okay so i’ve been craving something with max/reader where he’s with laura, maybe laura is gonna break up with him or something, and he realizes his feelings for reader all along (no pressure if you’re not into it or don’t have time though!)
*note: this turned into a fic. it’s a gift and a curse of mine. also making this an au where they did in fact go to the motel and so they spend the summer together! also Laura and Emma aren’t the best characters in this so apologies if they’re your favorite. the drama just flowed too well.
warnings: fem!reader, harsh language, mentions of alcohol, high tension
Laura is a good person.
You’ve known this since third grade when she brushed off your scraped knee and shouldered you to the nurse’s office. She’s a good person—an even better friend.
But good people can do bad things.
If you want to get technical about the details, you knew Max long before Laura. He’s the son of a family friend and had been mixed up in your school days since preschool era. You two weren’t all that close until summer came around, your families hosting duel vacations every other year.
Those stopped around middle school, dead center in puberty. You and Max stayed in touch, practically leaning towards best friends by then, too, but you were with Laura a lot those days. The two of them met junior year of high school because of you.
One of your biggest regrets by far.
“You’re really not gonna go for it?”
Laura’s in the bathroom, you and Max going over the study guide for your first of many final exams. Steadily, you’re approaching the end of your senior year in college. He’ll be off to graduate school and Laura to vet school right beside him.
You…
You’re still figuring it out.
Shrugging, you erase an answer to replace it with the correct variation.
“I think Laura wants it to be a you and her thing. I’d be third wheeling like I always do.”
You turn it into a joke. That’s all you’ve been doing since senior year of high school. Jokes. Easier to laugh than to cry.
“There’s gonna be other counselors to hang out with,” he says, sipping on his drink as he flips to another page in his textbook. He’s always preferred the physical copies to the electronic despite the heftier price. You respect that. “She wouldn’t have mentioned the opening unless she wanted you to come with. And we’re friends. You’re not third wheeling.”
“Two months is a long time to be babysitting.”
“You’d be the swim instructor and a prep cook. I think between both of those, you’re getting about half the action.”
“As opposed to you, the great activity leader?”
He rolls his eyes, smiling into his notes.
“Obviously.”
You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek as he calls your name.
“Come. Please,” he murmurs, blue eyes big and round and as heartbreaking as a hungry kitten in the rain. “This might be the last time we get to hang out again. If I get into that school—”
“When you get in,” you urge gently. “It was a great essay, Max.”
“Thanks to you,” he supplies, freckled cheeks extended with his ever warm smile. “I just want some more time with my best friend. So does Laura.”
It was so much easier to say no to her. With Max it’s like trying to set a broken bone by yourself. You know you can do it, but the pain. Always deterring you from going through with it even if it’s better for you in the long run.
But saying yes to him while breaking your own heart? It’s a reoccurring offense.
“Here. Got your favorite.”
You look up as plastic rustles and nearly get decked by the flying treat. Max laughs at the fumble and you stick your tongue out at him before smiling down at the snack. Cosmic brownies—a staple in old school lunches.
“You’re lucky I love the outdoors,” you huff, nodding when he raises his brow expectantly. “Yeah, I’ll send a resume in for the spot.”
Set up in the backseat of the car a few months later with the map marked and the directions highlighted, you still find yourself wondering if this was the right thing to do.
The crash is startling, even more so than the growing tension between your usually lovesick best friends. Laura, always one to take charge and not let up, is not helping the stressful situation of having possibly hit a person.
You stay behind with Max to help fix the car when Laura wants to explore, and by help you mean hold the light so that he can see what the hell he’s doing.
“Good thing you’re a mechanical degree,” you tease, swatting a bug drawn to the beam of light that sprouts from your phone. “You sure it’s fixable?”
“Guess we’ll find out,” he mumbles, expression guarded.
You shift awkwardly in place, not used to seeing him in a bad mood for so long. Honestly, you’d noticed the frequenting fights between them but you’d chosen to keep your distance and not comment. They always worked everything out in the end.
Four year relationships last for a reason.
“We aren’t lost, you know,” you say, hoping to lift the cloud darkening his brow. “I highlighted the route on my map. We’re going the right way, Laura’s just a little…impatient.”
