One
The sun was just beginning to stretch its rays across the sky as the bus rolled to a gentle stop at the edge of the forested campground. Pine trees lined the gravel path, swaying gently in the summer breeze, and the air carried the scent of sap and distant wildflowers.
Anika Lee stepped off the bus with her sketchbook tucked protectively against her chest. The corners of the pages were already worn from use, filled with charcoal sketches and delicate watercolor paintings that only she had seen. Her hazel-brown eyes scanned the open space ahead—wooden cabins nestled among trees, a large central lodge, and a wide clearing where other teens were gathering under the shade of a canopy tent.
The soft hum of the bus faded as it drove away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake and a group of teenagers standing at the edge of Camp Artdale’s gravel road. Anika Lee stood among them, her fingers curling around the strap of her backpack. Her eyes trailed over the towering pine trees that framed the entrance of the camp, and the modest wooden sign that read Welcome to Camp Artdale: Where Healing Meets Creativity.
She didn’t come with family. Didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Her parents were on another continent, consumed by business meetings, renovation projects, and glossy magazines. This camp was their idea of “a good break” for her. A way to “breathe and create” again.
Anika hadn’t spoken a word in nearly a year. Not since that day in freshman year when everything in her world shattered. The silence had become her shield. Safe. Familiar.
“Alright, everyone!” a cheerful voice rang out. A young counselor with cropped hair and paint-splattered jeans clapped her hands. “We’re going to get you checked in and settled into your cabins soon. Just line up here and grab a welcome bag.”
Anika moved with the group, but kept to the edge, avoiding eye contact. The other campers were her age—fifteen to eighteen, some chatting excitedly, others more reserved. She felt invisible. That was how she preferred it.
Then, the sound of tires crunching gravel made heads turn. A sleek black Jeep rolled up the narrow road, coming to a slow stop near the counselor’s station.
The door opened.
A tall guy stepped out. Dark blond hair tousled perfectly, as if the wind had styled it. Headphones hung around his neck. He wore a hoodie and looked like he didn’t want to be there. A man in a crisp button-down shirt followed him out.
“Is that… Leo Ackerman?” someone whispered behind Anika.
She turned slightly, catching the murmurs as they spread through the group like wildfire.
“The football star? From Bradford High?”
“No way. What’s he doing at an art camp?”
Leo didn’t look at any of them. His jaw was tight, his blue eyes fixed on the ground. He walked with a certain detachment, as if he were trying not to exist.
His father, meanwhile, was already in conversation with one of the counselors. The counselor nodded, jotting something down, before gesturing toward the cabins.
“I’ll see you in a month,” his father said curtly, not waiting for a reply.
Leo only watched the Jeep drive off, his expression unreadable.
The counselor beside him smiled kindly. “Leo, right? You’ll be in Cabin 9—your dad requested a private one. Follow me.”
As the crowd dispersed toward their assigned cabins, Anika lingered. Her eyes followed Leo as he walked ahead, hands shoved into his pockets. She recognized something in his posture. Not just anger. Not arrogance.
Loneliness.
Just like hers.
