19 | The Right Choice

I wake up to the long-forgotten sound of rain the next morning, which makes me thankful it's a workshop day. There aren't many activities to do while it's pouring, and plus, the lake is off-limits for today thanks to Rita. Speaking of, I doubt the crew that's working on the dock is happy about the weather. It's coming down hard, and judging from the dark grey clouds looming overhead, it's not planning on stopping anytime soon.

Liz and I get drenched on our way to breakfast, manage to dry off a bit while we eat, and get totally soaked again when we head back to the cabin. The whole camp has a different atmosphere today, thanks to the weather and the grumpy men working by the lake. Things are usually pretty laid back, but today there isn't a single camper who isn't running from one place to the next, sneakers splashing into the puddles that have formed on the muddy dirt paths.

Some campers were prepared enough to pack umbrellas-- I, unfortunately, am not one of those campers. What's even more unfortunate is that even after my workshop, and even after eating lunch with Lizzie and Zack, it's still pouring. This means that I look like a dripping mess when I enter the painting building to wait for Ethan, which isn't my preferred look when I know I'm about to encounter the guy I may or may not have a raging crush on.

There's a decent amount of people already in the room, which I pretty much expected. Everyone's sticking to indoor activities today, and most campers are using the opportunity to work on their projects for the art show.

Some of the people inside are chatting in groups as they work casually, while others look like they're in their own, hyper-focused worlds, headphones in and backs hunched over their canvases.

I head to one of the large, empty tables, cringing at the squishing sound my Vans make with each step. As I sit, I take out my phone and use the front camera to try to put myself together a bit.

I comb my fingers through my hair, suddenly seeing the appeal of Lizzie's short haircut, which managed to dry completely by the time she was done eating her sandwich. Mine is tangled and will likely stay wet for the next two hours, but thankfully, it's the only thing that looks out of place. If I was wearing any makeup, that would definitely be a different story, so I'm glad I decided to ditch it for the summer.

I hear the door open behind me and turn to see Ethan poke his head inside. His eyes search the room before they meet mine, and the smile he gives me is genuine enough to send a jolt of jitters under my skin.

He pauses in the doorway and gives his umbrella a few shakes before closing it. Outside, the camp is quieter than usual, absent of the usual chatter and laughter. Instead, the only sound is the rain beating against the ground and tapping on the roof overhead.

Ethan hangs his umbrella on one of the hooks by the door and strolls over, looking content. "I love the rain."

"Really?" I raise my eyebrows, honestly surprised by the information.

"What, you don't?"

"It's not that-- I guess I just wouldn't have expected you to," I admit. The rain sort of seems like Ethan's polar opposite-- he's always so cheerful, synonymous with the sunny days I've become so used to. A grey sky and hours of rain seem so dull compared to his bright smile and optimistic outlook. "You seem like a sunshine kind of guy."

"Well, you're kinda right," Ethan says, already heading over to grab his covered easel. He wheels it over, facing it away from me as I swivel in his direction. "Nothing beats a sunny day. But rain is always nice for a change."

He walks over to one of the cabinets, opens it, and takes out a small wicker basket filled with tubes of paint. He also grabs a wooden palette before walking back over and standing behind the easel, removing the fabric and setting it on the table. I try to angle myself the same way I had been last time as I wonder how far along the painting is. Will I get to see it today?

"Speaking of change," I say, trying to distract myself so I don't die from the curiosity, "I've officially decided to take your advice. I'm moving on from what happened with Mei."

His face lights up, and he stops mixing a beige color to look at me. "Really? That's great!"

I nod, feeling even better about the decision thanks to his enthusiasm.

"So you're letting yourself make friends?" he asks, squeezing more yellow onto his palette. "No more lone wolf?"

"No more lone wolf," I confirm, smiling at the inside joke. It's weird to think that even though I'm closer with Lizzie, and I spend more time with Zack, Ethan is the only one who knows about my initial plan for the summer. To be honest, I'm not even sure why I told him in the first place. There's just something about him that makes it easy to open up. Even after everything I've told him, and admitting that I was planning to put a bag of some girl's underwear in his room, I haven't felt any judgment.

"It's a good feeling," I say, knowing I owe it to him. "Like I can finally hang out with people and just hang out, not hang out and worry about the fact that I'm hanging out with them."

He laughs as he picks up a paintbrush, which has a tip so tiny I can hardly see it. I guess he wasn't kidding when he said he was working on the details. "Somehow, I think I followed that."

"Good, because I'm trying to thank you."

He shrugs, but smiles. "No need. You made the choice."

"But I probably wouldn't have without your help."

"Well then you're welcome-- but don't sell yourself short."

I can't help but smile. How does he do that? I'm trying to thank him, and he uses the chance to make me feel good about myself.

"So, what does that mean for the..." he sends a glace to the other people scattered around the room, but they look far too engaged in their own work and conversations to be paying any attention to ours. Still, he whispers dramatically, barely hiding a grin, "The war?"

I want to laugh at his theatrics, but I also get a wave of nervous dread at the mention of the prank war. I let out a breath, picking at one of the distressed rips on my jean shorts. "It means I definitely don't want to get kicked out. I want to stop it, but I haven't told Lizzie or Zack."

"It's the right choice," Ethan assures me, focusing on the painting as he slowly moves the brush. "It's safer for you guys, and it means there won't be another expensive mess like the dock. I'm sure they already know it, and they'll probably be relieved when you tell them you think you should end it."

When, he said. Not if.

