Chapter 77
Summer's POV
The bonfire crackled, sending sparks spiraling into the darkening sky. I stood by the makeshift grill Mrs. Walker had helped me set up, watching my fish cook and trying not to think about how Kieran's hands had looked cleaning it for me. The smell of grilling trout mixed with wood smoke, surprisingly pleasant despite my earlier squeamishness.
Around the main fire pit, maybe thirty students had gathered in a loose circle. The boys on the far side ate like they were starving—Tyler had somehow claimed two of the biggest trout, and Blake was tearing into a baked potato with his hands. The sizzle of fish fat hitting hot coals filled the air, and I found myself glancing toward the trail every few minutes, looking for Kieran's tall frame.
He'd disappeared again after helping me set up the grill. Just vanished into the woods without explanation, the way he always did when things got too close, too real between us.
"Summer, you're going to burn it if you keep spacing out," Mia said, appearing at my elbow with a plate of roasted vegetables. "What are you looking for?"
"Nothing." I turned the fish carefully with the borrowed spatula, trying to look focused. "Just making sure it cooks evenly."
She gave me that knowing look that meant she saw right through me but was too nice to call me out. "Mrs. Walker said we need someone to carry the breakfast supplies from the parking lot entrance. It's about half a mile down the trail."
My attention snapped back. "Who's going?"
"I don't know yet. She just announced it." Mia nodded toward the main fire, where Mrs. Walker stood explaining something to a small group. "Each box is like fifty pounds—flour, eggs, milk for pancakes tomorrow. Someone's got to make at least four trips."
Before I could process that, Tyler's voice cut through the conversation. "The scholarship boy should do it. He's used to heavy lifting, right? All that physical labor builds character." His tone dripped with false concern, and several people laughed.
My hands clenched on the spatula. I turned to see Kieran standing at the edge of the firelight, his expression absolutely blank. That terrifying blankness that meant he was absorbing every word and feeling everything while showing nothing.
"I mean, we're all paying full tuition," Tyler continued, warming to his theme. "Our families basically subsidized his spot here. Least he can do is earn it, you know?"
Ms. Thompson appeared from the lodge, her sharp eyes sweeping the group. "Mr. Ashford, that's quite enough."
Tyler had the audacity to look innocent. "What? I'm just saying it's a good opportunity for community service. My dad always says—"
"Your father's position on the board doesn't make casual cruelty acceptable," Ms. Thompson cut him off coldly. "One more comment like that and you'll spend tomorrow's activities in the lodge writing an essay on respect."
Tyler's face went red, but he shut up. For about three seconds. Then he muttered, just loud enough to carry, "Board checks clear faster than teachers' tempers."
I wanted to throw my fish at his head. Instead I watched Kieran, who hadn't moved or changed expression. He just stood there, looking like he was carved from ice.
"I'll go," Kieran said quietly. His voice cut through the murmurs without rising in volume. "I can handle it."
Mrs. Walker frowned with concern. "Are you sure, dear? That's a lot to carry. We can ask for volunteers to help—"
"I'm sure." Kieran picked up his backpack from where he'd left it by a tree. "Four boxes isn't heavy."
He walked toward the trail without looking back. I watched him disappear into the darkness between the trees, my chest tight with something that felt like anger and admiration mixed together. Of course he'd take it. Of course he wouldn't let them see it bother him. Of course he'd rather carry fifty-pound boxes alone in the dark than accept help that might look like charity.
The fish on my grill was starting to char on the edges. I flipped it hastily, my hands shaking slightly.
"That boy's got a chip on his shoulder," someone muttered nearby.
"Can you blame him?" Mia said sharply, which made me love her even more. "Tyler's been awful to him since day one."
I thought about Kieran's thin canvas bag I'd noticed when we were boarding the bus that morning. It had looked practically empty compared to everyone else's overstuffed duffels and expensive hiking backpacks. My own bag probably weighed more than his entire wardrobe.
The fish finished cooking while I stood there lost in thought. Around me, people were digging into their meals—perfectly grilled trout, golden baked potatoes, roasted vegetables that Mrs. Walker had prepared. The boys' side of the fire looked like a feeding frenzy. The girls were more polite but still enthusiastic, passing around slightly burnt potatoes and comparing whose fish turned out best.
I couldn't eat. I kept looking at the trail, wondering how far he'd gotten, if the boxes were as heavy as Mrs. Walker said, if his right hand was hurting from the strain.
"Summer?" Mia touched my arm gently. "You should eat before it gets cold."
"I'm not hungry."
"Liar." But she said it kindly. "He'll be okay. Kieran's tougher than he looks."
That was exactly what worried me. He was so used to being tough, to handling everything alone, that he didn't know how to let anyone help him. Or maybe he knew how but had learned not to expect it.
The bonfire burned lower. People started drifting toward the lodge, full and tired from the long day of hiking. I stayed by my grill, poking at my fish with the spatula but not actually eating any of it.
When Kieran finally emerged from the trail, I could barely see him in the deepening twilight. He was carrying two supply boxes stacked on top of each other, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The straps cut deep into his thin frame, and his damp hoodie had new creases from the weight. His jeans were muddy up to the knees.
Logan jogged over to help unload. "Dude, that looks brutal. Thanks for doing this."
"It's fine." Kieran set the boxes down by the lodge entrance with barely a grunt. Some of the guys crowded around, excited about pancakes tomorrow morning.
Kieran's eyes swept the bonfire area. I saw him take in the wooden table with its scattered plates, the puddles of fish oil, the picked-over bones and potato skins piled at the edges. His jaw tightened slightly. Then he turned and headed back toward the trail for the next load.
Tyler called after him, "Poor boy probably eats leftovers all the time anyway!"
My vision went red. I was halfway to my feet before Mia grabbed my wrist.
"Don't," she whispered urgently. "You'll just make it worse."
She was right, but God, it killed me to sit there and do nothing.
I looked down at my untouched fish, perfectly grilled and cooling on the plate. The biggest one, the one Kieran had caught and cleaned for me. The one he'd said I deserved for working hard.
An idea formed.
"Mia, do we have any containers? Like for leftovers?"
She blinked at the sudden question. "Um, Mrs. Walker mentioned the camp uses reusable meal boxes. Why?"
"Can you help me find one? A big one?"