“We had to have made a wrong turn somewhere or we’d have been there earlier.”
His tone is bordering blaming, more so directed at himself with the way he scowls and his eyes stare into the distance.
You reach forward and poke a bit of grease on his cheek, pulling him out of whatever riptide his thoughts are dragging him into.
“You have a smudge,” you reveal, showcasing your icky finger. He makes a wipe for his stain and misses, leaving your to guide his wrist towards it. The skin you touch is warm.
“We didn’t make a wrong turn, we just took the longer route that puts us past more towns and rest stops,” you explain, wishing to reassure him. “I thought we might need a hotel option since—”
You zip your mouth shut not wishing to add to the festering arguments between lovers.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just should’ve chosen the shorter route.”
“You know you get a little pitchy when you lie?”
You scrunch your face at him, earning a chuckle as he focuses back on the car again.
“I’m sorry, but you do. Always have even when we were little.”
He playfully nudges you when you grumble to yourself, “I do not…”
“C’mon. What is it?” he prods softly.
You hesitate, thinking through the options.
“Promise you won’t be mad?”
He gives you an incredulous look as he grabs a wrench from the toolbox.
“Have I ever been angry at you?”
You laugh out loud at that, phone light shaking.
“Uh, yes, a dozen of times!”
“Name one.”
You smirk, smug as you open your mouth before the words die on your tongue.
When was the last time he was mad at you?
“Oh,” your eyes light up as you dig the tip of your shoe into the dirt, “a few weeks ago. You snapped at me when I was cleaning up the glass Laura broke during the movie marathon.”
He pauses, turning his head towards you but not his eyes.
“I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at—” he sucks in a breath, tinkering away again, “she broke your favorite mug. From when we were little. I saw the look on your face when it happened and seeing you clean it up…”
He sighs, shaking his head.
“I wasn’t mad at you,” he repeats. ”And I won’t be mad, so tell me why the longer route.”
You shift in place, discomforted. It felt like another argument waiting to happen but you suppose the truth was coming out sooner or later when you reached the camp tonight.
“Well, Laura never was able to, uh, get in touch with Mr. Hackett.”
“What?” He looks at you clearly confused as he rests his hands against the edge of the hood. “She said he knew we were coming.”
“Maybe he does,” you try to sound optimistic, you really do. “But she just left a message and so I thought the extra time on this route would give him enough time to call her back you know? And if he didn’t I was gonna suggest a motel—”
He groans sounding more exasperated than anything as he rubs his face over the crook of his elbow and not greasy hands.
“I love her. I do. But she always wants to skip too many steps,” he complains, laughing out the stress built up. “I’m so glad you thought ahead. We’re bunking up tonight whether she likes it or not. I’m not driving all the way out there if he didn’t even give her permission. That’s out of the question.”
You agree with him but don’t say so outright. Besides, you’re all tired from the long car ride. Everyone deserves a good night’s rest after this crash.
“You’re always covering her tracks,” he hums, head nearly lost to the car’s inner workings. “You’re a good friend. Maybe too good.”
“What do you mean?”
Before you can get an answer out of him, Laura is running full tail out of the denser area of forest, pale white as a ghost.
After the stuff she has to say, you’re quick to pile into the vehicle with them, shivering at the prospect of an old woman wandering around.
You nearly shit yourself when the cop shows up.
Suspiciously, Laura’s all for his plan to head to Harbinger’s Motel. With how fast he’d pulled your car out of the mud and back onto the road, you couldn’t care less how creepy the man was—he’s a savior and the motel is a great idea.
Laura does a full 180 when he’s gone. You’re not surprised; she had been dead set on being the first counselors to the Hackett’s Quarry.
“Honey, you really want to listen to the advice of some creep-ass cop, who told us in the middle of the creep-ass woods, to go to some creep-ass hotel?”
“Yes,” says Max, fully defiant. It’s another shock to your system, blindsiding you as they both turn to get your opinion on the matter.
You give Laura a guilty smile and she sighs, going silent for the rest of the trip as you read the directions to the hotel to Max. The cop had circled it despite your highlighter having already marked it.
After a tense night with the silently quarreling couple, you survive to see the next day and the group you’ll be spending the following two months with.
