Chapter 15 Three Years Before
3 years before Penny
Inside the chalet, it’s chaos in the best way.
The main room is wide open — logs stacked high around a stone fireplace that’s already roaring, couches pushed against the walls, kitchen tucked off to the side with a long table buried in snacks people dragged in. The sound hits first: forty voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the rafters, someone shouting about who called which bunk.
People scatter in every direction, exploring upstairs, checking out the loft that overlooks the room, calling dibs on spots before anyone else can. Shoes thump on the stairs, doors slam open and shut, the air buzzing with the kind of energy only a class of seniors can bring.
Caleb drops his bag in the middle of the floor like he owns the place. “This,” he announces, “is better than Disney World.”
Nate snorts. “You’ve never even been to Disney World.”
“Don’t need to. This has bunk beds.”
He’s not wrong. We find them pretty quickly — three rooms crammed with wooden bunks stacked against the walls, thin mattresses squeaking when people flop onto them. With more than forty of us here, it’s clear there’s no way everyone’s getting a proper bed. Some kids are already inflating mattresses on the floor, laughing about how it’s “camp style.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder, following Jemma into one of the rooms. She’s trailing her fingers along the wooden frame of a bunk, eyes scanning the options. She looks at me with that half-smile that always makes my chest feel lighter.
And then I hear myself say it before I can think better: “Do you… uh, wanna share one?”
Her eyebrows lift, and my face gets hot immediately. I stumble to explain, words tripping over each other. “I don’t mean—like—I just mean to save space. For other people. Just sleeping, I swear. Nothing weird. I just thought—”
I stop myself, rubbing the back of my neck, wishing the floor would open up.
Jemma’s smile spreads slow, warm, her curls catching the firelight spilling in from the hall. “Logan,” she says gently, “it’s okay. I know what you mean.”
Relief floods through me so fast my shoulders sag. “Right. Okay. Good.”
She laughs, soft and easy, and tosses her bag onto the top bunk. “But only if I get the window side.”
I grin despite myself, dropping my bag next to hers. “Deal.”
Out in the hall, Ryan’s voice echoes, calling for someone to come help set up speakers. Caleb’s already halfway up the stairs shouting about finding the best room. The night is just beginning, loud and messy and alive.
And standing there, with Jemma’s smile lingering in my head, I realize — this might be the first night in a long time that I’m exactly where I want to be.
By the time everyone’s bags are dropped and beds more or less claimed, the place feels like a hive. Shoes litter the entryway, someone’s already raided the snack table, and half the class is sprawled across the couches.
Then a guy climbs up onto one of the tables, clapping his hands for attention. “Okay, listen up!” he shouts over the chatter. “Since a bunch of people aren’t getting here until tomorrow morning, we should wait until then for the real party. Tonight—video game tournament!”
The room erupts in cheers and groans in equal measure.
“There are two TVs,” he continues, pointing like a drill sergeant. “Mario Kart on this side, Call of Duty on the other. Split yourselves.”
A couple of girls roll their eyes. “Seriously?” one groans. “That’s your idea of fun?”
But before anyone else can complain, Jemma claps her hands together, grinning wide. “Oh my God, yes. I love Mario Kart!”
Ryan’s already halfway across the room. “Dibs on Yoshi!”
They both rush over to the TV on the left where someone’s setting up the console. Controllers get passed around, teens pile onto couches or sit cross-legged on the rug. On the other side, the Call of Duty crowd starts arguing over who’s best with a sniper rifle.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, just watching for a while. The laughter, the smack talk, the noise—it’s ridiculous and alive in a way that makes my chest ache with something close to joy.
Half an hour later, the chaos is at full volume.
From one side of the room: the gleeful yahoo! and cling-cling! of shells slamming into karts.
From the other: the rapid-fire rattle of machine guns, explosions, and someone screaming, “I TOLD YOU TO COVER ME!”
It all collides in the middle, a perfect storm of cartoon sound effects and digital warfare. Kids are howling with laughter, others booing, the floor literally vibrating with energy.
And I can’t stop laughing. It’s utterly ridiculous—Mario throwing banana peels at the same time somebody yells about a headshot—but it’s also perfect.
I glance across the room, and there’s Jemma, her face lit by the glow of the screen, curls bouncing as she laughs so hard she has to put the controller down for a second. Ryan is next to her laughing just as hard.
I’m still grinning at the madness of Mario Kart clashing with Call of Duty when Caleb waves me over.
“Yo, Logan! Come try this round,” he shouts, patting the spot next to him on the couch.
I hesitate for half a second, then hop over the back of the couch, landing beside him with a laugh. “I haven’t played in a while. Don’t get mad when I ruin it for you.”
“Bro, you’re fine. Just grab that controller.”
I pick it up, the plastic sticky from a dozen hands already passing it around tonight. The mission loads quick, dropping us into some bombed-out city. The screen fills with smoke, crumbling walls, flashes of gunfire.
“Alright, squad,” someone yells, leaning in from the arm of the couch like we’re actually soldiers. “We wipe the other team. No mercy!”
The next few minutes are chaos. Bullets flying, explosions shaking the screen, bodies dropping left and right. Every time someone gets hit, the speakers rattle with a groan or a scream. My thumbs find the rhythm faster than I expect, muscle memory kicking in from late nights years ago.
Caleb’s laughing his head off, spraying bullets like a maniac. “Damn, imagine if this was real life? Bro, I’d die in like two seconds.”
I chuckle, eyes glued to the screen as another enemy crumples to the ground. “Yeah, me too.”