We're walking through the woods and it's completely silent.

Other than the rustling fir trees and lichen-covered rocks, it's just Becca Fisher and me. I've been alone with Becca before, but now it feels... different. Like we're breaking some kind of unspoken rule. (We're breaking a lot of real camp rules, too, but I'd prefer not to think about that. We'd probably get kitchen duty for life if one of the counselors caught us now.) There's a funny feeling in my stomach too; something light and fluttery, like I've swallowed a jar of moths. Maybe it's the anxiety about being outside after lights out, or exhaustion from staying up too late. It could even be a side effect of the gross salad I had at dinner tonight.

Or something else entirely.

"Finn?"

I look up and see Becca staring at me.

"I asked if you wanted to go to the lake," she says.

"Sure," I reply, partially because I don't think she'd let me say no, and also because walking to the lake at night sounds exciting, in a rebellious way. It reminds me of something Sarah used to say to tick off mom and dad— rules exist to be broken. She definitely took those words to heart.

Becca strikes up a conversation while we walk. It's a refreshing talk, loose and irreverent, and completely un-camp related. There's nothing else to compare it to, really. All my conversations with Ronan usually end in death threats, and I haven't spoken with any of my family members— or Anna— in a month. And it's not like I can exchange pleasantries with the counselors.

I glance over at her, suddenly overwhelmed with gratefulness for her presence. I'm so happy that we can do this together— and by this, I mean walk through the woods and talk about our lives like we're regular kids, not campers stuck in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness. We can finally just be teenagers, going for a casual midnight stroll.

We only have to be ourselves.

Becca, of course, notices me staring, and a sort of half-smiles twitches across her mouth as she asks, "Is there something on my face?"

"What? Uh, no. Your face is nice. I mean, it's fine. Your face is fine. You're fine."

(I am a miserable, miserable wreck of a human being.)

The half-smile curls into a full one. "Finn Murphy, were you checking me out?"

Thankfully, I'm spared from having to answer her question, because seconds later we burst through the treeline and pop out on the rocky beach of the lake. Momentarily distracted, Becca beckons me towards the water, where an endless series of waves lap gently against the shore.

"It's so pretty here, isn't it?" she says, a little breathlessly. The breeze sticks strands of chestnut hair against her lips. "Sometimes I forget how beautiful this camp is. Alaska isn't all that bad when you're not being crammed in with a bunch of angry teenagers."

"Leave it to angry teenagers to ruin all that's good in the world."

Becca's laughter cleaves the cool night air in half. "Here, sit down with me. We can put our feet in the water."

We sit down on a chunk of washed-up driftwood, the log big enough to fit two people side-by-side, if those two people were squeezed tightly together. (I'm not complaining.) Becca kicks off her shoes and dumps them in the sand. I do the same. When I've pulled off my socks and rolled up my pajama pants, I dig my toes into the slick rocks sand and let the waves wash over my feet; sweet, freezing relief.

"So, Fish," Becca says. She smiles when I make a face at the nickname. "You never answered my question."

"What question?"

She bumps her knee against mine. The impact sends tiny shock-waves pulsing through my body. "Don't play dumb. I asked if you were checking me out. Were you?"

"Uh...."

"It's fine. You don't have to answer."

Nearby, a katydid clicks its wings together, the gentle thrumming joining an orchestra of other nightly noises. The air is thick with the tangy smell of pine needles; the scent so strong I can almost taste it in my mouth. I never experienced anything as wondrous as this night in Indiana. My muscles feel alive, like I could scale a mountain or run a marathon. It's electrifying.

But it still doesn't explain the moths flapping clumsily around my stomach.

Becca coughs, and I turn back to her. "What do you think the Director would do if he saw us out here?" she asks. There's an edge of defiance in her voice, like she's daring me to get scared and chicken out. It's certainly a challenge.

"Give us about a thousand marks, probably," I say, cracking a smile so she'll know I'm not worried. (Well, not too worried.) "But I doubt she's even awake. Right now, she's probably lying in her bed, dreaming about ways to make our lives more miserable."

She laughs again. "You're right. I guess it's just us out here."

And then, there's quiet.

And then, for the first time in my life, I realize I'm not bothered by the quiet. Sitting next to Becca, the silence isn't a void demanding to be filled; it's just... light, like a cloud or a breeze, peaceful and inviting. And I know that doesn't make any sense but that's how it feels. At least to me.

