Stacey’s POV
The camp’s natural beauty was wasted on me. Sure, the lake sparkled under the sun, and the tall trees swayed gently in the wind, but I couldn’t care less. I was here because I had to be, not because I wanted to be. Yet, somehow, I wasn’t counting the seconds to leave anymore.
I stood at the archery station, trying to look like I knew what I was doing. Marcus was next to me, his bow already strung, his expression annoyingly calm.
“You ready for this?” he asked, glancing at me with a smirk that made me want to throw something at him.
“Obviously,” I shot back, adjusting the strap on my armguard.
He chuckled, stepping up to the line. “Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes.”
I rolled my eyes as he pulled back the string, his muscles flexing just enough to be distracting. The arrow shot forward, landing just shy of the bullseye.
“Not bad,” I admitted begrudgingly.
“Not bad?” he repeated, feigning offense. “That’s basically perfect.”
“Maybe in your world, Archibald,” I said, stepping up.
I lined up my shot, squinting at the target as the sun glared in my eyes. The bow felt awkward in my hands, but I refused to let Marcus see me struggle. I released the arrow, watching as it hit the outer ring of the target.
Marcus laughed, leaning on his bow. “Impressive. For a first-timer.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, biting back a smile.
The afternoon passed in a blur of activities. Marcus and I tackled the obstacle course, built a fire during the survival skills session, and even managed to win the relay race despite my initial protests about running.
“Look at you,” Marcus teased as we crossed the finish line. “Actually having fun.”
“Don’t push your luck,” I said, swatting his arm.
But the truth was, I was having fun. I wasn’t thinking about my father, or Monica, or how much I hated this camp when I first arrived. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.
***
Later that evening, as the sun began to set, I noticed Monica near the edge of camp. She was sitting on a bench, her suitcase open as she hastily packed her things.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked over. “What are you doing?”
She looked up, startled. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed with red.
“I have to go,” she said, her voice shaky.
“Why?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“The doctor called,” she said. “Your dad—he’s not stable.”