Page 9

ALICE

I avoid the mess hall all morning.

I lie and tell Julie I have inventory to check. I fake a phone call near the lake. I alphabetize paintbrushes in the art shed even though they weren’t out of order.

Anything to not see her.

But Melody’s laugh echoes anyway—light and lilting and so achingly familiar that it cuts through my chest like piano wire. It’s like time hasn’t passed at all. Like I’m still twenty-four and stupidly hopeful and oblivious to the storm brewing two feet from my own pillow.

I tell myself I’m being mature. That I don’t owe her anything.

And then Jason finds me.

He stays quiet at firstt. Just stands there, arms crossed, watching me pretend the camp supply list is written in ancient runes.

“You hiding or strategizing?” he asks finally.

I stiffen. “Neither.”

“Hmm.” He leans on the doorframe. “Because it kinda looks like you’re hiding.”

I don’t respond.

Jason pushes off the frame and steps inside. His presence fills the little shed instantly—loud and warm and too much in the way I’ve gotten used to liking.

“You don’t have to talk to her,” he says gently. “But... I think you want to.”

I don’t answer.

He moves closer, voice softer. “You’re not scared of her. You’re scared of what she might still mean to you.”

That breaks something in me.

I press a hand to my stomach. “It’s easier to pretend she never existed.”

“But she did,” Jason says. “She mattered.”

I whisper, “She mattered too much.”

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t have to.

Because he gets it. The ache of being hurt by someone who saw the inside of you—who held it in their hands and still let it shatter.

Jason steps closer. “Whatever happened... it doesn’t own you anymore.”

I shake my head. “She won’t care.”

“She might surprise you.”

I look up at him then. “And if she doesn’t?”

He shrugs. “Then I’ll be waiting outside ready to punch a guest lecturer.”

I let out a small, broken laugh. “Please don’t get banned from camp.”

Jason smiles. “No promises.”

I find Melody by the canoe racks.

She’s crouched, refastening a strap on her hiking boot, completely unaware that my heart is hammering against my ribs like a caged thing.

She stands just as I reach her.

And freezes.

Her smile falters. “Alice.”

Her voice. God. I forgot how soft it was when she wasn’t performing. It knocks the air right out of me.

I fold my arms across my chest. “Did you know I was here?”

“No,” she says quickly. “I swear. Julie reached out through the network. I had no idea until this morning. I?—”

She stops. Studies me.

“You look good.”

I shrug. “Camp lighting’s flattering.”

She smiles at that. Hesitant.

There’s a long silence.

Then I say, “I’m not here to fight.”

Melody nods. “Me either.”

But I can’t stop the words from spilling out.

“You were my best friend.”

Her eyes fill. “I know.”

“And you didn’t tell me. You didn’t even—God, Mel, you let me find out like that. ”

She flinches.

“I walked in,” I continue, voice trembling. “You knew I was coming back early. You knew. And you still...”

“I messed up,” she whispers. “So badly.”

“You didn’t just mess up,” I snap. “You broke me. I didn’t just lose him—I lost you. You were my person.”

Tears are falling now, hot and fast.

Melody’s lip wobbles. “I know. And I will regret it for the rest of my life.”

“I kept waiting for an apology. For something. And then when you didn’t call, I thought maybe I made it all up. Maybe it wasn’t real.”

“It was real,” she says. “You were my best friend, Alice. And I was selfish. I was jealous. And when he started flirting with me, I didn’t push him away because... I wanted to feel wanted for once. And I hated myself for it.”

She’s crying now too.

“I wanted to call,” she says. “So many times. But I didn’t deserve your forgiveness. So I convinced myself you didn’t want to hear from me.”

“I didn’t,” I whisper. “Not then.”

“And now?”

I take a deep, shaky breath.

“I don’t know.”

We stand there, surrounded by silence and the faint lap of lake water.

And somehow, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.

“I’m sorry,” Melody says again. “Truly. I was awful. And if I could take it back, I would.”

I nod slowly. “Thank you.”

It’s not a Band-Aid.

It’s not forgiveness.

But it’s something.

A piece of peace.

I find Jason later behind the cabin, sitting on the porch steps, peeling an orange with his claws. Not even subtle about it.

He looks up. “So?”

I sit beside him. “We talked.”

“Yell or cry?”

“Mostly cry.”

He offers me half the orange.

I take it.

“So, what now?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, curling my hands around the fruit. “But I don’t feel like running anymore.”

He bumps my shoulder with his.

“Good,” he says. “I like it when you stay.”

Jason doesn’t say anything else. He just peels the rest of the orange with deliberate, lazy care, like he’s letting me have the space to breathe. Like he knows I’m still untangling pieces of myself.

It’s quiet. The air’s thick with pine and humidity and... something else. That charged silence that hums between two people who’ve been dancing around something for days.

I eat the orange slice slowly. The citrus is sharp, sweet. It zings through my chest like a spark.

Jason glances sideways at me, eyes darker than usual. His knee brushes mine—intentional, this time.

“You okay?” he asks again, voice low.

“I think so.”

He shifts closer. “You’re tough, you know that?”

I smile, a little. “I’m tired of being tough.”

He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger just a second too long.

My breath hitches.

We’re close now—really close.

His hand drops slowly, but his eyes stay on mine. “If I kissed you right now,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “would you stop me?”

I open my mouth. Close it. My heart is thudding so loud I can hear it in my teeth.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

He leans in just slightly—just enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath. “Then maybe I shouldn’t.”

I blink. “Why?”

“Because I want it to be when you know.”

He stands, slow and sure.

“Night, Barbie,” he says, with a grin that doesn’t quite hide how serious his eyes are.

And then he’s gone.

Leaving me breathless.

And maybe... just a little ready to know.