Page 22 of Camp Help Falling

Sadie gives me a quick grin before lifting one of her knees, wrapping her arms around it and pressing her chin to the top. Her other knee is still pressed into mine, and with each heartbeat, I can feel the line between us blurring more and more. But we don’t acknowledge it. Instead, we stare out at the sun that is taking its sweet time climbing the distant mountains.

Same, sun. Same.

I want to check my phone for the time, but I don’t want to shatter the quiet atmosphere of being up here with Sadie. It feels like we’re completely separate from everything around us, and pulling out a smartphone, the universally too-connected device, feels like it would ruin our moment.

So we sit in silence. The stars become fainter with each passing minute.

Finally, the tiniest bit of sun peeks over the tops of the mountains across the lake, sending long rays of first light across the valley below. Camp Brower is nestled in its own little shadowed crevice—the early summer green of the trees deep, the color palette softer, more muted, than the days at camp. New light glints off Bear Lake, sending diamond-like sparkles across the still water.

I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s calm and peaceful and awe-inspiring. If I were an artist, I would hike this trail every day to paint this view. A happy thrill runs through me, knowing that I made the effort—the huge effort on my part—to be here.

A pop and hiss has me looking away from the picturesque landscape and to my right, toward Sadie.

Who’s cracking open a can of Dr. Pepper while watching the day begin.

“You little liar!”

Sadie hides her laugh behind her can.

“You said your chipper morning person happens without caffeine!”

Sadie takes another sip. “It does. I don’t drink Dr. Pepper this early in the morning. Usually. But I’m not up before four on a regular morning.”

She laughs again and bumps my shoulder with her own as she turns back to watch the sun crest above the mountain. I watch her, her cheeks round and pink from smiling, the way she tips her head back for a swig and the way her throat works as she swallows.

She’s gorgeous.

I would be an idiot not to shoot my shot.

Turning back to the sunrise, I silently slide my hand into hers. Lacing our fingers together, I rest our hands where our knees are pressed together. I don’t know how long we’re planning on sitting here, watching the sun rise, but getting off my feet is nice. I’m not looking forward to walking all the way back to camp, but I push that thought out of my head and enjoy the quiet. Enjoy the feeling of Sadie’s hand in mine, the pads of her chilly fingers pressed into the back of my hand.

“What are you doing, Oliver?” Sadie’s whisper is barely audible, like a thought that slipped out without her knowledge.

“Holding your hand.”

“Why are you doing that?” Out of the corner of my eye, I register Sadie turning to look at me.

“Because I like you.” I absently brush my thumb across the back of hers, and her hand flexes in mine. But I keep my eyes on the sunrise, on the way the world looks like it’s waking up after a long sleep.

Sadie sighs and turns to face forward again. I mentally count the seconds she’s allowing me to hold her hand—how long she’s allowing this little bit of purple—and try to guess when she’ll finally pull away.

But she doesn’t.

“We can’t do this at camp.”

It’s my turn to turn and look at her. I study the side of her face, and the way her brow has wrinkled. The exterior signs of her interior battle.

“You said no purple on Camp Brower property. But what about off it? Is this,” I run my thumb up and down hers, “allowed when we’re out here? When we’re in town on the weekends?”

Sadie turns again, meeting my eyes for the first time since we blended into purple. For a moment, all of her questions and worries are on full display. “Do you want it to be?” Her voice is still quiet, like she wants this moment to be as soft as the sunrise to the east.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Chapter Thirteen

Sadie

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