the bonfire crackles loud and wide in the clearing, spitting sparks up into the sky like they could climb all the way into the stars. camp hollow's river always smells the same on the first night: pine and citronella, distant lakewater and burnt sugar. isla knows this without needing to think about it. some things just stay with you. she stands a little outside the circle, arms crossed loosely, her flashlight dangling from her wrist like a charm bracelet. the hem of her windbreaker flaps against her legs. from this angle, she can see the counselors grouped up in little clusters—returners mixed with a few new faces. she catches snippets of old stories, the start of new gossip, someone trying to light a marshmallow on fire on purpose. she lets it all drift around her like background music, her attention pulled toward one person only.
thalia rojas.
her laugh hasn’t changed: still sharp and a little wild, like it breaks out before she can catch it. her hair is a little longer now. isla stares maybe a little too long, hands tightening around the flashlight. they hadn’t seen each other since isla’s sister’s funeral, or maybe not even that, isla can't remember. the whole year after feels blurry, like walking underwater, but the letters had kept coming, even when isla didn’t answer, even when she couldn't. now, thalia sits at one of the wooden benches around the fire, lit orange by flame, talking to someone isla didn’t recognize. they lean close to each other, heads tilted just-so. isla feels her stomach go tight, like she’d swallowed a stone.
eventually, she steps forward. “ hey , ” isla says, her voice light, like it doesn't matter, like she hadn’t spent the past half hour trying to decide if she’d say anything at all. her weight shifts from one foot to the other. “ who were you having dinner with ? ” she doesn't mean for it to come out that way ( sharp-edged, like she’d cut her tongue on it ), but thalia is looking at her now, and the fire crackles again, and isla doesn't look away.