Abigail reminds you of Max’s shy nature. You two take to each other easily, but she’s a bit more social when it comes to the other girls. Emma and her share a cabin with the kids and while you respect the gal for her theatrical skills, she’s just not someone you can hang around with long. She drains you somehow, but it’s probably just you.
Always is, usually.
You find solitude with Dylan during morning announcements, enjoying his “DJ station” as the kids like to call it. He’s proud of all the updates he managed, happy to tell you the story behind everything when you compliment them. The little hut is his baby. He bestows you with the title of godmother despite your lack of intelligence with the gear.
You think Ryan likes you, or at least tolerates you. His affinity with podcasts and ghost stories had piqued your interest one night at dinner. You’re not all for horror or anything, but you do enjoy a good murder scene breakdown from time to time.
The other counselors are kind and welcoming but distant with their roles with the kids. You don’t run into them all that often unless they’re dropping off their group at the pool or it’s their turn to help you cook. The schedules change every day to keep the kids on their feet.
A few weeks in Laura comes to you in the dead of the night crying. You do your best to give her some solace as she describes the tiff-turn-fight with Max.
Apparently, she’d seen a rejection letter in his bag after the crash on that weird night with the cop and the thing in the road. When she’d approached him about it, shit pretty much hit the fan. That’s all she gives, eyes empty and rimmed red.
“I’m sorry, babe,” you tell her, heart hurting for her. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” she sniffs, wiping her face with her jacket’s sleeve. “Honestly, I think this might be good for us.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, if we’re not going to the same college it won’t last.”
“C’mon, don’t say that. You guys have made it this long—distance won’t change that.”
“Maybe not for him,” she sighs, shrugging, “but that’s not something I can handle. I need support and comfort and phone calls and texts won’t give me that.”
For some reason, that doesn’t sit well with you because, yeah, Max is always going to support Laura, that’s what he’s been doing. And now she’s saying the best that he can do won’t be enough? It’s a shit excuse. A cop out.
You wonder if it’s just her not willing to put in the work that comes with long distance.
“Laura,” you almost scoff but somehow manage to sound concerned instead, “you guys can visit each other. It’s not the end of the world—you can make it work.”
“You don’t get it,” she argues, her bullheadedness rearing as she tosses a mild glare your way. “You’ve never been in a real relationship. Not everything can be worked out, sometimes, you know?”
She could have punched a hole through your chest and it would’ve been far less painful than what she’d just said.
“You know what,” you breathe, trying to bite back the tightness taking control of your throat, even your eyes begin to water, “you’re right. This isn’t any of my business. You two can work it out yourselves.”
Laura calls your name, abashed as you stand and walk towards the stairs of the lodge. You’ve had enough for one night and sneaking out of your bunk when there’s sleeping kids around isn’t the best idea.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry!”
“Whatever, Laura.” You get to the top before you turn and throw your hands up at her. “Do whatever you want to do because at the end of the day, you don’t listen to anyone’s advice but your own.”
Fate just keeps kicking you down, it seems, because Max’s group of kids are scheduled for swim time the next day.
Standing on lifeguard duty with him by your side, you find relief that Mr. H had been strict about swimwear: one pieces for the girls and shirts for the boys. Some of the guys didn’t follow those rules, but Max did, luckily.
You don’t think a drowning kid would have good odds if his toned stomach is within eyesight.
A kid screams as a splashing contest begins. You blow your whistle at a runner, pointing in warning before the little tike slows his roll. Max laughs at your stern authority, sitting next to you on the hot concrete by the pool ledge. Both of your legs are dipped into the cool water, shifting the surface every so often.
“They listen to you.”
“Guess I scare them,” you huff, smiling to yourself as a pair of kids beg you from the other side of the pool to join their game. You shake your head, pointing to the life guard on duty sign.
They whine but continue on with their fun.
“Sure,” Max quips. “Looks like you’re a real terror they want on their team.”
You roll your eyes, remaining a keen eye for any tripping feet or diving heads.
“I might’ve screwed up,” he says, sitting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his side. “I think we might be splitting up.”
Your heart seizes as you whip your head to Max. There is no way Laura could be that serious about breaking up—not in one night.
