Carter huffs in amusement, because of course he can’t even be bothered to laugh all the way. “Like I thought. Not even half the man your dad was.”
And it’s there, in the split second between when those words leave Carter’s mouth and the muscle in Dean’s jaw tenses, that I realize: The best way to inspire Dean into actionisn’tthrough peer pressure. It’s through spite.
We’re more similar than I thought.
Dean rolls the spindle between his palms faster, harder,angrierthan before. And smoke starts billowing from the fireboard.
I watch, transfixed, as he follows what I did yesterday step by step, transferring the ember onto the tinder, blowing carefully until it ignites into a flame. Soon, before all of us and the cameras, there’s a roaring bonfire.
“I did it,” Dean mumbles in disbelief.
“He did it?” Carter repeats, equally shocked.
The first thing Dean does is look at me, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The same feeling that expanded in my chest when I heard Joy Lata call the volleyball out loud for the first time balloons in me now. Pride.
“You did it!” I yell.
I tackle him. It’s a habit my less enthusiastic teammates have tried to train out of me, but I can’t help it. We both go flying in the dirt. I roll backward and am up on my knees to punch him in the shoulder, laughing in equal parts surprise and relief. “I knew you could! Well, you had me a little nervous there for a second, but you—sorry, sorry, forget all that. You did it!”
Dean’s laughing too, a breathy, soft sound I haven’t heard from him before. “Okay, okay, ow, thank you. I get it, Seyoon.”
There’s twigs and leaves in his curls. He’s blushing from exertion and smiling so hard I can barely see his eyes.
He’sbeautiful.
And then somebody clears their throat.
We sit up. Everyone’s watching us, their faces ranging from amused to shock, with the exception of Carter, who looks constipated. All at once, the cameras and mics and fill lights surrounding us are too much. I have to glance down to make sure I haven’t had a wardrobe malfunction or anything with how naked I feel.
I scramble up to my feet. Dean quickly follows. There’s about three milliseconds of opportunity for me to prevent an awkward conversation here, and I pounce on it.
“It’s starting to get cold,” I say, nodding to the dimming sunlight. “Since none of you could get a fire started yourself, you’re all welcome to sit by ours and warm up.”
Beck gasps. “We can tell ghost stories around the fire.”
Adin sighs. “If only we had marshmallows.”
“We have those protein bars,” Aeneas offers.
And that’s enough to distract them from poking fun at whatever… that was. The others hurry to grab their food and weather blankets, and in the moment of solitude we have, I turn back to Dean, still conscious of Cameras A and B capturing every second.
“You did great,” I say.
“Well, I had an okay teacher.” He scratches the back of his head, and a leaf comes loose. “Thanks for believing in me.”
He must be aware of the cameras, too, but he sounds sincere.
My small, reserved smile stretches wider. “You gave me a good reason to.”
The others are returning now, and something settles in the air that feels like we’re wrapping up for the night. Dean and I have completed everything on our list, and it’s getting too dark for the others to catch up. I’m confident we’re in the lead, which means I can finally relax. I take a spot in front of the fire, patting the dirt next to me for Dean to sit.
“Know any good ghost stories?” I ask.
“I don’t believe in that stuff.”
“You’re no fun.”
I’ve always wanted to go to a slumber party.
