Chapter 21

If there’s one thing about mid-session week one of session two, it’s this:

Everything goes off the rails.

Not dramatically. Not in a “camp is burning down” way.

Just enough chaos to make everything feel slightly unhinged.

And somehow, Quinn is at the center of all of it.

It starts at breakfast.

I walk into the dining hall, still tying my braid, half-asleep, when I hear it—

“…and THEN the canoe just tipped—like fully tipped—and Noah just screamed—”

That’s Quinn. Loud. Animated. Standing on a bench.

Standing.

On.

A.

Bench.

Retelling some story to a group of campers and staff like she’s hosting a stand-up show.

I stop dead in the doorway.

“…and I’m like, ‘Noah, you’re literally in three feet of water, stand UP—'”

The table erupts in laughter.

Quinn bows dramatically.

I blink. “…What the hell.”

Annabelle appears beside me, already grinning. “Oh yeah. She’s been like this all morning.”

“…Like what?” I ask.

“…Unhinged.”

Quinn spots me.

Of course she does.

She hops down from the bench, grabs an apple, and walks straight toward me like nothing just happened.

“…Morning, Kennedy,” she says casually, taking a bite.

I stare at her. “…Did you just do stand-up comedy at breakfast?”

She shrugs. “…The people needed entertainment.”

“The people?” I repeat.

She leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough. “…You looked like you needed it too.”

My stomach flips.

I hate that.

The day only gets worse. Better. Both.

Activity period one: waterfront chaos.

I’m running Bronze Med like usual, trying to get the CIT’s to take spinal rollovers seriously instead of turning it into a splash fight.

“Guys—no—this is a rescue—stop drowning each other—”

Behind me, I hear a whistle.

Not mine.

I turn.

Quinn is on the dock.

Wearing—

I actually have to pause.

She’s in loose athletic shorts and a bikini top, oversized camp t-shirt tucked at the side of her shorts, hair damp and pushed back, whistle in her mouth like she thinks she runs the entire lake.

Which, honestly, she kind of does.

She blows the whistle again.

“Form a line!” she shouts dramatically.

No one listens.

One of the campers splashes her.

Quinn freezes.

Slowly turns.

“…You did not just do that.”

The camper grins.

Big mistake.

Quinn lunges off the dock.

Full tackle into the water.

Campers are screaming. Splashing. Laughing.

And Quinn—section head Quinn—is in the middle of it, dunking a fifteen-year-old like a menace.

I’m trying so hard not to laugh.

“…You’re a terrible influence!” I yell.

She pops up, hair slicked back, grin wild. “I’m an excellent influence.”

She looks at me.

Point.

“You’re next.”

“…Don’t you dare—”

Too late.

She’s already swimming toward the dock.

I run.

Obviously.

Barefoot, sprinting down the dock, laughing despite myself.

“You’re insane!” I shout.

“You love it!” she yells back.

I turn—

And she’s right behind me on the dock now.

I yelp as I get tackled by her into the water.

Cold hits instantly.

I come up sputtering, shoving at her shoulders.

“You’re the worst!”

She’s laughing. Actually laughing. Head thrown back, eyes bright.

“Admit it—worth it.”

“…Maybe,” I mutter, trying not to smile.

She leans closer, just slightly.

Water dripping from both of us.

“…You look good like this,” she says, quieter now.

My heart stumbles.

“…Shut up,” I mumble.

But here’s the thing.

The fun doesn’t erase the tension.

It just… hides it better.

Activity period two: archery.

I’m still damp, hair half-dried, standing behind a camper adjusting their stance.

Quinn is across the range, helping another group.

Still in that same outfit.

Still laughing.

Still—

God.

I hate this.

Because someone else is laughing with her.

Olivia.

Bossy, confident Olivia, who’s been here just as long as Quinn, who clearly knows her well.

Too well.

They’re standing close.

Talking.

Olivia nudges her.

Quinn nudges back.

She’s smiling in a way that’s—

Different.

My chest tightens.

Again.

And this time it doesn’t go away.

I try to ignore it.

I really do.

I focus on my campers, correcting form, handing out arrows, blowing my whistle.

But every time I look up—

They’re still there.

Still talking.

Still laughing.

