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Chapter Text

The ride through the NorCal woods is a tricky one, and even though Amy’s driven it these past two years it still feels infinitely winding to a point where getting to her destination makes her just want to collapse on a shitty bunk bed and call it a night. Her destination in question was the summer camp she’d been spending her summers at as a camper for the past ten or so years, Camp Crockett— now, age 18 and the summer before she embarked towards brighter and better things, she was a counselor.

“I swear, it never changes,” Molly tsks from the passenger seat as Amy turns her Volvo onto the gravel road that leads to the camp. “Fuck, Ames, I’m genuinely so excited. Our cabin is literally going to both metaphorically and literally kick the ass of every other single cabin.” 

Amy chuckled. “It would be hard for our cabin not to. After all, we’re the perfect duo.” Amy gives a dorky finger gun, to which Molly grins and cackles. “Damn fucking straight.”

They pull into the “parking lot” (calling it a parking lot was generous, seeing as it was just more gravel, this time in a square) and Amy parks the Volvo. They’re early, as to be expected, and the only other cars are that of the senior counselors and other staff. Amy pops open the trunk, and Molly hauls out two massive suitcases, along with an extra “emergency” duffel (of which Molly refused to disclose the contents of, only giving Amy a wink and saying “ It’s a secret.”) Amy closed the trunk, grabbing her respective suitcase and heading up to the senior counselor’s cabin with Molly at her side.

Mr. Brown was their senior counselor, and he was often tired of how doting the girls could be. In any case, he was usually the one dealing with their qualms and concerns— much to the older man’s dismay.

The two breeze into the cabin, where he’s sorting out paperwork idly. He notices the two, giving them a very polite and strained smile. “Molly and Amy. You’re early, as expected.”

“Early birds get things done, Mr. Brown.” Molly replies coolly.

He winces. “Right. Well, we don’t start assigning cabins and counselor duos until our noon lunch, so you two can take a walk or something since it’s—“ He steals a look at his watch— “—Nine A.M.”

The two girls blink, sharing a look. “What-what do you mean assigning counselor duos?” Amy questions.

“They’ve always been allowed to pick,” Molly states plainly.

Mr. Brown shrugs. “Well, we’re doing things a bit different this year. You don’t get to choose your partner counselors anymore.”

“What?!” Molly and Amy exclaim at the same time.

“I know you girls were probably going to take it hard. But it’s for the best.”

“Mr. Brown, this is ridiculous. We didn’t bust our asses for ten years to be camp counselors just to be paired off with some… degenerate.” Molly quips.

“That’s exactly why I thought it might be a good idea. You kids are so in your cliques, you know? Why not get out of it? Get a little groo-vy?” The two look at him pointedly, to which Mr. Brown sighs.

“Listen, girls, can we just accept this? No cuts, no buts, no coconuts?” With that, he subtly pushes the girls out the door, giving them another polite yet strained smile as he begins to close the door on them.

“Excuse me, are you closing the door on us? We will persist!” Molly protests, as he shuts the door of the cabin, leaving the two girls to process the information.

“This is so fucked,” Amy groans.

“Listen,” Molly says, putting on her Lecture Voice. “This is hardly the end of the world. We are smarter than all of the other morons becoming counselors. We will be paired together.”

Amy fiddles with her fingers, nervous. “And if not?”

“Then we will still make this camp our bitch. Together.” The two grab hands, clasping them together tightly.

“Yeah, together.” Amy repeats.

——

Molly and Amy do end up taking a nice nature walk. Granted, Molly ends up complaining about all the possible options for possible counselors for half of it, and identifying mushrooms for the other half. 

“I think the last time Theo cut his hair was also the last time he bathed. Ugh, fuck, if I get paired with Triple A, she’s just going to talk about how much dick she sucked over the school year.” Molly scoffs. “Don’t call her that,” Amy says. “Everybody calls her that. She gave roadside assistance to two senior guys at her school last year.” With their location being more upstate, the camperbase was pretty balanced between people from both parts of California— of course, Molly and Amy both went to the same school in LA, but the lot of them were mostly spread out around the state. There were a few kids who hailed from the Pacific Northwest or the Southwest, too, but it was mainly Californians. Amy huffs at Molly’s dismissiveness of not using the derogatory nickname regardless. Molly walks a few steps forward, then stops at the base of a rotting stump with black-grey mushrooms protruding from it. “Oh, those are dead man’s fingers. Xylaria Polymorphia.” 

Amy takes a picture with her Polaroid camera, and waves the image that comes out. Of course they’d have to balance their shit-talking with cataloging and taking pictures of the mushrooms on camp this year. It was a tradition, even as it was dorky and would earn them jeers from the other campers who specifically had vendettas against them (which was to say Molly). Amy slides the image into her pocket so it can properly develop, as Molly looks out from where they are, on top of a cliff that oversees the whole camp, before exhaling a sigh.

“There are so many bad options we could end up with, Ames. For all I know, I could end up with Hope and she could spend the entire time bitching about you to me.”

Amy blinks, looking down at her camera. While most of the other campers would bully or tease Molly, as she was an easy target, Hope, in all of her 5’10” mysteriousness and intimidating nature, always went for Amy. It’s not like anything Hope ever threw at Amy made her genuinely insecure, they were just strange, mean comments about something she did or just how she acted. It was a mystery to both Molly and Amy what her whole deal was.

“I feel like Hope can only bully me to my face. I don’t think anyone else would actively slander me, so she has nobody to shit talk me to.”

“That’s because you’re a peach and a delight,” Molly states very matter-of-factly. Amy hums, smiling. “But she did newspaper at her high school, didn’t she? She could’ve been printing libel about you and neither of us would’ve been the wiser.” Amy’s expression quickly turns to a frown. “I don’t think so.”

Molly looks at the camp below them, the semicircle of cabins and other buildings seeming like dollhouses from where they were. “Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

Amy looks down on the camp, peering at all the buildings from their vantage point. “Yeah. Guess we will.”

——

The counselor and staff lunch is nothing short of raucous. All the staff arrived a day before the campers did, in order to effectively prep, and the loudness of the mess hall at the moment sort of makes Amy wish she wasn’t a counselor, and that she and Molly were doing something at home together like engaging in productive debates or putting on reputable documentaries. Then, Mr. Brown claps his hands together and addresses everyone at the front of the mess hall, beaming.

“I am positively delighted to have you all here for Camp Crockett 2019,” he states, and the other counselors and staff erupt in cheers. Molly drums her fingers anxiously on the wooden picnic table they’re sitting in, and Mr. Brown waits for the cheering to simmer down before he continues. “This year, we’re doing things a bit differently. All of you will receive cards stating another counselor’s name. We’ve paired you up prior to this, but we’ll have a big reveal altogether when all of you get your cards.”

With that, Mr. Brown moves from table to table distributing card upon card. Amy and Molly, sitting together on a table on the fringe, are gotten to last, Molly staring down Mr. Brown intently. After the two receive their cards, Mr. Brown once again beams. “Alright, kids. It’s time for the big reveal.”

Almost all of them flip open their cards at the same time, and the mess hall becomes full of low murmurs, exclamations, and occasionally, physical affection. Amy still has her card closed, though, observing the environment as people begin to seek out and discuss their counselor assignments.

Amy still holds her card nervously, whereas Molly is already throwing it open. Molly’s face goes white in a matter of seconds after reading it, then goes red in anger.

“You are fucking kidding me,” Molly hisses, gripping the card like it was convicted of murder. 

“Who did you get?” Amy asks, before leaning over. Annabelle. Underneath, in smaller text, the cabin assignment; Cabin 7. “I mean, could be worse?”

Molly scoffs. “I think Triple A is the worst it can get.” Amy winces at the nickname as Molly looks at the girl in question, who's giving Molly a smirk and a sarcastic salute. Molly groans, before looking curiously over to Amy. “Wait, who did you get?”

Amy blinks. “I dunno. I’m nervous.” Molly holds one of Amy’s hands under the table as the redhead breathes in and out. “You can do it.” Amy nods, and flips it over, reading a name, four letters, but as loud as a bomb. “Hope.” Amy looks right under, reading off her cabin assignment. “Cabin 4.” Molly just stares incredulously at Amy’s card. “I take my earlier comment back. You definitely got scammed in the partner lottery.”

“We aren’t even in cabins next to each other,” Amy bemoans. Molly claps an arm over the redhead's shoulders, pulling her close. “We’ll make it work. Not even if stupid Hope tries to get in our way.”

“Yeah. Not even with stupid Hope.”

——

Amy’s actually been in Cabin 4 before. There are ten cabins total, arranged in a semi-circle, and Cabin 4 was where newly-minted teenagers Amy and Molly snuck Amy’s IPod Touch in and scared the shit out of themselves with dumb internet creepypastas. They had been scared the entire night that Jeff the Killer was going to break through the windows at any moment and shank them both. They only got to sleep by holding each other’s hands, Amy on the top bunk and Molly on the bottom, as was tradition.

Regardless, Amy thanks all that is holy for the fact that the campers aren’t here yet. She can lament on old memories all she wants, because she has a full day before shit gets real. Which is one full day to figure out how to wrangle Hope before she has to wrangle a bunch of kids, too. Amy figures she better treasure it.

The counselor’s portion of the cabin is always nicer, even if not by much. The beds are actual sort-of beds instead of sad little prison bunk beds campers received. There’s one on each side of the tiny room, and small dressers at the end of them to keep their things in. It’s quaint, but Amy’s always liked the simple, rustic feel of it all.

Hope isn’t waiting for her when she enters, which Amy feels mostly grateful for but also a little… disappointed? Amy shakes it away as she lays her suitcase on the floor, undoing the zippers and meticulously folding her clothes and putting them away in the dresser, before arranging her other belongings on top of it. Unlike campers, counselors were allowed their phones and other electronics, provided they weren’t using them during activities and weren’t using them in front of campers. As such, Amy plugs in her phone and leaves it on the dresser, before falling back on the bed, exhausted.

Before she can fall into slumber, however, a voice stirs her fully conscious again, with a tall figure standing at the doorway. “Ah, I see the nerd cavalry has already arrived.”

Amy groans, propping herself on her elbow to see it’s none other than Hope. Her dark hair is in a low ponytail, her trademark deerskin jacket she started wearing two years ago tied around her waist, and she’s wearing a Fiona Apple t-shirt.

“Can I help you?”

Hope shrugs easily. “I dunno. Maybe if you start campaigning to switch counselor assignments instead of campaigning for some useless social justice shit.”

“Come on, Hope. I got up at five this morning. Can you cut me some slack for one day?”

“I don’t know, can I?”

“May you?”

Hope seems to sarcastically ponder this for a moment before locking eyes with Amy and delivering her cold answer. “No,” she deadpans. Hope then unzips a pocket of her massive backpack, carefully removing something before she slings it on her dresser and falls back onto her bed with what Amy now realizes is a paperback book.

Amy scoffs, offended. “I don’t get why you can’t be nice for once.”

Hope shrugs, nose in her book. “Don’t want to. Now I’d appreciate if you left me alone, considering I’m busy.”

Amy gives a disgruntled sigh, and figures it’s better not to push it.

Fuck, this was going to be a long summer.

