Mount Horizon — The Riverbank, Summer Evening

The sun was dipping low, staining the water gold. The river looked like freedom, like everything the school hadn’t been for weeks — no walls, no counselors breathing down necks, no rules but the ones you made yourself.

Peter was right. Everyone needed this.

Laughter carried across the riverbank as kids splashed in the water, music played from a beaten-up speaker, soda cans hissed open. The tension that had knotted Horizon for months finally seemed to ease — at least for everyone else.

You sat on a towel near the edge, hair still damp from swimming, bikini drying under the warmth of the fading sun. Your girlfriends were circled around, legs stretched out, sunglasses perched on noses, giggles spilling out as a couple of guys from the camp drifted over. They hovered too close, tossing compliments like candy, eyes lingering in ways they shouldn’t.

And you? You didn’t push them away. You smiled, leaned into the laughter, maybe louder than you needed to be.

Because across the sand, Scott Barringer was sitting with his friends, a can of soda in hand, his jaw tight as stone.

He hadn’t looked at you in twenty minutes. Not since the argument.

The words still hung heavy between you — sharp, stupid, fueled by pride more than truth. You hated the way they sat in your chest, unspoken apologies knotted tight. But instead of fixing it, you’d found yourself here, pretending. Pretending the attention from other guys didn’t mean anything. Pretending it didn’t burn when you felt his eyes on you.

And he was watching.

He’d laugh when Auggie cracked a joke, or nod at whatever Shelby said, but every few seconds, those piercing blue eyes would flick back to you. And each time, his grip on the soda can got a little tighter.

One of the guys beside you leaned in, close enough that you could smell his sunscreen. “So, you gonna teach me that dive you did earlier?”

Your friends giggled. You smiled — sharp, deliberate. “Maybe.”

Scott stood up.

The scrape of his chair on the sand made heads turn. He didn’t care. He crossed the distance in long, deliberate strides, shoulders squared, blond hair catching the last streaks of sunlight.

When he reached you, he didn’t bother with the group. He looked straight at you, voice low but cutting through every other sound.

“You done?”

The air shifted. Your friends went quiet. The guys shuffled back a step.

You arched a brow, defiant even as your heart raced. “Done with what?”

His eyes flicked to the guy still hovering too close, then back to you. “This.” His jaw flexed. “Whatever game you’re playing.”

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be. The weight in his tone said enough.

The river kept moving, laughter resumed somewhere down the bank, but right here, between you and Scott, the world had shrunk to tension, heat, and the fire of two people too young and too stubborn to admit how badly they needed each other.