LEIGH

I've spent the past two months working my ass off. I've been guiding these kids, teaching them everything I know about music and then some, and it's all going to pay off. It better fucking pay off; the kids deserve to put on a show they're proud of.

No matter how proud they are of how far they've come, they'll never be nearly as proud of it—and them—as I am. This might very well be the closest I'll ever come to having kids of my own, so I feel like a proud mother as I stand back and watch.

Everything is coming together. It's even more special whenever I remember that this almost didn't happen. A few months ago, I was drowning in debt and doubts, terrified I wouldn't be able to open the gates this summer. After dozens of failed attempts at getting loans or sponsorships, I genuinely thought we were done for. The end.

And now . . . now we're here. It almost makes me forget what else is waiting for me at the end of the summer, but I want to allow myself to enjoy the moment for what it is. For what it means to the kids. To them, this has been a summer like no other.

From believing there would be no summer camp this year to having those fears proved wrong, from expecting it to be just like every other year to seeing Lottie stand in front of them, bright-eyed and eager to help . . .

No one can ever say this summer wasn't memorable. There were good moments, and there were bad moments. But there was friendship. There was learning to lean on each other. There was fun, music, and learning. There was self-discovery and self-acceptance. Above everything, there was love. If those kids go home knowing more about themselves and how to love others and themselves, then I know I've done my job.

I know I couldn't have done any of this by myself.

My staff helped. Even Olly, when he wasn't busy being a two-faced, backstabbing snake. But that's part of growing up, I think. Sometimes, it requires outgrowing people and relationships that were no longer good for you. And that's okay.

My family helped. All of them, especially my parents, even when I refused to let them do more than strictly necessary. I can only hope I proved my worth to my mom and went beyond what she expected from me; it's so boring to only do the bare minimum. Chloe, too. She covered for me when I needed her the most, and she expected nothing in return.

The kids were great. They always are, but it was different this year. The group was tighter, more involved. They're always a joy to be around and to guide, so eager to learn.

Lottie. Charlotte.

Future me will look back on this summer and feel a powerful urge to strangle myself over how I acted at the beginning. I was so stupidly stubborn, so obsessed with doing everything by myself that I nearly shot myself in the foot and ruined summer camp for everyone, including myself.

Not a day goes by without my feeling so immensely grateful for her existence, her presence, and her resilience (that is, her unwillingness to be pushed away). She helped me monetarily, but she also proved her dedication by showing up to open mic night, and then to camp itself. She helped the kids and all of us. She didn't have to do any of that—she was only here for her break, after all—yet she did.

Somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, she found me. And I found her. I don't ever want it to end. Even if everything will be different in just a matter of weeks, it doesn't have to end. It can be different, but better. The magic will still be there.

Call it wishful thinking. Call it daydreaming. But if the version of the world that keeps us apart is real life, then I don't want to wake up.

Pippa Keaton, self-proclaimed Lottie's number one fan, immediately perks up. She's carrying a box that she nearly drops, and I know there's only one thing that can break her poise . . . not that a child this young has any business having 'poise'.

"Lottie!" she exclaims. "Hi, Lottie!"

"Hi, Pippa!" Lottie greets, somewhere behind me. When I turn around, she's trekking up the hill leading up to the stage we're setting up, looking like a pastel fairy. My heart doesn't just skip a beat—it goes on a rampage. "Give me just a sec and I'll be there in no time!"

"Can you believe it? She went on tour, threw three-hour concerts every night for months, and can't hike up a hill," I joke to Pippa. Pippa giggles. "Don't forget to tell your school friends that this is the proper way to get in shape and build stamina. Even Lottie Fitzpatrick swears by it."

She throws me a military salute. "Aye, captain."

"But don't get all obsessed with fitness, okay? You're a child. Have fun." She's getting anxious, with Lottie in such proximity, so I take the box off her hands. "Go."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I thought you were her number one fan; if someone else gets to her first, who's saying what will happen? Do you want to be dethroned?"

Pippa's eyes light up with determination. "Absolutely not. I'm gonna go for it."

"Atta girl." I set the box aside and help her hop off the stage as much as my puny arms allow. As soon as I go back to Boston, I'm hitting the gym. Stat. With my help, Pippa's feet land on the grass with a soft thud. "Off you go."

It's a wonderful, once in a lifetime sight.

