Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Two hours outside of Ottawa, nestled in a cut-out clearing in the Ontario forests overlooking a large lake, was Basswood Ridge Campgrounds. The camp had been there for over half a century, expanding until every inch of the hills was covered with well-trodden paths and memories. There was a large dock that extended out over the lake and a long trail that snaked across the grounds, branching out to connect the buildings. The air always smelled faintly of tree sap and bonfire smoke and lake water, a lingering scent that clung to clothes long after the summer was over.

As far as Shane Hollander was concerned, Basswood Ridge was home. 

Not just in the nostalgic, sentimental way people used the word, either. It was in a muscle-memory way, like how he didn’t need to set his GPS as he left his apartment, and how his body moved fluidly over the bumps in the road as it shifted from smooth asphalt to loose gravel, each pothole and dip in the earth etched into his memory. 

He was twelve years old when his mother first enrolled him in the seven-week program. 

He remembered clutching Yuna’s hand as they walked the rocky path from the parking lot into the campgrounds, refusing to be separated from her for even a second. A counselor had approached, kind-hearted and helpful, and tried to coax him away with promises of what the summer had to offer. He had cried that first night, quietly and stubbornly into his pillow. 

And then there was a random morning three weeks after that, with early morning sunlight slanting through the cabin windows and the faint sound of birds chirping, when he realized he hadn’t thought about home once in several days. The realization had felt strange and a bit traitorous, like he had accidentally forgotten something important. In any case, by the end of the program, he didn’t want to leave. 

He had spent every summer since attending the camp, returning as a counselor for the past six years. He knew every inch of the grounds: the jagged roots that jutted out of the ground, the breaks in the trails, every spot on the lake where the water turned from clear green to deep, inky blue. 

Shane pulled into the worn gravel lot the Friday before campers were due, a small smile already tugging on his lips. The hand-painted welcome sign greeted him, a weather-warped sheet of wood that spelled out BASSWOOD RIDGE in faded lime green lettering. Below it, smaller and in fresh white paint, WE ARE SO HAPPY YOU ARE HERE. 

He parked in one of the far spots in the lot and shot off a text to his parents to let them know he made it to camp okay. The send bar buffered for a long time, but eventually the text went through, and he turned his phone off and shoved it into his backpack. Since the camp was in the middle of nowhere, it had the worst cell service known to man, and Shane was usually lucky if he could get a response from either of them before his connection dropped completely. 

The smell of lake water filled his lungs as he stepped out of his car, gravel crunching beneath his sneakers. Shane’s chest loosened a fraction, like it always did. Like something in him that had been held too tight for too long had automatically been released the second he set foot on the grounds. He lingered for a second beside the car, just breathing in the trees and the water and the dirt, listening to the bugs buzz in the trees. Then— 

“Shane!” 

The call was the only warning he received before Rose all but tackled him to the ground. 

Shane laughed as he staggered, hugging her back tightly. “Are you trying to kill me already?” 

“Of course.” Rose pulled back from the embrace and smacked his shoulder. Her hair had grown longer since last summer, nearing her mid-back now, roots grown in and ends streaked with a dye job she clearly regretted and tried to correct. Her face was the same, albeit one year older, a wide smile taking over her features. “I fucking missed you. We have lots to catch up on.” 

Lots to catch up on usually meant a minimum hour-long deep-dive session on Rose’s latest theatre drama, while Shane sat there desperately trying to keep track of the rotating cast list. Shane never had as much new news to disclose. While Rose lived approximately three lifetimes between August and June, Shane mostly worked, slept, and counted down the months until summer. 

“Can I at least put my stuff in the cabin first?” Shane asked, making a big deal of opening his trunk and hauling out a few overstuffed bags. 

Rose rolled her eyes but hooked her arm through his anyway, steering him toward the campgrounds. “You have five minutes,” she allowed generously. “Then you’re all mine.” 

The cabins were arranged in a line along the treeline: seven wooden, rustic buildings stretching from the parking lot to the lake. There had only been three of them back when Shane was a camper, but the camp had grown quite a bit since then. The newer cabins still smelled faintly of fresh wood in the heat of the afternoon, while the originals had absorbed decades of dirt, sunscreen, and bug spray. 

He shouldered his way into Cabin One and dropped his duffel onto the bottom bed of the bunk closest to the door. There were five other bunk beds lining the interior of the cabin, soon to be filled with ten children that he’d be responsible for, hopefully alongside Hayden once again. 

Hayden had been Shane’s counselor buddy for four of the six years Shane’s been working at Basswood Ridge. They were a good duo, often playing up the good-cop-bad-cop routine when there were issues amongst their campers, though Shane usually had to play bad cop. Hayden would probably forgive anything short of arson when it came to the kids. Probably even that, if they looked sorry enough. 

The interior walls of the cabin were covered in signatures etched into the wood and shitty inside jokes from campers past—some of them Shane’s own, scrawled in permanent marker at some point in his teens when he was convinced Cabin One was the center of the universe. 

His gaze snagged on a familiar spot near the door. A small heart, uneven and lopsided, carved around a small SH + RL. He reached out without thinking, dragging his thumb lightly over the grooves in the wood. He had carved it when he first met Rose; they were seventeen and stupid and thought camp romance was real, back then. The edges had softened over time, worn down by heat and years and hands that didn’t know what it meant. 

Shane let his hand fall, another faint smile pulling at his mouth despite himself, before turning and heading back out toward the Coop for the welcome meeting. 

The Coop was what they called the mess hall, mostly because the original building had looked like a glorified chicken coop, with wooden walls, huge barn doors, and topped with a large, gabled metal roof. It had been remodeled along with the rest of the grounds in the past several years, but it still had that ugly steel roof, so the name had stuck. 

He took a seat beside Rose, who was in the middle of a dramatic reenactment of something he was almost positive he’d hear about later. Jackie looked very enthralled, while Hayden was blinking like he had lost Rose approximately ten minutes ago. 

“—and then she turns to me,” Rose was saying, halfway standing from the bench as the story took over, “and she goes, ‘Well, maybe if you actually projected, people would respect you.’ Which, what the fuck? So I just—”

“Punched her?” Jackie guessed, delighted. 

“Okay, I wouldn’t call it a punch,” Rose declined. “Don’t look at me like that, Shane.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Shane said. “I just got here.”

“Whatever. Anyways, Jackie, you won’t believe what she did after that,” Rose continued, but Hayden smacked a hand on the table in front of Shane, pulling his attention away. 

“Dude,” Hayden greeted, looking far too happy to take his presence as an excuse to leave the conversation. “How the hell are you? You look good! Did you get taller, or is that the hair?” 

“Thanks, man.” Shane smiled shyly and ran a hand through his hair. “Pretty sure I stopped growing at, like, seventeen though. It’s just the hair.”

He had been growing his hair out since last summer, because he won a bet against one of his campers. The bet was that Patrick, a boisterous fifteen-year-old who had far too much confidence for a kid who had just finished Grade 10, could hold his breath underwater longer than Shane could. 

Shane, the lifeguard. 

He took the bet anyway, because he was good-natured and loved to win. If Patrick had won, Shane would have had to shave his head. Of course, he didn’t win, so Shane grew his hair out instead, mostly out of spite. It now brushed past the nape of his neck, curling slightly at the ends from the humidity that already clung to the strands. He still wasn’t entirely used to it, and he caught himself reaching up to push it out of his face more often than necessary, but he didn’t hate it, either. 

At the front of the Coop, perched atop one of the long wooden tables, Wiebe cupped his hands over his mouth to draw the counselors’ attention. 

Brandon Wiebe was, quite possibly, the nicest person Shane had ever met. Between him and his wife, the enthusiasm was infectious. They had taken over for Theriault a few years ago, and the camp had really thrived under their management. Where Theriault had been cold and too humorless for the director of a children’s camp, the Wiebes were bright and happy and genuinely seemed to enjoy their jobs. 

