Page 70 of My Pucked Up Enemy

We finish without major injury. I pull the blindfold off and find her smirking.

"Didn't fall in the flowers. Good job," she says. "Your balance is slightly better than a baby giraffe."

"Flattering. Keep talking like that, and I’ll buy you dinner."

Her eyes spark, but she doesn’t bite.

The rest of the guys cycle through. Parker shouts at James. Mikey nearly trips over his shoelaces. Everyone’s laughing. Even Coach cracks a grin.

Connor and Dillon finish the course clean and fast, earning the loudest cheer. Nina nods, impressed.

"Alright," she says, gathering us again as we trek across the side of the lodge toward an open grassy field. "Time for round two. We’re playing Capture the Flag—yes, seriously. Two teams, one flag each, hidden somewhere in your half of the field. First team to capture the opponent’s flag and get it back to base wins. This isn’t just about speed. It’s about communication, trust, and strategy. Same principles we use on the ice—read the field, know your teammates, and stay sharp. And no, James, tackling isn’t allowed. Keep it clean."

The moment Nina calls it, the guys scatter into teams like it’s Game Seven. There’s trash talk, strategy huddles, and even James trying to smear mud under his eyes like war paint, until Parker smacks him with a pinecone.

The whistle blows and it’s chaos… pure, strategic, hilarious chaos. Ethan bolts down the field like he’s auditioning for a survival show. Connor and Mikey flank the left side, weaving like seasoned tacticians. I hang back, guarding our flag with Dillon and calling out positions.

"Dillon, back corner—James is circling behind!"

"I got him!" Dillon yells, intercepting with a fake-out that sends James crashing into a bush.

Nina’s voice carries from the sideline, laughing and directing. She’s everywhere, cheering, pointing, and adjusting the makeshift sidelines.

Then I switch to offense and charge into enemy territory, it’s like flipping a switch. Heart pounding. Focus locked. I dodge Parker, slip past Ethan, and snag their flag. The team yells as I cross the safe zone. Victory!

We're out of breath and soaking wet with sweat and dirt. But the vibe is perfect. Pure team magic.

"That’s what I’m talking about!" Coach hollers from the edge of the field. "Now that’s how you play with your head and your heart."

We high-five, smack shoulders, and talk smack.

This isn’t just fun. This is the glue.

And somehow, through the blur of it all, I catch Nina watching me again. And suddenly, Capture the Flag feels like a hell of a lot more than a game.

By the time lunch is called, the air feels different. Lighter. Like we’re all just kids again, playing a game with everything on the line and nothing to lose.

After lunch, we have a bit of downtime before the next round of activities. Coach gives the green light for everyone to hit the indoor pool for a casual team swim, which turns into a splash war within five minutes. James cannonballs like it’s an Olympic event, while Mikey tries, and fails to show off his backstroke. I stick to hanging out at the edge, keeping an eye on Nina, who stays poolside, grinning like she’s watching a pack of overgrown kids.

Coach makes the announcement right after everyone dries off. “Dinner’s at six. You jokers better show up clean. And be at the fire pit by eight sharp. We’ve got some evening activities planned."

And I can’t help but glance at Nina, wondering what kind of sparks are still waiting to fly before this night is over.

***

The bonfire crackles, spitting sparks into the navy sky as someone cranks up the portable speaker and starts a low playlist of old-school rock and moody acoustic covers. There’s beer. There’s laughter. And there’s a six-foot pyramid of wood blazing like we’re burning off the slump with smoke and stubbornness.

Parker sits beside the fire with a small brown bag tucked into his lap like it’s classified intel. He finally opens it and pulls out a clear plastic container, a box of graham crackers and some sticks.

James leans forward, suspicious. “What’s in the container?”

“Chocolate-stuffed gourmet mallows,” Parker says like it’s normal.

“Gourmet? Bro, this is a team retreat, not a bake-off,” Ethan groans.

“They were Bessie’s idea,” Parker shrugs.

Immediately, the chirping halts.

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