——

As soon as Hope opens the small piece of paper, she feels like crumbling it back up again and running all the way home to Sacramento. Amy, Cabin 4. She seethes quietly, as next to her, Annabelle opens up her piece of paper and grins. She nudges Hope, and the taller girl peers over her shoulder. Molly, Cabin 7. “Fucking Davidson.” Annabelle throws a smirk at the girl in question, as well as a sarcastic salute. This only serves to infuriate Molly, it seems, who glowers quietly at Annabelle before throwing her attention to Amy next to her.

“Who’d you get?” Annabelle asks Hope, and Hope grumbles, sliding her paper over to the other girl silently. Annabelle scoffs. “Holy shit, no way. We got both of the wonder nerds?” Hope nods gravely. “Fucking bullshit, is what it is.”

Annabelle groans, shoving Hope lightly. “Oh my God, chill out for once. Amy’s way more tolerable than Mrs. Ivy-League-Applications-Up-My-Ass.”

“At least Molly isn’t a huge fucking pussy.” Annabelle furrows her brow at her, shaking her head. “You’re actually so fucking weird,” she comments dryly. “Come on, I know you like her.”

Hope huffs. “Yeah, because that makes so much sense.”

“I hate to break it to you Casanova, but crushes don’t really have to make sense.” Hope narrows her eyes at her. “I don’t like her,” she replies sharply.

“Okay,” she responds, giving Hope a suspicious glare but choosing not to press further. If there’s one thing Hope appreciates about Annabelle, it’s that she knows when to drop shit. She’s level-headed, despite being stereotyped as some airhead slut. She was the voice of reason in their friendship, and she knows her limits, even if Hope is being a bitch. They’re total dudes when it comes to expressing genuine affection to each other— but there’s a silent understanding there, and Hope’s always grateful Annabelle keeps her in check.

The noise of the mess hall eventually settles down, with people either seeking out their parents or walking to their cabins with friends or otherwise. Ryan and Jared share a bro-hug, Alan and Theo appear to be having rather pleasant conversation, and Gigi looks to be reading Nick’s palms. Eventually, everybody appears to pair off with their friends or otherwise and gather their things to leave towards their cabins. Hope sees Gigi heave her duffel onto Jared, who falters under the weight of the bag. “Geez, Geeg, do you have rocks in here or something?” Gigi flips her hair theatrically. “Yes. When I saw them on the forest floor, they screamed for my help. I had to rescue them.” Annabelle snickers at the interaction, as Hope groans. Sometimes it’s easy to remember how unbearable everyone else can be.

They follow suit with everyone else, filing out of the mess hall to seek out their respective cabins. Hope walks with Annabelle to Cabin 7 first, which helps burn time, since Hope very much does not want to be faced with Amy right now.

“How much you wanna bet Davidson is gonna write up an itinerary for our cabin?” Annabelle comments, full of the trademark snark she’s known for. Hope’s head is elsewhere, so she only gives a noise of assent that’ll hopefully be enough. Unfortunately, Annabelle is perceptive.

“Dude.” She furrows her eyebrows at Hope, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You good?”

Well, no, Hope is not good. Being paired up with Amy gives her complicated feelings, feelings she’s tried to avoid these past two summers. There was a part of her, buried down in the pit of her stomach as it was, that sort of liked how eager Amy was about everything and how readily she was willing to help with anything. That forbidden part of her also liked Amy’s bright red hair and all her freckles, especially when she was wearing something that showed off her arms and shoulders, in which case— and Hope would never say this out loud— they sort of looked like tiny stars encompassing the whole galaxy that was Amy. And maybe she liked how Amy would scrunch her nose up in confusion whenever Hope threw some dumb comment at her, and maybe that was why she was so privy to teasing her, but— things that she would never, once again, say out loud. Having a soft spot for some geek isn’t who Hope is. She’s meant to be the bully, to sulk and scrutinize and be mean to whoever because she can— not because she’s harboring some sort of affection.

Hope blinks, only snapping out of their trance now that Annabelle has stopped them. She just offers Hope a concerned look, and Hope finally makes eye contact.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just—“ Hope shakes her head. “Dumb shit.”

“Alright,” Annabelle responds. Hope appreciates, once again, that Annabelle knows Hope will come to her in time, but that time is not now. She looks at Hope, then looks at the cabin right next to them. “Hey, this is my stop. But text me, yeah?”

Hope scoffs. “Duh.”

Annabelle claps her on the back. “Take it easy, H.”

“No promises,” Hope responds, as the other girl hoists her duffel into the cabin and throws her a grin and a wave. Hope throws her hand up in response, before walking off to face Amy Antsler. Yeah, it was unlikely she’d be taking it easy, with her situation. Unlikely as hell.

When Hope heads to Cabin 4 and enters, her massive backpack on her back, Amy looks like she’s already unpacked, about to take a nap. For better or for worse, Hope can’t resist making a comment.

“Ah, I see the nerd cavalry has already arrived.”

Amy groans, propping herself on her elbow to look warily at Hope. Hope stares her down, easily.

“Can I help you?”

Hope shrugs nonchalantly, deploying another comment like it’s nothing. “I dunno. Maybe if you start campaigning to switch counselor assignments instead of campaigning for some useless social justice shit.”

Amy looks tired, and Hope almost feels bad. But it’s not like she can necessarily stop herself from being a bitch— and after all, it’s Amy Antsler she’s going to be spending the rest of the summer with. “Come on, Hope. I got up at five this morning. Can you cut me some slack for one day?”

“I don’t know, can I?”

“May you?”

Hope pretends to think about this deeply before glaring at Amy and giving her an answer. “No,” she deadpans. She unzips her backpack, removing her copy of The Miseducation of Cameron Post, and throws her massive backpack on her dresser before falling back on her bed, book in hand.

Amy scoffs at her. Yeah, Molly was totally the only one with a moral high ground. “I don’t get why you can’t be nice for once.”

Hope cannot care less, thumbing through her paperback idly. “Don’t want to. Now I’d appreciate if you left me alone, considering I’m busy.”

Amy sighs, before falling back on her own bed and pulling up the covers to try to sleep.

Hope doesn’t know how long it’ll take for her to lose her head. But if recent interactions are anything to go by— she feels like she’ll be breaking a new record.

——

Chapter Text

When Amy gets up after her nap to head to the showers, Hope is absent. That’s good for her, because then she doesn’t have to deal with any smarmy comments about how she sleeps or otherwise.

Nobody is showering in the counselor’s bathroom, which Amy thanks the stars for, but Annabelle is there, brushing her teeth. She gives Amy a cool nod before spitting out some toothpaste to greet her. “Hey, Amy.” Amy gives a tiny wave in return, before setting up for her shower. A lot of people who had beef with Molly never really did with Amy, like George and Annabelle. Amy knows this is because her dear friend can be rather intense and stubborn at times. In any case, Amy always duly appreciated that most people can treat her decently.

“Hope treating you well?” The other girl adds as Amy is folding her clothes on the small bench of the bathroom. Annabelle was the closest thing Hope had to a friend, considering Amy never saw her talking to anyone else. Amy scoffs. “No, not particularly.”

“It’s not personal, you know. She’s just a weirdo.”

“Then why does she always pick on me?”

“‘Cause she sucks.” It comes out affectionately, and Amy suspects there’s more Annabelle could say that she isn’t saying.

“I’m going to shower,” Amy announces to end the conversation, closing and locking the stall door.

“Hope being a dick isn’t because of anything you did. Like I said, she just sucks.” Annabelle spits up the rest of her toothpaste in the sink, and she rinses and spits up again. “Take it easy, Amy.” Annabelle says, as she begins to leave the bathroom. “I’ll try,” Amy responds, turning on the water. Yeah, try she will.

——

Amy’s just put on a button-up and shorts, put on ample sunscreen, and bug-sprayed to hell and back before she’s ready to leave the communal bathroom. She walks to her cabin, and, naturally, Hope is now there. She’s lounging on her bed, reading the same paperback from before. Her Converse are parked near the bed, her backpack lying on top of the dresser, evidently empty. She gives a brief glance to Amy, scanning her up and down before her eyes set back onto her book, sparing Amy a scoff. “Nice fit, park ranger.”

Amy frowns, and goes over to pick up her phone. She doesn’t need to justify Hope being a “weirdo” with a response. There’s a few texts on her phone— but as is to be expected, there’s two from her parents in their family group chat and three from Molly.

dad: Hope Everything is Well at Camp, Amy. We Love You :)

mom: Miss you honey! Text us!

moll: Triple A is such a bitch. She’s not even bullying me, she’s just being a smarmy little shit.

moll: UGH. And I thought being partnered with Nick last year for the damn canoe unit was unbearable. And that was only for a week!

moll: Anyway, how’s the thrift store hermit doing? Is she, similarly, being a bitch?

Molly’s comment calling Hope a “thrift store hermit” gives Amy a brief chuckle, one that she quickly regrets as Hope glares at her.

“I’m a little busy, you know.”

“I’m not allowed to laugh?”

“No,” Hope deadpans, glaring intently at her book. Amy huffs, responding to her texts with Molly.

ames: i literally laughed at your text and hope snarked at me :/

Amy thankfully doesn’t feel Hope’s eyes on her as she sends the text, and the typing bubbles and then Molly’s response pops up not even a second later. Fuck, her best friend’s WPM was off the charts.

moll: God, she’s the worst. How are we going to survive with these mean girls in our lives for six whole weeks?

ames: you may encounter many defeats…

moll: But you must not be defeated. Maya Angelou. Fuck, you’re so right.

moll: By the way, campfire meeting is in two hours.

The aforementioned “campfire meeting” is where the senior counselors go over ground rules, what to do, what not to do. Amy’s just excited to talk to Molly again, after spending all of the day unpacking and sleeping and dealing with Hope.

She really doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do until then, but… attempting to speak to Hope and get to know her in some capacity may help, even if the taller girl was determined to mock Amy at every turn. She shuts her phone off, putting it down on her bed as she settles onto it.

“So,” Amy starts, giving a cough to get Hope’s attention. Hope offers a leery eye from the side of her book, which Amy feels like is the best she’s going to get.

“What,” Hope replies, flatly.

“Maybe we should… get to know each other? Since we’re going to be sleeping together for six weeks and all.” Amy goes beet-red, and Hope lowers her book, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean, not like that! But in the same room across from each other. Sleeping in the same, uh, space together, but not in any sort of intimate way. Um. Yes. Yeah.” Amy nods, trying to brush off all the word vomit that just expelled from her mouth.

Hope closes her book and puts it down, peering at Amy curiously. “What, you wanna play 20 questions?”

Amy fidgets. “I don’t know. Maybe just tell me something about you? Like, what you’re majoring in in college? I know we’re not really supposed to disclose where we’re going.”

“Didn’t you and Molly make that rule?” Hope narrows her eyes.

“Well, yeah, just so nobody feels bad, or anything.” Hope seems like she’s about to say something, but she closes her mouth. “I’m actually doing Gender and Women’s Studies. I like volunteering, and I’m actually- ah.“ Amy stops herself, blinking. She hadn’t even told Molly of her plans to volunteer in Botswana and take a gap year. She had already deferred Columbia, but it wasn’t something anyone other than her parents knew. So why did she almost tell Hope, who likely hates her guts, and then some?

