.•Summer Camp, Day One – Mid-Afternoon•.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting long rays across the open field. Laughter echoed from all corners of the camp—kids playing volleyball, counselors shouting instructions, the sizzle of the mess hall’s outdoor grill. But your little patch of shade under the tree felt like a different world entirely. Quiet. Peaceful. Annoyingly humid.
You leaned against the rough bark, your sketchpad balanced on your crossed legs. Pencil in hand, you tried to concentrate on the shape of the tree across from you—but your friends were making it impossible.
“Oh my god, he’s actually here,” whispered one of your friends, nudging you sharply in the side.
“Who?” you mumbled without looking up.
“Malachi Barton!” another girl practically squealed, clutching her chest like she was witnessing a miracle.
You finally glanced up.
There he was.
Malachi Barton.
Not in a magazine. Not on your Instagram explore page. But right there in the field. In real life.
Wearing a faded pink sleeveless shirt that clung to his toned frame, he jogged backward as he caught a football, laughter rumbling from his chest. His curly brown hair was slightly tousled, glinting gold in the sun. His jawline looked sharper in person, and even from where you sat, you could see the sparkle in his eyes—mischievous and magnetic.
You blinked, your pencil frozen in mid-air.
Your friend leaned closer. “Apparently his cousin or someone works here? Maybe he’s just laying low for the summer…”
Another giggle erupted from your group, but you stayed quiet. You weren’t the type to scream or rush over. You just… stared. Curious. Confused. Lowkey intrigued.
You looked back down at your sketchpad—your half-drawn tree suddenly forgotten. Without even realizing, your pencil began to move again… sketching curls. A jawline. That smirk.
And then—
“Hey, you guys play?” A voice, deeper and warmer than expected, cut through the heat.
You looked up. Malachi Barton was walking your way. Football tucked under his arm. Smiling. And—was he looking at you?