“Hello, hello! Welcome back, everyone. We’ve got a full roster this year,” Wiebe announced. “Seventy kids, and there are some on the waitlist, too. That’s a little more than we’re used to, but the more the merrier.” There was a broad smile on his face. “Let’s make it a good summer. Now—” 

The door to the Coop flung open suddenly. Wiebe faltered, turning toward the intrusion. 

Enter Ilya Rozanov. Shane had to resist the urge to smack his head into the table immediately upon seeing him. 

This would be Ilya’s third year at camp. Last year, he had managed to breed the most insufferable cabin of boys alongside Troy Barrett: ten obnoxious teenagers who were eager to make everything a competition of sorts. Ilya was cocky and rather obnoxious himself, all sharp smiles and a louder-than-necessary voice. 

Shane, predictably, wasn’t a fan. 

What irritated him the most, though, was the fact that Ilya was very attractive. And extremely annoying. It was, honestly, a really unfortunate combination. Ilya, of course, knew that he was both of those things, and he seemed to waste every breath he took playing into one of those two attributes. 

As Ilya burst into the Coop nearly twenty minutes late, it was clear that this year would be more of the same. He had on a dark red tank top with deep armholes, fabric dipping low enough to show off too much skin, and a pair of jeans that were already dirty despite having just arrived. A backwards hat was shoved on his head to manage his unruly curly hair. Behind him, Svetlana entered as well. She was at least trying to look apologetic. 

“Sorry. Flight got in late.” Ilya smiled, this brilliant show of all of his teeth that made Shane feel more irritated, if that was possible. “Blame Sveta. She booked it.” 

Svetlana shot him a look. “Do not start.”

“No worries! We’re just getting started.” Wiebe was far too cheerful for a man who had just been interrupted. “Please, sit!” 

Ilya found a spot next to Troy, who greeted him with their usual stupid handshake, and Svetlana slid in on his other side. 

Wiebe continued on as they settled, and the next hour was filled with the same jargon that Shane could recite in his sleep by now: camp rules, basic first aid, and activity assignments for the duration of camp. 

A booklet got passed around to each of them with schedules, activity directions, and spots to note down information on their campers. Shane flipped straight to the cabin assignments page, eyes immediately finding Cabin One. His and Hayden’s names were printed neatly beside it. He felt a small flicker of relief; at least some things were consistent. Ilya and Troy’s names were printed right below theirs, beside Cabin Two, because the jokes truly write themselves. 

The fourteen counselors continued to linger after Wiebe had finished speaking, catching up with one another and sharing stories of the past year. Clusters formed and shifted around the room, with laughter breaking out here and overlapping conversations there. Shane shifted between a few groups, nodding along and offering the occasional comment, but mostly just taking it in—the same people, the same space, the same rhythm as every other summer. Shane embraced the familiarity with open arms. 

Shane had just excused himself from another Rose Rant (trademark pending) and was filling his water bottle at the rickety fountain when Ilya finally—unfortunately—greeted him. 

“Hollander!” Ilya slung an arm around Shane’s shoulder, which Shane immediately shrugged off with a scowl. 

Shane closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to acknowledge him. “Rozanov.” 

“Come on, do not be like that,” Ilya admonished. “This year can be different! What is it they say about threes?” He looked to the side, hunting for an answer. “Third time is, ah, lucky? Fresh start?” 

Troy sidled up beside Ilya with a grin. “All good things come in threes,” he supplied.

“Yes, Barrett, that’s exactly it!” Ilya clapped Troy on the shoulder, grinning. “You understand me.”

Shane stared at them. In his opinion, the two of them were the worst counselor duo possible: grossly irresponsible on a good day and actively encouraging bullshit on a bad one. They also ran the Snack Shack together in the evenings, and Shane swore they hoarded the sugary foods for their cabin of little miscreants. He had yet to prove that, but he was confident it was true. 

“The only thing coming in threes is the complaints I’ll be filing this year, I’m sure,” Shane muttered under his breath. 

Ilya’s grin only widened further, like he was thrilled by Shane’s quip. “You say you will complain every year. I am still waiting on the paperwork.”

Shane didn’t have an excuse for that, so he turned back to his water bottle instead, screwing the cap on far tighter than necessary. He, despite his better judgment, had never actually filed any complaints against Ilya. Or Troy, for that matter. It wasn’t like they were actually doing anything worth getting written up for, not really. Mostly just being annoying, and Wiebe probably wouldn’t consider that a crime the same way Shane did. 

Ilya’s eyes flicked back to Shane then, lingering for a second too long. “Also, what happened here?” he added, reaching up as if to touch before thinking better of it, gesturing vaguely toward Shane’s head. “You have… hair now.” 

Shane frowned, immediately defensive. “I had hair before.” 

“Not like this,” Ilya said. “It suits you. Very… outdoorsman.” 

Troy snorted. “He means you look less like a stuffy cubicle worker.”

“Shut up,” Shane muttered, an irritating warmth creeping up the back of his neck before he could stop it. He dragged a hand through his hair again, suddenly wishing that the movement would shear the strands right off. “It’s from a bet,” he said shortly. “It’s not a whole thing.” 

“What was the bet?” Ilya asked immediately. 

“Oh, uh. Camper thought he could outlast me underwater.”

“You’re a lifeguard,” Troy said. 

Shane nodded. “Yeah.”

“And you still took that bet?” Shane nodded again, and Troy laughed. “Alright, respect to you, Hollander. Poor kid didn’t stand a chance.” 

“I like it,” Ilya said. 

Shane wasn’t entirely sure if he meant the hustling or the hair, but he didn’t ask for clarification.

For a second, the three of them just stood there—Troy, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, Ilya, looking far too pleased with himself, and Shane, trying to look anywhere else—caught in an odd standoff that no one had agreed to, yet everyone was participating in anyway. 

“We will see if you survive the first week with it, Hollander,” Ilya said after a minute, tone light. “The heat is not kind.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Shane said, clipped. 

Then Wiebe called for everyone to grab their supply lists for the prep weekend ahead of them, and the moment fizzled out, but the warmth still hadn’t left Shane’s face. 

The next two days passed in a blur of preparation. 

Together, the counselors scrubbed down the bathhouses until the smell of bleach clung to their throats and burned in their sinuses. They dragged warped picnic tables across the grounds and set them into straight lines in the Village courtyard—the spot between the craft shed, the Snack Shack, and the rec room. 

Late Friday night, they had music blasting from the shitty PA system in the Coop while they cleaned the dining hall. Evan turned it up obnoxiously loud at one point, and a few of the women started using their mops like microphones while sliding across the freshly swept floor. Cassie nearly wiped out near the serving counters, and the whole room burst into laughter when her husband Zane ran over to help, only to nearly fall himself.

On Saturday afternoon, they ran emergency drills under Wiebe’s watchful eye—storm protocols, lost camper scenarios, and an intense mock first-aid situation where Wyatt dramatically pretended to faint far too close to the water. Wiebe did not look impressed when Wyatt fully committed to the bit and dove face-first into the dirt, busting his chin open in the process. Lisa, as dutiful a girlfriend as ever, took the liberty of cleaning him up after that.

That night, the counselors gathered down on the dock with cider that Harris and Troy had smuggled onto the grounds. Evan was playing shitty music through his even shittier Bluetooth speaker, but it brought another wave of familiarity to the evening. They were all clustered together, Hayden shoulder-to-shoulder with Jackie, Rose retelling yet another story to Caitlin and Cassie, Evan and Wyatt arguing over which of their cabins would win the Color War that year. Shane was half-listening to Zane’s recount of this new sauce he “invented” back in January—something about fermented garlic and maple syrup that, frankly, sounded disgusting—while his eyes swept over the faces of his fellow counselors. Absently, he noted two people missing from the group. 

Ilya was sitting at the far edge of the dock with Svetlana, feet dangling over the water, while her head rested on his shoulder. He was uncharacteristically quiet tonight, thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns into the grain of the wood as Svetlana spoke. The breeze off the lake lifted the curls at the back of his head. When she laughed, he ducked his head toward hers, saying something too soft for Shane to hear. 