“Did she say that?”
He shrugs, eyelids lowered as he kicks his feet out in the blue-hued water.
“It was a bad fight.”
“Couples fight, Max,” you whisper. He shakes his head.
“Not like this. Not over crap like this. She snooped through my stuff—how was I suppose to react? I didn’t tell her yet because I knew how she’d get.”
He blinks and glances at you.
“She already told you, right? That…that I didn’t get in?”
You nod, guilty as his shoulders drop and a pout forms on his lips.
“I don’t know why they wouldn’t accept,” you say, angry on his behalf. “You had good grades—a great essay!”
“She said the same thing,” he grouses, “but she seemed to think I didn’t try hard enough, somehow. That that’s why I was afraid to tell her.”
“Are you shitting me?”
Max’s eyes nearly bulge out as he looks at you. You don’t know why he’s so shocked before a chorus of “oooh”s break up your conversation.
“You said a bad word!” multiple, squeaky voices berate.
“Okay, okay,” you shout, blowing your whistle to reign them in. “You’re right. That was bad. You guys wanna decide a punishment?”
“Soap in the mouth!”
“Mom makes me write a bunch of sentences!”
“Let’s make her play the game she did with Jacob’s group!”
“Oh no,” you groan as they all cheer. You hide your face in your hands as Max laughs next to you.
“What game?” he asks, nudging you over and over as you shake your head repeatedly. “What? Tell me!”
A chant begins, steadily growing as more kids chime in with “Sharkbait! Sharkbait!”
“It’s torture tag,” you sigh, laying an elbow on your knee as you rest your chin in your hand. “I’m the shark and have to swim after all of them blindfolded.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“They played it for the entire pool time last week. I’m still sore.”
He laughs at that, shuffling forward and sliding into the water. Your heart trips over a rib cage or two when he smiles up at you, cheeky.
“Two sharks are better than one.”
It’s still chaos. Small pods of giggling kids running amok in the water. You only allow seven in at a time and whoever gets caught has to switch with who ever is next in line.
Between all the swimming and knocking into the sides of the pool, you catch quite a few kids despite your blinded eyes.
Then you collide with a larger body, hands finding more skin than ought to be on display. Strong arms wrap around you before Max’s chuckles reach your ears. His hands smooth over your shoulders.
“I think I caught my teammate,” he says, also blindfolded. The kids laugh around all of you.
You’re too focused on the feeling of his pecs under your hands to come up with a retort. When had he’d taken his shirt off?
“Well, what do we have here?”
You scramble back, ripping the blindfold from your eyes to stare gobsmacked at Emma.
She smirks down at you from the edge of the pool, arms crossed over her one piece. It’s more elegant than yours, black and sleek and fitting to her model figure.
“Time for activity change,” she sings, all too smug. Max’s group whines, going to change out of their swim suits as you blow the whistle.
Max climbs out of the pool nearby, your eyes drawn to the muscles in his back as he does so.
Emma clears her throat and you meet her attention again before scrambling out of the water yourself.
Something tells you a path had been chosen just then.
That same path reaches another fork come midnight a week later.
Mr. H had needed to head out for the night leaving Ryan in charge before dinner preparations had begun. He trusted the counselors to keep the kids in check for the next few hours, cautioning everyone that he’d be back come early morning.
The kids were left to run around after dinner at 6PM, leaving all of them tuckered out by nightfall. You’re busy cleaning up the kitchen and dining hall with Abigail when Dylan comes strutting in.
“Toddlers are all toddled out,” he beams and your jaw drops as he holds up an entire bottle of straight vodka.
“There is no way in hell you got Ryan to okay this,” you argue as Abigail shakes her head. “Where did you even get that?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she mumbles at the same time.
Dylan grins triumphantly.
“Smuggled in the first day. Ryan said we’re good as long as we stay by the fire pit and don’t get too rowdy or hungover tomorrow.”
“Who’s gonna watch the kids?!” you hiss.
“We’re gonna draw straws,” he answers. “Two who get the shortest miss out on all the real fun and stay by the cabins.”
“Of the dozens of kids here, we’re leaving two counselors to keep watch?” you scoff, entirely unamused. “No. This is a horrible idea.”
