Camp Direction

Liam and Celine

“You’ve got this, Cel.”

The girl’s eyes fluttered open from her prone state, and used her hands to push herself up onto her knees. Her gaze moved to the uneven bars above her, and she bit her lip in frustration.

“You can do it,” her coach, Quinton, complimented again.

Though Celine looked helpless on the mat below the uneven bars, Quinton knew better than to go help her. When she was frustrated, she didn’t want anyone to touch her or help her until she had calmed down.

Celine took in a deep breath and stood up, limping on her hurt ankle. She stood under the taller bar and stared up at it, hearing Quinton make his way towards the mat, placing his hands on her waist, ready to hoist her up.

“Ready?” he asked, eyeing her, concerned.

“Ready,” she confirmed, and put pressure on bother her ankles as she bent her knees, ready to jump.

Letting a whimper slip from her mouth from the pain, she found herself in the air and gripping the bar in seconds. Quinton quickly sprinted back to his previous place, watching her intently as she spun around a few times, and did a final flip to transition to the lower bar. 

As she reached out to grab the lower bar, only the tips of her fingers brushed the bar and she found herself falling face down towards the mat.

She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the blow to the face, but it never came. Instead, a pair of warm arms reached out and prevented her fall. A sigh of relief slipped through her lips and her chest rose and fell as she calmed down a bit.

“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling the fabric of his shirt against her cheek. Opening her eyes, she was faced with a green shirt. Fingering it, she said, “Say, Quinton, weren’t you wearing a black shirt?”

No answer.

Her heart racing at the thought of a random man holding her the way he was, she looked up and said, “Quinton!?”

“I haven’t got a clue as to who you’re talking about,” the boy smiled down at her, and Celine’s blue eyes widened.

“Liam!” she exclaimed, as he put her down, but winced as weight was put on her left ankle. The smile wiped off his face and was replaced with a look of concern as he picked her up bridal style again, looking down at her left, bare ankle.

“What’ve you done?” he questioned, as he carried her off the mat and towards the locker room, where he placed her down on a bench.

“I landed incorrectly,” she said, as Liam knelt in front of her and held her bare foot in his hands, examining it.

“First off, nice nail polish,” he said, the bright blue paint preventing him from ignoring it.

“Thanks,” Celine laughed, “It’s supposed to match my leotard.”

Liam looked up from examining her hurt ankle, taking in her clothing. She wore a blue, sleeveless leotard, and her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun. 

“Have you cut your hair?” he questioned, seeing the bun was smaller than the one he was used to seeing at camp.

“Yeah, and so have you,” she smiled, running her fingers over the buzzed hair.

“Oi, it’s growing back,” he laughed.

“I’ve missed you,” she sighed, moving her hand from the top of his head to his cheek, then to his stubbly jaw. “Haven’t shaved, I see.”

“I got lazy,” he said, standing up and holding out his hand for her to take.

She stood up on her right foot, making sure not to put any weight on her left foot. With a sigh of content, she wrapped her arms around his torso, buring her face into his green t-shirt. He responded by hugging her waist to his, burying his face in the crook of her neck.