Chapter 1: Eva
1302 Words
This story is my attempt to rewrite the past—a journey that finally made me realize, after all these years, that some things can never be undone or changed.
I probably should have written it sooner. It might have saved me years of weekly therapy.
The camp wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be during the bus ride over. Pine Shore greeted me with the hum of dragonflies, the scent of pine, and the creak of old wooden stairs. The cabins looked like something out ofThe Parent Trap—cozy, but worn down by time.
The main path, between the cafeteria and the activity field, was always buzzing with kids. Some were throwing a ball around, others glued to their phones, sharing memes or videos. I walked past them with my head buried in a book, hoping it made me look too preoccupied to talk—or to notice their glances.
Everyone else seemed to fit right in, like they’d known each other forever or were naturally drawn to make new friends. But not me.
The girls in my cabin had turned our shared space into a dance floor by the second night. Lights from their phones cast weird shadows on the walls as they blasted music from a Bluetooth speaker. When they invited me to join, I declined, using the classic “I’m tired” excuse. In truth, I felt out of place, awkward, and unwilling to try. I convinced myself I didn’t need their company.
By the third day, I met her.
She was sitting on the cafeteria steps, absentmindedly drawing lines in the dirt with the toe of her Converse. Her blonde hair was tipped with faded blue dye that caught the sunlight in soft glints.
I hesitated, my heart thudding as I debated whether or not to approach her. What if I said something stupid?
I forced myself to move and sat down next to her.
“You look like you ended up here by mistake,” I said.
She turned to me, squinting slightly, her lips curling into a faint smirk.
“And you look like you’re waiting for someone to rescue you,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.
“Maybe,” I said with a small laugh. “What’s your name?”
“Sophie,” she replied, nudging the dirt with her sneaker. “I’m here because of some debate thing. Won first place, and this trip came with it.”
“Eva,” I said, shrugging. “Got in through a design competition. So... you’re not loving it either?”
She tilted her head, considering. Then she smiled.
“Well, right now? It’s getting better. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
We both laughed.
That was how it began.
Sophie quickly became the ideal partner for surviving camp. From the first time we explored the forest trails together, it was clear we shared an aversion to “ordinary” things and a fascination with anything a little offbeat.
Music was an easy bridge.
“Tell me you don’t listen to that generic pop playlist everyone here seems obsessed with,” Sophie said one day, wrinkling her nose as Ed Sheeran floated through the camp’s activity field speakers.
I grinned.
“Nope. Pixies, Radiohead, Nirvana. That’s my thing.”
She nodded approvingly.
“The Smiths are solid. But I’ve been more into Interpol and The Antlers lately.”
Music became our shared language. We’d sit by the lake, stealing fries off each other’s plates at lunch, passionately debating who’d win in a showdown: Morrissey or Thom Yorke.
One evening, under a sprawling sky crowded with stars, Sophie asked me something unexpected.
“What’s your mom like?” she said, breaking the easy silence.
I hesitated, unsure how to explain.
“She’s... difficult,” I said finally.
Sophie tilted her head, waiting for more.
“Not in a yelling, throwing-dishes kind of way. More like... like a teacher who’s convinced you’ll never get past a C average.”
“That’s harsh,” Sophie said softly.
“It’s not that bad. She just thinks life is full of disappointment and wants me to be ready for it.”
“Like, ‘everyone sucks’?”
“More like, ‘everything depends on you, but even if you try, you still might fail.’”
Sophie frowned. “That’s... optimistic.”
I shrugged, looking down at the rippling water below.
“She’s been through a lot. She works as an accountant, hates it, but says it’s too late to change. I think she just doesn’t believe in much anymore. Sometimes it feels like she’s projecting that onto me.”
“Maybe she’s scared for you,” Sophie offered.
“Maybe. Probably. It’s just exhausting.”
Sophie didn’t respond, just reached out and gently touched my hand.
“At least we have this moment,” she said, looking out over the lake. “That’s something.”
I laughed.
“Yeah. It is.”
Later that night, while the camp buzzed with energy for a bonfire party, Sophie and I escaped back to our dock.
“Have you heard of The Hollow Lights?” she asked, scrolling through her phone.
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“They’re from Boston,” Sophie said. “You’re from there. You should know them.”
“Just because I’m from Boston doesn’t mean I know every local band,” I teased. “My mom barely lets me out of the neighborhood, let alone to concerts. She thinks I’m too short to survive a crowd.”
Sophie smirked, then hit play on her phone.
A soft guitar riff filled the air, followed by steady drums. The vocals came in—a deep, slightly raspy voice that felt like it carried a lifetime of emotions.
“This is ’Neon Tides,’” Sophie explained as the music swelled around us. “It’s about feeling like you’re drowning in monotony but still seeing glimmers of light.”
The song wrapped itself around me, sinking deep. The guitars told a story of their own, and the voice seemed like it was on the verge of breaking, holding tension without releasing it.
When it ended, I exhaled slowly.
“That was... intense.”
“They’re amazing,” Sophie said, a hint of pride in her voice. “Jaden Krauss. He’s twenty-one. Total rock idol, but not in a douchey way. I think he reallygetsmusic.”
“The band’s good,” I admitted. “I like how they keep you on edge without letting you fall. And his voice... it’s like he’s saying, ‘Yeah, it’s all messed up, but that’s okay.’”
Sophie grinned, clearly satisfied.
“They’re not huge yet, but trust me—it’s just a matter of time. You’ll remember this.”
Over lunch the next day, Sophie brought them up again.
“They have another song, ’Glass Skin,’” she said. “It’s about how we all pretend we’re invisible, but we’re really just see-through.”
She showed me the album cover—a shadowy staircase bathed in headlights. It felt like a collage of contradictions.
“Well, their visuals are on point,” I admitted.
“Admit it,” Sophie said with a triumphant smirk. “You’re already a fan.”
I rolled my eyes, but deep down, I knew she was right.
By the end of camp, Sophie had made me a playlist on Spotify. She titled it “For Eva.”
“This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” I told her when I saw it.
“Add to it,” she said simply, passing me one of her earbuds.
Camp. Stars. Songs. It wasn’t perfect, but for the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.
- Writer
