Chapter 4

There are rules at camp. A lot of them.

Most are common sense. Some are stupid.

And some are the kind you don’t realize matter until you’re already halfway past them.

By day five, Quinn has stopped pretending she doesn’t specifically look for me.

Which is bold. And also—

Not something I’m going to acknowledge out loud.

“Late.”

“I’m literally not,” I say, stepping onto the dock.

6:41.

I hold up my watch. She glances at it. Then at me.

“Cutting it close.”

“That is not late.”

“It’s not early either.”

I take a slow sip of the coffee she, again, brought me.

“You’re obsessed with my punctuality.”

“I like competence.”

“Good thing I’m competent then.”

Her eyes flick over me briefly.

“Debatable.”

I grin. “Rude.”

She doesn’t respond.

But she doesn’t look away right away either.

Bronze med goes smoother now. We’ve settled into something, a rhythm.

She calls on me without asking, I argue without thinking, she corrects me, I push back.

It works, annoyingly well.

“Your grip’s off,” Quinn says, stepping behind me.

“I know.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

She reaches around anyway, adjusting my arm.

Closer than necessary. Or maybe just necessary, in a way that feels like it isn’t.

“Here,” she says quietly. “Control first. Then move.”

I don’t respond right away.

Because her hand is still on my wrist, because she hasn’t stepped back yet, because—

“Got it?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

Then she lets go, and steps away, like nothing happened.

I hate that.

Later, at breakfast, Kallie drops into the seat beside me instead of Quinn.

Suspicious.

“You look tired,” she says.

“I woke up at 6:30 every day this week.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it.”

I glance around. “Where’s your other half?”

Kallie smirks. “Missing me already?”

“I was talking about Quinn.”

“Sure you were.”

I roll my eyes.

“Boat prep,” she adds. “Quinn’ll be here.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“You did, actually.”

Before I can respond—

“Move.”

Quinn, of course.

Kallie grins and slides over. “There she is. Your favorite person.”

“I don’t have a favorite person,” I say.

Quinn sits across from me, completely unfazed. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Less disappointing when they annoy you.”

I blink. “That’s… dark.”

“Realistic.”

Kallie looks between us. “You two are exhausting.”

“We just got here,” I say.

“Exactly.”

Waterski is hot today, like, unbearably. The kind of heat that makes everything slower, heavier.

I’m standing on the dock, sunglasses on, trying not to melt, when the boat pulls in.

Quinn looks up at me. “Switch.”

“With who?”

“The spotter.”

I pause. “Why?”

“I want a break from these idiots.”

“Hey,” I say. “Those are my campers.”

“They’re bad at this.”

“They’re learning.”

“They’re slow.”

“You’re mean.”

She grins. “Get in the boat.”

Bossy. Again.

I hesitate for half a second.

Then jump in, because apparently I don’t learn.

Being in the boat is worse.

Smaller space, closer, nowhere to casually look away without it being obvious.

Quinn hands me the rope. “Spot.”

“I know how to spot.”

“Do you?”

I glance at her. “You’re insufferable.”

“Eyes on the skier.”

I roll mine—but do it.

We fall into rhythm quickly. Calls, signals, speed adjustments.

It’s easy, too easy.

At one point, the rope jerks weird and I reach out instinctively—my hand brushing hers on the throttle.

We both pause. Just for a second.

Not dramatic, not obvious, but enough.

I pull back first.

“Careful,” I say lightly. “You almost lost control.”

She huffs a quiet laugh. “You wish.”

I look out at the water.

Because I’m not about to unpack that.

That night is the first full-camp game.

Capture the flag.

Its chaos, absolute chaos.

Staff running, yelling, hiding behind trees like their lives depend on it.

I’m crouched behind a rock with Annabelle and Emily, trying to catch my breath.

“I think I pulled something,” Emily says.

“You didn’t,” Annabelle replies.

“I might have.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m injured.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m dying.”

“You’re—”

“Guys,” I cut in. “Shut up.”

They both look at me.

I point across the field.

Quinn.

Of course. On the other team.

Moving through the trees like she actually knows what she’s doing.

Annoying.

“Go get her,” Annabelle whispers.

“I’m not—what?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s insane.”

“It’s strategy.”

“That’s personal,” Emily adds.

“Exactly.”

I stare at them.

Then back at Quinn.

She pauses.

Then looks up. Straight at me. Like she knew I was there.

Oh. No. Absolutely not.

I stand up.

“Bad idea,” Annabelle says.

“Terrible idea,” Emily agrees.

“I know,” I say.

And then I run. I almost make it.

I get close enough to grab her flag, and then—

A hand closes around my wrist.

Firm. Fast.

“Got you.”

I twist. “No, you don’t—”

Too late.

Quinn’s already pulling me back.

I laugh, trying to break free. “You’re cheating.”

“You ran straight at me.”

“I thought you were distracted.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Clearly.”

She doesn’t let go right away. Just holds my wrist, steady, like earlier.

Except now we’re both breathing harder, closer. No campers around, just noise in the distance.

“You’re predictable,” she says.

“I’m not.”

“You’re with me.”

That lands a little too clean. I tilt my head. “Or maybe you’re just paying attention.”

Her grip tightens slightly. Not enough to hurt, just enough to—

Something.

“Maybe,” she says.

There’s a pause, a weird one. The kind that stretches just a little too long.

I pull my hand back, and step away.

“Congrats,” I say lightly. “You win.”

“For now.”

I smile. “We’ll see.”

And then I turn and walk back toward my team before that moment turns into something else.

Later, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling again—

I replay it. The wrist, the look, the way she said you’re with me.

I exhale slowly. There are lines, I know there are.

Staff.

Leadership.

Hierarchy.

These are the stupid rules im talking about.

And nothing’s happened. Not really, not yet, but something is building.

Something quiet and dangerous.

Something that feels just a little bit like stepping too close to the edge of the dock

and pretending you’re not about to fall in.