Chapter 13

Sunday morning hits with the sun blazing over the beach. Sand’s already warm under bare feet. The campers are buzzing, running everywhere, shrieking, laughing, and trying to claim spots for the big beach games later.

I drag myself out of my tent, still slightly sore from last night’s events, and find Annabelle and Emily sprawled on the sand, tangled in towels.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Annabelle says, squinting at me.

“I’m alive,” I reply, stretching. “Barely.”

Emily snorts. “You look worse than barely.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, brushing sand from my hoodie.

Breakfast is a flurry of juice cartons, granola bars, and camper chatter about who’s going to dominate the games today.

Kallie sits near me, smirking. “Ready to lose to Quinn again?”

I raise an eyebrow. “In your dreams.”

Across the campsite, Quinn is leaning against a post, observing, sipping from a water bottle, hood half-down. She catches my gaze, smirks, and raises her eyebrows. I grit my teeth and glare just enough to show I see her.

The big beach games kick off mid-morning. Team Scarlet versus Team Indigo versus Team Gold. Campers are divided into teams. Chaos reigns supreme. I’m coordinating one of the relay races, whistles in hand, trying to keep eight hyper campers in line.

Quinn floats between events, supervising Indigo, but occasionally darting over to “check in” on me—mostly under the guise of instructions, but I know better.

First game: sandcastle building.

Eight campers from each team, shovels, buckets, and water. I kneel beside my cabin, helping them stabilize a tower of wet sand.

“Make it taller!” one camper squeals.

“Don’t let Indigo sabotage you,” I warn.

Quinn strolls by, nudging Kallie lightly, then sneaks over behind a camper. She whispers something then flicks a small bucket of water near our castle.

“Quinn!” I yell, swatting at her.

She grins innocently. “Strategic hydration.”

I glare. “You’re evil.”

“Accurate,” she replies, smirk unwavering.

Next game: relay races across the sand. Wet towels, running, balancing buckets of water without spilling.

I’m paired with Annabelle, sprinting like maniacs, shouting instructions over the chaos. Quinn is paired with one of the other Indigo counsellors but keeps glancing at me, timing my moves, smirking every time I nail a flip or dodge a rogue wave.

Somehow, we keep catching each other’s eyes mid-race. That little spark—the almost touch of shoulders, quick flashes of smiles. My heart is thumping, but I pretend not to notice.

Lunch is messy. Sand everywhere. Saltwater in hair. Campers munching sandwiches, staff trying not to spill anything while chasing them down.

I catch Quinn leaning against a log, tossing pieces of sandwich to Kallie. She glances at me, and grins. “…You’re still competitive,” she comments.

“Of course,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “You think I’d let you win?”

“Hmm…” She shrugs, mock pondering. “Maybe I’d let you win.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“Maybe,” she repeats, smirk wide, voice low. Shoulder brushes mine just slightly when she shifts. That small, casual touch is enough to make my chest tighten.

Afternoon: water games.

Kayak races, swimming relays, and tackle water polo. Scarlet and Indigo play against each other,  I grin. “You ready to lose again?”

“You wish,” she replies, eyes glinting.

Our teams fight for the ball, we casually collide time to time, but I don’t miss the way she puts her hand on my back to stabilize me.

“I see that smirk,” I yell after falling over. “Stop watching me and play the game!”

“Can’t,” she shouts back. “You’re too entertaining!”

By the time the final game rolls around—capture the flag in the dunes—I’m exhausted. Campers are running, yelling, and collapsing into the sand.

Quinn sneaks up behind me. “You’ve been sneaky,” she whisper, nudging my shoulder.

I whip around, smirk flashing. “You’re one to talk. Indigo nearly cheated three times.”

She laughs softly. “Maybe,” voice low, almost conspiratorial. Shoulder presses against mine briefly. That little contact—brief, casual—sends sparks straight to my chest.

“Careful,” I murmur, smirking.

“You first,” she replies, playful but slightly teasing.

We pause there for a second, side by side, sand sticking to our damp clothes, the sun dipping slightly, wind in our hair. The world feels just… narrow enough for us.

And for a long, fleeting moment, everything else—the campers, the chaos, the yelling—fades.

The games end with cheers, laughter, and complaints from exhausted campers. Awards given, high-fives all around. Scarlet doesn’t exactly win, but we survive, and that feels like victory.

Later, back at camp, staff lounge near the fire pit, recounting the day’s chaos. Quinn and I find a quiet spot, sitting shoulder to shoulder again.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says quietly, voice soft, not teasing this time.

“I know,” I reply, smirk tugging at my lips.

She glances at me, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. “You’re… impressive.”

I blink. “…Thanks?”

She shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

I feel it—the pull, the tension, the slow simmer of something that’s been building since week one.

Nothing happens yet. No spark ignites fully. But every brush of her arm, every teasing glance, every playful nudge leaves me wanting more.

And I know… it’s only going to get worse.