Pippa sprints down the hill, nearly knocking Lottie off her feet when she launches herself at her, arms wrapped around her waist. Though I can't hear a word they're saying, I can hear Lottie's laugh—magical, musical—as she gets down on one knee to return the hug.

I don't think I'll ever get tired of this. Even though having kids of my own isn't a possibility in the meticulously structured plan I've devised for my future, neither was Lottie. I learned to adapt. Maybe there could be something more.

For there to be something more to my future, I need to have one. With her. We need to survive this hurdle, day by day, until the waters are calmer. Until it's safe to come out. Until the lights aren't as blinding.

They won't ever leave us alone. Not completely. Lottie won't ever fade into oblivion, away from the spotlight; she'd never want that. Even with the never-ending rush of moving from place to place, the outrageous theories and rumors, the swarms of paparazzi and cameras following her around, she loves it. She loves being seen and adored, but at the end of the day she just wants to come home.

And I'd be stupid to even try to take that away from her. Asking her if she'd ever get bored with making music would be cruel, like I don't value what she does. Charlotte Fitzpatrick and Lottie Fitzpatrick are a package deal. There's no one without the other.

When she looks up over Pippa's head, I see her facial expression shift. Once her eyes meet mine, her enthusiasm gives place to quiet serenity. She softens. It's something she reserves for me—it's private, but not a secret. It's not even hiding in plain sight.

She sends Pippa on her way, watching her join a group of girls from her cabin, and then makes her way towards me. Her dress is light, looking stunning against her tanned skin, and, albeit simple, it's likely more expensive than anything I own.

"The prodigal daughter returns," I say, reaching out my hands towards her. When she's close enough to take them, she's still out of breath. "Hey. I feel like I've barely seen you all day. Were you at the studio? Although to be fair, I've been running around the campsite since seven . . ."

"Around. I've been out. I was talking to Daphne, and then we went out for mani-pedis. I got a haircut, too. Don't worry if you couldn't tell; it's barely noticeable." She runs a hand through her dark waves. I think I can see a difference, as it seems softer instead of damaged by the heat—artificial and natural. "I haven't set foot in the studio all day, but I thought I could use a break. I'm not trying to pressure myself into working as much, especially since . . ."

"Ah."

She doesn't have to finish that sentence. I know what she means.

She doesn't need to spend as much time working—either in the studio or anywhere else—because she's going home to Los Angeles in no time. She'll be back in her home territory, fully calling the shots. She has adapted to Evermere; it will be my turn to find my footing.

"It was nice to go out," she continues. "Of course, I love going out with you, but I haven't gone out with a girl friend—a friend who's a girl—in . . . forever. The last time, it was brunch with Esme and Tilly before Absolutely! came out, and that was when I had to tell Esme Oakley was recording a song for the film. Back then, I still thought it had been a label decision instead of him manipulating everyone." She dramatically rolls her eyes. "Anyway. It doesn't matter. I needed to get Daphne's opinion on something, and we ended up having an important conversation. It was mostly about her role in my life—personal and professional—and it made me realize I've been acting like a clique-y mean girl."

"That's not true."

Her smile falters. "It is. It was. I'm hoping to keep that in the past, at least when it comes to the people I care about the most. There's people I'm friends with to keep up appearances, and others I'm genuinely friends with. Then there's my inner circle. Those are my people. My family. And Daphne made me realize I was treating her like something disposable. Something replaceable. There's a difference between my friendship with Luca, my friendship with Esme and Tilly, even my relationship with you. She's my friend, and I've been freezing her out without thinking about her feelings. It sucked knowing how I made her feel. I'm committed to being better than that."

She didn't say it in all those words, but it's implied. I might not be an English teacher, but I know how to read between the lines.

I'm close to her. I'm in the inner circle. I'm her people.

I'm family.

"Wow," I choke out. Even when I try to swallow, my throat is so dry that the lump doesn't budge. "That's . . ."

"But she also helped me figure some things out. Important things. It turns out I can't expect to get some things without offering a part of me in return."

"Charlotte," I sigh. "I think you give far too much of yourself to other people. There are things and parts of you that you deserve to keep with you. For your own sake."

"I know. But this is important." She offers me her arm, like we're headed off to prom. "Walk with me? I want to see the water. We'll have some privacy."

