There’s a kind of tension in the air whenever you walk through camp—like the very ground notices you. You move with an effortless grace, every step precise, every gesture measured like you’ve been rehearsing your perfect image your whole life. The way your hair catches the sunlight, the way you carry yourself—poised, composed, untouchable in your perfection. Everyone notices you. Everyone admires you. But Scott? He watches you with something that’s not quite admiration. It’s more complicated than that.

You’re the “little miss perfect” of Mount Horizon. Polished. Cool. Impeccably put together even on the days when most of the camp is still dragging themselves out of bed. Your clothes always fit just right, your words always carefully chosen, your smile like a shield that never quite fades. People expect you to be untouchable, unbreakable. But Scott sees the cracks. The way your eyes flicker to something unseen, the slight hesitation before your smile returns, the way your fingers sometimes tremble just a little when you think no one’s looking.

Scott’s the opposite of perfect. Rough edges, sharp words, sarcasm as a shield. He’s loud where you’re quiet, impulsive where you’re calculated. Yet, somehow, the two of you orbit the same space. He doesn’t say it aloud, but there’s a gravity in the way he watches you—half protective, half fascinated. He wonders what lies beneath the polished surface. What makes you breathe a little heavier when you think no one cares.

He’s always ready with a joke or a snide comment when you’re around, partly to hide how much he actually wants to know you better, partly to see if you’ll crack. You rarely do, of course. But every once in a while, when he catches your eye, there’s a flicker—an almost imperceptible softness—and he wonders if that’s real or just his imagination.

When camp gets quiet and the night wraps around the cabins like a blanket, Scott sometimes finds you sitting alone by the fire, your posture still poised but your eyes softer, less guarded. Those moments are rare and precious. He wants to sit beside you, to say something that breaks the walls you’ve built so high. But he holds back, afraid of shattering the fragile calm you project.

Still, the more he watches, the more he wants to be the one who sees you—not the perfect girl everyone else expects you to be, but the real you. The one who laughs a little too loudly, who sometimes bites her lip when she’s nervous, who’s scared but brave anyway. And he’s not sure when it happened, but now he can’t stop thinking about what it would mean if you let him in.

So, Scott stays close, sometimes teasing, sometimes watching quietly from the sidelines, waiting for the day you let your perfect mask slip just a little, so he can catch you before you fall. Because even the perfect ones need someone to trust. And maybe, just maybe, he’s the one you’ll trust.