Becca sucks in a sharp breath, and the spell of silence is broken. "You know, you can be painfully oblivious sometimes," she says— not unkindly, but like she's pointing out a fact.

"I don't follow."

She tilts her head at me, like I'm being purposefully slow. But she's still smiling, and I can tell she's not actually frustrated with me; just pretending. "We're standing by the lake, alone, at midnight. Do you really not get the hint?"

"What hint?"

"Just kiss me, you idiot," she says, and I must look stunned, because she laughs again, and I can't help thinking to myself again that her laugh is such a wonderful sound, more wonderful than all the sounds of the trees and the wind and the water around us.
The moths have died away now, and I feel calm; tranquil, like sitting by the lake with Becca is the most natural thing in the world.

"Okay," I say, and I lean forward and press my lips against hers.

It occurs to me that I shouldn't be kissing people at a summer camp for juvenile delinquents. I mean, isn't the whole point of this stupid camp to get me to hate life and be miserable? I don't think my principal sent me here to make out with a girl I barely know. But here I am, anyway. Somehow.

I'm still breaking rules. (I can count at least four at the moment.) And I'm kissing Becca Fisher. Which I'm not protesting about at all. Anna would freak out if she could see me now— she would probably go off on a rant about how I need to stop fooling around and start paying attention and not break more rules because I'll just get in trouble. Again.

But it's easy to ignore Anna's voice in my head, especially when I'm kissing Becca Fisher.

Her lips are chapped from the cold and taste like camp-fire smoke, but I couldn't dream of a more perfect pair. My hands move to the back of her neck, and I can feel her pulse beneath my fingertips, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. And, as much as I hate to be the cliched kid who claims their first kiss is magical, I can't deny that there's something special about this moment, like we've created an entirely new and wonderful thing.

Wait a minute. Can Becca tell that this is my first kiss?

It only takes a few seconds for me to spiral from this is the highlight of my summer to I'm the worst kisser in the world and Becca is never going to talk to me again. It's hard to make out with someone while you're in the middle of the crisis, and Becca must notice that I'm not responding as eagerly as I previously was, because she pulls her head back and asks, "Is everything okay?"

I'm planning to reply with a strong, confident, "Yes!", but then my brain suggests a more casual, "Yup", so of course the two lines of thought get crossed and I end up proudly exclaiming, "Yusp!" like some sort of deranged lunatic.

Becca frowns at me. "Yusp?"

"It's... new slang. Soon everybody will be saying it."

"Ah. Okay."

I cringe painfully. This just went from being one of the best moments of my life to one of the most awkward. "I sound like a total moron, don't I?"

She makes a noise like a stifled laugh. "Finn, you are too much."

"Too much of a good thing or too much of a bad thing?"

"I'll let you figure that out."

I must look pathetically confused, because she grins at me and drags her pinky fingernail over her lips. "Do you know what people say about kissing?"

"Uh, no?"

"They say you can only improve with practice."

"Oh." My cheeks must be as red as a tomato now. "Are you, uh, offering?"

She leans into me, her breath tickling my skin. "Yusp," she says, and then she starts laughing, and the laughing turns into kissing, and I realize that I'm not the worst kisser in the world because Becca wouldn't kiss me twice if I was. Which is a pretty fucking major relief.

We make out for a while, until Becca reminds me that we have the Hike tomorrow and shouldn't stay up too late doing rebellious teenager things. I offer to walk her back to her cabin, and to my surprise, Becca— the girl who once told me chivalry should've died off in the Medieval Ages— accepts.

So we walk back to her cabin hand-in-hand, our shoulders bumping together and ours kneecaps colliding, the night still cold but made slightly warmer by each other's company. "You've done this before," I say to her, without thinking. "Gone outside at night. Broken curfew."

She grins at me, swinging our arms up and down in the air. "How'd you figure that out, Sherlock?"

"I just figured. Also, if I'm Sherlock, then you're my Watson."

"No! I refuse to be the sidekick."

"Fine. We can both be Sherlock."

"That makes absolutely no sense."

I chuckle sheepishly, and Becca jostles me with her elbow, and only then am I allowed to continue. "So, who'd you break curfew with? I can't imagine many of the campers wanting to skip out on their precious beauty sleep."