“No, it’s a crazy idea and it’s the full moon so,” Dylan’s purses his lips, shrugging and nodding, “shit checks out. Yeah.”
You rub your temples, the makings of a headache building with his lunacy.
Somehow, all ten counselors show up to draw straws by the little bridge separating the kids cabins from the trail leading back up to the lodge or to the lake depending on the direction.
Abigail draws first, pressured by Emma. She looks all but relieved to get one of the two short straws.
“Have fun, you guys,” she says. “If anything happens, I knew nothing.”
“If anything happens, we all have amnesia,” Ryan deadpans, earning everyone’s attention. “I’m serious. If anyone’s taking the heat for this, it’s the evil genius.”
“Aww, you think I’m a genius?” Dylan teases, a hand on his hip as he twists in place.
“That’s all you got out of that?” Kaitlyn scoffs, crossing her arms.
“Me next, me next!” Jacob practically squeals, ignoring the shushes from the others and grabbing a straw. He screams silently in excitement as he hoists a long straw in the air.
Emma snatches the next one. She’s in. Nick follows her lead in joining the party.
Dylan’s offers Kaitlyn the lot next. She groans when she reveals the second short straw.
“You dweebs are lucky it’s two responsible counselors keeping an eye out,” she says, waving as she joins Abigail in heading back to the cabins. They’d be camping out by the big tree tonight, likely taking shifts to watch and see if any kids needed help tonight.
With both short straws drawn, the partygoers make their way to the fire pit. Dylan, Nick, and Jacob are already taking shots on the way down. You doubt they’ll meet the sunrise without a hangover weighing them down.
“This is fun, right?”
You glance at Laura as she comes up on your left, smile wide. You haven’t talked to her since that rough night filled with cruel words. To be fair, you didn’t cross roads often here with her being a nurse and not a trainer like most counselors. She didn’t seem all that phased from the lack of word from you, though.
“Sure,” you mutter, watching your step in the dark shades of the trees where the bright light of the moon doesn’t reach. “Unless we get caught.”
“So we don’t get caught.” She shrugs. “Simple as that.”
“Oh, sure, very simple,” chuckles Max right behind her. She shoves back into him playfully, the two of them grinning at one another.
Your gut twists as your feet quicken.
Splitting up your ass.
Stop, you tell yourself. Stop. It was just a stupid little fight.
They’ve been together for years—what were you expecting? To slip between them and have both shoulders cried on? To maybe have Max back home for the year while he figures out his next plan?
To have a second chance?
“Dylan,” you call, pushing forward from the back of the group to the front.
He turns, in the middle of laughing at something or another. His smile fades for the quickest second when he sees your face. You try to school it into something less pitying and more determined as you hold your hand out.
“Gimme the bottle.”
“Oh, shit!” Nick guffaws.
“Yeah, man!” encourages Jacob, stealing the bottle away from Dylan to pass it to you. “Lifeguard is officially on party duty!”
You hear Max call your name as you take up the liquor.
“Cheers!” you say to the wind, drinking up.
You sputter at the burn, coughing like a maniac as Jacob whoops. Dylan pats you on the back and you follow alongside him for the remainder of the journey down to the lake, upping your energy to match them the best you can.
You would make this fun. No more moping.
Once the fire is going and some snacks are passed around, the air changes.
You catch Emma eyeing you from across the fire pit and raise an eyebrow at her, sipping on a bottle of water.
“Let’s play truth or dare,” she says to everyone but her gaze remains on you. “Rules: you can ask anyone anything and dare them to do whatever.”
She looks around at the few unsure faces. Yours is not one of them.
“If half the group vetos it, then it’s whatever. You don’t have to answer or do the dare. Everyone in?”
A bunch of college kids, a bottle of vodka, and a game that can bring out the worst in people?
Of course everyone’s in.
The game starts out somewhat soft and easy. Dylan’s turn comes around and after having to take a small sip of lake water and swallow it (courtesy of Jacob’s dare), you choose truth if only to save your stomach from the mixing of two very unsettling liquids.
Hell, you’re tipsy enough after a few shots of vodka. You’ll stick to clean and filtered water for the rest of the night.
“Hmm,” Dylan taps his chin in thought, “if you had to sleep with someone here, who would you choose?”
