. Not no.

Just noise.

I step closer anyway. “I know I’ve been... complicated. I pulled away. I got scared. But I’m trying.”

He pauses for a beat.

Then goes right back to coiling.

“I’m trying to be better,” I continue. “To not run. I know I hurt you. But I never meant to?—”

“I don’t need a speech, Alice.”

I freeze.

The way he says my name, it doesn’t sound like mine anymore. It sounds like something heavy in his mouth. Like regret.

“I just wanted to?—”

He drops the rope and turns to face me, jaw tight. “To what? Explain again how you’re scared of me? Of this? You already did that, remember?”

I flinch. “That’s not fair?—”

“Isn’t it?”

His voice isn’t loud, but it cuts like wind on bare skin.

“I let you in,” he says, arms crossed. “Every messy part. And you looked at it and said, ‘Maybe later.’”

“I never said that,” I whisper.

“You didn’t have to. You walked away.”

“I came back!”

“Too late.”

That one stings. Deep.

He shakes his head and looks away, hands on his hips like he’s trying to hold himself in place.

“I thought what we had—” I start, but the words catch in my throat.

“Yeah,” he says, flat. “Me too.”

There’s a pause. Long and awful.

Then he picks up the rope again.

I stand there, heart cracking open in slow motion.

“Was it ever real?” I ask, and my voice breaks at the end.

He doesn't answer.

And the silence says everything.

I walk away.

I don’t remember getting back to my cabin. Don’t remember if anyone saw me or spoke or tried to stop me.

I just remember sitting on the floor, back against the door, hands shaking.

And feeling like I’d just lost something I hadn’t even let myself believe I could keep.