Svetlana glanced over her shoulder then, eyes meeting Shane’s briefly. 

He looked away before it would be considered staring. Too late, probably. Zane was still talking about the sauce. Shane nodded at something that might have been a question, though he had absolutely no idea what had just been said. 

By Sunday morning, Basswood Ridge was ready for campers. Beds were made, schedules were posted, and directional signs were repainted and nailed to trees. The Snack Shack was stocked, though Shane noticed Troy and Ilya hovering suspiciously near the Village, like they were already plotting the first snack heist of the summer. He didn’t doubt they were. 

The buses started rolling in around two in the afternoon. The air filled with happy chatter and excited greetings as campers exited the buses in droves, sporting heaps of backpacks and duffel bags. The Wiebes called out names, checked lists, and pointed kids in the right direction before they could get lost in the shuffle.

Things were mostly in order by early evening. Bags had been claimed and hauled down the path to their respective cabins, lingering parents said their goodbyes, and the row of cabins buzzed with unpacking and tentative conversation. 

As the sun dipped lower, counselors shepherded campers between buildings, corralling them all toward the bonfire pit as the smell of charcoal and lighter fluid drifted through the trees. 

They always started the summer with an opening night fire and a cookout for dinner. The bonfire area was out behind the cabins, deeper in the forest, and down a long hill that spilled into another clearing. The pit itself was a large circle of smooth stones, ringed by roughly hewn log benches. Strings of lights hung low between the trees, casting everything in a warm golden glow as the sun disappeared below the horizon. 

Shane was standing on one of the back logs closest to the path, directing the hordes of children to grab plates and utensils before getting in line for food. At one point, he had to hop down from the bench to intercept two boys attempting to double back into the food line. One of them already had a mustard stain on his shirt. 

Eventually, all seventy kids were settled, chatting excitedly through mouthfuls of burgers and hot dogs. The fire bobbed and crackled as they ate, sending sparks upwards and warmth flooding over the space. 

“Alright, alright, eyes up here!” Wiebe’s voice carried easily over the clearing. He stepped up near the fire, whistling loudly and waving his hands to draw attention. Once the conversation fizzled out, he beamed at the group. “Welcome, all of you, to Basswood Ridge!” 

A cheer erupted, high-pitched and enthusiastic. 

“We are so happy you’re here,” Wiebe continued, pacing slowly around the edge of the fire pit. “Some of you are returning campers, which means you already know how special this place is. And some of you are here for the very first time.” His voice softened slightly. “Trying new things can be scary. But I promise you, by the end of the summer, you’re going to have stories you’ll be telling for the rest of your lives.” 

Wiebe held up one finger. “Here’s the most important rule at this camp: we take care of each other. That means we cheer each other on. We listen, and we include everyone. We look out for our cabin mates. We leave this place better than we found it. Your counselors?” He took a moment to point to a few of them, scattered amongst the campers. “They’re here to keep you safe. They’re here to help you. And yes, they’re also here to make sure you brush your teeth and go to bed on time.” 

Groans rose in protest. Shane caught Ilya dramatically clutching his chest, mouthing Bedtime? in exaggerated horror. The kids closest to him giggled loudly, and Ilya smiled at them. Show-off.

“But tonight,” Wiebe said, spreading his arms wide, “is about settling in. Tomorrow you can get to know your cabin mates. Maybe you can even make your very first camp memory.” He nodded once. “Alright, let’s get these kids to bed!” 

Groans and giggles and the shuffle of sneakers against dirt filled the clearing as kids scrambled up from the benches. Hayden was already herding the Cabin One boys together, counting under his breath. Shane grabbed the shoulders of one boy who looked like he was going to sneak off with one of the girls’ lines and steered him into place. 

“Nice try,” Shane muttered, and the kid glared at him.

Behind him, Zane whooped as Cabin Four started some sort of chant while Evan tried to get them all quiet. Rose’s voice carried from somewhere to the left, firm but amused as she and Jackie wrangled their girls. 

Shane walked at the back of his line, watching the small silhouettes ahead of him climb the hill toward the cabins. Fireflies blinked lazily in the dark. The air had cooled just enough to take the edge off the day’s heat, settling into a pleasant warmth. 

“Alright, guys,” Hayden turned once they reached the steps to the cabin. “Get inside, grab your toothbrushes and pajamas. We’ll go to the bathhouse, then lights out. Big day tomorrow.” 

A chorus of tired but excited voices answered him as they filed into the cabin, shuffling through their belongings. The bathhouse trip was short, but Shane had to carry one boy back to the cabin because he had nearly fallen asleep while brushing his teeth. He couldn’t help but smile as he walked down the path, the kid draped across his back, listening to the familiar melody of cabin doors creaking, counselor’s voices drifting through the warm night air, and whispered introductions between campers. 

The lights flicked off one by one along the treeline. 

☀︎ ☀︎ ☀︎

There was pure excitement in the air as the camp awoke the next morning. Breakfast was scheduled for 8, and Shane found Hayden and himself marching across the dew-stained grass toward the Coop at 7:56 with ten bleary-eyed campers in tow.

Most of them were still half-asleep, moving in an uneven line behind them. One boy yawned so wide he nearly walked into another’s back. The smell of pancakes and rich syrup hit them before they even reached the doors. Inside, the long wooden tables were already half-full, the space buzzing with loud, sugar-fueled chatter.

“Alright, guys, plates first, then find seats together,” Shane instructed, steering them toward the serving line. “And remember: if you take it, you eat it.”

“I’m taking seven sausages,” declared a freckled boy named Owen, grinning up at him.

“You’re taking two,” Shane corrected smoothly, plucking the tongs out of his hand before he could grab more. “You can come back for more later.”

At one table near the windows, Rose was already mid-story, waving a fork for emphasis while Jackie and Caitlin listened. Once they made it through the line, Shane found a spot beside Rose while Hayden slid next to Jackie, smacking a kiss on her cheek, which immediately received an Ewww from the nearby girls. A few of Cabin One’s clingiest campers filled in the spaces at the table near them. 

“I’m just saying, if we win the Color War this year, it will be because of me,” Rose insisted once the campers’ attention had gone back to their food. 

“You mean because you bribe them with extra craft bracelets?” Jackie asked, laughing. 

“That I have to make,” Harris interjected from the table over. He leaned back, eyebrows raised. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you, Harris,” Rose said, and Harris grinned before turning back to his table. “It’s called boosting morale, guys. Where’s your camp spirit?”

Across the room, Ilya had somehow convinced two of his campers to flex their arms dramatically while he pretended to judge them like a bodybuilding competition. He announced his ratings loudly, like the entire room was their audience. One scored a 9, but the other got a 9.5 because he was slightly more enthusiastic. Arguments went up that they both deserved 10s, but then Ilya flexed himself, demonstrating an actual perfect 10, as he loudly proclaimed. 

Shane cut a piece of pancake a little more aggressively than necessary, the knife dragging against the plate with a dull scrape. He didn’t look up. He didn’t have to; the noise carried easily enough.

Across from him, Owen was already talking through a mouthful of food. “Do we get to swim today?”

“At swim checks, yeah,” Shane replied. “For a bit.”

“What’s that?” Theo, another boy with dark curls sticking up in every direction, asked. 

“It’s how we figure out what level you’re at,” Hayden explained, leaning across the table to be heard over the noise. He rotated his finger around, pointing at himself, Shane, Rose, and Jackie. “We’re the lifeguards here, so we’ll be judging where in the lake you can swim this summer.”

“I can swim,” Owen said quickly, eyes wide and serious. “Like, really swim.”

Shane speared another piece of pancake, then pointed it at him. “Prove it this afternoon.”

After breakfast came the first official task of every summer: cabin photos. The campers were wrangled out into the large clearing at the center of camp, overlooking the lake. The morning sun was still soft, filtering through the trees and catching on the rippling water.

Cabin One went first, and after three chaotic minutes of mediating an argument over who was taller than who, the twelve of them shouted their cabin name, the words echoing across the clearing as the camera shutter clicked. A few boys jumped at the last second so their faces would blur mid-air.