If Hope sees through Amy’s slip-up, she doesn’t say anything. She just runs a hand through her dark hair nonchalantly. “I’m doing photography at Tisch next year,” she answers. “Hope,” Amy hisses. “You’re not supposed to tell me that.”

Hope throws her hands up. “Oh, come on. You two are the only people who care.”

“We were thinking of other people when we instituted that.”

Hope groans. “Oh, please. It’s just to protect Molly’s superiority complex.” Amy frowns. “Molly can be intense, but she’s not an asshole. And she doesn’t have a superiority complex.” Hope scoffs, and gets up to put her book on the dresser. She falls back on the cot, easily. “I can’t deal with this. I’m taking a nap.”

Amy scoffs. Well, fuck her for trying, then.

——

Amy takes a hike right after that to cool off from Hope’s constant prodding and insults and whatever else. When it’s almost time for her to head back, she sits down on a boulder and sharply inhales and exhales, her face buried in her hands. She didn’t get it. She was trying, wasn’t she? It’s just so fucking frustrating. Hope is fucking frustrating.

She comes back into camp just as everybody is leaving their cabins to attend the campfire meeting. Molly spots her almost immediately, waving and bounding up to her.

“Hey, Amy. Where were you?”

“I took a hike. Hope’s just— so- ugh.” She throws her hands up. Molly scoffs. “Unfortunately, you can’t really expect anything from these jackoffs.”

Amy folds her arms. “I just don’t know why she hates me so much. I don’t know what I did.”

Molly puts a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. “I doubt you’ve done anything, Ames. She’s just a pretentious little asshole. Like I said, you can’t expect anything from these guys.” Amy sighs.

She turns to Molly, figuring she should ask about the mean girl she’s with. “How was your first day with Annabelle?”

Molly groans. “The absolute worst. She’s so fucking smug about everything.” Molly sighs. “I don’t think we’re going to get a break this summer.”

Amy frowns. Dancing around her mean-ass roommate wasn’t something she necessarily wanted, in any capacity.

Molly leads her down to a log on the edge of the semicircle around the campfire, and they sit down next to each other as the other junior counselors do the same and talk amongst themselves. Mr. Brown is rocking on his heels waiting for everybody to sit down, everybody still rigidly in their cliques. Hope sits on the log directly across from Amy, Annabelle next to her chatting up Tanner and Theo. Hope glares at her. Amy swallows hard, looking away.

As soon as everybody’s down, Mr. Brown claps his hands together and smiles. “Alright, kids—“ He starts, before being interrupted by Theo. “We’re not kids, Mr. B! We’re… adults.” There are a few giggles and snickers as Mr. Brown sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Theo, we understand, you’re 20, yes, very cool.” He waves a hand dismissively. 

“Anyways,” Mr. Brown says, “As we usually do, we’ll be splitting up different age groups into different cabins.” The cabins were co-ed, but they split it up based on age groups, even as specific cabins didn’t house the same groups every year. It was mostly random. “So I’m going to read the assignments out,” Mr. Brown says, flipping a paper on his clipboard. “You’ll have a checklist for what you need to do before the kids get here tomorrow. They’ll be moving into their cabins by noon.” He clears his throat, then begins. 

“Ryan and Jared in Cabin 1, you’ll be with the 11 year olds,” Mr. Brown announces, as the two start doing a complicated handshake. He rattles off a few more of her peers’ assignments, until he gets to her and Hope. “Hope and Amy in Cabin 4, you guys will have the 12 year olds.” Hope looks at Amy, to which she turns away from the other girl’s intense gaze. She tunes out still, until she hears Molly’s assignment— “Molly and Annabelle in Cabin 7, you guys will have the 10 year olds.” Amy hears some guy she doesn’t know yell out “TRIPLE A!” and hears a few snickers, which Annabelle looks exhausted at. She sees Tanner make a cut it out motion to the guy in question, but he just shrugs and Tanner glares at him.

After all the assignments are all read out, Mr. Brown goes around handing out a checklist to all the counselors on what should be done.

The checklist isn’t all that long, really. It’s less rules as opposed to just what’s expected of them. Prepare the space is written at the very top, followed by put away personal items, as well as a host of other menial tasks listed afterwards. It’s not very long regardless, and at the very bottom, the last bullet reads have a positive attitude with a smiley face drawn next to it.

Molly frowns at it, nudging Amy. “Is this seriously it?” Molly whispers, almost accusatory. Knowing Molly, she would definitely appreciate a nine-step plan instead of just a small list of things she would’ve inevitably done anyway. Amy shrugs, and Molly just scoffs.

“Now then,” Mr. Brown says, beaming again. “I’ll let you kids get to it, yeah?” He nods vigorously, and everyone starts to get up. Molly is still looking discontentedly at her list as her and Amy walk away from the campfire. Amy furrows her brow, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Dude. You good?”

Molly looks up at her, looking just frankly tired. “I don’t know. This summer isn’t turning out well already.” She gestures to her list. “This is just the cherry on top of this shit sundae.”

“I feel like,” Amy starts, trying to retain some sort of optimism, “that it won’t be as bad as we think.”

Molly doesn’t say anything, instead staring emptily at the list. Amy’s eyes wander back over the fire and land on Hope’s, beady brown eyes boring right into her. She’s still sitting down, sort of involved in conversation with Annabelle, Tanner, and Theo but also not really. Amy swallows thickly, dodging her eyes as soon as she’s damaged by Hope’s intense gaze. Amy could try to be optimistic all she wanted, but Molly probably had a point; there was certainly to be more shit sundae to come.

——

As soon as Amy gets back into the cabin, she instantly starts tidying up. There’s some dust and cobwebs here and there, and a few wayward sticks and whatnot, all of which she scoops up and places into a garbage bag. She takes the sheets out of the bottom drawer of one of the kids’ dressers, and begins to put fresh sheets on and make the beds. All the while, Hope is nowhere to be found.

It is annoying, actually. She huffs as she’s just finished making the final top bunk, as she figured Hope would probably hit her head trying to do so. Amy was being nice, and Hope couldn’t even be bothered to make an appearance.

She’s been waiting around for a while for Hope and is just about to put new sheets on one of the bottom bunks when Hope enters, her hair up in a bun. She’s wearing another band t-shirt and sweatpants, and Amy can infer she just took a shower. But now, of all times? She couldn’t wait, like, thirty minutes?

“I got it,” Hope says, taking the sheets from Amy and going to fit them herself. Amy turns to her, frowning. “Where were you?”

Hope rolls her eyes. “Who are you, my wife?”

“No,” Amy says pointedly, trying to ignore the light blush on her face. “I just think it’s rude you decided to show up now.”

Hope just shrugs, throwing one of the sheets on the bed on top of the fitted sheet and folding it down. “Not my problem, Antsler.”

Amy wants to say something, but she can’t think of anything to be said, opening her mouth and closing it again. She just sighs dejectedly, deciding to leave Hope to it and try to go to bed.

She’s already dressed in her pajamas, just a baggy Camp Crockett shirt from years past and shorts. She goes to check her phone, having texted Molly earlier to complain about Hope’s absence. Molly had texted her back after she put the phone down to do it herself, and Amy now looks at them.

moll: She’s just a bitch, Amy. Even if Triple A says there’s more to her than meets the eye, I highly doubt it. 

moll: You don’t have to work out a justification for her behavior. Really, it’s not necessary.

Amy wishes she could absorb those words, but she’s certain Hope has some sort of motive beyond being a jerk. Well, she had to… right? It wouldn’t make sense any other way.

ames: i know you’re right but i can’t help thinking about it regardless :-/

ames: it just doesn’t make sense

moll: Try not to stress yourself out psychoanalyzing her, Amy. You’ll only make it worse.

Amy sighs. Once again, Molly’s right.

ames: ugh you’re right

ames: ok, i should probably go to bed. talk to you tomorrow moll love you <3

moll: Good night, Ames. My love for you can unfortunately not be quantified by words in the English language, but it is heavier than a black hole. Sleep well :)

ames: i will!!! you too!!!!!!

Amy puts down her phone and shuffles into bed, not at all content with the events of the day, even as Molly’s words make it a bit better. All she can do, really, is try to sleep and hope the next day is better.

——

The problem arises quite quickly; Amy can’t sleep. She sleeps in spurts, brief periods of an hour or so before she jolts awake and can’t go back to bed. In all fairness, how could she sleep? All that can take up her mind is how badly she could mess everything up. Not only with the kids, but also with Hope. Which was to say that Hope already hated her guts, and yet every attempt Amy made to lessen that hate only seemed to backfire. What was the point? Would she end up dead by the end of the summer at Hope’s hand? Probably not, but still— it was weird.

It was doubly weird, too, to think about the fact this was the last time she and Molly would spend together before going their separate ways and they were split apart from each other. Amy didn’t know when she was to tell Molly about the whole Botswana thing, but she figured she would at some point while they were counselors together. Now that they were separated, it made the situation that much harder. Amy sighs.

“Amy,” scolds Hope’s voice, hoarse from sleep. She had gone to bed an hour after Amy had, when Amy was unfortunately awake and the girl heard her shifting around and adjusting in bed. Her voice is a snap out of her trance, at least. “Go to fucking bed. Please.”

Amy shifts around uncomfortably, frowning. She had just sighed. How light of a sleeper was Hope, anyways? “I wasn’t even being loud.”

Hope scoffs. “You think that,” she mumbles, before Amy hears her turn over in bed. 

Amy just sits with herself, then. Once again, she barely did anything, and Hope was targeting her unfairly. A noise more than a breath and Hope wanted her dead. No matter how much she tried to make sense of it in her brain, it was something she could never uncover or figure out, it seemed. And that was just to be that.

——

Hope sleeps like absolute shit. She could blame Amy for it, for moving and squirming at inopportune times during the night— but it was also partially her fault.

Hope wasn’t a light sleeper, but the fact that Amy now existed in a space directly across from her was maddening, to say the least. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, the thing that had been hanging over her head and caused Annabelle to give her wary looks and caused her mind to spiral again and again, because that was admitting defeat. Hope had always been stubborn to a fault, and usually her dad would sigh and tell her that she needed to cut her losses more often. Accept things instead of fighting tirelessly against them. So now, really, she was having an insane amount of difficulty trying to get a wink of sleep based on the fact Amy was here. It was almost as if the universe was telling her it was unavoidable.

So she snaps at Amy once while she’s stirring. So what? It’ll push her farther away, enough so Hope won’t have to think about her feelings eventually. Because Amy won’t want anything to do with her at that point. It would be safe.

Point is, when the night passes and it’s time for breakfast and she sits down in the mess hall next to Annabelle with mostly edible scrambled eggs and two slices of toast, she’s barely conscious. Her mind can only conjure up images of the redhead looking at her with a slight frown, which was seemingly the only emotion Hope could inflict on Amy. Disappointment mixed with mild confusion. Annabelle can only eye her curiously and speak after she’s had a spoonful of yogurt.

“Dude. You look like shit.”

Hope scoffs. “Gee, thanks.”