Now would be a great time for me to confess that I haven't exactly decided if I am going to tell them yet, because I'm scared of losing the friends I just made. But now, not only am I worried that they'll be upset with me if I end the war, but what if Ethan gets upset with me if I don't end it?

I stay quiet, and instantly feel guilty. I'm not exactly lying, but it feels wrong to let him think I'm going to tell them when I'm still unsure. I let myself hold on to my last hope: Lizzie and Zack won't be able to come up with anything. Without a prank for us to pull, the war will be over. Maybe I can wait it out, and I don't have to upset anybody.

Ethan changes the subject, asking what classes I'm taking in the upcoming school year, and as we talk, I slowly let myself forget about the complications of the prank war. Instead, I focus on him, everything from his deep brown eyes to the sound of his contagious laughter.

Eventually, the conversation drifts to my photography.

"Can I see some of the portraits you've taken? You know, thanks to my amazing advice?" he jokes, setting down his tools.

"Sure. But not the ones I've taken of you-- not until I get to see that." I nod to the easel in front of him.

A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he wipes his hands on a paint-stained rag. "Fair enough."

I bring out my phone, navigating to my gallery and clicking on my folder of portraits. "I don't have a lot saved on here, but I did transfer a few over so I could send them to my parents."

Ethan comes over as I pull up my favorite picture I've taken of Lizzie so far. She's at one of the tables in the craft room, one elbow on the table, head resting in her hand. There's a far-off look in her eyes, which are looking somewhere behind the camera, and she has the slightest smile.

"Zack was across the room," I explain, handing the phone to Ethan so he can get a better look. "He'd just spilled a bunch of paint down the front of his shirt, but she was still looking at him like he was some sort of Casanova."

"I love the way you framed her with the door in the background," he says, pointing at the screen with his finger. "And the color grading is perfect. The softness really compliments her expression."

"Thanks," I say, feeling my face heat up to about a million degrees. Talk about a guy who knows his way around a compliment.

He hands me my phone back, and I swipe to the next picture. Instead of taking the phone again, though, Ethan steps closer, leaning in slightly to see. Cue my heartbeat increasing to a thousand beats per minute.

"This one, uh, Zack was on a rant about someone who left a bad review on his favorite book," I explain, fumbling over the explanation thanks to how close Ethan is. His arm brushes against mine as he takes a closer look, and I swallow hard. "He uses his hands a lot when he talks, and I thought it'd make for a pretty cool picture if I got it at the right moment."

"You were right. The way his arms are out like that really brings your attention right to his face." He turns, and I look up at him, our eyes meeting. He's even closer than I realized. My body turns to jello, phone practically falling out of my hand. "I'm glad you gave portraits a shot-- I'd say you're a natural."

"Thank you," I say again. It feels like I'm blushing from head to toe.

He stays silent for a few seconds, holding my gaze. Part of me wants to look away, scared off by how much I feel just from being so close to him. But the rest of me wants to drown in this feeling and savor it for as long as I can.

"I'm also really glad you're not closing yourself off anymore," Ethan admits.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, the part that isn't clouded by Ethan-induced fog, I hear Lizzie's insistent words about Ethan being interested in me. Is that really what this is, or am I just wishful thinking?

"Me too," I manage.

A chime emits from Ethan's pocket, and the two of us flinch as it pierces the moment.

He sighs as he pulls his phone out, silencing the alarm. In the process, his body moves away from mine, meaning I can breathe normally again. I've never felt so disappointed to catch my breath before.

"Unfortunately, that alarm means it's time for me to go peel a hundred potatoes," he explains, tucking his phone away before heading back to the easel and undoing the process of getting out his materials. It's only been about an hour, so I can understand why I need to be patient when it comes to seeing the final painting. He can only work in short bursts thanks to his job.

I hop off of the stool, and as I glance out the window, I realize that the rain has lightened up. It's still drizzling, but it's nothing compared to the previous downpour. I know Lizzie and Zack are in their respective workshop buildings getting things done for the show, so I guess I'll head over to the photography building and mess around in Photoshop until dinner starts. After Ethan's compliments, I'm feeling pretty confident in my work, so it's probably a good time to get some stuff done.

"I thought you were sworn to secrecy when it came to the menu," I tease, helping him put some of the paint tubes back into the basket.

"I made an exception," he raises a shoulder, smiling. When he's done wheeling the easel back to the corner, he turns to me. "Will I see you at movie night tomorrow? I'll still technically be on duty, but I think I'll be able to catch most of it."

I nod. "I've been looking forward to it. Lizzie told me they're playing Jaws?"

He laughs as he puts away the last of his supplies. "Yeah, I don't know what Ms. Rodriguez is thinking with that one. She'll be lucky if the younger campers don't start freaking out about sharks in the lake. Shaefer's been trying to convince her to change it, but she says it's fine because it's PG. I guess we'll see."

His phone dings and he checks it, eyes going wide. "I gotta go-- Danny just cut his thumb, which means I'll probably have to peel way more than a hundred potatoes." He speed-walks towards the entrance, picking up his umbrella but not bothering to use it as he opens the door.

"You know, he probably did it on purpose-- everyone hates potato duty." He shakes his head, then flashes me one last smile as he's halfway out the door. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

I was this 👌🏻 close to naming the chapter "Potato Duty" LOL but it wasn't as fitting 😂

also good luck to everyone entering the Wattys!! I'm almost positive I'll be able to finish this story before the deadline, but we'll see lol-- I swear time has been flying by lately 😅