Page 42 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

Then I do.

Jason’s across the field, barefoot in the dewy grass, his hoodie tied around his waist and his hair damp from the lake. He’s helping Nolan adjust his bow, crouched beside him with that easy smile that melts most of the staff without even trying.

Except me. Not today.

He hasn’t talked to me since the dock.

Since I left him in silence.

Since Itriedto come back and he didn’t let me.

I clutch the megaphone too hard. My fingers hurt.

“Alright campers!” I shout, trying to channel fake enthusiasm through real nerves. “Cabin B, you’re up first. Let’s see those mighty orc arms!”

Ferix lets out a triumphant whoop and charges forward, bow in hand. Nolan follows, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Jason doesn’t even look my way.

The tournament rolls on.

Cabin after cabin, round after round. I keep score, call names, pretend my heart isn’t twisting every time I hear Jason laugh with someone who isn’t me.

At one point, he does a slow-motion dive to retrieve a rogue arrow for Rubi. She bursts into giggles.

I smile too, but it feels wrong on my face.

“Good form, Rubi!” Jason says, ruffling her hair.

“She’s crushing it,” I call, trying—trying—to sound like me again.

Jason nods. Doesn’t say a word.

Doesn’t look up.

And suddenly, I’m cold, even in the summer sun.

Cabin C has a dramatic flair for their turn, with one kid wearing a paper crown and narrating every shot like it’s a war campaign.

I try to enjoy it. I do.

But every time I scan the field, Jason is there.

And neverwithme.

He’s like a light bulb flicked off. Same shape, same face—but no warmth.

After the final round, I call out, “Alright! That’s it for archery!” and hold up a very wrinkled piece of paper that saysTournament Winners – TBD.

The kids cheer anyway.

Jason starts gathering up the bows and placing them back in the equipment bin. One of the strings snaps while he’s inspecting it, and he swears under his breath.

That’s my moment.

I take a deep breath.

Walk toward him.

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