Annabelle just has another scoop of yogurt, never choosing to engage with Hope’s bitchiness. Hope has a bite of her toast. “I mean, seriously, are you good?”

Hope drags a hand down her face. “I couldn’t fucking sleep.”

“Because…”

“I don’t know. Night terrors or some shit.”

Annabelle’s expression turns skeptic, and she chuckles lightly. “Hope, come on. You told me the only nightmare you’ve ever had was when you were five about Jim Carrey’s Grinch.”

“He was fucking scary,” Hope justifies.

“I’m not talking about the semantics of you being afraid of a man in prosthetics and green makeup. I’m talking about the fact you never get nightmares.” Annabelle pokes her fork into a piece of pineapple, taking a bite before continuing. “So,” she starts. “Please tell me what’s really going on. Unless you’re having Grinch nightmares again.”

“Annabelle,” Hope says, very seriously. “Do you think I’m a stubborn person?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. Is water fucking wet?” Annabelle deadpans.

Hope groans, shoving the other girl affectionately as she cackles. The other girl’s face hardens, and she speaks again.

“If we’re being serious, though, you are. To a point where you don’t like accepting new information.” Annabelle puts a cube of watermelon in her mouth and swallows. “Usually about yourself.”

“Which I don’t get, by the way. You’re allowed to want things.” The last sentence is subtextual, but vague enough Annabelle can get away with saying it. She is right, though, and Hope can’t question that. Instead, Hope just sighs.

“I don’t know how I’m going to handle a bunch of 12 year olds and Amy.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Annabelle says. “Like, it can’t be that hard.”

“You’re biased,” Hope points out. “You have two younger sisters. You’re used to it.”

“I’m serious, though. You’re not an asshole, Hope. You can handle Amy and a bunch of preteens at the same time. You’re tough.”

Hope crosses her arms, shoving off the comment, even as it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to her.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Annabelle rolls her eyes fondly, a smile on her face as she playfully shoves Hope. “Okay, you weirdo.”

The corners of Hope’s mouth upturn just the slightest bit, thankful that at least someone in this shitty camp got her. Through what would inevitably be her own personal hell for the next six weeks, at least Hope could be sure she had at least one player on her team.

——

The process of getting kids to their respective cabins is a little bit of a nightmare. It always is, every year, when all the kids are sat in the mess hall at noon and assigned cabins from youngest to the oldest as their counselors lead them off with senior counselors constantly trying to tamper down the excitement of the rowdy children. It was a source of annoyance for Hope, having only started going to camp when she was 14.

In any case, she and Amy are waiting patiently for their group of kids so the two of them can lead them off to their cabin, and Amy seems similarly anxious. She’s not usually perpetually on-edge, but Hope figures her intimidating mean girl nature has certainly affected things.

Amy doesn’t say anything to her, though. She just spares Molly nervous glances until the other girl leaves with her parade of kids. Then, she looks pointedly at the floor.

For many years, Hope had justified her dislike of Amy as her being weak— staying behind in Molly’s shadow and letting the other girl fight most of their battles. But if Hope was to be real, she was a fucking hypocrite. This “meekness” she criticized Amy for— she was the exact same. She cowered behind her feelings for Amy, instead acting them out like a 3rd grade bully. They were exactly the same, and really, that scared Hope just as much as her feelings.

Thankfully, it’s just about their turn as their group of kids round up to them, and Amy immediately takes initiative, clapping her hands together in a way so reminiscent of Mr. Brown Hope almost physically recoils.

“Hi, guys. My name is Amy, and I’m one of your two counselors. Hope—“ Amy gestures to her, not making eye contact— “—is your other counselor. Now.” She claps her hands together again, and Hope thinks she was honestly born for this. “We’re going to walk single-file to our cabin, me at the front, Hope in the back. Alrightie?” Amy rocks on her heels, and the kids seem to be less frenzied and more controlled under Amy’s careful instructions, giving her noises of assent or otherwise nods. “We’re going to head off to Cabin 4, where you guys will drop your stuff and get situated and we’ll have time for introductions. Sound good?”

The kids seem to agree to this, and Hope waits for the rest of the kids to exit as she trails at the back. If Hope wasn’t so biased by her grudge against Amy, she’d probably have to submit under the redhead’s infectiously peppy attitude. It does make Hope sort of feeble, the way she seems to do this with almost no effort— it’s admirable, in a weird way.

They’re corralled into the cabin after a brisk walk, and their group of almost-teenagers begin to talk to each other, claiming bunks and dropping bags this way and that. Hope has a bit of trouble climbing over the bags after shutting the screen door, as they’re placed like land mines all over the floor. She stands next to Amy, folding her arms, trying to be as aloof as she always was. After all the kids have seemed to get situated, they’re talking with each other animatedly before Amy nudges Hope.

Hope turns to her, narrowing her eyes. “What?” Hope hisses. Amy shrinks back a bit, and Hope feels a pang of regret shoot through her briefly. “Just… maybe you could get their attention so we can do introductions.” Amy whispers back, shrugging casually. Hope blinks. “Okay, sure, whatever,” she whispers back.

Hope claps her hands together as loud as she can think, probably louder than Amy’s or even Mr. Brown’s attempts. “Listen up, squirts.” Hope says, loudly, to which all of them are looking attentively at her. “We’re going to do introductions, yeah? You tell us your name, where you’re from, and a fun fact.” Hope pauses. “Or something,” she adds in a disgruntled mumble.

Amy smiles, not at Hope, but it still makes her insides feel a little gooey regardless. “I’ll start. Hi, I’m Amy, I’m from LA, and a fun fact is I campaigned for all-gender bathrooms at my school sophomore year. And we got them!” Hope rolls her eyes at Amy’s enthusiasm, the other girl unaffected. Amy looks toward Hope expectantly, then, so Hope groans and engages.

“I’m Hope.” She throws up a hand. “I’m from Sacramento, and a fun fact, is, I dunno, I only started going here when I was 14.”

Amy nods, seemingly content with Hope’s answer. She nods to the girl next to Hope expectantly. “Would you like to go next?”

——

They go nicely in a circle, all the kids introducing themselves while Amy says all the right things and they all seem content. When Amy announces they only need to be up for dinner, a good amount of the kids take naps, a few heading to the showers, and just a few remaining awake and in the cabin.

Amy chats them up very casually, listening to them carefully and responding in ways that seem perfectly crafted. Hope doesn’t really understand how Amy’s able to do it— somehow able to abide by everyone’s expectations all of the time. That was just another annoying thing about the redhead— she could probably be so much cooler if she wasn’t intent on appealing to everyone else.

That said, she’s being very compassionate with the kids. Hope didn’t know how she felt about kids, but Amy evidently knows how to handle them more than she does.

None of them really try to talk to Hope, though. Which is a given. RBF was a bitch, and kids picked up on that shit too. Amy would likely be their favorite counselor, and Hope would simply be… there.

Not wanting to interrupt Amy, Hope slinks into the counselors’ bedroom and grabs her book, paging through it idly. She doesn’t really read it as much as she does look at the words. Nothing registers in her head, and she just turns the page whenever she thinks she should be turning it. 

Time passes leisurely like this until Amy pops her head into the room, looking at her with a pointedly neutral expression. “Dinner time,” she simply says before exiting, her head disappearing like she was a groundhog going back underground.

Hope groans, sitting up and putting her book down. She slides off of the bed, heading to the mess hall for a dinner that would be a reminder of how things would permanently be; always on the outside looking in.

——

While breakfast and lunch were more flexible meal times that day since it was just the counselors present, they were finally separated and put with the group of kids they were watching over, almost as supervisors for dinner. Amy is finally separated from Molly, and now they have to figure out how to truly deal with this all on her own.

Amy, like everything else, takes her dinner duties very seriously, but tries to be the right mix of strict and friendly. She could do that, right? Wouldn’t be that hard. (Well, probably.)

The kids go first to get their food, oldest to youngest, and then their counselors follow suit directly after. After Amy gets her food, Hope trailing a sizable distance behind her and doing the same, the brunette says something to her as they’re sitting down.

“You don’t have to be such a pushover, you know.” Amy balks at the accusation, just looking at her listlessly. “What?”

Hope sighs. “Like, you’re always making other people comfortable to your disadvantage. You don’t have to.”

The way the other girl says it is strange and likely past computing. She scoffs. “I don’t do that.” Hope rolls her eyes, groaning. “You literally do.”

Amy just frowns down at her food- some sort of chicken something. She’d done a few summer college programs, and had eaten at their dining halls, but she figured the food at Camp Crockett was essentially the food they served at dining halls at most of the bigger, less prestigious state schools.

Hope doesn’t say anything after that, she just eats her food without sparing Amy another glance. Amy’s grateful Hope doesn’t shoot any other passive-aggressive comments at her during their dinner, but also a bit disappointed. She just wanted to figure Hope out, pick apart her brain so she might be able to map out why the other girl loathed her so much.

But then again, maybe she’d never find out.

——

Amy couldn’t sleep. Again. After dinner, Hope disappeared to take a shower, and Amy had to corral all their campers back to the cabin by herself. Granted, they listened to her and were being nicely cooperative, so it wasn’t that horrid, but it still sucked Hope made everything immeasurably more difficult.

It was torturing her, eating at her like a deadly parasite. At least Molly probably had the guts to speak to Annabelle about everything she’d take up an issue with. Amy tried just to plain talk to Hope, but it seems the taller girl had no intent on cooperating for a change.

Once again, what the fuck was her problem, anyway? It wasn’t Amy’s problem, but it was obviously affecting how Hope was acting and in turn impacting Amy. She just wants a moment- a moment of Hope being a little more than what she had been so Amy’s mind doesn’t hand her the conclusion of she wants to fuckin’ kill you, dude. 

Then again- such a moment would only happen in a miracle. Or a fairytale. Or something.

And nevertheless, Amy hoped (ha ha, very funny) for it regardless.

——

The activity that occupied the first official day was the same thing every year— arts and crafts. Arts and crafts was easy, because nothing needed to be set up and it allowed a lot of wiggle room. It allowed them all to get settled, schedules to be dealt out, and the kids to relax before getting into the more active stuff. Most of all, it was a sweeping activity, meaning everybody of every age group participated. It was definitely more guided for the younger kids, while the older kids got to do more or less whatever they wanted. For the handful of past years they were campers, Molly and Amy had spent the time studying for SATs or ACTs or otherwise both at the same time. In the case of Amy and Hope’s cabin of just barely prepubescents, they did as they pleased, Amy and Hope just watching over them.

Well— Amy actually observed something interesting. Hope had been acting blasé about it, as she usually would, but one of the kids had come over to Hope and asked her for help. She still wasn’t smiling— she never did and seemingly never would— but she was letting herself be led by this 12 year-old with messily dyed blue hair, nodding patiently as the girl was speaking to her. Amy couldn’t hear, being fairly far away, but it was… sweet to see? Or maybe Hope just made exceptions for children. Being mean to them was a taboo, anyway.

Molly sidles up to her then, interrupting her train of thought and tearing her eyes away from Hope. She looks exasperated already, a boy at her side. “Amy,” she says. “Me and Jake here need your help.”

