Page 4

JASON

I f I had a nickel for every time someone face-planted into a mud puddle at Camp Lightring, I’d have... like, a dollar. Tops. But this one ?

This one is special.

Because it’s Alice.

Sweet, prim, clipboard-clutching Alice, who was just walking across the fire circle clearing like she owned the world—until her sandal caught on a root and gravity took the wheel.

And now?

Now she’s sitting in the middle of a mud crater like a crime scene, one shoe flung off to God-knows-where, dress splattered, and this expression on her face like her brain just blue-screened.

And what do I do? Do I rush over to help? Offer a towel? Ask if she’s okay?

Hell no.

I laugh.

Loudly.

Like, bend-over, tears-in-my-eyes kind of laugh. I don’t mean to. I swear. But it’s too perfect. She looks like a wet raccoon who just lost her 401k.

“Don’t. Say. A word,” she hisses, struggling to her feet.

Which is hilarious, because I was gonna say something helpful, like, “Hey, are you?—”

“I said don’t. ”

So I shut my mouth.

Mostly.

I watch her limp over to the lost sandal like it’s betrayed her, pick it up with two fingers, and sigh so hard it shakes the pine trees.

Kids are still hollering behind us—Camp-wide Capture the Flag is in full swing—but I don’t hear any of it. I’m too busy watching her swipe mud off her cheek with the kind of dignity only someone truly losing it would try to maintain.

“Okay,” I finally say, trying to keep a straight face. “I know this is gonna sound insane... but that was kind of majestic.”

She shoots me a glare that could drop a bear. “I slipped.”

“I saw. You fell like a ballerina. Slow motion. It was beautiful. Honestly? Ten outta ten.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s fair.”

She turns and starts marching toward the cabin.

“Hey, wait—” I catch up easily. “Alice.”

“What.”

“I didn’t mean to laugh.” I pause. “Okay, I did , but not in a mean way.”

She just keeps walking.

I reach out, gently tug her elbow. She freezes.

“Walk with me?”

She hesitates, shoulders still tight. But after a second, she nods. Barely.

I steer us toward the treeline, where the camp trail snakes into the woods. It’s quiet here. Crickets. The rustle of leaves. Distant kid-screams muffled by trees.

“You ever been in these woods?” I ask, trying to ease the tension.

“No.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m a local expert. Grew up shiftin’ around here.”

“You grew up... shifting?”

“Yup.” I smirk. “Woke up one morning with fur in weird places. My mom cried. My dad bought me meat. Real bonding moment.”

Her lips twitch. She tries not to smile. Fails.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she says softly. “This world.”

“What, the monsters or the mud?”

“Both.”

We walk a little further. The trail dips into a clearing, dappled with sunlight and framed by tall pines. I drop onto a log and gesture for her to join me.

She does, carefully, smoothing her ruined dress like it’s still salvageable.

“You okay?” I ask after a beat.

“I’m fine.”

She’s not.

“You’ve been on edge since you got here.”

She sighs. “I just... didn’t expect it to be so... loud. And messy. And unplannable.”

I chuckle. “That’s camp, sweetheart.”

She shoots me a look but doesn’t correct the nickname this time.

“I thought if I had enough structure, enough plans... I wouldn’t have to think about everything I left behind.”

There it is.

I don’t push. Just nod. “Yeah. Been there.”

She glances over. “You have?”

“Didn’t come here ‘cause I love crafts,” I say. “Came here ‘cause I didn’t know where the hell else to go.”

Silence again.

She whispers, “He cheated on me.”

My chest tightens. “Shit.”

“With my best friend.”

“ Double shit.”

“I walked in on them. In my apartment. On my couch.”

I let out a low whistle. “And you didn’t burn the place down?”

“I thought about it.”

“Respect.”

She laughs—quiet, but real.

I reach over, flick a dried leaf from her shoulder. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She looks down. “I know. But I keep... acting like I did. Like if I was just more fun. Or spontaneous. Or exciting... maybe he wouldn’t have.”

“Sounds like he was a dick.”

“He was... charming.”

I snort. “Yeah, well. So’s poison ivy.”

She smiles at that. A little more this time. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something in them that wasn’t there before.

Trust, maybe. Or the start of it.

“Thanks for the walk,” she says.

“Anytime. Seriously. We should do this again. Minus the mud.”

She gives me a shy smile. “Next time I fall, I expect at least some sympathy.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ll cry real tears.”

She stands, brushing her hands on her skirt. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet... you’re still here.”

She doesn’t argue that.

We head back toward camp, shoulder to shoulder. Close. Easy.

Something’s shifting between us. Slowly. Quietly.

But it’s real.

We walk in silence for a few steps, the trees around us glowing with late afternoon light. Her fingers graze mine once—just barely—but enough to spark something low in my gut.

She doesn’t pull away.

I stop walking.

So does she.

“Alice,” I say, voice quieter than it’s been all day. “Can I tell you something?”

She blinks up at me, lips parted, breath a little unsteady. “Okay.”

“I like messes.”

She frowns slightly. “What?”

“Not like ‘glitter in your hair’ messes. I mean... people messes. Feeling things. Saying the wrong stuff. Working through it. You’re tryin’ so hard to hold it all in.”

She bites her lip. Nervous. Her cheeks are still flushed from earlier, but her eyes... her eyes are looking at my mouth.

I step closer.

“I think,” I say, brushing a mud-speck off her jaw with my thumb, “you might be the prettiest mess I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath catches.

I lean in.

Just inches now.

Close enough to smell the lavender from her shampoo. Close enough that I could kiss her if I just…

A sharp, distant sound cuts through the air.

A sob.

High-pitched.

A kid.

We both freeze.

Then she’s moving—fast. “That came from the lake,” she says.

I’m already running.