That sip of lake water flips in your stomach. You pray the queasiness really is just your anxiety and not some parasite instead.
“You expect me to choose one out of all these beautiful people?” you scoff, waving a hand around as chuckles enter the air. “That’s just mean, Dylan.”
“Answer up, buttercup,” he croons, one leg folding over the other. You can tell his tipsy meter is much higher than your own at this point. Half of the bottle is already gone which is fairly concerning but not your problem.
Your eyes rove the group around you, skirting over the only true answer the quickest and not daring to meet his eyes.
“Ryan was voted the hottest in bunk 7,” you say. Said boy chokes on his drink, eyes going wide.
“What?” he asks.
“Bullshit,” Jacob says, affronted. You shrug at him, muscles loose and tingly.
“Just saying.”
“Well that’s what bunk 7 thinks,” Emma says, leaning forward on her knees. “What about you?”
“Honestly, I think Kaitlyn would be interesting to sleep with,” you hum. “She’s feisty.”
“Liar,” she sings.
Heat flashes in your chest as you raise a brow at her.
“Uh, what?” you huff.
“Liar,” she repeats, squinting as she grins toothily. “You and I both know who you really want here.”
The fire popping and cracklings between the two of you is nothing on the heat building in your body. You want to lunge across, fall into violence and smash her dainty nose into the log against her back.
Instead, you deflect.
“Damn,” you sigh, “you’ve got me.”
Everyone looks between the two of you, tension mounting.
“I like someone with a bit more tenderness.” You tilt your head towards Jacob who sits next to her, drunk as skunk. “A man who isn’t afraid to cry is a winner in my book. I’d sleep with Jacob.”
Dylan flat out chokes because he laughs so hard.
“Oh, yeah,” the jock slurs, pumping his fist. “Bunk 7 my ass. I’m a stud, obviously.”
Emma’s mask looks about ready to break as she stares you down through the flames. Jacob wraps an arm around her, cooing how she’s the only one for him but he thanks you.
“No problem,” you say, leaning back against your log as the game continues.
You dare Nick to dip his feet in the lake—shoes and socks stay on. His footsteps squeak all the way back to his seat.
Jacob calls on you again soon after that, daring you to boat across to the island and do the zip line. Everyone is quick to veto it, save for Emma, of course.
When her turn comes around, you’ve long since readied yourself for whatever she’s about to throw at you.
You take a breath, not breaking away when her gaze meets yours again.
“Max,” she names.
You swear you suffer whiplash for a moment as she bades him.
“Truth or dare?”
“Hmm, truth,” he says, unbothered as he lounges next to Laura two people down from you.
“Tell us about your first love,” Emma asks, smiling sweetly towards him. “If you’ve had one besides Laura, I mean.”
Max is taken back by the question, looking about as unprepared as Dylan did with his dare, who now wears his underwear over his head.
Next to him, Laura winces and stares pointedly down at her lap. You watch the exchange in befuddlement.
“Well, uh,” he breathes out a long breath, gesturing with his hand, “it was, like, back in first grade, I guess.”
“Damn, Romeo,” Ryan chuckles, only one shot in and pleasantly buzzed.
“She wasn’t in my class, but I sat by the window and saw her playing outside a lot. Our reading time was during their playground time.”
Max’s eyes glaze over as he speaks, staring through the ground as he reminisces.
“She was super polite to the other kids she played with, never fought to be the first on the tire swing and always helped decide rules for games when people were arguing—just sweet stuff? you know?
“I think what I loved was that kindness she had, always being the best for the people around her.”
He chuckles.
“She even gave up her favorite snack during lunch a few times.”
“Please tell me it was peanut-butter butter pops,” Jacobs sniffs.
Max’s hair sweeps the air as he shakes his head no.
“Nah,” he murmurs, “cosmic brownies.”
The world stops turning, the air in your lungs growing stagnant with disuse.
Blistering blue eyes flit up to glimpse at you before looking elsewhere. All in the span of a second.
“That’s really sweet, actually,” Emma says, smugness gone. Your nose flares as she smiles at you, almost as if in pity. “She would’ve been a lucky girl.”