Ilya’s cabin went next, and within seconds, at least three of his campers were upside down, making poor attempts at handstands. Ilya grabbed onto two of their ankles to keep them from falling over. Troy was sprawled dramatically in front of the front row with a hand on his forehead, basking in the sun. 

“How professional,” Shane muttered under his breath.

Rose nudged him with a bright laugh. “Jealous you didn’t come up with a good idea too, Shane?”

“No way.” Shane crossed his arms, watching as one of the upside-down kids nearly tipped sideways before Ilya steadied him again. “Looks like a liability to me.”

“Looks like they’re having fun,” Rose countered. She jabbed her finger into Shane’s side lightly. “Loosen up.”

Shane didn’t respond right away, eyes lingering a second longer than necessary as Cabin Two stepped away from the photo stop. Ilya’s head was tipped back as he laughed at something Troy said. 

“Yeah,” he muttered finally. “Whatever.”

After all seven cabins had their photos taken, everyone moved to the lounge to sign up for their camp activities. The lounge was the only building on the entire property that had air conditioning, which meant it was the only place people willingly lingered for more than ten minutes during the day. 

Each of the counselors was stationed by their own sign-up sheet around the room, throwing pitches for why kids should sign up for their activity over others. Svetlana, Evan, and Caitlin had a board with a bunch of photos of campers from previous years on the ropes courses and rock climbing walls. At the land sports sign-up, Cassie was showing off how to juggle a soccer ball while Zane explained to a group of teenage boys that yes, tennis is fun to learn, and no, they can’t hit each other with the rackets. 

Ilya and Wyatt had brought over a couple of bows from the archery field, and they let the kids practice pulling the string back and launching crumpled paper balls across the room. One shot ricocheted off a wall and nearly missed a lamp, which only made the kids erupt into laughter. Shane watched from his spot at the paintball sign-up with mild distaste. If he were a betting man, he’d give it another thirty seconds before someone lost an eye. 

The sun climbed higher as the morning continued, heat already rolling thick and heavy over the grounds, just in time for swim checks. The brief relief of the lounge air disappeared the second they filed back outside, the air pressing in around them again.

After a quick change, the campers gathered near the dock in their swimsuits, sunscreen smeared over skin and towels slung over shoulders. The dock was warm underfoot, and the lake stretched out wide, glittering and deceptively calm. 

Shane stood at the end of the dock, whistle hanging from his neck, clipboard tucked under one arm. Beside him, Rose adjusted her sunglasses and squinted out over the water.

“Alright, listen up!” Jackie called out, cupping her hands around her mouth so her voice could easily carry over the chatter. “This is not the Olympics. It is not a cannonball competition. We’re making sure you won’t drown, so, please, let’s be serious.”

“The bar is so low, guys,” Hayden added, unhelpfully. “Just don’t sink, okay?”

A few nervous giggles rippled through the group. Shane blew one short, sharp note on his whistle, earning a flinch from the closest kids. He quite liked his whistle. He looked at his clipboard unnecessarily, but it made him feel more official. “Cabin One, line up on the left side of the dock. Everyone else, find some shade and hydrate.” 

They went one by one, slipping into the water and attempting a lap out to the designated buoy and back. Some cut clean lines through the water, smooth and confident. Others flailed, swallowing what looked like a gallon of lake water but still refusing to quit. 

Each one of them received a wristband from Hayden as they exited the water: white for the beginners, green for intermediate, and dark blue for the advanced swimmers. By the time Cabin One finished, Shane’s clipboard was dotted with notes, and the dock was slick with footprints.

“Cabin Two!” Rose called, hauling herself gracefully out of the water to switch with Hayden. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

There was a moment of loud chatter as Cabin Two stepped forward, voices overlapping. Shane didn’t look up from his clipboard, even as someone stepped up beside him.

“I bet my kids will be better at swimming than your kids,” Ilya said. 

“It’s not really a competition,” Shane replied. 

“Everything is competition,” Ilya said easily. Shane could hear the grin in his voice without looking. “You are just pretending it is not because you think you will lose. I understand.”

“I’m not going to lose,” Shane said, finally glancing up from his clipboard. “Because there’s no competition.”

“Okay,” Ilya said, voice lilted. 

Shane huffed quietly through his nose and started jotting something unnecessary down on his clipboard, just to have something to do with his hands. The first boy from Cabin Two had jumped into the water with a bit too much enthusiasm and was currently getting an earful from Hayden about not listening. “Can you leave, so I can do my job?”

“Oh, I am distracting you?”

“Please leave.”

“You look distracted,” Ilya said instead of moving. He leaned in slightly, close enough that Shane could feel it without turning his head. 

“Rozanov,” Shane said, sharper now, gesturing toward the water with the end of his clipboard. “Go.”

Ilya held his gaze for a second longer, like he was considering pushing it further. His eyes flicked briefly to Shane’s mouth, then back up, quick enough that Shane was almost positive he imagined it. Then Ilya huffed out a quiet laugh and took a step back. 

“Do not lose, Hollander,” he tossed over his shoulder as he turned back to the grassy hill. “It will be embarrassing for you.”

“There’s still no competition,” Shane called after him, a little too quickly. 

The rotations blurred together under the sun, bright giggles filtering up over the sound of splashing water. After an hour, the campers were flushed pink and wrapped in towels, arguing about who had been fastest, who had splashed the most, and who definitely didn’t deserve their advanced swimming band.

And, to Shane’s silent delight, his cabin had more advanced swimmers than Ilya’s did. But, because it wasn’t a competition, Shane figured he wouldn’t mention it. There were a few dedicated circles and notations on his clipboard about it, though.

Shane gave one final blast of the whistle and checked his watch. “Alright! Back to your cabins, take a shower if you need to, lunch starts in twenty. If I catch anyone running up the hill, you’ll be on dinner clean-up duty.”

Groans followed, but the kids obeyed, trudging toward the path in damp, laughing clusters. The smell of grilled cheese and tomato soup was already drifting across the grounds. 

Twenty minutes later, Cabin One was walking back across the clearing toward the Coop. 

A boy named Sam asked if it was lunch time for the fourth time in the same number of minutes, and Shane grumbled out a yes once again, steering him toward the building with his hands on both shoulders. 

The Coop was alive with post-swim hunger. The line stretched nearly to the door, voices loud and movements quick, the earlier morning sluggishness completely gone in favor of securing sandwiches. Shane guided his cabin through the line, and also confiscated an ambitious third grilled cheese from one of the boys from Cabin Three. 

Once plates were full and his cabin had claimed a table, Shane finally escaped to the table at the front of the building. It was the unofficial-official counselor’s table; off-limits to campers, a spot where they could sit for ten minutes without mediating arguments or listening to a poorly constructed story. While breakfast was always shared with the kids, lunch and dinner sometimes needed to be sacred. 

Rose was already there, towel still slung over her shoulder while she told Svetlana about one of the Cabin Six girls’ near-sinks that had not, in fact, involved any sinking whatsoever. Shane sat down across from them. 

Hayden slid into the spot beside him a second later, shoulder bumping his. “You look crispy.” 

“Shut up,” Shane replied. He reached up, rubbing at his cheek with a faint wince. He already had the beginnings of a sunburn skating across his cheekbones, reddened skin making his freckles more pronounced. He hated how loud his freckles got with only a little bit of sun. 

“You’ll be peeling by Friday. I’m calling it now,” Hayden added. 

“I really hope not,” Shane replied, but he knew Hayden’s guess was probably accurate. 

A moment later, Ilya and Troy wandered up to the counselor's table, trays in hand. Troy plopped down beside Evan unceremoniously. Ilya had what looked like four grilled cheese sandwiches piled high, and he made a show of inspecting Shane’s plate as he passed by. 

“Only one sandwich, Hollander? After all that whistle-blowing? You must be exhausted,” he said, feigning concern. 

“Careful,” Rose chimed in, voice sweet. “I’ll give you a beginner's swim band for messing with a lifeguard.” 