My gut feeling tells me I won't like this. It begs me to run off, to delay the inevitable shattering of my heart for a while longer. Just so I can keep skipping around on fluffy clouds, convinced nothing can hurt me or push me off.

But I don't listen. When do I ever listen?

I take her arm. "Lead the way."

☀︎༄.°

August is a beautiful month.

For someone who lives in Boston, a city that screams fall and warm colors, I sure do love summer. I love the blue skies and the way the sun kisses the water. I love the beautiful sunsets and the light breeze at night. Even here, surrounded by trees and far away from the ocean, I find beauty in the greenery and the chirping birds. Even the cicadas.

I don't want summer to end. I don't want what comes with the end of summer. If I could, I'd stay in this moment forever, but that's the problem.

It's what they say about moments—they're temporary. Make them permanent, and they stop being a moment. For now, I can just live in it. Enjoy it for what it is.

"I've been thinking about what you said the other day, about poetic lesbians," Lottie begins. Her arm is still laced with mine. "You didn't say anything wrong, but it reminded me you had a life before me. There are things I know about, and things that I don't. And of course, it's your right to keep them to yourself. I don't need to know every microscopic detail about you unless you want to share them with me." She takes a deep breath, looking straight ahead. "I don't care that you've been with other women or whether it was casual or serious. I care that you want to be with me, and that you are with me. All those relationships taught you things; those things, along with other experiences, have turned you into the partner you are today."

"I'm not a good partner, you know. I'm not the best at communicating. I bottle shit up. I'm mean. I hold grudges. But I am trying my best. Even though I didn't see this coming—I don't think anyone would, but especially me—I need you to know I am trying to be the best girlfriend I can be. You deserve that."

She finally smiles. "I know. And you've been doing wonderfully. My point is . . . I need you to know that you can tell me anything. This is a judgment-free zone. If you want to talk to me, you can. You don't need to answer this, but I need to ask." Her pace slows. "Did anything happen between you and Bea? What you said about poetry resonated with me, and then I realized I'd heard something similar. It could be a coincidence, or maybe you two picked it up from each other from working together, or . . . well, she is your type."

I knew it. I knew I'd said too much.

At least she's being open-minded about it.

"We never dated," I clarify, "but it just sort of happened. We work together. We've been friends since we were kids, and I've learned a lot from her. About music, writing, poetry. It was just casual."

"And you didn't tell me."

"You didn't ask."

"Fair enough. But if I had . . ."

"I would have told you. But it never came up, and I didn't want things to get awkward between you. You were writing again, and I didn't want to ruin it for you." When I risk glancing up at her, her eyes are already fixated on me. She's more radiant than the summer sun. "You were experimenting. You were doing something good. I wasn't going to get in the way of that. Besides, Bea and I have spent more time being friends than hooking up. I know how good at poetry she is. She loves your more introspective work. Match made in heaven. Professional match."

Lottie chuckles. "Okay. I get it."

"It wasn't because I didn't trust you. Maybe at the time I didn't trust you like that—and I had no reason to—but I do now. Talking about it now makes sense."

She hums. We fall into a comfortable silence, promenading across the grounds until we find ourselves at the deck. The water is so sparkly and still today—it looks straight out of a fairy tale book.

In this one, I get the princess.

"I love this place," Lottie admits. She kicks off her shoes and sits down, legs dangling off the edge of the deck. "The campgrounds are impressive, but this is my favorite place. After your room in the cabin"—even when I can't see her face, I can hear the smile in her voice—"but the staff cabin isn't at the lakefront. The studio is even further away. This is where I come when I need a moment."

"I feel you. It's the water, I think. The way the sunlight hits it—the lines towards the horizon."

"And the quiet. It's the good kind of quiet. Not the one you told me about on my first day, the one that forces you to listen to yourself. I like this one." She pats the space next to her, beckoning me to join her, and I sit. "Daphne told me to open my heart to you. You're my girlfriend, but you're more than that. You're my partner."

"Only if you want to talk."

"I do." She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm going to tell you about the one time I barely made it out onto the stage and no one noticed."

☀︎༄.°

if you remember the content warnings, next chapter will include an extra warning at the beginning. it will mention discussions about abortion. keep in mind everyone here (especially lottie and leigh) are pro-choice, and so am i. any disrespect in my comments section will be deleted and you'll be blocked.