Shelter from the Storm (Marcus’s POV)

The rain turned from a light drizzle to a full-on downpour as we pushed off from the shore. The wind whipped across the lake, sending waves splashing against the sides of the boat.

“We’re going to tip,” Stacey said, her voice tight with panic.

“Not if you keep rowing,” I said, my tone calm despite the chaos around us.

Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a rumble of thunder that made Stacey grip her oar like it was her lifeline.

“We should’ve stayed on the shore,” she muttered, her hair plastered to her face.

When we reached the middle of the lake, the camp master’s voice carried through the storm. “Stay where you are! It’s too dangerous to cross back!”

I spotted a small wooden shelter near the shore and pointed toward it. “Over there. We’ll wait it out.”

We paddled to the shelter, dragging the boat onto the muddy bank before ducking inside. The roof was barely holding up under the weight of the rain, but it was better than nothing.

Stacey collapsed onto one of the benches, pulling her knees to her chest. “This camp officially sucks.”

I shook water from my hair, sitting down beside her. “It’s not so bad. You’ve got me, after all.”

“Lucky me,” she muttered, burying her face in her arms.

I watched her for a moment, the rain painting streaks down her face. There was something vulnerable about her in that moment, something I wasn’t used to seeing.

“You know,” I said softly, “for someone who hates this camp, you’re handling it pretty well.”

She glanced up, her eyes narrowing. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Take it however you want,” I said with a shrug.

She let out a tired sigh, leaning back against the wall as the rain continued to pour. For once, she didn’t have a snarky comeback.

We sat in silence, the storm raging around us, and for the first time since camp started, it felt like we were on the same team.