Ilya gasped. “Are you threatening me?” 

“Not sure yet. Did it work?” Rose asked. 

Shane took his time chewing and swallowing a bite before turning to look at Ilya over his shoulder. “Are you naturally this irritating, Rozanov, or did it take years of practice?” 

Ilya grinned, clearly delighted. “A little of both. Mostly natural talent.” Then, he reached over and swiftly stole one of Shane’s pickle slices from his tray. 

Shane squawked in protest. “Hey! What the hell?”

“Good source of sodium,” Ilya said by way of explanation, making a big deal of crunching the pickle between his teeth. He was close enough that Shane could hear the sharp snap of it. 

Rose choked on her soup, and Hayden physically turned away to hide his grin. Svetlana was watching them with an amused smile. 

Shane stared at Ilya. “You have four sandwiches.” 

“And now I am good on electrolytes.” Ilya’s palm was warm as it clapped down onto Shane’s shoulder. Too warm. Too casual. “Thank you for the help, Hollander. It means a lot that you care.” 

He still had an infuriating grin on his face as he retreated further down the table to sit beside Zane and Cassie. 

“You let him do that,” Rose accused lightly once he was gone. 

Shane shrugged, taking a long sip of his water, but a scowl was etched onto his face. 

They had free time after lunch, which usually translated to a wide spread of uncontrolled activities. Kids scattered in every direction the second they were dismissed from the Coop—some toward the field, others to the dock. Counselors spread out instinctively, taking up positions as if it were second nature. 

Almost an hour and a half later, after a lukewarm shower in the counselor’s bathhouse and a brief moment of blissful solitude, Shane found himself stationed on a small hill halfway to the lake, back pressed against a large tree, water bottle in hand. His gaze flickered around, monitoring the campers from afar. 

A cluster of boys had started a game of soccer in the field that dissolved into loud laughter and grass stains every few minutes. Others drifted toward the basketball court or the picnic tables by the craft shed. Down by the dock, a handful of campers skipped rocks under Rose’s watchful eye. 

There was the shuffle of grass as someone approached him, then Svetlana appeared by his side, lowering herself to sit beside him against the tree. She gave him a gentle smile, murmuring a hello. 

He smiled back, greeting her as well. He actually really liked Svetlana; she was a wonderful counselor who took great pride in watching after the girls. There was this calmness about her. Sometimes, Shane questioned how she could be so close with Ilya, who seemed to hold the opposite level of care. 

They sat in silence for a bit, watching everything unfold across the grounds. Down at the basketball court, Troy had started up a game of 4-Square and seemed to be arguing with one of the teenagers about the rules. Harris laughed on the sidelines. 

After a while, Svetlana nudged his arm. “Harris has already started taking bets on who will be the winning cabin this year.” 

Shane smiled, shaking his head. All of the cabins competed against one another every summer, racking up points from activities and events until one was crowned victorious at the end of the summer. The betting pool happened every year like clockwork, a stupid under-the-table wager on who would rack up the most points over the course of summer and end up with their names etched into the plaque hanging in the Coop. 

Cabin One had taken it for the past two years, and Shane wasn’t planning on breaking that streak. 

“Ilya is convinced he will beat you this year,” she continued, plucking at blades of grass nonchalantly. 

Shane scoffed. “Of course he is.” 

“He says you are boring. And predictable,” she added, tone light, as if she were just a messenger passing the information along. 

“Well, ‘predictable’ has won it more times than not,” Shane said. 

Another beat of silence passed, though a little more stiff than before. Shane wasn’t entirely sure why she had sought him out just to bring up Ilya; his distaste for the other wasn’t exactly a secret. 

Svetlana took a deep breath before speaking again. “He isn’t as bad as you think he is, you know.” 

Shane turned to her, eyebrow quirked. “Why are you telling me that?” 

Her attention was still focused on the field below. “He does really care about the kids,” she added, ignoring him. 

Shane followed her gaze. Across the field, Ilya was crouched to tie one of his camper’s laces, listening intently to whatever animated story the kid was telling. A second later, he sprang up and exaggeratedly shielded the boy from an incoming soccer ball, earning a delighted laugh. He could see the smile on Ilya’s face from here. 

Shane huffed out a quiet breath through his nose. “He’s annoying.”

Svetlana bobbed her head to the side in consideration, smiling faintly. “Yes. Both can be true at the same time.”

Shane didn’t respond. He fiddled with the top of his water bottle, eyes lingering a second too long on the field before he looked away. The image didn’t quite match the version of Ilya that existed in his mind. He didn’t need a second version of Ilya, not when the first one was already too much to keep track of. 

When it was clear Shane didn’t plan to keep the conversation going, Svetlana patted his shoulder and stood, drifting off toward the field. 

☀︎ ☀︎ ☀︎

Tuesday was the first day of the regular camp schedule. Breakfast was a hearty spread of eggs, hashbrowns, and sausage, ready to fuel the campers for a full day. 

The pool deck was quiet this early, the water glassy and undisturbed, reflecting the pale morning sky. Shane was already slathering himself in sunscreen by the time Rose arrived at the pool. The two of them were on lifeguard duty every morning, unless it was a designated lake day, where they’d be setting up equipment instead. They were both dressed in bright red swimsuits, and Rose had her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. 

Rose swiftly stole the sunscreen bottle from the table, squeezing some into her palm. “I saw you talking to Svetlana yesterday,” she said instead of a greeting as she spread it over her arms. 

Of course she had. Always looking for the next piece of gossip. Shane didn’t even bother pretending to be surprised. He shrugged, snatching the bottle back pointedly. “It was nothing.” 

“Nothing?” 

He paused, rubbing lotion across his face. He pointedly didn’t look at Rose when he said, “She wanted to talk about Ilya, for some reason.” 

“Oh.” Rose seemed surprised, but she schooled her expression quickly. “And… What did she say?” 

Shane hesitated just long enough for Rose to notice. Her mouth opened again, probably to question him, but a cluster of kids burst through the gate at that moment, interrupting them. 

Shane immediately blew his whistle. “No running!” 

Rose gave him a look that suggested their conversation wasn’t over before she turned on her heel to take her post. “We’re circling back to that,” she mouthed over her shoulder as she walked away. 

Three hours passed quickly, and the sun slowly rose through the sky until it was directly overhead. The pool was an open activity, meaning campers could come and go as they pleased or stay the entire morning if they really wanted to. He and Rose took rotating shifts, on for thirty and off for fifteen, carefully watching for flails or splashes that signaled an issue. Thankfully, there were no incidents. 

Rose announced the final five minutes before lunch, and kids began begrudgingly pulling themselves from the water, splashing chlorinated droplets across the hot concrete as they sought out towels. Once all of the bodies had left the pool, Shane hopped down from his seat, rolling his shoulders. 

“Towels on the rack, guys, not the fence. We aren’t barbarians,” he corrected lightly, snatching a blue-and-white striped towel from the fence as he spoke. 

Rose approached from her stand, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. She crossed her arms and planted herself directly in front of Shane. “So…” 

Shane closed his eyes briefly. “Rose.” 

“You owe me—” 

A shriek cut through the air. 

Both of them turned just in time to see one of the younger girls from Rose’s cabin—Maddie, if Shane remembered right—go skidding across the wet concrete beside the shallow end. She had clearly been running and slipped on the slick stone. She was cradling her arm as she sat up, bottom lip quivering. 

Rose was moving before the tears started falling. “I told you not to run!” she reprimanded lightly, crouching beside the camper. 

Maddie’s face crumpled at the tone. “I didn’t mean to!” 

Rose’s face softened immediately. “It’s okay.” She examined the girl’s arm. A long abrasion ran from her elbow down half of her forearm, already beading with blood. 

Rose sighed. “Okay. We’re going to get this cleaned up properly.” She looked up at Shane. “I’m taking her to the nurse’s station.” 

Shane nodded immediately. “Yeah, I’ve got it here. Go.” 