And Quinn doesn’t look at me.

Not once.

By lunch, I’m quiet.

Too quiet.

Annabelle notices immediately.

“…Okay, what happened now?” she asks, sitting across from me.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Liar.”

I stab my pasta a little too aggressively. “…She was just… talking to Olivia. A lot.”

Annabelle leans back, unimpressed. “…And?”

“…And nothing,” I mutter.

“…Kennedy.”

I sigh. “…It didn’t feel like nothing.”

Quinn sits down beside me.

Of course she does.

Like nothing’s wrong.

Like my brain hasn’t been spiralling for the past two hours.

“…Why do you look like you want to fight someone?” she asks casually, stealing a fry off my plate.

I glance at her.

Then away.

“…Maybe I do.”

She smirks. “…Hot.”

I don’t laugh.

That’s when she notices.

Her smirk fades—just slightly.

“…Hey,” she says, quieter. “…What’s wrong?”

I shrug. “…Nothing.”

“…Kennedy.”

“…It’s fine.”

She watches me for a second.

Really watches me.

Then leans back, giving me space.

“…Okay,” she says lightly.

But something shifts.

The rest of the afternoon is… off.

Not bad.

Just off.

We don’t fall back into our usual rhythm.

No easy shoulder bumps.

No quiet teasing.

No low-voiced comments just for each other.

And I hate how much I notice.

Evening program: cabin unity.

Campers are sitting in circles, doing trust exercises, sharing highs and lows.

I’m with my cabin, listening, smiling, guiding.

But my brain is somewhere else.

Across the field.

Where Quinn is.

With Olivia.

Again.

Later, after lights out, I’m walking back toward the staff area when I hear footsteps behind me.

“…You’ve been weird all day.”

Quinn.

I don’t turn around. “…I’ve been fine.”

“…No, you haven’t.”

I stop.

Turn.

She’s standing a few feet away.

Hoodie back on now, hair slightly damp again, hands shoved into her pockets.

Less chaotic.

More… serious.

“…Did I do something?” she asks.

And that—

That catches me off guard.

“…What? No.”

“…Then what is it?”

I hesitate.

This is the part where I brush it off.

Make a joke.

Move on.

But instead—

“…Olivia,” I say.

Her eyebrows lift. “…Olivia?”

“…You were with her all day.”

“…She’s my friend.”

“I know that,” I say quickly. “…I just—”

I stop.

God.

This is embarrassing.

“…You just what?” she asks, softer now.

I look at the ground.

“…I didn’t like it.”

Silence.

Then—

“…You didn’t like it,” she repeats.

I nod once.

Barely.

Quinn steps closer.

Not too close.

Just enough.

“…Kennedy,” she says, voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it, “…you know I was just talking to her, right?”

“…I know.”

“…Nothing else.”

“…I know.”

“…Then why does it matter?”

I swallow.

Because that’s the real question.

And the answer is—

“…Because I think I like you,” I say.

The words hang there.

Heavy.

Real.

Terrifying.

Quinn goes still.

For once—

No smirk.

No joke.

No teasing.

Just… them.

“…You think?” she says softly.

I huff a nervous laugh. “…Okay, I know.”

That gets a small smile out of her.

“…Good,” she murmurs.

She steps a little closer.

Close enough that I can feel the heat between us again.

But this time—

It’s different.

More real.

“I like you too,” she says.

Simple.

Direct.

No teasing.

And somehow, that hits harder than anything else she’s said all summer.

We don’t kiss.

Not yet.

But we stand there.

Close.

Quiet.

The tension still there—but softer now.

Warmer.

“…So what does that mean?” I ask.

Quinn smirks—just a little, like she can’t help it.

“…It means,” she says, voice low again, playful creeping back in, “…I’m still going to annoy you.”

I roll my eyes. “…Obviously.”

“…And I’m still going to flirt with you.”

“…Unfortunately.”

She grins.

“…And you’re still going to get jealous.”

I pause.

“…Maybe a little.”

She leans in just slightly.

“…Good,” she whispers. “…Because I like when you care.”

My heart stutters.

“…You’re the worst.”

“…Yeah,” she says softly. “…But I’m your worst.”

And somehow—

That feels like the start of something real.