Page 7

ALICE

T he forest is quieter this morning. Like it knows something changed.

I sit on the cabin porch steps with a mug of tea that’s long since gone cold, staring out at the obstacle course.

Bits of rope still hang from the trees, and there’s a trail of glitter—of all things—leading from the mud pit to the bathhouse.

Someone, I suspect, took the “legend” part of Dragon Gauntlet Day too literally and added sparkles to the “lava trench.”

But all I can really focus on is Nolan.

And Jason.

I didn’t see the actual shift. But I saw the aftermath. I saw Nolan walking back to the cabin like he was three inches taller. Beaming. Surrounded by other kids who usually pretended he didn’t exist.

And Jason? He just sat there grinning like he didn’t even realize he’d changed a kid’s life.

Or maybe... like it wasn’t about him at all.

I blow gently into my tea, watching steam that isn’t there.

I’d come here with this idea in my head: that I’d meet people who were either too much or not enough. That monsters were charming and careless and beautiful in ways I couldn’t compete with. That I’d need to prove myself again and again just to feel like I belonged.

But Jason didn’t ask Nolan to prove anything.

He just... saw him.

It shouldn’t surprise me anymore.

But it does.

Later, after breakfast cleanup, I find Nolan near the flagpole with two other campers. He’s holding court, retelling his transformation story with all the dramatic flair of a campfire myth.

“...and then,” he says, eyes wide, “I felt it. Like my chest was gonna burst. But instead of fire coming out of my nose or something—which, by the way, I totally thought would happen—I just... shifted.”

The kids gasp. One of them claps. Another calls him “Commander Nolan” and he doesn’t even blush. He nods.

I catch Jason watching the whole thing from across the field, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up on his head. He meets my eyes for a moment—then grins and shrugs like Welp, guess I made a dragon happen.

I don’t smile back right away.

Instead, I walk over.

“Hey,” I say, toeing the dirt with my sneaker.

“Hey,” he replies, rocking back on his heels. “He’s a beast now, huh?”

I nod. “You really helped him.”

Jason gives a soft snort. “He did all the work. I just held the metaphorical flashlight.”

“I don’t think that’s how flashlights work.”

He grins. “Then I was the emotional duct tape.”

That gets a quiet laugh from me. I glance back at Nolan. “He’s... confident.”

“He was already brave. Just didn’t know it yet.”

I look up at him. “How’d you know what he needed?”

Jason’s mouth opens like he’s gonna toss out something flippant. But then he just exhales.

“Because I needed it too. Once.”

My throat tightens. I don’t know what to say to that. But something about the way he says it—soft, unarmored—makes me feel like I’m seeing him clearly for the first time.

And it’s not just the Jason who howls and flirts and makes kids climb walls. It’s the one who remembers what it’s like to be small. The one who sits in the mess of other people’s pain without trying to fix it, just to prove they’re not alone.

It’s... disarming.

He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “I know I’m not exactly Mr. Stability. But... yesterday felt good. Real. Like maybe I’m not just coasting for once.”

My voice is small. “You’re not coasting.”

Jason looks at me then—really looks.

And it does that thing again. That weird, nervous flutter under my ribs. The kind I haven’t felt in... years, maybe. Not the warm, comfortable kind. The sharp, thrilling, dangerous kind.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say quickly, before I can chicken out. “I might’ve been wrong about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

I nod. “You’re not just chaos.”

His grin spreads slow. “I mean, I am mostly chaos.”

“But there’s more.”

His eyes crinkle, and he steps just a little closer. “Careful, Barbie. Say one more nice thing and I’ll start thinkin’ you like me.”

I blush. Hard. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

The moment stretches between us—soft and electric.

And for once, I don’t look away.

That afternoon, we’re paired for the lakeside canoe activity.

I pretend not to notice how the kids keep giggling every time they see us in the same boat.

Jason pretends to not suck at paddling, but he 100% does.

“You’re steering us in circles,” I call, trying not to laugh.

“Correction,” he says, dramatically splashing water with his oar, “I’m creating a romantic atmosphere.”

“This isn’t The Notebook, Jason.”

“You say that, but you’re totally falling for me right now.”

“I’ve been hit in the face with three waves.”

“Nature’s way of slapping you into clarity.”

He grins so hard, it’s impossible not to smile back. And just like that, the ache in my chest feels... lighter.

Maybe I don’t have to keep guarding it so tightly.

Maybe, with Jason, I don’t have to guard it at all.

That evening, after the kids are tucked in—well, as much as nine-year-olds hopped up on s’mores can be—I find myself restocking the arts & crafts shed. It’s quiet. Peaceful. The kind of silence that lets you hear your own thoughts loud and clear.

Which is unfortunate, because my thoughts are all Jason.

And sure enough, just as I’m trying to jam a stubborn box of googly eyes onto a too-high shelf, the door creaks open behind me.

“Hey.”

I don’t turn around. “Don’t you have a tree to howl at?”

He snorts. “Tried. It’s full. Got bumped by a couple of squirrels.”

I shake my head, smiling even though I don’t want to.

Jason steps closer. Too close. His presence fills the small shed like warm static. I can feel him behind me even before he speaks again.

“You good?”

“Fine.”

“You sure?” His voice drops, low and quiet. “’Cause you’ve been looking at me all day like I’m a pop quiz you didn’t study for.”

I go still. My hands rest on the shelf, bracing.

He’s not touching me. But I swear I feel the heat of him at my back.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whisper.

“With the googly eyes or with me?”

“Both.”

His breath is near my ear now. “You don’t have to know. Just... be here.”

I finally turn, slowly.

And we’re face to face.

Close.

Jason’s smile fades a little—not gone, just softened. His eyes dip to my mouth. I hold my breath.

I think he’s going to kiss me.

I think I’m going to let him.

Then a crash from outside makes us both flinch.

Kids laughing. Someone tripped over the fire pit wood pile again.

Jason groans. “I swear, these gremlins have sixth senses.”

I exhale shakily. “Probably for romance. Like mosquitoes but more obnoxious.”

He grins. “Later, then?”

I nod.

Heart hammering.

“Later.”