Chapter Text
Friday was the day of the great departure. Immediately after the official end of the school year, six families from various parts of England threw themselves into a frantic whirlwind of packing, aiming to set off toward the lake that very same afternoon. There, hidden among the tall pines, the same wooden cabins had been waiting for them for years, smelling of resin and memories. For Oscar, it was a tradition as old as time—or at least as old as he was. Every year, the pattern was identical: the final school bell, quickly tossing bags into the trunk, and at least five hours of monotonous driving to finally step out in this significantly warmer part of the country, where the air felt lighter and time seemed to flow a little slower.
At the lake, one sacred rule reigned supreme, repeated like a mantra by the mothers of every family during every unloading: "If you don't unpack immediately upon arrival, you don't get ice cream for the rest of the summer." Oscar, knowing the gravity of this threat and aware that mothers don't joke when it comes to dessert, sat in the back seat of the car, trying to kill time. He scrolled through Instagram, looking at school friends' photos and checking what had happened in everyone's lives over the past year, though in reality, his thoughts were revolving around someone else entirely.
The only true perk of Oscar’s daily life was that he lived in the same town as Charles. It was a major convenience, especially since Charles was like the older brother he never had. Although Charles was a year older, they attended the same class—the headmistress had decided that Oscar was too bright for his age and would simply be wasted in a lower group. Being the youngest in the entire summer crew had its obvious advantages; Oscar rarely had to lug heavy crates of firewood for the bonfire or move garden furniture, as the adults still perceived him as "the little one." But this situation also had its dark side. Because of this eternal "younger" status, hardly anyone took his opinion seriously. Oscar, by nature quiet and somewhat withdrawn, usually just obediently conformed to the rest, not wanting to cause trouble and preferring to observe the world from the sidelines.
However, the greatest challenge of these holidays—something that made Oscar’s heart race and his palms sweat—was the fact that since the first year of primary school, he had been hopelessly infatuated with Lando. With that damn Lando Norris. The son of his mother’s best friend.
This was the same boy who used to push his stroller on joint family walks. The same one who scraped his knees to blood patiently teaching Oscar to ride a bike without training wheels, and who, with incredible precision, showed him how to fold paper planes so they would fly further than anything else in the world. Oscar knew perfectly well that it was a hopeless case. Lando was two years older, radiated confidence, and was always at the center of a circle of friends. How could he ever look at Oscar the way the younger boy secretly dreamed of under the cover of night? To Lando, Oscar was probably forever that little kid whose shoelaces he once had to tie and whose nose he had to wipe.
To make matters worse, Charles was in an almost identical situation, except he was pining for Max. Charles wanted Max perhaps not as long as Oscar wanted Lando, but their situations were drastically different. Max, unlike the perpetually oblivious Lando, seemed to send Charles quite clear signals. At the end of last summer, he even bought him a cute stuffed dog, which triggered a painful pang of jealousy in Oscar. Yes, Oscar definitely had it the worst of them all. He was stuck at a standstill, torn between sweet childhood memories and a painful reality where he was afraid to even speak up in the presence of his crush.
He thought about all of this so intensely that eventually, exhaustion and the steady hum of the engine took over. He closed his heavy eyelids, and the sound of tires on the asphalt lulled him to sleep. Maybe it was for the better—in his dreams, he didn't have to analyze every word Lando had said to him last year. Instead, he dreamed of something completely surreal: jumping through the treetops of trees shaped like giant, colorful birds. In the land of dreams, everything was simpler than at the cabins by the lake.
When Oscar finally fluttered his eyes open, the sun had already completely retreated from the sky, giving way to a thick, velvety blanket of night. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard—two hours left until they reached their destination. He had slept surprisingly long, especially for him, but despite that, he still felt that specific kind of numbness that accompanies hours of travel. He felt a bit as if his body were still in motion, even as the car slowed down at the exits.
"Oscar, sweetie, are you awake? Are you hungry?" His mother's voice, gentle and low, came from the front seat, cutting through the quiet music on the radio.
Yes, he was definitely hungry. His stomach had just started demanding attention with a loud growl. His mother, as if reading his mind, handed him a plastic container of pasta in tomato sauce. It was still pleasantly warm. Although it was the simplest dish in the world, in that moment, in the dim light of the car cabin, it tasted like the most exquisite meal he had ever eaten. Oscar ate slowly, bite by bite, staring at the flashing lights of streetlamps and other cars, which looked like streaks of silver in the darkness.
They were driving along some apparently endless highway when suddenly the interior of the car was lit up by the blue glow of his phone. A short, familiar vibration broke the silence. Oscar reached for the device, expecting another meme from Charles, but on the locked screen, he saw a completely different name.
It was Logan.
Oscar’s relationship with Logan had always been specific. Although they were very fond of each other, they lived in such distant corners of England that they only actually saw each other during those few magical weeks by the lake. But it wasn't just the distance that made this friendship unique. Between the two of them, there was a certain unspoken understanding—shared topics and matters that no one else in the group knew about. These were secrets that had never seen the light of day and, according to them both, probably never should. It wasn't about arguments or mutual resentment; on the contrary. It was a kind of secret, brotherly bond that meant even though they didn't talk every day during the year, during the summer they understood each other without words better than anyone else.
It started with a simple question: "What time will you be there?". Logan, as usual, scrupulous and organized, wanted to synchronize their arrival so that no one would have to wait at the gate. However, that one short question became the catalyst for a conversation that imperceptibly stretched over an hour. Oscar tapped quickly on the keyboard, smiling to himself at the glowing screen and completely cutting himself off from the monotony of the night drive.
Since Oscar's and Charles's houses were geographically closest to the cabins, their families usually checked in first, acting as an informal "welcome committee." The logistical burden of doing a massive grocery shop for the first joint day fell on their shoulders, ensuring the fridges in all the cabins wouldn't be empty when the rest arrived. It had also become a tradition that Oscar’s mother, despite the fatigue, would prepare a shared, late dinner for anyone who managed to reach the lake before midnight.
With every subsequent message from Logan, Oscar felt the heavy stress of the inevitable encounter with Lando slowly ebb away, replaced by a pleasant excitement. Logan knew how to decompress him like no one else. Oscar knew this summer would be different from the previous ones. He couldn't yet tell if it would be better or worse, but the long conversation with his friend gave him a strange, soothing sense of security. He only locked his phone when a well-known, slightly weathered wooden sign announcing the entrance to the lake area appeared in the headlights.
The holidays had just begun.