"I went with Angela and some of her friends. We went swimming in the lake, and it was so beautiful. Like, the moonlight was reflecting all across the water and it was so clear and perfect... until Tima got stung by some weird jellyfish. It had suckers stingers or something." She jostles me again. "Maybe next time you can come."

I might have blushed. "Weird jellyfish? I didn't think jellyfish lived in lakes."

She shrugs. Her hazel curls look almost glossy; I wish she didn't always imprison them in a braid. "I dunno. You can ask her about it if you want— I think she still has the welts— big, ugly thing that oozed. She had to go to the Med Cabin, didn't you know?"

"Really?" This explains why Tima missed one of our Sharing Circles. And possibly the injury that Ronan got on his ankle. Although I don't understand how one jellyfish could do so much damage...

Becca voices my thoughts. "It's odd, isn't it? First Tima, and now Ronan. Makes you wonder what's in the lake.... the water's so clear, but it's so dark, too. You can't see what's swimming under you. Or who's swimming under you."

"You think it's the ghosts?"

"Maybe." Her tone is dead-serious for a second, and then she bursts into laughter. "That would be fun— more fun than capture the flag and arts and crafts, at least. But there are no such things as ghosts. Maybe it was just a weird current, or a jellyfish invasion."

"Not that's a terrifying thought. Jellyfish invasions? How will we survive?" I'm grinning, and Becca's shoulders are shaking with laughter, and there's nothing that can ruin this. Us, walking through the woods, talking and cracking jokes. "This sounds like a case for the two Sherlock Holmes."

"The Mystery of the Jellyfish Invasion," Becca says, framing her words with her fingers as if imagining them on a movie poster. "It certainly has a ring to it."

"It certainly does." Impulsively, I lift her hand to my mouth and plant a kiss on her knuckles, which are warm and kind of gritty from walking through the forest. She doesn't say anything about it, but the tips of her lips quirk upwards, giving herself away.

We talk the rest of the way back to the cabin; but nothing too serious. I joke about sea life declaring war on humans. Becca tries to scare me with ghost stories about sailors lost at sea. When we reach the fork in the trail, she gives me a quick peck on the cheek and murmurs, "I'll see you tomorrow, Sherlock."

The skin where her lips touched my face tingles. "Yeah, you too, Watson. Don't let the jellyfish bite."

Becca laughs freely. "I'm not Watson!" she exclaims, and then she's gone, dashing back to Eerie Cabin, a flurry of bronzed curls tossing in the air behind her. She disappears into the darkness and I hear, in the distance, a screen door slam shut. A light flickers on, then off, and I know she's back, safe, at her cabin.

Beckarof Cabin is only a few minutes away. As I enter, I'm careful to let the screen door close quietly, tiptoeing across the creaky wood panels so Ronan doesn't wake up. I'm half-hoping that he still hasn't returned to the cabin yet.

But of course, I have no such luck.

I'm slipping under the covers when the light flickers on. "What the hell are you doing?" Ronan demands, sitting bolt-upright in his cot. It doesn't look like he's slept a wink, and I can tell he's cross about it. "Finn, explain yourself."

"I'm going to bed," I tell him. My toes are freezing— I swear that it's colder inside the cabin than it is outside. I tug off my shoes and kick them onto the floor. They hit the ground with a thud. "What are you doing?"

"Don't change the subject. I heard you come in from outside. Where were you?"

"None of your business."

Ronan studies me for a moment. Then he says, with a sort of knowing, half-smile growing on his face, "You two really aren't as clever as you think you are."

Heat rushes into my cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about," I say, my words muffled by the blankets I pulled up to hide my blush.

"So, is this going to be a thing now? You and Becca Fisher?"

"Shut up!" I bury my head deeper into the sheets. "Leave me alone. I'm going to bed."

I fumble for the light-switch by my bedpost, and a few seconds later, we return to darkness. The cabin is dead silent. There are crickets chirping outside of the window. The oak tree is creaking above our heads. And I'm smiling like crazy...

After a minute or two of silence, Ronan mutters, "I think I might need to talk to Becca about her taste in guys. She's clearly lost her mind."

"Goodnight," I say, effectively shutting him up. He sighs, and then the whole cabin falls into perfect silence. I replay the night in my head, grinning like a maniac. I can't stop thinking about the kiss. It's horrible. Horribly, horribly wonderful.

I fall asleep smiling.