That night at the campsite, the sun dropped behind the trees, and the springs went quiet except for crickets and the occasional splash from someone packing up late. Our fire cracked and popped, throwing light across the picnic table and the cooler Liam had already raided twice.
Liam and Melissa sat shoulder‑to‑shoulder, laughing at nothing. Cathy and Rachel sat on a stump whispering and giggling, sharing a Marlboro.
Angela sat across from me, knees pulled up, staring into the fire. The glare was gone.
The fire cracked. Wyatt pretended to be busy with the marshmallows, giving us space.
Angela finally met my eyes. “You like someone else, don’t you?”
My chest tightened. Blaire’s face flashed in my mind, the way she’d leaned into me, how everything felt easier around her.
“Yeah,” I said quietly.
Angela let out a breath, relieved to have the truth instead of guessing. She nudged a pinecone into the fire with her toe. “For what it’s worth… you’re a good guy.”
I laughed under my breath. “Thanks, I think.”
She smiled, and the tension between us loosened.
Across the fire, Cathy and Rachel passed the Marlboro back and forth, flicking ash like they were auditioning for a movie. Liam and Melissa were practically fused, his face red and glowing from the attention.
Angela stood and walked over to me. “You want to go for a walk? You can tell me about the lucky girl. Besides, this is all getting a bit thin.” She flicked her wrist and gave a sly smile.
“Sure.” I sniffed, amused. I’d be lying if I said I didn't like the attention. I followed her toward the rope bridge over the river. The night air cooled fast under the trees. Angela wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her forearms.
“Look, Chris… we had a bet, and it looks like Melissa’s going to win. I don’t….” She stopped, turning toward me. “I’m sorry. This is weird. We can go back.” Giving me an out, but I didn't move.
She stared down at the wooden planks. I leaned back against the rope, ankles crossed, studying her the way Dad would when he was checking for holes in my story.
“Angela… you’re sweet. If it were three months ago, who knows what we’d be doing right now.”
“But?” she whispered.
“But I’m trying to make something happen…”
“You don’t have a girlfriend?” she asked, biting the words off.
“No. ….. It’s complicated.” I sighed as she slid closer. Her warmth brushed my arm.
“Chris… You're really cute. It shouldn’t have to be complicated.” Her eyes locked on mine. Her hand brushed my shoulder before she pulled it back.
“Angela, don’t…” I paused, her face tight, her eyes heavy.
She shifted on the plank. The night air moved her hair across her cheek, and she tucked it behind her ear like she needed her hands free to say what came next.
“Complicated,” she repeated, softer. “You say that like it’s supposed to scare me off.”
“I’m not trying to scare you off.”
“What are you doing?”She leaned in a little, not touching me, but close enough that I felt the question in my chest. “Because you look at me like you want to be here… and then you look away like you’re afraid someone’s going to catch you.”
Her voice wasn’t angry. It was honest. That’s what made it worse.
“I’m not afraid,” I said, though it came out thin.
Angela’s eyes searched mine, sharp and warm at the same time. “Then look at me.”
I did. And it hit harder than I expected, how close she was, how easy it would be to cross a line, how much she wanted me to.
“Chris… I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to stop acting like you owe the whole world an explanation for liking someone.”
My throat tightened. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is,” she said. “Fine. But don’t pretend you don’t feel anything right now.”
The rope bridge creaked under us. The river moved dark and slow beneath our feet. I felt the pull. Her confidence, her warmth, the way she wasn’t letting me hide behind the word complicated anymore.
I opened my mouth, but I didn’t want to lie.
Angela stayed close, her knee brushing mine as the bridge swayed under us. The night felt too still for how fast my chest was thudding.
Her shoulder pressed lightly into my arm, warm through the damp fabric of my shirt. She wasn’t bold like Melissa. No grabbing, no show. She was quiet. Intentional. That made it harder to breathe.
“Chris,” she said, voice low, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”
I should’ve stepped back.
I didn’t.
Instead, I let myself lean into her warmth, just a little. My shoulder pressed back into hers. Her breath was soft, and something in my stomach tightened.
For a second, one long, stupid second, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to close that last bit of space. To let her hand stay on my shoulder. To let the night go wherever it wanted.
Angela looked up at me, eyes wide and hopeful. “See?” she murmured. “That wasn’t complicated.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t pull away. I let the moment sit between us, warm and dangerous, like the bridge might collapse if we moved.
“Angela…”
She didn’t look away. She held my eyes like she was waiting for me to blink first.
“Chris,” she whispered, “you don’t have to run from this.”
She stepped closer, giving me every chance to stop her. I didn’t.
Her hand lifted to my cheek, light as the breeze.
“See?” she murmured. “Not complicated.”
And then she kissed me, a soft, warm press of her lips against mine, her fingers curling at the back of my neck like she was afraid I’d disappear.
I kissed her back. A reflex more than a choice.
