The sun beat down on Lake Corman, turning the water into a million dancing diamonds. I adjusted my sunglasses and dipped my toes into the cool shallows, watching Dad and Liam unload our kayaks from the roof of the SUV.
"Need sunscreen?" Mom appeared beside me, already uncapping the bottle without waiting for my answer.
"I put some on at the campsite," I protested, but held out my arm anyway. Arguing with Diana Davidson about sun protection was like arguing with gravity - a pointless battle against a fundamental force of nature.
"You'll thank me when you're forty and don't look like a leather handbag," she said, efficiently coating my shoulders despite my eye-rolling.
Dad called from the shore, "Who's riding with who?"
Before I could answer, Mom said, "Patrick, you take Mia. I'll go with Liam. Someone needs to make sure he doesn't tip us over trying to race again."
I caught Liam's glance - a flicker of something I couldn't name passing between us. Since last night's conversation in the tent, we'd been orbiting each other cautiously, like planets that had slipped from their usual trajectories.
"I'm not the one who capsized us three years ago," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in that half-smile that suddenly made my stomach feel hollow. "That was all Mom."
"Slander and lies," Mom declared, but she was smiling too.
***
By late afternoon, dark clouds began gathering on the horizon. Dad squinted at the sky with the practiced eye of someone who'd spent decades working outdoors.
"We should head back," he said, already packing up the small cooler. "That's moving faster than the forecast said."
Mom immediately shifted into preparation mode. "Patrick, did you secure the rain fly on the tents? And the tarps for the firewood?"
"All set before we left," he assured her. "We won't melt, Diana."
We barely made it back to the campsite before the first fat raindrops fell. Within minutes, the gentle shower transformed into a downpour. We huddled under the dining canopy, watching sheets of rain transform our carefully arranged campsite into a soggy mess.
A crack of thunder directly overhead made Mom jump. "I thought this was supposed to be a passing shower!"
Dad checked the weather radar on his phone, squinting at the screen. "Signal's weak, but it looks like we're in for a night of it. Probably best to hunker down in the tents until morning."
"So much for campfire s'mores," I sighed.
"I grabbed them!" Liam held up a plastic bag containing chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers. "We can still make them with the camping stove in the morning."
"My hero," I said automatically, then felt my cheeks warm when our eyes met.
We made a dash for our respective tents - Mom and Dad to theirs, Liam and I to the slightly smaller one we'd shared on camping trips since we were kids. Only now, at nineteen and twenty-one, the space felt much smaller than I remembered.
Inside, we silently arranged our sleeping bags on opposite sides of the tent, the sound of rain creating a constant drumming overhead. I changed into dry clothes by contorting myself inside my sleeping bag - a skill perfected over years of camping - while Liam politely turned to face the tent wall.
"Remember when we were little and Dad would tell ghost stories during storms?" Liam asked, breaking the awkward silence.
I smiled, settling cross-legged on my sleeping bag. "And Mom would get mad because I couldn't sleep afterward."
"You'd sneak into my sleeping bag at midnight," he recalled. "Kick me half to death."
"I did not!"
"You absolutely did. You sleep like you're fighting invisible ninjas."
The familiar banter eased some of the tension. Outside, the storm intensified, wind whipping the tent sides. Another crack of thunder, closer this time, made the ground beneath us vibrate.
"This is a big one," Liam said, reaching for his backpack. He pulled out a small battery-powered lantern and switched it on, casting our tent in a warm glow. "Might as well get comfortable."
He produced a deck of cards, and we played several rounds of gin rummy while rain pummeled our tent. Gradually, the conversation flowed more naturally, though I remained acutely aware of how his fingers looked shuffling cards, how his voice seemed deeper in the confined space.
After I won three games in a row, Liam tossed the cards down in mock defeat. "When did you get so good at this?"
"I've always been good. You've just been lucky until now."
He laughed, leaning back against his backpack. "So what happens after summer? You still planning on State?"
"If I get in," I said. "Though part of me wonders if I should go further away. Sometimes Westridge feels...I don't know, like it's suffocating me."
