Chapter 35

Camp is humming with life. Kids running through the paths, counselors shouting instructions, the smell of lake water, sunscreen, and late-afternoon dirt all blending into the perfect day.

I’m helping Annabelle and Emily with some camp chores.

“…Kennedy,” Quinn calls from across the clearing, striding toward us in oversized hoodie and shorts, hair sticking up just enough to make her look hot as hell. “…Got a minute?”

I glance up. My stomach tightens. Already I know the tone of this “minute” isn’t innocent.

“…Sure,” I mutter, trying to sound casual.

She stops in front of me, lowering her voice. “…Don’t think I didn’t notice you checking out that camper earlier,” she says, nodding vaguely toward one of the boys, around 2 years younger than me, throwing a frisbee. “…Not that it matters. But maybe try keeping your eyes on me, hmm?”

I blink. “…Excuse me?”

A smirk curls at the corner of her lips. “…You know exactly what I mean.”

I stop. Every word drips with teasing. Every look digs under my skin. Its surprising, i’ve never seen her act like this before..

“…Quinn—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“…I swear,” she murmurs, leaning just a little closer, voice low enough that only I can hear it, “…if I catch you staring at anyone else, I might… have to do something about it.”

“…Do something?” I whisper back, trying to keep my face neutral, failing entirely as my chest tightens. “…Like what?”

She tilts her head, eyebrow raised, grin just playful enough to drive me insane. “…Oh, you’ll see. Later.”

And with that, she pivots back to the path, striding off like nothing happened. Except everything happened.

The rest of the afternoon is a minefield. Every time I glance up, she’s smirking at me, moving in ways that are just slightly too close, bending over to help a camper, brushing past me with that casual brush of a hand that leaves me thinking about it long after she’s gone.

I try to hide it. I really do.

Dinner is chaos again. Campers are loud, Annabelle is yelling at someone for spilling juice, Emily is trying to mediate, and I’m halfway through explaining to a camper why poking someone with a fork is not “team-building” when I feel it—the look.

Quinn’s leaning against the dining hall entrance, arms crossed, watching me with that little smirk tugging at her lips, and my stomach twists. She catches me looking, and—oh, of course—she winks.

“…You’re impossible,” I mutter under my breath.

“…I know,” she call back. “…And you love it.”

I groan, ducking my head, but my cheeks are betraying me.

After dinner, we all get a break. Most campers are off in the cabin, some counselors cleaning up. Quinn corners me near the lake.

“…Kennedy,” she say softly, voice low and teasing, “…I was thinking about that fall the hike.”

“…That’s not funny,” I mumble.

“…It is,” she counter, leaning closer, too close, “…Because I got to see you all helpless and red-faced. And your legs?…”

I choke on my own blush. “…Quinn!”

“…What?” she says innocently, eyebrows raised. “…I’m just saying—you look good in pain.”

I snap my mouth shut.

“…You’re terrible,” I whisper.

“…Maybe,” she says, smirk tugging at her lips again, “…but you like it.”

And I hate it—and love it—at the same time.

Later, I find myself walking past the cabins the younger cabins toward my own. Quinn is still lingering, tossing pebbles into the water, hoodie half off, tank top showing just enough, shorts clinging slightly from the afternoon heat.

“…You think too much,” she calls casually. “…Stop pretending you don’t want this, Kennedy. I see it every time you look at me.”

“…I’m not looking at you like that!” I protest, voice too high.

“…Sure you aren’t,” she teases. “…Keep telling yourself that when you’re lying in your bunk tonight thinking about me.”

I mutter something under my breath, but she just grins, tossing another pebble into the lake.

And just like that—she’s gone, leaving me flushed, tense, and completely undone.

Back in the cabin, Annabelle notices immediately.

“…What was that?” She whispers, smirking.

“…Nothing,” I say, looking out the window at Quinn, talking to another counselor.

“…Yeah, right,” she says, nudging me with an elbow. “…You’re going to burn a hole in that hoodie with your staring. Admit it. You’re obsessed.”

“…Shut up,” I mutter, though my stomach betrays me with the smallest flutter.

And so camp life goes on, but the tension lingers. Every glance from Quinn, every playful jab, every teasing smirk—it all builds, simmering quietly under the surface. And I know, deep down, that the house party at the end of this week is going to make it impossible to pretend anymore.