But I don’t want to push her. She’s already been pushed enough today, so instead, I’m just going to be here for her. I drape my arm along the back of the bench and scoot an inch or so closer to her, letting her know that I’m here for her.

And then we sit and stare out at the lake together, letting the sound of nature fill the silence between us.

The lake ripples at the shore while a bird sounds off in the distance, and the sun slowly starts descending behind the tall pine and oak trees, still providing a lot of sunlight. Off to the left, some of the couples are moving toward the dining hall, their laughter in the far distance, but Scottie just keeps her head forward, her chin now resting on her knees.

Taking a chance, I scoot closer and place my hand on her back. When she doesn’t shake me off, I give her a gentle rub.

From the corner of my eye, I catch her lip start to tremble, and then after a few more seconds, a tear falls down her cheek.

I can’t let her just sit there and cry in silence, so I say, “Scottie, come here.”

Ready for her to push me away, I brace for her response, but when she leans into me instead, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and let her lean on my chest.

She shakes under my grasp as she cries into my shoulder.

And I don’t bother saying anything, because what is there really to say? Instead, I hold her. I hold her as the sun dips behind the trees.

And I hold her while the lights around the camp begin to turn on.

I hold her until there are no more tears left for her to shed. I hate that I misunderstood her today. I hate that she’s experienced so much pain that she needed all this time to vent and feel. I hate that she’s hurting.

Mika said she needs a nice guy. Well, I’m going to make sure I’m that guy for her.

Scottie walks out of the bathroom in a matching green spandex short and shirt set, her hair wrapped up in a towel and her lotion in hand.

When she spots me sitting in the chair under the nipple picture, she offers me a soft smile.

“I grabbed a quick snack for you and a water,” I say, pointing to the table. “I thought you might want to eat something in case dinner comes with a sideshow again.”

“Thank you,” she says softly as she moves to the seat next to mine. She sets her lotion on the table and then turns toward me.

When she looks up, her walls seem lowered, like she’s allowing herself to be vulnerable—it’s the first time I’ve seen that—and she’s exposed rather than guarded.