Amy looks down to the boy, who somehow looks scuffed up despite the fact they’ve been inside all day. His hair is messy, and he’s looking at her with big, brown eyes. Amy blinks. “Uh, for sure. What’s up?”

“I cannot make a fu-reaking fortune teller for the life of me. You remember those things, right?” Amy does. She had been pretty skilled at making them herself, back in the day. But still— “What about Annabelle?”

Molly groans. “I don’t know where she went,” she exhales, sounding more than a little frustrated. Amy figures Molly and Annabelle must’ve had more than one verbal altercation already. “Okay, okay,” Amy says, leading her best friend and the boy over to a table and grabbing a piece of construction paper to help the kid with his fortune teller. And yet— the moment of Hope and the girl in her mind sticks with her, even as she thinks that it could’ve, would’ve, must’ve been a mirage.

As Amy guides the kid through making the fortune teller, Molly helping with words, she still can’t shake the feeling of Hope’s intense gaze lingering on her for just a few seconds. Brief, sure, but Hope was so all-consuming that it was impossible not to feel it. But— it could have just as easily been Amy’s imagination wanting to conjure up things that weren’t there, making sense out of Hope’s behavior to posit that she was just unable to properly display emotion towards Amy. 

But, then again— Amy had been granted her moment, small as it was. She wouldn’t make assumptions just yet (well, she never really did; an old counselor here at Crockett used to say to assume makes an ass out of “U” and “Me” , which Amy thought was painfully true), but it was something. It was at least a sliver of proof that something was underneath all the scary, indie girl veneer. Hopefully, at least.

If it wasn’t a trick of the mind.

——

One of the girls from her and Amy’s cabin comes up to her during their first official day, stuck doing the ever-interesting arts and crafts— Claire, it was. Her hair dyed blue from what Hope can glean was probably from a bottle of Arctic Fox and done in a kitchen sink, and it makes Hope almost wish she was allowed to dye her hair at that age. Almost. She looks nervous, and Hope gets it— she wasn’t the most approachable person, anyway.

“Miss Hope,” the girl asks. “I need your help.”

Hope just nods. “For sure. What’s up?”

Claire leads her over to a table, and Hope sits down at it. She had been drawing an elaborate picture of a dragon in pencil, which tracks. Hope figures it would either be that or a wolf.

“So this guy is a steel dragon.” Her fingers point to a point on the dragon where it looked more armored. “I’m going to color it, but I don’t think making all his scales gray would be original.”

Hope didn’t know how she felt about kids— even as the child she was currently dealing with was a teenager more than anything else. All she could do, really, was be straightforward with them, listening and answering clearly. God knows she could’ve used that at age 12.

“I think you should color the more armor-looking parts silver, and then underneath, a brown. So it actually looks like he’s wearing a coat of armor.”

Claire nods diligently, grabbing a brown colored pencil and beginning her work. Hope just watches, asking questions when appropriate and when prompted.

“Do you do any art?” The younger girl asks, catching Hope a little off-guard. People usually didn’t pry about her personal life— 12 year-old or not.

“I take photos sometimes,” Hope answers plainly.

“Of what?” Claire retorts.

“I don’t know. Whatever I find interesting.”

“Can I see some?” The girl asks. Hope blinks. How was this random child more interested in her work than most of her peers?

“Uh, sure. Remind me when we get back to the cabin, before dinner. I’ll pull my camera out.”

The girl beams at her, and Hope feels… nice? She’d really only taken up the counselor job so she’d have some extra money, and more work experience so she’d be able to get a part-time gig in college. She couldn’t have really put it on college apps. Hope had expected this summer to be a lot of stony looks and the only time being spent with another person in an agreeable way would be hanging out with Annabelle. Maybe having Amy as her partner to round up a bunch of awkward preteens would be… better than she thought? As much as it hurts to think that, much less verbalize it out loud.

Hope also thinks she sees Amy looking pointedly at her while she’s helping Claire with her dragon. Before she can look, though, Amy’s being pulled gently away by Molly and one of her kids.

Hope feels a little disappointed at this, weirdly. That maybe- just maybe— a small part of Hope wanted Amy to see her being a little softer. Like part of her body was fighting against her attempts to push the redhead away, instead trying to show there was more lurking underneath the surface. And maybe, really, truly— there was.

——

When they get back to the cabin, just before dinner, Claire asks to see her photos among the swarm of their campers talking to each other. Hope blinks, almost forgetting about the whole thing. “Right,” she says. “Give me a sec.”

Hope slips into her and Amy’s room, going over to the dresser at the end of her bed and gingerly taking her camera out of her camera bag. It’s digital, not film (she had her limits to hipsterdom) but Hope loves it all the same, having gotten it for her 15th birthday and not letting go since. She goes through a bunch of the pictures, mostly of landscapes and some animals from Sacramento. Her dad and her took nature hikes fairly frequently, so there were a lot from their trips.

Hope enters back into the main room, and sits next to Claire on her bed on the bottom bunk, slouching a little (okay, a lot) so she doesn’t bump her head. Fuck being tall, it was a horrendous burden to bear more often than not.

The girl reaches for the camera a bit, to which Hope warily entrusts her with the right side of it. “Be careful with it,” she warns, to which the blue haired girl nods diligently.

Hope flicks through pictures on the viewfinder, from when her and her dad made it up to Laytonville in May from when they visited the Admiral Standley park, all hulking redwoods and quiet streams. It’s mostly nicely composed landscape pictures Hope was proud of, including a few of her dad fishing, and the quintessential holding-the-fish image.

“These are really nice pictures,” Claire says, looking at them with wide eyes. Hope gives her a small smile. This kid liked her and wanted to understand her, so— points. Points where points are given.

——

The first week is initially a little hectic, in the sense that everybody is trying to get used to their partners and whatever else. Amy gets intel from Molly consisting almost solely of everyday griping about Annabelle, usually for things that were minor at best and trivial at worst. Amy loves Molly to pieces, but she was a very stubborn person and set in her ways. From what she gathered, Annabelle was somewhat similar in the sense she’d stand her ground if being challenged. So to have the two of them together just led to inevitable bickering and disagreements. At least Hope didn’t care, Amy thinks to herself.

Hope. Right. Her mind had been drifting over Hope more and more as of recent. Not exactly thinking of her, but more so as if she was flying briefly over thoughts of Hope without ever touching down.

It’s Tuesday when the kids and them are playing beach volleyball. They’re grouped into two teams, Hope the captain of one and Amy of the other. Amy sort of felt it unfair, considering Hope was a whole eight inches taller than her. She literally got the short end of the stick here.

Amy was a klutz. She’d admit that much. After all, there was a reason the only “sports” her and Molly really did were Speech and Debate. She was prone to tripping over minor things, such as wayward branches, food wrappers, and sometimes even the floor. This clumsiness did not do her any favors currently, trying to serve the ball or hit it back and, on two separate occasions, hitting Hope on the head.

Each time, Hope simply scoffs as she continues playing the game. Amy figures it doesn’t hurt- she had little-to-no core strength— but it’s still annoying, she’s sure.

Amy just feels as if she’s constantly messing it all up. Hope doesn’t speak to her, most days, only offering her a sparing snarky comment that makes Amy embarrassed and her cheeks flush. The kids giggle a little, too, and in those moments she truly, really wants to die.

But it wasn’t even the middle of the week yet. There was still so much ahead, for better or for worse. So Amy takes a deep breath as she’s in bed that night, exhaling it silently, and steeling herself for the coming day.

She could do it. She knew she could.

——

Hope doesn’t really get a chance to talk to Annabelle again until Wednesday morning. They’ve been busy, no shit, but Hope did miss talking to the only person at this shitty camp she could tolerate. Being around Amy with her suffocating positivity and spine made out of Jell-o wasn’t doing her attitude any favors.

The two are out taking a walk through the woods behind the camp, in the morning before breakfast or before they have to do anything related to responsibilities or do anything of importance. It’s nice, really, to have a break from all the dumb shit occurring right in front of her face.

Hope figures she should probe regarding the situation, so she does. “How’s Davidson?”

Annabelle shrugs. “Her arrogance gets in the way of her accomplishing anything socially. So, it’s fun to mess with her and try and wear down her geek armor. There’s probably a somewhat tolerable person underneath it.”

“You’ve been arguing?”

She shrugs again. “Sort of. She just takes up an issue with most banal shit I’m doing, so I just fuck with her until she gives up. I’unno. It’s just fun.”

Hope frowns. “At least she has a backbone.”

Annabelle groans, grabbing Hope’s shoulders and playfully shaking her around loosely. “Hope, oh my God. You need to drop the middle school bully shit.”

“I’m not. I just think she’s a fucking pushover. I can’t tell if she has any drive or ambition because Molly is in her way all the time. And she lets her get in the way.”

“Some people aren’t born to be leaders, you know.” Annabelle releases her grip, straightening her posture as they continue walking. “Besides, she’s the only girl besides you who doesn’t call me Triple A.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. It just means she’s a decent person.”

“It does mean something,” Annabelle says pointedly. “It means she’s not afraid to go against the grain for what she believes in. Even if she’s going against what Molly thinks.” Maybe Annabelle’s a little right— Amy still makes an effort to call her Annabelle even as Molly will call her Triple A in the same moment. But not calling another girl a stupid, sexist nickname doesn’t mean anything. It just meant that Amy wasn’t an asshole, which, no shit, Sherlock. That still didn’t erase the fact Amy had no spine for virtually anything else that didn’t align with Molly’s values. 

“You’re accusing me of having a crush on her when you won’t stop singing her praises.”

“Dude. You literally have stared at her like you simaltneously wanted to kill and fuck her for the past three years.”

Hope rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she grumbles.

Annabelle does the same, but she’s wearing her trademark smirk instead of the frown Hope is perpetually cursed with. “Come on. Let’s go get food before we’re late, yeah?”

Hope sighs, following Annabelle as she stumbles down a hill going back to camp. “Sure. Whatever.”

——

The rest of the week goes awfully predictably- which is to say, Amy continually fucks things up. With Hope, that is. She’s doing pretty good otherwise.

She’s texting Molly Thursday night, after in the day during a ferocious game of flag football, Amy tried to demonstrate how to properly throw a football and almost took Hope’s eye out. Granted, Hope dodged it, but it was still horrible to almost take her eye out, much less receiving the glare from Hope afterwards.

ames: i just don’t get it. there’s a softer side, but i keep fucking up! so how is hope supposed to let me see it?

moll: Amy, dearest, I’ve told you before you don’t need to get along with her.

moll: Does it suck? Of course. But wasting all your energy on “there’s more but I can’t get to it” will do nothing but give you a handful of aneurysms.

ames: is that how you feel with annabelle?

moll: Ugh. Sometimes. She’s deliberately fucking with me, I know it. It’s malicious, but somehow less than what you’re enduring with Jesse James.

ames: jesse james…?

moll: Her jacket. It’s a cowboy jacket.

ames: i always thought it was more 60s hippie

moll: Well, to each their own. Point is, Annabelle’s just trying to rile me up. But she knows exactly how to. It sucks, but wasting my energy on why she’s doing it will get me nowhere. You know? Same thing.

ames: you’re right

moll: Of course I am.

ames: i need like your voice implanted into my brain

ames: so i can listen

moll: Brain chips are a horrendous idea, regardless of what Elongated Muskrat rambles on about, but a hearing aid with my voice, maybe.

ames: molly dude i seriously fucking love you

moll: And I love you, Amy. Farther than the moon and back; beyond our galaxy of the Milky Way and wherever there exists sentient life and then back.

ames: awww molly there’s sentient life probably at the edges of the universe

moll: Exactly.

ames: i love you more than there is days celebrating independence from britain after being horribly and severely colonized

Her blissful conversation with Molly is, of course, interrupted by Hope, sneering. “What, speaking in your nerd language?” Amy frowns, looking back at her phone.

moll: That is, like, so fucking many. Jesus.

ames: molly i have to go abruptly ttyl

She puts her phone down, turning to face Hope. “No?” She says to Hope, who raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“It’s hard to be sure with you, Hope.” Amy states plainly.

