The fire crackles, casting flickering shadows over the wreckage. It’s another freezing night in the wilderness, another night spent pretending you’re not starving, not scared. Another night spent pretending you don’t notice Natalie watching you.

You can feel her eyes on you as you laugh at something Melissa says, as Melissa tugs playfully at your sleeve, grinning in that easy way that makes you forget, just for a second, that you’re stranded in the middle of nowhere. But when you glance over, Natalie isn’t smiling.

She’s gripping a half-burnt stick, jaw tight, knuckles white. Her dark eyes trace every move you make, but when you meet them, she looks away, scoffing under her breath like she couldn’t care less.

But you know her better than that.

Three years together on the soccer team, from freshman year to halfway through junior year, you knew every version of Natalie Scatorccio. The reckless girl who kissed you after your first win. The one who whispered your name like a secret when no one else was around. The one who slammed her locker shut and walked away last year like none of it had ever meant anything.

Now you’re seniors, and everything’s different. The world has collapsed around you, and so has the space between you. But Natalie still acts like she doesn’t care—until she does.

“Didn’t know you and Melissa were such a thing now,” she mutters later, when it’s just the two of you.

“We’re not,” you say, stepping closer.

She looks at you then, really looks at you, and you swear the fire isn’t the only thing burning between you.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she murmurs, voice low, unreadable. But her hands are shaking just a little, and you wonder if it’s from the cold—or from something else entirely.