Chapter 19

The first morning of session two hits hard. Mid-July sun, humidity hanging over the camp, and the hum of activity everywhere. I’m in my cabin, lacing up sneakers, braids slightly frizzy from the night before, trying not to think too much about Quinn leaning over me in the dim light, hoodie half-off, the memory of that drunken kiss still blazing in my chest.

I shove the thought aside and remind myself: camp first, feelings later. Right? Right.

Annabelle bursts in, hair wild, voice high. “Kennedy! You need to see what the CIT’s did with their cabins! Absolute chaos. Also… I think Quinn’s flirting with someone again.”

I freeze mid-lace-up. “…Excuse me?”

She smirks. “…Don’t act innocent. You know the grin I’m talking about.”

I groan. “…I’m not ready to deal with her sober.”

Outside, the camp smells like sunscreen, pine, and lake water. Activity boards are being updated. Staff are corralling campers for the first-day energy, and the CIT’s are buzzing around, fresh-faced and chaotic.

And of course… Quinn is already on the dock, oversized hoodie half-off, shorts sand-covered, smirk teasing at the world. She’s supervising a group of campers, laughing at something a girl tripped over in the sand, completely in her element.

Our eyes meet. The corner of her lips twitch. I feel that jolt—the one that’s been building all summer. I glance away, flipping my hair over my shoulder, pretending to be busy with the cabin chores.

The day is chaotic in that perfect camp way. Activity periods rotate: waterskiing, kayaking, archery, arts and crafts. I’m back on the waterfront with the CIT’s, running Bronze Med again, while Quinn floats around, supervising, helping wherever she’s needed, hoodie sliding off the shoulder every so often, looking impossibly good even while holding a clipboard.

During waterskiing, we’re paired up. Quinn drives the boat like a pro. I manage the dock, shoving off kids, yelling encouragement, and catching stray life jackets. Every time our arms brush as we coordinate the next camper launch, my chest tightens.

“…You’re insane,” Quinn laughs, hair sticking to her damp forehead.

“…And you love it,” I reply, smirking, tossing a life jacket at a CIT.

She glances at me, smirk cocky. “…Maybe.” Shoulder brushes mine, brief and electric. “…Don’t get distracted now, Kennedy. You still have campers to supervise.”

Lunch is chaotic. Staff are crowded around picnic tables, trading stories from session one. I grab a sandwich, Annabelle dragging me into a conversation about the CIT cabin chaos. Quinn plops beside me, hoodie sliding slightly, fingers brushing mine accidentally—or maybe not.

“…Still thinking about last night?” she murmurs softly, leaning close enough that I smell sunscreen and lake water and something else—her.

“…Maybe,” I whisper, heart hammering. “…It was… memorable.”

She grins, teasing. “…Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you forget it.”

I groan dramatically. “…You’re impossible.”

“…And yet,” she replies, smirk widening, “…you like it.”

Afternoon activity period. Campers are running a scavenger hunt across the rustic trails. I’m helping CIT’s navigate, Quinn supervising younger campers along the path.

One of the boys from another cabin—flirty, mischievous—tries to “accidentally” trip me. My stomach tightens. Quinn is immediately there, stepping between us, oversized hoodie brushing mine as she blocks him.

“…Hands off,” she murmurs, voice low but sharp.

My chest flips. “You don’t need to be so protective.” I whisper, heart racing, cheeks flaming.

“…Yeah, I do,” Quinn replies, smirk playful, leaning just a fraction closer. “…You didn’t think I’d forget that kiss, did you?”

I can only smirk, leaning slightly into her shoulder. “…Maybe I did.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of activity: archery competitions, arts and crafts chaos, lunch cleanup, and spontaneous splash fights near the waterfront. Every glance, every accidental brush of skin, every playful comment from Quinn sends sparks straight through me.

By the evening, the sun dips low, painting the lake gold. Campers gather for the final evening program of the first day: a beach dance-off. Music pumps, laughter echoes, and Quinn and I end up standing near each other, shoulders brushing, teasing glances exchanged.

“You know,” I murmur, voice low, “this is going to be difficult. You… make it impossible to focus.”

Quinn smirks, leaning close, hair brushing my temple. “Good. Because I don’t want you to focus. Not on anything else. Just me.”

I freeze. “Oh really?”

“Yeah,” she reply, smirk softening slightly. 

The first day of session two ends, campers retreat to cabins, and staff linger by the fire. Quinn sits beside me again, hoodie falling off one shoulder, fingers brushing mine occasionally. The tension is electric. Playful. Flirty. Charged with what happened at the party, but sober now, teasing and testing boundaries.

I glance at her, heart racing. “…So… what now?”

She smirks, leaning just a little closer, voice low. “We see where this goes, Kenny. One step at a time.”