Page 36 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

Later, I catch myself watching him from across the field.

He’s tossing a frisbee with two campers, laughing at one’s terrible throw, ruffling another’s hair. His smile is real for them. The easy kind. The kind he used to giveme.

And I know, in the pit of my stomach, that I’m the reason it’s gone.

I’m the one who pulled away.

Because that’s what I do.

Because being wanted is one thing. But beingkept? That’s terrifying.

How do I let someone stay? I’ve never done it. Not really. Not without bracing for them to leave first.

But Jason?

He stayed longer than anyone else.

And now I can’t figure out how to stop pushing him away without feeling like I’m betraying some part of myself.

Dinner is worse.

I sit two seats down from him at the counselor table. He doesn’t move closer. I don’t either. The kids are loud, the food is terrible, and every sound feels too sharp, like the air itself is trying to scratch at my skin.

He makes a joke about raccoons sneaking into the kitchen and everyone laughs.

Everyone except me.

He doesn’t look at me once.

And I feel like I’m disappearing.

It’s dark when I finally break.

The fireflies are out. The campers are in their bunks. Julie’s in her office. The whole camp is tucked under a blanket of late summer heat and quiet tension.

I walk.

Down past the rec field. Around the cabins. Toward the lake.

I don’t mean to find him, but I do.

He’s sitting on the dock again. Like he always does when he needs to breathe.

The moon is hanging low. Not full yet, but close. His back is straight. His hands are in his lap. He looks like he’s waiting.

But not for me.

Not anymore.

“Hey,” I say, because I’m an idiot.

He glances over. “Hey.”

I sit beside him. Not too close.

The water ripples quietly beneath us.

“I saw you today,” I offer, because I don’t know what else to say. “With the frisbee.”

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