Angela looked up at me. “What now?” she cooed.
My whole body buzzed. I had never gone this far before.
I leaned in, pushing my lips into hers. Her fingers brushed my chin, making the skin prickle on my cheek.
“Okay,” I sighed. Angela took my hand.
My stomach burned. I closed my eyes and exhaled, guilt settling in my chest like a stone.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The walk was quiet. The firelight flickered through the trees as we got closer, Liam’s laugh carrying across the clearing, bright and oblivious.
Angela brushed her hand against mine, and I pulled her close. Wyatt was ignoring all of us. Cathy and Rachel had left. The fire pit was still, the embers glowing in the ash.
I swallowed hard as we sat by the pit. My hands shook. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t real, that the heat and the sun had made me loopy.
And then she touched me, and I gasped.
Nope. I was fully awake.
I closed my eyes, fighting the guilt, and something in me flipped.
I leaned into it.
Angela didn't want to stop. I did. I couldn't. I was scared.
The next morning, I woke up first. Angela was by the firepit. I stepped close, touching her shoulder, afraid she might disappear if I blinked.
“Hey. Good morning.” I whispered as I sat next to her. Her eyes were red. She’d been crying.
I didn’t deserve Angela, and I sure as hell didn’t deserve Blaire.
Angela looked out over the river, then back at me with a small, tired smile.
“Good morning.”
I nodded, letting her speak.
“What do you want to do?” I asked.
“Go get your girl, Chris,” Angela muttered.
“It’s a little late for that.”
She shook her head. “No…” Her chest shook as she sobbed.
“Angela… I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t.”
The cool, collected huntress from last night was gone. Only a scared girl in her place.
I stood up, ready to say something.
Anything.
When Liam’s tent unzipped.
Melissa slipped out with a sleepy grin. Liam followed, pulling her close, kissing her as they giggled.
Angela looked at them, then at me. I had broken her heart and didn’t know how to fix it. She shook her head and walked quickly to Melissa’s car.
Liam straightened and looked at me. His pride slipped.
I slipped back into the tent. Angela’s vanilla perfume lingered in the air as Melissa’s car crunched across the leaves.
“Hey. You good?” Wyatt’s voice split the silence.
“No.” The dam broke. “No, I’m not.”
Wyatt gripped my leg and left as quickly as he came. He didn’t stay. He didn’t talk. He left me with the consequences.
Then another thought hit me. What if Blaire was doing the same thing? Some boy at the boat club leaning in, testing her, seeing if she’d slip.
I closed my eyes and shook as I broke my own heart.
The car ride home was silent. Everything felt like a waste.
Back in Lakeland, I dropped my stuff and went straight to the bathroom. My face was red from the sun, my eyes tired in a way that wasn’t about sleep.
I knew I wanted Blaire. I also knew I didn’t deserve her.
I flopped onto my bed. Before I could think it through, I was dialing her number.
It rang three times before she answered.
“Hey,” Blaire breathed. “I missed you.”
My breath caught. “Hey.”
“Chris… you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m just tired.”
She kept talking, but my mind drifted back to Angela. To the springs. To the bridge. To the kiss that didn’t mean what it should have.
I had no idea that day at the springs was the start of a pattern. One I wouldn’t understand until much later.
“Chris? Did you hear me? …you asleep?” Blaire huffed.
Her tone wasn’t angry, just confused, a little hurt. The kind of hurt she didn’t deserve.
I knew that Labor Day. That decision could never be spoken of. Ever.
I swallowed, trying not to cry.
I stared at the ceiling, wishing I’d asked Blaire to come with us to the springs.
I hung up the phone and listened to the dial tone buzz before I set the cordless back in its cradle. The house felt too still, the walls too close.
By morning, Mom was already in the kitchen, the radio tuned to 97 Country, the same DJ who’d been talking about the Gators game all weekend at the springs. Nothing in the house had changed, but I had. I felt it in the way I couldn’t look at myself in the bathroom mirror for more than a second.
Tuesday came fast. The halls at school smelled the same way they always did after a long weekend. Wyatt acted like he hadn’t seen me fall apart in a tent. Liam kept his eyes down. Blaire found me by the lockers, her hair still damp from her morning shower, her backpack covered in those little metal pins everyone was trading that year.
“Hey, stranger,” she said, smiling like the world was the same one from three days ago.
My stomach twisted. I wasn’t ready for her smile. I wasn’t ready for anything.
A week later, Blaire and I were sitting on the dock in her neighborhood, her Keds dangling over the water, her headphones around her neck. She laughed at something I said, and for a moment, I let myself believe I was still the boy she thought I was.
My heart thudded in my throat, the way it used to when Dad would say, “Some things stay in the car, son.”
The words weren’t about this, but the feeling was the same. That thought stayed, settling into the cracks of the next few weeks. By the time a month had passed, life had moved on.