Liam's expression turned serious. "I know what you mean."
"Do you ever think about leaving?" I asked.
"All the time lately." His voice had dropped, almost a whisper.
"Why?" The question came out more desperate than I intended.
He looked at me for a long moment, the lantern light catching the angles of his face. "Because sometimes staying feels like the hardest thing in the world."
Something shifted in the air between us. The conversation had veered from the safe territory of college plans into something more personal, more dangerous.
"Liam..." I started, though I had no idea what I was going to say.
"Have you ever felt like you're living someone else's life?" he interrupted. "Like you woke up one day in this body, this family, this town, but something about it doesn't quite fit?"
I hugged my knees to my chest. "No. I've always felt like I belong exactly where I am." I paused, then added softly, "With you, with Mom and Dad, at the lake house."
"That's the difference between us, I guess." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "You're a Davidson through and through. I'm..." He trailed off.
"You're what?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Forget it."
I wanted to press further, but another thunderclap, directly overhead, made me jump instead. The lantern flickered, threatening to go out.
"Hey," he said, his voice gentle, "remember how I used to count between the lightning and thunder to show you how far away it was?"
I nodded, grateful for the change of subject.
"One Mississippi, two Mississippi," he demonstrated. "Each second is about a mile."
A flash of lightning illuminated the tent, followed almost immediately by a deafening crack.
"That was about half a Mississippi," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "So the storm is right on top of us."
"We're safe," he assured me. "No tall trees near the tent, we're not on high ground. Just a lot of noise."
Another flash-boom sequence made me flinch. Without thinking, I moved closer to him, just as I had during storms when we were children.
He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, putting his arm around me. "Still scared of storms after all these years, huh?"
"Not scared," I murmured. "Just...respectful of nature's power."
He laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest against my ear. For a moment, it was simple - just two siblings huddled together during a storm, as we'd done countless times before.
But then his hand moved slightly against my shoulder, his thumb tracing a small circle that sent electricity down my spine. I should have pulled away. Instead, I found myself looking up at him.
His expression changed, confusion and something else darkening his eyes. For one breathless moment, I thought he might lean down, might close the distance between us. My heart hammered in my chest, so loud I was certain he could hear it.
"Mia," he said, my name barely audible over the rain.
The spell broke when a muffled shout came from our parents' tent. Dad's voice called, "Everyone okay over there?"
Liam and I sprang apart like we'd been burned.
"We're fine!" Liam called back, his voice unnaturally high. "Just waiting out the storm!"
"Should pass by morning," Dad shouted. "Try to get some sleep!"
We mumbled goodnight to each other and retreated to our respective sleeping bags. I turned away from him, facing the tent wall, my face burning with shame and confusion. What had almost happened? What was I thinking?
Sleep eluded me as the storm gradually moved eastward, thunder growing more distant. I was acutely aware of Liam's breathing across the tent, wondering if he was as awake as I was, wondering if he was thinking the same inexplicable thoughts.
Morning arrived with damp air and uncomfortable silence. We packed our sleeping bags without meeting each other's eyes. When Mom asked if we'd slept well through the storm, we both mumbled noncommittal answers before busying ourselves with breakfast preparations.
As I helped Dad collapse the soaked dining canopy, I noticed Liam standing at the edge of our campsite, staring out at the lake. The storm had passed, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something larger was gathering on our horizon, something neither of us was prepared to face.
"Everything okay with you two?" Dad asked, following my gaze. "You've been quiet all morning."
"Just tired," I said quickly. "Didn't sleep much with all that thunder."
He nodded, apparently satisfied with my explanation. "Well, help your mother with the cooler. Forecast says more rain this afternoon, so we should probably head home early."
The drive back was silent despite Mom's attempts at conversation. I stared out the window, watching raindrops race down the glass, while Liam kept his headphones on, eyes closed though I doubted he was sleeping.
Something had shifted between us, something neither of us could name or acknowledge. As Westridge appeared on the horizon, I silently promised myself that whatever strange feeling had emerged in that tent would stay there, buried and forgotten where it belonged.
It was a promise I had no idea how impossible it would be to keep.