Max gives up his turn to Nick who targets Laura. She’s the one to have gone the least so far, surprisingly.
“I don’t know, uh, truth, I guess?” she stutters, out of it. The space between Max and her seems a bit bigger now.
“What’s the meanest thing you’ve ever done?”
In an instant she looks about ready to cry.
“No,” she says, “I don’t want to say that.”
“Hey, better than some shit we’ve had to go through,” says Dylan, underwear still adorned. “What, did you kill a guy?”
“Maybe she hit a neighbors dog but didn’t tell her because she felt so bad and then she saw her crying over the body the next day,” Jacob pipes up.
“Jacob,” breathes Nick, “what the fuck?”
“Sorry, Ms. Henderson,” he sobs, cuddling an empty bottle of vodka.
“Well, he’s in for a doozy of a morning,” Dylan states before turning back to Laura. “C’mon, let loose. No one vetoed.”
“Hey,” Max snaps, “it’s a tough question, man. Give her a sec.”
“No one else has backed out. All I’m saying,” a hiccup escapes him, “is that this might be the best time to get it off her chest, you know? Who are we to judge?”
“So?” Ryan asks. “What about it Laura?”
“I’m sorry,” she sighs, refusing.
“I bet you I can guess,” Emma says, getting her feet with a grunt. She paces around the fire in slow steps, one arm wrapped around her stomach while the other swings a pointer finger around the air as she talks. “What could possibly be so mean that she couldn’t bring up in the midst of strangers that she’ll never see again?”
“Blackmail?” Nick tries as your mouth goes sour.
“Or,” Emma hums, embodying the cat whose caught the canary, “she doesn’t want to upset the people that aren’t strangers.”
Max looks to Laura just as you do. She doesn’t meet either of your eyes.
“Something mean, something mean…” Emma mumbles in pretend thought. “Something she did behind the boyfriend’s back, maybe?”
“Stop it,” Laura snaps, getting to her feet. “You don’t know shit about me!”
Emma just smiles, finger digging lightly into the apple of her cheek.
“Or something she did behind her best friend’s, I wonder?”
“Laura,” Max whispers, looking up at her in bewilderment. “What is she talking about?”
“Nothing! She’s just taking jabs and trying to start shit,” she defends, turning away. “I’m going back. This is stupid.”
“Maybe it was even both,” continues Emma, pacing again.
“Hey, guys, let’s chill,” Ryan offers. “I don’t want bad blood between counselors; we still have a month left.”
“Dylan said it himself,” she reasons. “The truth wasn’t vetoed.”
“Okay, fine, then I veto,” he says, looking around. “Guys?”
“I kinda wanna know,” Dylan shrugs, grinning guiltily. Jacob and Nick nod in agreement.
You and Max remain silent.
“I’m not playing anymore,” Laura growls. “So say whatever you want, that doesn’t make it the truth.”
“Then why are you so scared to stick around? I’m almost done.”
“Fuck. You.”
“Yes,” Emma says softly, hair bouncing as she nods, “I do believe it involves both of them. The boyfriend who was in love with her best friend and the best friend who was too kind and let her steal him away.”
Laura flinches so hard it rips your heart to shreds.
“Alright, that’s enough,” you spit, getting to your feet. Maybe you had been right about the world freezing because, suddenly, it’s catching up to speed and you stumble onto your knees.
“Fuck,” you whisper on all fours. You’re drunker thank you’d previously believed.
Dylan, next to you, puts a hand over your back and tries to help you up.
“Hold up,” Jacob barks in the background, “how is that the meanest thing if Laura didn’t, like, decide that herself?”
“Right, so where does that leave us? What mean thing could Laura have done?” Emma declares.
“You bitch—“
“Except lie?” she finishes, all to proud of her deduction skills.
“About?” prods Nick.
Max goes taut when you look towards him, eyes wide. You mouth “what?” just as Laura yells at everyone to shut up.
“I did lie,” she admits, voice scratchy, “but that sure as hell isn’t any of your business.”
“But it is ours.”
Everyone gawks at Max as he stands, facing off with Laura.
“Tell her,” he bids, so angry he looks like a whole other person. “Because I’ve connected the dots and, shit, Laura—that’s fucking cruel.”