“Right,” Hope just responds, seeming a little bit… hurt? Maybe? Is Amy imagining that?

“I’m going to bed,” Amy says, plugging her phone in and trotting to bed.

“Have fun,” Hope states, sickly sarcastic.

“I will,” Amy retorts, snuggling into her bed. Yeah, she would. Even if Hope wanted to say something about it.

——

Amy gets another moment with Hope on Saturday night. It’s one that feels less like a mirage, more real, and it comes straight out of nowhere, too.

On Friday and Saturday nights, campfires were hosted in which every camper over the age of ten was highly encouraged to attend. They’d do all the stereotypical summer camp things then, like sing songs with Mr. Brown on the guitar (Molly used to joke he was a youth group pastor in a past life) and roast marshmallows. Generally, most kids are expected to have one of their counselors (ideally both) hanging around them at all times until they go to bed, just to be safe and make sure they weren’t doing anything stupid and/or illegal.

Most of the campers, and subsequently, their counselors, are in bed by eleven, but Hope and Amy still were out, one of their kids not wanting to budge and go to sleep.

His name was Adam, and in a weird way, he sort of reminded Amy of herself. He was nervous, easily frightened, and pretty jumpy, usually keeping to himself, only his massive head of brown curls keeping him company.

Amy’s trying to get him to bed, Hope standing near them after escorting another one of their campers to bed and seemingly waiting for Adam to turn in so she could finally sleep. However, Adam won’t budge, even a little.

“I can’t, Amy,” he says, shakily.

“Sure you can,” Amy says, rubbing his shoulder tenderly. “Why do you think you can’t?”

“My nightmares. If I go to bed, I’ll fall asleep, and then I’ll have them again.” He whimpers a little, Amy feeling a pang of empathy for this poor, scared little boy.

“I know it’s scary, but the sooner you face them, the sooner it’ll go away.” Amy tries to reassure him, but he puts his hands over his ears, intent on hearing none of it.

“I can’t,” he says. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” He flinches at Amy’s touch, and now, he’s practically unresponsive. She basically made it worse.

Hope takes notice of them, then, striding over and leaning down to Adam’s height. “Hey, kid. Nightmares, huh?” Adam nods sadly.

“Listen, I have something that’ll stop them. You wanna come inside with me?” He looks off to the side, unsure.

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll go get it, then. Wait here.” Hope skips into the cabin, as Amy waits around with Adam. After five minutes, Hope emerges, carrying with her a dream catcher. It was probably on the wall behind Hope’s bed, but Amy can’t remember. It could’ve been hiding inside her bag, too.

“This is a dream catcher,” Hope explains, crouching back down to Adam again. “It’ll catch all your bad dreams. You want me to hang it over your bed?”

“How do I know it’ll work?”

“It will. Swear on my heart,” Hope says, very seriously. Adam blinks. “Okay,” he starts suspiciously. “But I have to see you hang it.” Hope nods. “Of course,” she responds, holding his hand as they walk towards the cabin.

Amy stands there for a second, attempting to process what just happened. That was something more than a moment, really— more like a revelation. That Hope was more, and Annabelle had been right in the bathroom at the beginning of the week. There was more— now, it was just up to Amy to dig for it.

——

Chapter Text

The weekend cements a truth— that there was more to Hope, and even if Amy drove herself a bit loopy trying to pin that down, there was. So Annabelle’s comment to her in the bathroom of Hope being a “weirdo” was correct. To what extent? Amy didn’t know. But it was something.

There are never any activities planned on Sundays, with the only real scheduled thing being dinner at 5:30 sharp, like it was everyday. Amy yawns, stretching in her bed, running a hand through her hair as she properly wakes up.

Hope is sleeping on her side, turned away from Amy. Even with her revelation yesterday that Hope wasn’t baselessly being an asshole, that only changes Amy’s attitude towards her and not the other way around. Although, Amy did hope that the other girl realized she didn’t have to put up that wall of being the loner mean girl who snapped at everyone who tried to get close.

Because Sunday was generally a free day for the counselors and campers, her and Molly had scheduled a hike at 10 a.m. sharp. They had unfortunately been separated from each other due to their assignments, and having to sit with their campers at mealtimes as supervision meant they didn’t have a lot of interaction. They texted a lot, updating each other on this and that, but texting couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

As Hope’s still asleep, and Amy already showered (though she still has to use the bathroom and brush her teeth), Amy decides to change in their room, since Hope seemed to be sleeping like a log. She pulls out a pair of jeans, a nice flannel, and her jean jacket dotted with patches and pins. She’d look somewhat like a cowboy, but she always looked at least a little dorky, even if not in a bad way.

As she raises the baggy tee she was wearing over her head, reaching for her bra, she freezes at Hope’s voice, feeling redhot at the other girl’s eyes on her back- “Oh, awesome, thanks for giving me something to wake up to.”

The way Hope says it is… weird. It’s not wholly antagonistic and mean, and contains traces of… something else, maybe? Amy can’t put her finger on it. Regardless, she blushes furiously, putting on her bra in record speed and turning to Hope with her arms over her chest, who's peeking at her with a small smirk on her face.

“Why are you- you were watching me-“ Amy swallows thickly, trying to compose herself. “I thought you were- I thought you were asleep.”

Hope offers a half-hearted shrug that’s not all-too noticeable since she’s still tucked in bed with only her face and part of her shoulders visible. She looks cozy, brown hair spilling over her pillow. “Guess not. Turned around and saw that you decided to have a striptease at nine in the morning.”

“I’m not-“ Amy sputters, trying to justify herself, before shaking her head. “I was just- I was just changing in here to save time.”

Hope narrows her eyes. “Right.” She turns over, facing the wall again. “I’ll leave you to it,” Hope says, before hopefully falling back asleep.

As Amy lowers her arms covering herself, reaching for her flannel, her face is still red as all hell. She couldn’t make sense of the interaction, even while she was changing- or, even more confusing, why a part of her didn’t completely hate it.

——

She and Molly fully catch up on their walk, not being limited to mere text messages and anything else, and Amy shares both her revelation and her encounter with Hope that morning.

Molly had only raised an eyebrow when Amy recounted the story, uncharacteristically silent.

“What?” Amy asked, as they continued to softly pad through the woods that surrounded camp.

“It just sounds like she’s still fucking with you, dude. Remember when she gave you a few of those ‘you totally want Ms. Fine’ comments last year? That’s what it sounds like.” Ms. Fine was their newest senior counselor who popped up last year, and Amy and Molly had admittedly been a little obsessed with her last summer. Well, okay, the obsession never truly waned.

Amy frowns at her best friend’s remarks, though. Molly was sort of right, but she also felt like it was generally different. “I mean, I don’t think we’re best friends now or anything, but I think she understands that I understand there’s more to her.”

“Could be one-sided,” Molly retorts. Amy frowns. Molly sighs when she sees Amy’s expression, putting a hand on the redhead’s shoulder and rubbing it reassuringly. “I’m not trying to be a pessimist, Ames, I just know how our peers have acted in the past and I don’t think because you saw her being nice to kids that it really monumentally changes anything.”

“I mean, not monumentally, but maybe in… a smaller way?” Amy sighs when Molly throws her a wary look. “Once again, I just think she sort of gets it now. I don’t expect us to even be friends, period, but Annabelle said she was acting weird for a reason.”

“I mean, that was more so subtext.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but still. She told me Hope being mean to me wasn’t my fault, it was hers.”

Molly shrugs. “My professional opinion is just that Hope is still toying with you. I don’t think it goes much beyond that.”

Amy meditates on this, and while that would be the easy answer, the answer in likely any other situation she’d take unquestionably- something about all this was different that made her unsure if Molly’s logically deduced conclusion was correct. What was different? Well, she didn’t quite know yet. Just something was. She’d probably just have to find out.

——

Even though her and Molly had taken a lengthy nature walk to spend time with each other and catch each other up on the tidbits of the week, there’s still a lot of time before dinner when she returns back to the cabin. Sundays also meant the only real meal time was dinner, with people being allowed to come and go for breakfast and lunch. Molly and her had gotten lunch right before embarking, but now, a good few hours later, here she was, back at the cabin again.

Most of the kids are out or asleep. The few who are up are talking to their peers- or, with Adam, he’s playing something on his Switch while two boys next to him- Jason and Peyton, Amy makes it a point to remember names- are paying rapt attention to his gaming and cheering him on. They’re not supposed to have electronics period, much less a gaming console, but Amy can’t make herself mind that much. Camp rules were important, and she and Molly had always followed them to a T, but if some kid wanted to play video games during free time in their cabin, who was she to care?

Adam actually looks up from his game to Amy after he finishes in 2nd place in Mario Kart, eyes widening. “Amy, do you want to play?” Amy blinks. “Uh, yeah, for sure.” She climbs awkwardly onto the bunk as the three boys swarm around her, delicately choosing her character as the kids next to her help her with each part. She’d only ever played Mario Kart once on a beat-up Wii at Molly’s Bat Mitzvah, which was ages ago, so she appreciates the guidance.

She manages to finish in 5th, and the boys whoop and cheer for her despite herself. “That’s not bad for your second game ever,” Peyton comments. Jason nods. “For sure.”

Right as she’s finishing up her race, Hope leaves the counselors’ bedroom, looking like she’s slipping out to take a shower. She makes eye contact with Amy, giving her a sort of playful smirk that the redhead couldn’t be sure if it was mocking or genuine. Just like that, Hope slips out of the cabin, unbothered.

The boys are watching this all as Hope departs in all of her sulky swagger. Jason turns to her. “Not to be mean, but what’s up with Hope?”

Amy looks at him pointedly. “What do you mean?”

“She’s just kinda…”

“Broody,” Peyton offers. Jason nods in agreement.

“She was nice to me. She stopped my nightmares,” Adam adds.

Amy doesn’t want to make negative judgments on Hope’s character (that she knows little about still) to these boys, so she thinks for a moment before giving them a fairly vague, positive-leaning statement. “She’s just sort of a loner. She’s not a jerk, though.”

The boys seem to accept this, but their attention is quickly taken by Amy pressing on the screen and going to the next race. Just like that, she’s thrown back into playing this silly video game again, all thoughts of Hope shoved aside for the current moment. But- inevitably, they’d probably come back.

