Chapter 12

The night settles over the beach like a heavy blanket. Stars above, waves lapping, fire crackling. Campers are clustered around the bonfire, music low but loud enough to keep the energy buzzing. Staff are everywhere—some laughing, some supervising, some conspiring in small groups. I love it

And, of course, I’m caught somewhere in the middle.

“Do you think Quinn’s going to try to dunk someone in the water tonight?” Annabelle whispers, elbowing me.

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” I reply, eyes scanning the beach. Sure enough, there’s Quinn, crouched slightly, whispering to Kallie while glancing at a group of campers who are laughing too loudly. That smirk I’ve learned to notice—it’s the oh no, I’m about to be dangerous smirk.

I nudge Annabelle. “Watch this.”

It’s a trap.

Within seconds, one of the campers trips over a towel, and Quinn—quick as a flash—grabs them mid-fall, spins them around, and playfully tosses them back onto the sand. Laughter erupts. Quinn raises her hands. “All in good fun!”

I stomp over, mock scolding. “Quinn! That’s unsafe!”

She shrugs, grin wide. “Safe enough.”

“Safe enough? Really?” I glare.

She steps closer, voice dropping just a notch. “Come on, Kennedy. Lighten up. It’s a beach outtrip. Anything goes.”

I blink. That edge—the bossy, authoritative edge—is still there, but it’s softened by amusement. Fun. Playful. Dangerous.

“Fine,” I mutter, letting a small grin slip. “Fine.”

I grab a marshmallow stick and wander toward the water’s edge. Some of my campers are swimming in the waist deep water. I step in barefoot, water lapping at my ankles.

“You coming?” someone dares.

“Always,” I reply. And just like that, I’m running into the waves, laughing as the water sprays everywhere.

A shadow moves beside me. Of course.

“Seriously, Kennedy?” Quinn’s voice carries easily over the waves.

I spin around, water dripping down my face. “Seriously!”

She dive in without hesitation, curls plastered to her forehead, hoodie soaking through. And somehow, even in wet clothes and sand-covered feet, she looks perfect. My stomach does that annoying flip again.

We spend the next half-hour having harmless fun.

Tossing sand at each other. Racing to see who can sprint into the waves fastest. Stealing each other’s marshmallows. Campers cheering, screaming, flailing everywhere.

At one point, Quinn tackles me gently into the surf. I sputter, laugh, choke a little.

“Careful!” I yell.

“You’re fine!” she shouts back, almost on top of me.

“Stop smirking!” I laugh, shoving at her lightly.

“Never,” she replies.

And there it is again—that subtle electricity that keeps pulling me closer.

Later, we sit on a driftwood log, towels wrapped around shoulders, letting our hair dry a bit. Campers are scattered around, laughing, telling stories. Music still plays softly, blending with the waves.

“You’re insane,” Quinn says suddenly, elbowing me lightly.

“Thank you,” I say, smirk tugging at my lips. “I try.”

“No, seriously,” she says, voice softer now, a little quieter. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

I glance at her. “Oh? In a good way or a bad way?”

She laughs. “Good. Very good. Annoyingly… good.”

I grin. “I’ll take that.”

Somewhere in the middle of the night, a staff-initiated “midnight scavenger hunt” breaks out. Everyone—campers and staff—is running around, flashlight beams cutting through the darkness, laughing, screaming, stumbling over sand dunes.

I’m paired with Annabelle, and we’re hunting for glow sticks hidden in the dunes. At one point, I trip over a root. Before I can even protest, a strong hand grabs mine.

“You okay?” Quinn asks, voice low, breath slightly ragged from running around.

“Yeah… thanks,” I reply, catching my balance.

She gives me a look. “Stop being clumsy.”

“I can’t,” I mutter. “It’s genetic.”

She laughs quietly. That sound—a mix of exasperation and amusement—hits me somewhere deep.

By the end of the scavenger hunt, everyone collapses near the bonfire again, breathless and sand-covered. Staff are teasing each other. Campers are sprawled out, some asleep, some still laughing.

I find a quiet moment with Quinn off to the side. Shoulder to shoulder. Firelight flickering across her face. Short curls sticking up in random directions. Eyes glinting in the glow.

“You’re impossible,” I whisper.

“And yet…” she replies, voice low, playful. “…here I am.”

Our shoulders brush again. Just slightly. But it’s enough to make my heart race.

I glance at her, daring. “Do you ever stop?”

“Stop what?”

“This,” I say, gesturing vaguely between us.

She shrugs, casual, effortless. “Nope.”

I huff. “…Figures.”

We fall quiet for a few seconds. Listening to the waves. The crackle of the fire. The distant laughter of campers and staff.

Something is simmering under the surface. Tension. Playfulness. Curiosity.

And though nothing happens tonight, I know this:

The weekend is far from over, and I’m not ready to stop leaning into it.