As she guided Maddie through the pool gate, she threw a quick,m “We’re not done!” over her shoulder toward Shane. 

He exhaled slowly, a little too relieved by the interruption. 

By the time Shane changed out of his swimsuit and reached the Coop for lunch, Rose still hadn’t returned. Shane spotted Jackie sitting with the Cabin Five girls, sans Maddie, meaning the two of them must have still been in the nurse’s station. Shane made a calculated decision to sit himself down in the middle of Evan, Caitlin, Zane, and Cassie. If he stayed buried in the middle of a group, maybe Rose wouldn’t bother trying to interrogate him the second she walked in. 

When Rose finally entered the Coop with Maddie in tow, Shane had been roped into the conversation. He made eye contact with Rose over Caitlin’s shoulder. Maddie’s arm had been cleaned and wrapped neatly in a bandage, but Rose’s expression said there was still unfinished business. Shane looked away. Rose grabbed her tray and pointedly sat with Jackie and her cabin, but Shane could feel her eyes on the back of his head throughout the rest of the meal. 

Shane ran paintball in the afternoons. Similar to his lifeguard duties, he was able to be as structured as he wanted to be without anyone complaining. Safety reasons, and all that. Unfortunately, Ilya was his co-instructor for the second year in a row. 

Ilya sauntered up in his usual paintball attire—a fitted athletic shirt tucked neatly into camouflage cargo pants that had paint stains spattered across the fabric, worn sneakers, and gloves tugged over his fingers—and bumped his arm into Shane’s. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Shane rolled his eyes and took a half-step to the left, not bothering to look up from the equipment he was sorting. “You knew I would be here.” 

“I thought maybe you would quit.” A casual shrug. “Since I was so much better than you last year.” 

“Okay, you are not—” 

“Do not be jealous, Hollander,” he interrupted with a wide grin. “I am out of practice. Maybe you will be better than me now.” 

Shane wanted to shoot a paintball right between his eyes. Preferably at close range. Possibly multiple times. Fortunately for Ilya, their first group of campers walked up at that moment. They ran two blocks of paintball, splitting the campers who signed up between the rounds. 

As obnoxious as Ilya was, he was decent at teaching. Since he ran archery in the mornings, he understood the importance of using the first activity meeting to go over rules and safety measures. 

He explained the parts of the paintball marker, emphasizing how to check that the safety was on, and demonstrated how to refill ammo if needed. Shane took over to describe how they’ll start with targets before small group games, until they would ultimately have full-on paintball wars by the end of the seven weeks. As the two of them spoke, the kids seemed to get more and more excited. 

They spent the last thirty minutes of both sessions fitting the campers to masks and markers before letting them take turns shooting at some mid-range targets. A lot of the kids were natural shots, and the ones who were less accurate were at least enthusiastic. 

The sun was lowering by the time Shane and Ilya were packing up the paintball shed. Shane was flipping through the inventory notebook to ensure everything was returned when he felt Ilya’s presence over his shoulder. He didn’t look up. 

“You missed one,” Ilya said after a minute, right as Shane made a deliberate check mark next to ‘Gun 12’. 

“I did not.” 

Ilya hummed. “You did.” 

Shane exhaled sharply through his nose and flipped the page back. He had, in fact, missed the mark for Mask 9. He corrected it without comment, though his pen pressed into the page hard enough that the ink pooled beneath the ballpoint. 

“You’re welcome,” Ilya added, smug. 

“If you wanted to be helpful, you could start by not distracting me while I’m doing inventory.” 

“I am helping.” 

“I wouldn’t consider hovering over my shoulder like an insect to be helping.” 

Ilya shrugged. “Then… I can be like your personal cheerleader.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Go, Hollander, go!” Ilya pumped his fists in the air theatrically. “Like this, yes?”

Shane snapped the notebook shut and turned. Ilya was closer than he anticipated, and Shane shuffled a half-step backwards, back bumping into the table. “Are you capable of being quiet for more than, like, thirty seconds at a time?” 

Ilya laughed, amusement clear. “No.” 

Shane rolled his eyes and shoved past Ilya out of the shed to grab more equipment. They moved around each other after Ilya finally shut his mouth, stacking masks against the wall and sealing bags of paintballs. At one point, Ilya reached past Shane instead of stepping around him, and his forearm brushed Shane’s side. Shane went still for a split second before forcing himself to keep moving. 

“You think I am attacking you?” Ilya accused with a frown. 

Shane didn’t really have an answer other than You irritate me, and I don’t want to be near you anymore today, which felt inappropriate and unhelpful, so he stayed quiet. 

He silently made a few more checks in the notebook as Ilya hoisted the final crate onto the shelf. Shane tossed the book onto the table, pen following. “We’re done.” 

“Already?” 

“Yes. Because I actually keep track of things. Unlike someone who lost three masks and a marker last year.” 

“Well then.” Ilya held the door open with an exaggerated bow. “After you, Mr. Responsible.” 

Shane stepped past him without acknowledgment, pulling his keys out of his pocket to lock the shed. The phantom feeling of Ilya’s arm against his side followed him across the grounds.

Dinner was chicken, rice, and some aggressively steamed green vegetables that had been cooked almost to the point of goo. Shane fell onto the bench at the far end of the counselor's table, nearest to the wall. After a few minutes, Hayden dropped in beside him. Rose appeared across from them a second later, tray clattering down with unnecessary force. 

Shane had a forkful of goo-vegetable raised when Rose leaned across the table. “So, Shane—” 

“No.” Shane shoved the fork into his mouth, maintaining irritated eye contact as he chewed. 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!” 

Shane swallowed. “Actually, I do.” 

“I don’t,” Hayden chimed in. He shoved some rice into his mouth when Rose glared at him. 

“Stay out of this, Hayd,” Rose huffed before looking back at Shane. She had both hands planted on the table, like she was one false word away from leaping over it. “Tell me what Sveta said.” 

“It was nothing.”

Rose scoffed. “Right, you said that this morning. I don’t believe you.” 

“Do you ever?” Shane muttered. 

Hayden looked between the two of them expectantly. Shane considered lying, but he knew it would be pointless; Rose could smell out lies like a vulture hunting a meal, and she would never let this go until she got a bite. 

“She said Ilya isn’t as bad as I think he is,” Shane mumbled at his plate. 

Rose’s eyebrow quirked up, and Hayden sat up slightly, interest piqued. 

“Why would she tell you that?” Hayden asked. 

Shane shrugged, stabbing at his chicken. He still wasn’t really sure. It was pretty evident that Shane wasn’t exactly Ilya’s number one fan, and everyone was aware of Ilya’s tendency to annoy the fuck out of Shane every second he could, but he wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. 

“Maybe she’s realized how obsessed you are with him,” Rose offered after a minute of silence. 

Shane choked hard enough that Hayden had to smack him on the back several times to dislodge the food in his throat. He coughed, eyes watering, and his voice was tight when he questioned, “What?” 

Rose didn’t even flinch. “What do you mean, what? You watch him like a hawk. It’s a little creepy.” 

“I have to make sure he doesn’t mess shit up,” Shane defended, but it sounded thin even to himself. 

Rose’s eyes sharpened as she pointed her fork at him. “You don’t monitor Troy like that, and he’s, like, equally as bad.” 

“Troy isn’t my problem.” 

“And Ilya is?” 

“Yes,” Shane said immediately. He regretted it as Rose leaned back, triumphant, with the satisfied look of someone who was about to crack a case. 

“Why?” she asked. 

Because he’s always doing some stupid shit. Because he doesn’t listen to the rules. Because he always has to be the loudest in the room, but everyone loves him anyway. Because he pisses me off. 

Because I keep noticing him when I don’t want to. 

Shane didn’t voice anything, pushing his food around on his tray with an immature huff. 

Across the Coop, Ilya laughed loudly, drawing Shane’s attention automatically. He was sitting across from Troy at the other end of the table, forehead resting on his fist as he continued to chuckle. The corner of his eye crinkled as he laughed. Shane only noticed because it was right next to a smear of bright green paint that had stained the back of his knuckles and hadn’t been wiped off. 