“He cusses?” Dylan whispers in your ear.
You shake your head.
“Very rarely,” you mumble, fully on your feet as Laura twists to stare at you.
Tears creep down her face. You don’t know what to feel.
“I lied,” she says to you, sniffing. “He asked me about you junior year and I told him you’ve only ever thought of him as a friend even though I knew you didn’t.”
You gape at her, feeling your lip begin to tremble as you scoffed.
“You—he,” you gasp, glancing at Max. He’s staring at the fire, miffed as can be. “Why, Laura? If you knew that, why?”
“Because I liked him, too!” she yelps, shaking her head. “I was jealous—I’m sorry, and y-you never made a move in all the years you knew him so I went for it—”
“You fucking lied is what you did,” you hiss, swallowing a sob.
When she calls your name, you blow her off and stumble out of Dylan’s support. Some people call out after you, but you just keep walking.
It’s hard to see though all the tears, but you somehow end up at the lake shack sitting on the edge of one of the peers. You nearly fall in, just barely catching yourself and crying like a newborn baby.
Because, really, what a fucking waste of so much time, of so much love and adoration towards the one person who had always returned it without your knowing.
It feels like your chest is fracturing open it hurts so bad. No wonder people die of heartbreak.
Feeling footsteps approach, you jump and whip around.
Max stands above you, eyes dark and turning pink.
“Did you cry?” you ask dumbly.
“Yeah,” he squeaks and clears his throat. “I hate seeing you cry.”
For some reason, likely the alcohol still in your system, you start laughing. It’s lodges a few more tears down your heated face.
“What a show, huh?” he murmurs, sitting next to you. “Breakfast is going to be interesting tomorrow.”
“To say the least,” you agree.
Max swings his feet over the ledge, yours crossed and curled close to your body. You angle your head down and to the side when he offers you something.
“Last one in the snack bag,” he says, plastic wrapper crinkling around the rainbow sprinkled masterpiece.
You take it, fingertips brushing his before you lean your weight against his side. It’s colder tonight and he’s always warm.
“Was it really me?”
He hums, waiting for more.
“Your first love?”
Chuckling, he throws an arm around your back. You look up at him, faces close.
“It still is you,” he whispers.
You sniff, closing your eyes and looking away. His hand comes up to wipe away a few more tears.
“I should’ve said something, but you were always around and I didn’t want to lose your friendship if you didn’t return the feelings.” It all comes out in a slurred ramble.
“Hey, it’s not like I did any better,” he murmurs, rubbing your back.
“Guess we’re both idiots, then.”
“Hey!” He laughs and you giggle as he tugs you closer. “Don’t be mean. We’re geniuses. Just…not all the time.”
“We’re not evil geniuses.”
“You know, Ryan says it was Dylan but the real mastermind is Emma.”
“She scares me,” you admit.
“Completely,” he agrees.
You both sit there in comfortable silence for a moment or two.
“So, what now?” you whisper, a stray breeze blowing your hair back.
“We talk to Laura, I guess.”
“Do you…still want to be with her?”
“No,” he says quickly, “no, I love her, but I learned to love her to try and get over you. It wasn’t a relationship built on good sentiments and I think, deep down, she knew that.
“And I’m still in love with you,” he sighs, your heart skipping. “It’s not fair to her.”
You lay your head on his shoulder, the full moon staring down at you two.
“You gonna forgive her?”
“Don’t know,” you murmur, eyelids heavy. “I’ll figure it out.”
“You always do,” he hums making you smile and turn to look at him.
When his eyes flit to yours, the moment slows to a stop again. His hand raises to push some hair off your face and you lean into the touch, heart prepped to burst.
“It’s hell of a late start, but can I kiss you?”
Beaming, you grab the collar of his shirt and yank his mouth to yours.
Behind you in the wooden shelter, a round of cheers have you both jumping apart.
The party had followed it seemed, now with one less counselor in the mix.
Emma raises a thumb up at you, phone on display.
“Oh my god was she recording all of that?” you ask in horror.
“I think she was,” Max chuckles, guiding your face back to his. You laugh against his lips as he whines, “What? They interrupted.”
It was looking to be a good rest of your summer at the Hackett Quarry.