——

While the first week was more of a “getting your bearings” type situation with each day’s activities for every cabin being sort of up to whatever, the second week was meticulously planned out with separate activities for each cabin. For Cabin 4’s first week, they were tasked with hiking different trails around camp for each day of the week. Amy couldn’t be more thrilled at this, but the idea of wrangling kids and also feeling really weird around Hope during such made it a bit more terrifying of a prospect.

Nonetheless, she puts her best foot forward and tries her hardest to make sure their first official day hiking the trails is a good one. She wears a pair of thrifted overalls, putting on her good boots, along with an older forest green shirt and a dad hat. She had also thoroughly applied sunscreen when they had gotten outside, spraying down all the kids as well.

Hope just stands there, watching closely. She’s wearing shorts today, and Amy tries furiously not to think about her legs, with a sleeveless tee and her signature jacket tied around her waist. She’s wearing a hat backwards, and Amy resists the urge to chastise her for it because that defeats the purpose.

Amy turns to Hope, mildly apprehensive. “Um, do you need sunscreen?” Hope just sort of looks at her in a way she can’t really decode. “Sure. Spray me down, Antsler.” She spreads her arms out, and Amy sprays both sides of her down, pointedly looking away before giving her a separate bottle. “For your face,” she explains. “Uh huh,” Hope says, tentatively taking it and spreading some of it on her face.

“Okay, guys.” Amy says, clapping her hands together. “We’re going to go down the green trail today, as a way to build up our endurance. In total, it’s around five miles, and is the second shortest trail in camp. We’ll see a lot of natural flora and fauna, but make sure to be careful and not touch anything you don’t know or not to disturb any babies.”

A girl with wild brown hair- Jessie- raises her hand. “How do we know if it’s a baby?”

“You’ll know,” Amy answers. “Or if you’re unsure, you can ask me.” Amy pauses, her expression setting into a hard line. “Or Hope,” she adds, nodding to the taller girl.

“Professor Geek knows more about this stuff than I do, though,” Hope adds, and a good amount of the kids giggle. Amy doesn’t feel completely embarrassed by this comment, as it holds a… semi-playful edge to it? It’s still sort of mean, don’t get her wrong, but it doesn’t seem wholly malicious. But who was she to tell, anyway?

It’s not long after that before they’re starting down the trail, Amy at the front of their group and Hope at the back. She’s pointing out specific plants and fungi and insects and animals, and honestly having a ball. She loved to talk about all this dorky stuff, especially if she was sharing knowledge. 

They’re probably about halfway through the trail when Claire, the girl with blue hair Hope had helped during the arts and crafts day, stops and beckons Amy over. “Miss Amy?”

Their group stops, and Amy goes over to her, where she’s looking down a hole. The other campers huddle behind her, Hope probably somewhere behind them.

“What’s up?” Amy asks, looking at Claire looking nervously down the hole.

“I think I saw something,” the girl says, pointing down the hole. Amy squats down, squinting down the hole as she tries to get a better look. 

A snake suddenly pops out of the hole then and the two jump back. Claire backs into the mass of kids, and Amy looks apprehensively at the brown snake emerging from the small hole. “What kind of snake is that?” The girl asks, and Amy honestly doesn’t know. “I… don’t know,” she says nervously. She had always liked lizards, and even had one for a few years, but snakes were out of her knowledge because they kind of freaked her out. And she doesn’t really know if this snake is going to hurt them or not.

“I got it,” says Hope, who moves to the front of the group and looks at the snake, craning her head to look over it. “Brown with white stripes. California king snake.” The snake then slides out of its hole, and slithers away as the group of campers part to make way for it. “Don’t worry, they’re harmless. People keep them as pets.”

Amy blinks. “You know a lot about snakes?”

Hope shrugs, getting back up and dusting her jeans off. “I dunno. They’re pretty cool.”

Amy meditates on this, before one of the kids is pointing out a hulking redwood a little farther down the trail, and the rest of the kids follow and the two are left sort of alone. “Uh, thanks. I didn’t know you liked snakes.”

“No problem. My dad has a few.” With that, Hope strides in front of her, going to catch up with the mass of campers.

Amy looks down at the ground, peering at the now-empty snake hole. Seemed like everyday she’d learn a new fun fact about Hope.

——

When they get back from their hike, going down the green trail then coming back, it’s just about dinner time. Amy is grateful, and so are the rest of the kids, hungry from walking for a couple hours.

Over her dinner, Amy peers apprehensively at Hope, who is eating quietly. Sometimes she’d bring her book, but she didn’t today, even as they had a little bit of time in between hiking and dinner.

“Why does your dad have snakes?” Hope looks up at Amy, blinking. Her gaze isn’t hard, no, but it doesn’t make it any less soul-piercing. She swallows her food before answering. “He thinks they’re cool, mostly. He’s a park ranger. If there was ever a weird animal or plant in our backyard, he’d stop and talk to me about it.”

Amy sort of smiles at that, because she likes the image of little Hope encountering a reptile and her dad coming out to give a lecture on whatever was there. 

“That’s cool,” Amy says.

“Usually,” Hope responds, coolly, before digging a fork into the pasta they were having.

“I had an Ackie Monitor a few years back,” Amy supplies, determined to keep the conversation going. Hope looks up to her, her gaze more casual now. “What happened to it?” Hope asks, although it barely feels like a question.

“My parents got kinda freaked and made me give it away,” Amy laments. She really liked her lizard. She had named her Bell Hooks and Amy was always diligent about making sure every part of her enclosure was perfect and pristine. But, unfortunately, the lizard had escaped one day and her parents, even with how supportive they were, politely asked Amy to give her away.

“That sucks,” Hope offers. “I know.” Amy sighs, looking at her food. 

“She went to a good home, though. So it’s cool, but, y’know, still sad.” Amy nervously sneaks a glance at the other girl, before looking back down at her food.

“Yeah,” Hope only says, looking back into her dinner all the while. That’s it, then, and they don’t speak to each other for the rest of dinner, both of them scarily focused on their food.

This conversation they had at dinner was something, and while ultimately better than nothing, it still made it clear Hope had no intention of necessarily making it easier for Amy. But by god, would Amy try. Even if it seemed like there was no point. She would sure as hell try.

——

Hope is tortured. She really, truly is. She had realized she didn’t need to be as guarded around Amy, which was to say she should stop being such a complete bitch all the time, but that doesn’t stop her from still being closed-off.

Even so, she had made comments that were still a little mean, but they never wholly came out so. On Sunday morning, Amy had started changing in their room, back to Hope, and Hope’s eyes had opened and saw her freckles running all along her back and opted to make a snarky comment. But instead of rude, it came across as sort of… flirty? What the fuck? Even as she was fairly aware she had… some sort of disgusting feelings towards Amy, she absolutely did not desire to consummate these horrible, horrible feelings with anything. Much less flirting, even if it was certain to lead nowhere.

Both today and yesterday they had set off on hikes around camp with the campers, Amy mostly taking the lead. But Hope had helped on the first day when they came across a snake, and then on the second day was somehow pointing out things so casually, even as she was still letting Amy take the reins and even as she wasn’t really conversing with Amy all that much. They’d had an awkward conversation at dinner the previous night, but that was really as far as things went.

But here she is, Tuesday night, sitting awake in her bed feeling absolutely fucking tortured by her trivial feelings for some girl who would forget about her within the next year. It’s just a hormonal response, she’d reassure herself, all teenagers have stupid feelings for people just based on their weird hormones. And yet she’s actively thinking about Amy so fucking much. It’s more than a little insane.

Huffing, she decides to shoot a text to Annabelle. It wasn’t all that late, and thankfully Amy had left to take a shower a few minutes ago so Hope could brood in peace.

hope: i’m going to fucking strangle something. or someone.

The response comes after a minute or two. Annabelle really wasn’t the best texter, but they’d have to put up with it while they were the counselors of entirely different cabins.

annabelle: lol y

Annabelle likely already knows the answer to that, but Hope knows the girl would rather listen than assume.

hope: amy’s driving me fucking nuts. she fucking flashed me on sunday and is being weird and shy in a way i don’t entirely hate.

hope: long story short i must be terminally ill or something. i’m literally going to break shit

annabelle: ez tough guy

annabelle: “flashed (you)” wdym

hope: she was like changing while i was barely asleep

annabelle: was it hot

Hope flushes in spite of herself.

hope: not answering that question, thanks.

annabelle: np

annabelle: yk u can just b her friend

annabelle: not the end of the world lol

Annabelle is right, as she most usually is, but also completely wrong. She’s right in an exclusively normal sense, but circumstances are decidedly irregular so Hope knows if she sacrifices herself to friendship (as trivial as it is) she will inevitably sacrifice herself towards her sick little crush. The other girl will understand, so Hope figures she ought to be completely honest.

hope: if i cut my losses and be her friend, that makes it that much easier to completely fall for her.

annabelle: so

annabelle: what else r u doing

annabelle: summer b4 college y not

Well, okay, sure, she probably wouldn’t ever see Amy again. She was entitled to a summer fling, wasn’t she? Then again, this was coming from Annabelle, who liked casual hookups and having sex with no feelings involved. Hope wasn’t that sort of person. She didn’t really like feelings, and to give in to them, even platonic ones, was so not her style. She’d tried the casual hookup thing at a party early junior year, at one of the house parties she’d attend to sulk and smoke a blunt at, but she fell in horribly deep. The girl went to another school, so it was a lot of pining miserably and stalking her Instagram. Hope was determined to never fall into that pit again, that ultimately pathetic feeling of genuinely liking someone, because that was admitting defeat. And she couldn’t do that.

hope: it’s not a good idea, trust me

annabelle: ok dude

annabelle: don’t b dumb tho

annabelle: & don’t say i didn’t tell u so

hope: okay okay, whatever, i won’t, dude.

annabelle: i hope u believe that LMAO

annabelle: bc i don’t

hope: you’re a menace to society

annabelle: that’s what it’s abt!

hope: ugh. okay, i have to go to bed

annabelle: word

annabelle: night big guy

hope: night annabelle

Hope puts her phone into sleep mode, putting it on her chest and just exhaling deeply.

This was going to be harder than it should be.

——

The trail they were to take on Thursday was the red trail, the longest trail in camp. It was winding, went all around and to all sides of the camp, and then some. They’d saved the smallest trail for Friday, as more of a leisurely activity rather than a ridiculously long-ass hike through the winding, winding Northern California woods.

Hope’s Timberlands were definitely the best choice for their hikes this week, as she’s never struggling getting through the variety of terrain. Some of their campers have shoes that are utterly incompatible, to which on Wednesday Amy tells them all before they even leave the cabin to wear proper shoes. It sort of works, but also not quite.

While Hope supplies information while necessary, Amy could absolutely lead a hike by herself. She thinks to herself that the redhead would absolutely be a good museum tour guide or something similar— she seemed earnest and eager about everything she was talking about. Anything Hope shared with them she was passionate about, too, but her voice was always to be set in that deadpan of hers.

Hope really doesn’t know how long the trail is supposed to be. She took her fair share of pleasant hikes or walks around camp, sure, but she rarely adhered to trails and mostly went where she pleased with her camera to take ample pictures. Hope brings her camera today, too, because she figures this lengthy hike will be full of picture opportunities. 