Then, a young girl ran up to show the two of them something that Shane couldn’t see from his end of the table. Ilya turned his full attention to her, listening with all of the seriousness in the world before nodding and sending her back to her table. When he turned back, Shane saw a beaded bracelet in his hand. He rolled it once between his fingers before setting it carefully beside his tray. 

Rose followed Shane’s line of sight and immediately scoffed. “You’re doing it again!” 

Troy stole the bracelet from the table and said something that made Ilya glance down the length of the table. His eyes landed on Shane for half a second. 

Shane tore his gaze away too quickly. “I’m not.” 

Rose stared at him for a second, looking like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh at him or scream. Then her grin slowly widened into a knowing, accusatory smirk. “Oh, my god.” 

“Do not,” Shane warned, his shoulders stiffening instinctively. 

“I thought you hated him!” 

“I do hate him!” 

A few eyes drifted over to their corner at the raised voices. Shane felt his cheeks warm from the attention, embarrassment rising. Hayden cleared his throat gently and waved the spectators off, telling them to go back to eating. 

Rose leaned across the table, lowering her voice. “Shane. You don’t hate him.” 

Shane scoffed. “I absolutely do.” 

“Why do you track his every move, then?” she pressed. 

Shane scoffed. “I track everyone’s every move. In case you forgot, that’s quite literally our job.” 

The argument sounded much more convincing in his head. Rose opened her mouth again, clearly not finished with her instigating, but a shrill burst of laughter from across the Coop interrupted her. Shane looked over his shoulder to see a boy desperately wiping at a growing puddle of soda that was leaking from his knocked-over cup. 

Shane stood immediately, grateful for the distraction. “I’ll be back.” 

By the time he returned, palms slightly sticky from wiping up the sugary mess, Rose had moved on from the conversation, now filling Hayden in on the drama that was already breaking out in Cabin Five. Something about a stolen shoe—he didn’t really care to know, and he didn’t ask. Shane slid back onto the bench, stabbing at the last of his chicken and rice. The food was lukewarm at this point, the texture somehow even worse. 

When Ilya’s laugh carried over the noise again, bright and easy like it belonged everywhere all at once, it grated against him in a way he couldn’t quite name. 

☀︎ ☀︎ ☀︎ 

Because the universe owed him a favor, Shane was able to avoid all discussions regarding Ilya for the entirety of Wednesday. It was another regularly scheduled day, and Shane graciously accepted the monotony of his lifeguard shift. 

If Rose had more theories brewing about his supposed obsession, she kept them to herself. Which, honestly, kind of felt worse than if she hadn’t, because Shane could practically hear the gears in her head churning every time he got too close, just one puzzle piece away from another accusation.

The afternoon passed by quickly as well, morphing into evening after two rounds of paintball target practice and dinner. By the time lights-out rolled around, Shane was almost ready to convince himself that the situation was resolved and he’d never have to hear another word about it again. 

With Thursday came the first lake day of the program. All afternoon activities were canceled on lake days so that all of the campers and counselors could spend time out on the water, and the pool was closed all day so the lifeguards could oversee everything. 

Shane and Rose were busy all morning monitoring the inflatable water obstacle courses and slides. Hayden and Jackie, who usually hosted the morning kayaking session, gathered the paddleboards and inflatables from the boathouse. The four of them conquered the lifejacket rack together, quickly checking buckles and straps. Lunch was just concluding by the time they had everything together. 

Campers flocked toward the lake in one giant herd, eager to get reprieve from the hot day. Shoes and towels were abandoned in the grass while Jackie quickly went over safety guidelines, yelling loudly to cut over the excited chatter. 

Then, seventy children flooded the water. 

There was a strict requirement that everyone wear a life jacket at all times while on the lake. Even so, two of the lifeguards stayed posted on the dock while the others were able to play alongside the kids and other counselors. Shane and Hayden took the first shift, and they laughed as Rose and Jackie jumped into the warm water hand-in-hand. 

The lake had gone from picture-perfect calm to insanity very quickly. Water churned with movement, splashes catching the sunlight and reflecting in glittery arcs. Shouts echoed across the surface while bright orange lifejackets bobbed in every direction. 

Shane adjusted his sunglasses and climbed up onto the lifeguard seat at the end of the dock. The metal seat was warm to the touch, but he couldn’t relax into the heat. He scanned automatically, left to right, easily counting bright orange dots. Then he counted again. 

“God, I love lake day,” Hayden said from the neighboring stand, leaning back in his seat like he was a dad at a sporting event instead of supervising children. 

“You love lake day because you love to let me do all of the work,” Shane replied dryly, but there was no real bite to it. Still, his gaze didn’t stop moving. 

Hayden grinned, sitting up. “Relax, Shane. They’re literally all floating. It’s practically foolproof.” 

Shane didn’t answer. Foolproof didn’t really exist when it came to a bunch of kids in several feet of water. His eyes caught on a boy who was attempting to stand upright on a paddleboard while another splashed water aggressively at his legs. He wobbled dramatically before dropping down to his knees with a triumphant shout that immediately turned to sputtering when a shot of water went into his mouth. 

Shane felt laughter tug at his chest. He pressed his whistle lightly between his teeth but didn’t blow it. 

Everywhere he looked, something was happening. Lisa and Caitlin stationed themselves near the shallow end, organizing a floating ring toss game for the beginner swimmers. Troy and Harris were attempting to build a human bridge between two inflatables with a bunch of campers, which ultimately resulted in a lot of splashing. Evan and Zane were further out, keeping an eye on the advanced swimmers in the deepest area of the lake near the buoys. 

Shane continued scanning the water, not sure what exactly he was looking for, until his eyes landed on it. 

Ilya was near the base of the inflatable slide, arms moving wildly as he attempted to hype up a line of nervous campers. “Do not hesitate,” he was shouting dramatically, voice carrying easily over the water. “The slide can sense your fear.” 

Svetlana, floating nearby, rolled her eyes and her mouth moved as she quipped something back. Ilya responded with something Shane couldn’t hear, but it made her kick water at him. The next camper launched down the slide with a shriek, and Ilya caught her smoothly at the bottom, spinning him away so the next kid could go. 

“Stop staring,” Hayden muttered, his tone teasing. 

Shane blinked, dragging his gaze away to look at the treeline instead. “I’m not.” 

Hayden chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure. Just be glad I’m not Rose.” 

Whatever that was supposed to mean. Shane huffed and went back to scanning the water without another comment. 

A half hour passed by without incident. The initial frenzy had dissolved into much calmer fun. A group of campers had started playing King of the Hill with one of the tall inflatables. Shane watched as Wyatt lost his grip and went flying down into the water with a yelp. 

Shane and Hayden traded places with Rose and Jackie a few minutes later, and Shane was grateful for the cool touch of water on his sun-warmed skin. The tension that had formed in his shoulders eased the second he submerged, the lake muffling the noise around him when he dunked his head under the surface. 

Hayden cannonballed five feet away, drenching a cluster of campers who responded with indignant squawks and laughter. Shane rolled his eyes fondly and swam away, planning to make loops around the water for the remaining duration of lake day. 

The sun dipped lower as the afternoon passed, softening from brutal heat to a much more pleasant warmth. Some campers had resorted to floating lazily on tubes, staring at the clouds drifting by. Others clung to the dock or the inflatables, exhausted. 

At one point, Shane found himself near the end of the inflatable obstacle course. Ilya was perched at the end of the slide now, allowing his legs to dangle in the water. He looked toward Shane as he drifted by.

“For someone who hates fun, you seem less miserable than usual,” he observed. 

Shane stopped and looked up, squinting against the light. Ilya had leaned forward slightly when he spoke. The afternoon sun caught on his curls, which were wild and uncontrolled from the constant wet-and-dry cycle that came with swimming. His shoulders were tinged pink from sun exposure. 

“I don’t hate fun,” Shane responded after a moment. 

Ilya made a vague, unconvinced sound. 