There are, indeed, good picture opportunities. They’ve been out for about an hour or so (Amy lets them all know after she checks her watch) and are walking through a particularly wooded part when something swoops out of the air and grabs a mouse about ten feet in front of them. Amy freezes in place, startled, but Hope (who has moved to the front of their group next to Amy with her camera) is quick and is able to snap a picture just as the something is vanishing into the trees. Amy blinks, looking frazzled as she shares a look with Hope, and then the campers. “Was that a hawk?” Hope peers down at her viewfinder, flipping through images. “Yep,” she responds, looking at the image of the hawk flying away with the mouse in its talons. 

Amy waves the kids to huddle around Hope, looking at the image on Hope’s camera. “See, it’s a Cooper’s hawk. They’re the most common hawk in the state. Looks like he was getting a snack.”

The campers all look curiously at the image, and Hope appeals to them by flicking through her other images of the day. She’d gotten a fair share of good ones, a lot of birds and lizards and just a few of nice views. Ryan, a kid with short, curly hair looks admiringly at Hope. “Those are really cool,” he says. Hope, not really used to such praise, especially from this random kid she was partially in charge of, flushes lightly, a sheepish look on her face as she avoids eye contact. “Thanks, kid.”

“Okay, guys!” Amy says. “We should get back to it now.” A few of the campers look up at Hope, and she shrugs. “Amy’s right.” Hope puts her camera back in her camera bag, content with her pictures for the day. “We should.”

They continue forward, and Hope falls back to the back of their little group again. As they’re walking down the trail, Amy looks back at her, the edges of her mouth upturned. Was it a smile? Not really. But it was fucking close to one. Too close for comfort. Hope just shrugs in response, and Amy furrows her brows, still almost-smiling at her before turning back around.

This was why Annabelle was wrong. If she even gave into Amy’s kindness, she’d quickly fall down the rabbit hole of a big, ugly crush. And Hope couldn’t have that.

Absolutely not.

——

Thursday night, while both of them are in bed, Amy decides to try it. God fucking damnit.

“Hope, why are you so mean to me?”

She could get out of this conversation. Pretending to be asleep, maybe? That would be easy. Her eyes were shut already, even as she heard Amy turn in her bed to face her. She doesn’t respond, and Amy huffs.

“I know you’re not asleep. I saw you close your eyes a few minutes ago.”

Hope’s eyes go open, and she frowns, groaning and dragging a hand over her face. “Why are you staring at me while I’m trying to sleep, Antsler?”

Hope isn’t looking at Amy’s face, but she can feel that the other girl is most likely blushing. “I-I’m not! It’s not like there’s a lot to look at here,” she says, huffing.

“Right,” Hope responds curtly.

“But my question. Could you answer it?” Hope bites the inside of her cheek, torn. “Please?” Amy adds, and Hope turns to face the other girl.

“Because you’re annoying. You put yourself down and make yourself smaller for other people. You go along with whatever your bitch wife Molly says because you have no backbone.”

Amy frowns, knitting her brows together. “Is that what you seriously think of me?”

Yes. But also no. Hope thought her compassion was useless, but also admired that she could have that ferocity and kindness at the same time. Hope thought it was idiotic how Molly and Amy’s plans were dependent on Molly, not Amy, but she also liked the fact Amy was always willing to listen to her best friend. Hope liked that Amy could speak her mind to some extent. Hope never cut her losses. Amy did.

And Hope thought her fashion was stupid and dorky and reminiscent of any baby gay that just discovered what a thrift shop was. Her stupid cargo shorts and jean jackets that made her look like a hippie cowboy. And yet, Hope was one to talk, with her deerskin jacket attached to her at every second. She thought Amy’s face, dotted with freckles and the soft red hair that fell to her mid-back was just further evidence of her being a walking granola lesbian stereotype. And yet Hope liked it. She liked all of Amy. Amy was ballsier than her, being earnest at every moment she possibly could. Hope was protected by her walls, and even with Annabelle, possibly the closest friend she had, she still had a million boundaries. Maybe she was jealous, in a sort of sick way. Maybe this was the only outlet for her attraction— shitty, mean comments. Push her away. Make it impossible for Amy to like her.

Amy is still staring at her, Hope realizes. She blinks, deciding the best answer to this question is an idle shrug. Amy sighs, looking down before looking back at Hope.

“I don’t make myself smaller for people. I do what I need to and what I want. And Molly’s not my—“ —she wrinkles her nose— “— bitch wife. That’s not- that’s weird.”

“A lot of people think you’re boning,” Hope supplies.

“Well, we’re not. She’s my best friend and my soulmate, but never like that. Besides, she’s straight.”

Hope didn’t necessarily believe that. A pair of friends, one straight, one gay? Didn’t really happen. It’s not really her place to comment on that, though. Hope had her limits.

“Okay, whatever.”

“Listen, I get you think I’m a sad, gay little loser or whatever, but when you’re not being a jerk you’re pretty cool to be around. I just wish you’d be cordial to me for the rest of the summer.” Amy shifts around in bed. “It could make things easier,” she adds, quieter than the rest of her spiel.

“Me being a dick to you has nothing to do with you being gay, Amy. I’m a bitch, not a bigot.” Amy looks at her, a bit incredulous.

“What? I know that. I mean, you’re obviously gay, so it wouldn’t make sense for you to bully me because of that.”

Hope’s a little taken aback. “Oh, I’m obviously gay?” She snarks at Amy, who looks a little shameful.

“Not like… not in like, a mean way! I’d just like to think that I have a good gaydar. I don’t think straight girls wear deerskin jackets, especially during California summers.”

“I mean, yeah, whatever, I’m gay.” Hope feels uncomfortable with the words, deciding to tack-on another sentence for her own sake. “Not that it’s any of your business, though.”

Amy nods. “No, yeah, of course. It’s not my business who you’re attracted to, and how you identify yourself is all your own thing, not mine. I don’t want to make you feel like you’re pressured to share anything about it with me, because even as I’m gay, that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to share anything regarding your experience, because that’s very personal and—“

“Amy. Chill. It’s fine.”

Amy blinks, Hope’s interruption stopping her ramble. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The air is quiet for a bit, and Hope, uncomfortable with this constant eye contact, rolls back onto her back, staring listlessly at the ceiling.

“So you really think those things about me?”

“Why would I say them if I didn’t mean them?”

Amy shifts. “I don’t think you mean them. I think you just want an excuse to be rude to people. But you justify it as calling them on their shit so you don’t feel bad about it.”

Hope just looks at the ceiling. Maybe Amy wasn’t completely off-base, but she didn’t want the other girl to know that. She might as well give her some sort of consolation, because she honestly did feel bad.

“Okay, like… only sort of. Not completely. You’re fine sometimes too, Antsler.”

“Okay,” Amy replies quietly. “And do you—“

Hope groans. “I’m not continuing this conversation. I’m going to bed.” She lays on her other side, the side away from Amy.

“Okay. Goodnight, Hope.”

“Goodnight, Amy,” Hope replies, slightly clipped and annoyed.

God, was this girl breaking her down. And Hope wasn’t so sure how long she could last.

——

On Friday, they take the shortest trail in camp and Amy packs a picnic. Turkey and cheese sandwiches, most with mayo and mustard but some without, and some just turkey. She also packs individual chip bags as well as those tiny water bottles. Hope’s almost a little impressed, even as she wouldn’t like to admit that.

They find a grove just at the end of the already pretty short trail and set up their picnic there, Hope putting the blankets down. She had been asked to carry the blankets, even as Amy was trying very bravely not to look her in the face after the conversation they had the previous night. Hope tries not to care about it.

It’s really a beautiful day— the sun is bright and there’s a few clouds in the sky. Enough to where it looks picturesque— Hope regrets not bringing her camera along to the picnic. The campers all sit on their blankets and eat their sandwiches, talking amongst themselves as Hope eats her turkey and cheese sandwich on the edge of a blanket with a few kids around her. Amy’s sitting on the blanket furthest from her. It shouldn’t bother her, and yet it does. Amy had every reason to not want to speak to her. Of course she did.

She makes quick work of her sandwich, and waits patiently for the rest of the campers to be finished before gathering all of their trash up as Amy diligently packs up. Hope grabs the blankets off the ground, throwing them over her shoulder as their group begins to turn around and make their way back to camp.

Amy looks at her warily as they trail behind the group of kids, just for a moment. And then, Amy’s looking back away, as if she hadn’t done anything in the first place.

Really, Hope can’t feel disappointed about this. Or upset. Hope was a stone cold bitch, and she had been one to Amy, even as the other girl delicately tried to pry at her walls to access more parts of her. But Amy had given up after Hope just snapped at her. And she couldn’t necessarily blame her— even if she most likely wasn’t a bitter lone wolf on the inside, she sure was good at playing that role.

And that was all that mattered to people.

——

It’s Saturday a bit before the campfire and Hope is reading her copy of Cameron Post idly in bed. It’s just about her 4th time rereading it, and right now she’s at the part where Jamie’s getting mad at Cameron the day of Bucking Horse for her blatant attraction to Coley. It doesn’t reflect anything in her life, but also it does, except Cameron and Jamie are both her. If she was Cameron, Annabelle was probably Lindsey, the clearest voice of reason in her life.

Before she can monologue in her head further about the book, Amy comes into the bedroom, looking at her with a determined look on her face. Hope slides her bookmark— a nice fabric one she got from a vintage book store in Portland— into the page she was on and closes it to look at Amy. “What?”

It comes out rather rudely, but most things Hope said did anyway. Amy flinches a little, but inhales and exhales. “Hope. Can we make a truce?”

Hope blanks. “What?”

Amy sighs, wringing her hands. “Like, we just try to be amiable with each other. You don’t have to like me or anything. Just maybe we could… play nice? Arguing with you feels counterintuitive.”

Hope rolls her eyes, giving a sigh. “Look, Amy, I don’t, like, want to be a dick to you. It’s not something that I daydream about.” Which was true. It was just her only outlet of expressing her genuine, stupid fucking feelings towards the other girl. It was a way for her to talk to Amy while maintaining that distance— Amy wouldn’t want anything to do with an aloof bitch.

“Then why are you one?” It’s probably the most ballsy thing she’s heard Amy say, especially as she’s staring Hope down intently. She obviously can’t be entirely honest, so she just shrugs. “It’s just easy.”

Amy huffs. “I just want this summer to be good. And I’m sure you do too. If we’re not being assholes to each other, it’ll probably go much smoother.”

Amy’s boldness in this moment is sort of admirable, which Hope internally smacks herself for thinking. But you know what? Fine. She’d concede, just this once. Just so the rest of the summer isn’t the worst thing ever.

“You know what? Okay.”

Amy raises her eyebrows. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay. Truce.” Hope holds out her hand, and Amy walks up to Hope on her bed, shaking it. Amy nods. “Truce,” she agrees, before letting go of Hope’s hand. Hope furiously tries not to think about the contact, Amy’s soft hands within hers.

So Hope could concede once, cut one single loss. Being decent to Amy. She’d lost the battle, but hadn’t lost the war.

Right?

——