Shane frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Ilya said with a shrug. “You could have fooled me.” 

“Why should you care?” 

“I don’t.” Ilya nudged the water with his foot, sending a small splash toward Shane. “You are just so intense, sometimes. Like… uptight. It is okay to relax, Hollander.”

Shane opened his mouth, then closed it again, jaw tightening. “God forbid I take my job seriously.”

Ilya snorted, like that was actually funny, and pointed a finger at his own chest. “You think I do not take my job seriously?"

“I think you—” Shane cut himself off, exhaling through his nose. “Never mind.”

“No, no. Say it,” Ilya pushed, leaning forward a little more, bracing his elbows on his knees. The movement made his chain dangle forward in the empty space, and the sun glinted off the crucifix. 

Shane shook his head, already backing off, legs churning gently beneath the water to propel him away. “I’m not getting into this with you, Rozanov.”

“Ah, because you will lose argument?”

“Because it’s stupid,” Shane corrected. He hardly registered the fact that he immediately stopped moving away. 

Ilya watched him for a second, quieter now, as if he were trying to figure something out. After a long second, he shook his head, and a small scoff fell from his lips. 

“Go have fun, Hollander,” he said. “If you can manage it.”

And, really, Shane wasn’t sure how to respond to that, because arguing would mean engaging, and engaging meant lingering, and lingering meant… something, he was sure. He settled for a glare, which Ilya met with careful indifference. From the dock, Rose blew her whistle, giving the ten-minute warning. 

Fighting a scowl, Shane spared Ilya a final look before he pushed off toward the shallows. The water emptied slowly. Shane did a final headcount as campers passed by. He hoisted himself onto the dock once he hit seventy, dripping and tired from the sun. Rose hopped down from her stand and tossed a towel at him. He caught it easily, looping it over his shoulders. 

They stood side by side for a moment, watching campers peel off lifejackets and collapse into the grass, cocooning themselves in towels. Hayden flopped dramatically onto the dock as he exited the water. “Best day ever.” 

“Every lake day is your best day ever,” Jackie laughed, dropping a towel onto his head. 

Hayden sputtered, but there was a smile on his face when he moved the fabric. “Consistency is key, babe.” 

Shane huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking water from his hair. He caught Ilya’s eye as the other counselor helped a camper untangle themselves from their lifejacket strap. Ilya’s eyebrow quirked upwards, as if to say See, I’m doing my job and taking it seriously, too. At least that’s what Shane assumed the look meant, because Ilya always had to have the last word.

☀︎ ☀︎ ☀︎

With Friday evening came another bonfire. 

The end of the first successful week of camp always felt special. The atmosphere was more relaxed than the initial fire on that first day, and conversations became familiar and friendly under the stars and string lights. Smoke curled upward, sweet and thick, clinging to everyone’s clothes and hair. 

Shane sat on one of the benches with his plate balanced on his knee, watching sparks disappear into the darkening sky. The sun had dipped behind the trees not long ago, leaving the sky a deep, dusky blue. 

Around him, campers were sprawled in loose clusters, shoes kicked off and jackets tied around waists. Wiebe had stationed himself on one of the front logs, legs crossed at the ankle, surveying the group with obvious satisfaction. Every so often, he’d lean forward to remind someone to back up from the flames or to actually put their hot dog on a stick instead of holding it like a sword. 

“This was a good week,” Hayden announced, sitting down beside Shane. He snagged one of Shane’s chips from his plate and crunched it loudly. “No one looks scared anymore.” 

“Or homesick,” Shane added. He lifted a chip to his mouth as well. 

Hayden nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. That too.” 

Shane shifted, moving his plate to the side in order to stretch his legs out. It had been a long week beneath the sun with barely any clouds in the sky, and his skin and muscles thrummed with exhaustion. 

Without meaning to, he glanced toward Cabin Two’s group across the firepit. Ilya sat on a bench with Troy, Harris, and Svetlana, hands moving almost as much as his mouth as he spoke. Harris laughed too loudly, and Svetlana shook her head with a smile. 

Rose passed by with a stack of napkins, nudging Shane’s knee with her boot as she went. “One week down.” 

He stole a napkin from the pile, smiling back at her. “Felt more like seven already.” 

She smiled, softer than usual, and reached out to pat his head like he was a cat in a shelter that she felt bad for. “Getting too old for all the excitement, grandpa?” 

He kicked in her direction, but she had already scampered off, giggling as she went. Hayden laughed beside him. 

A cheer went up as Evan and Caitlin started distributing marshmallows and skewers. The fire popped loudly as marshmallows were shoved into the blaze, sending a shower of sparks upwards. Wyatt attempted to demonstrate how to roast two marshmallows at once and immediately set one ablaze. The campers nearby gasped in shock, and Lisa snatched the stick away with a sharp, unimpressed look, waving it until the flame died. 

The night continued to move onward. Hayden disappeared at some point, mumbling something about finding Jackie, leaving Shane alone on the bench. 

He was starting to feel a familiar tug of nostalgia. Not sharp or sad, just kind of there, pressing on his chest like a warm embrace. Every year, it surprised him how quickly camp did this to him, because time felt too fast and also too slow here. He remembered sitting exactly like this years ago—in a different spot, surrounded by different people—but it all felt the same. 

A shadow passed in front of the fire, cutting briefly through the glow, and Shane glanced up to find Ilya standing there, holding two skewers. One had a marshmallow that was burnt beyond recognition. He held this one out to Shane as an offering, earning a hard glare. Ilya tilted his head with a grin before holding out the other one instead. 

To Ilya’s credit, it was perfectly toasted. Shane took it. “Thanks.” 

Ilya wordlessly sat beside Shane, who immediately shifted his weight away. He hoped the movement was casual enough. It probably wasn’t. They sat there for a quiet moment, side by side, watching the fire. In his peripheral vision, Shane noticed Svetlana watching them. 

“This place changes fast,” Ilya said suddenly, completely serious. 

Shane glanced at him, caught off guard by the lack of teasing in his tone. It threw him more than it should have. “It always does,” Shane agreed after a second, tentative. 

“Everyone is pretending on the first day,” Ilya continued. “They come in scared.” He gestured around. “Now look at them. It is like they have always been here.” 

Despite himself, Shane smiled. His gaze drifted over the campers—at the way they leaned into each other, the easy laughter, the lack of hesitation in their conversation. 

“That’s the point. Camp fosters community,” Shane said. Theriault had said that once, years and years ago, and it had always stuck with him. It was probably the only pleasant thing that man had ever said about Basswood Ridge. 

Ilya studied him for a second, expression unreadable, then he smiled faintly. “You are very serious about this camp.” 

Instinctively, Shane’s smile morphed into a frown. “I’m serious about everything.” 

“So I have noticed.” 

Shane wasn’t sure if Ilya was trying to tease him or compliment him, and he didn’t like that he couldn’t tell. 

Before he could respond, Wiebe stood and called for attention. “While everyone finishes up, we’re going to do highs and lows of the week. Gather around!” 

Everyone turned toward him, some people changing their spots to be included in the makeshift circle. Ilya moved away from Shane, finding a spot closer to the circle beside Svetlana. She leaned into him and said something that made his shoulders shake with a short laugh. 

The campers went around in a disorganized fashion, standing at random to share their memories from the week. Shane listened quietly, amused and impressed and maybe a little proud. Ilya was right: less than a week ago, some of these kids barely spoke above a whisper. Now they were volunteering stories in front of a large group of people.

Campers grew quieter as the night continued to wind down, leaning heavily against counselors and benches, energy finally spent. Wiebe made quick work of dousing the fire alongside Zane, and the benches cleared as the counselors ushered the tired kids toward the bathhouses and cabins. 

Shane lingered for a moment after the others had started moving, watching the last curl of smoke disappear into the night sky. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and followed after the others, hands shoved into his pockets, smoke clinging to his clothes, his hair, the back of his throat. 

Somewhere ahead of him, Ilya laughed again—quieter this time, softened by the distance and the trees, and it didn't sound so grating.