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The smell of ancient dust, damp wood, and machine oil hangs heavy in the air of the equipment hut. Outside, the roar of the river crashes against the banks of Silverpoint Adventure Camp, accompanied by the distant, shrill shrieks of their fellow campers braving the white-water rapids. Inside the dim cabin, the atmosphere is entirely different—thick with tension, though not from the weather. Through the grimy window pane, the silhouettes of Louis and Glen are visible near the tree line, hands gesturing wildly, their faces pale as they freak out over the inexplicable, glowing teleportation rifts they discovered the night before.
Kaz doesn't care about the rifts right now. She cares about the thrill of being where she shouldn't be. At thirteen, Kaz moves with a restless, sharp energy, her vibrant pink-dyed hair contrasting sharply against her red flannel shirt. A step behind her is twelve-year-old Meg, dressed in casual overalls, her straight brown hair framing a wide-eyed, anxious face. They have only known each other for a single week, having met at the start of this camp session, but a quiet, burning crush has already taken root deep in Meg’s chest. It makes her hyper-aware of the way Kaz handles danger with total nonchalance, and how effortlessly cool she seems, even when trespassing.
Meg’s heart thumps a frantic rhythm against her ribs, her gaze darting between the door and Kaz’s back. Following Kaz usually means trouble, but Meg already knows she would follow her absolutely anywhere. Kaz unearths a piece of weathered, painted plywood from behind a stack of deflated rafts. It’s a crude, hand-painted sign that reads *NO GIRLS ALLOWED* in jagged, faded letters, looking exactly like a relic torn from a boy’s backyard treehouse.
A smirk plays on Kaz’s lips. She turns around, steps into Meg’s personal space, and loops the frayed twine attached to the sign over Meg’s head. It settles heavily against Meg's chest like a bizarre, oversized necklace. "Very chic," Kaz murmurs, her eyes dancing with amusement.
Meg bites her lower lip, her fingers instantly flying to the rough edge of the wood, her face flushing a delicate pink. "Kaz, we're going to get caught. If Louis turns around and sees us through the glass, we are dead. Seriously."
Kaz rolls her eyes, but her smile only widens. The danger is the point. She steps closer to a towering shelf in the back, her fingers trailing along the rusted brackets.
"Look, your choice," Kaz says, her voice dropping to a theatrical, mock-serious whisper. "We can either go back to the activity and get cold and wet, or we could accept that mummy and daddy *might* not know what's best for you." She shoves aside a stack of moldy tarps, her hand wrapping around something solid and plastic. Her eyes light up. "And you and me could kick back, and have some fun."
With a dramatic flourish, Kaz pulls a gray, blocky video game console from the shadows, a tangled web of controller cords dangling from her arm. Meg’s eyes widen. She looks past Kaz and notices a tiny makeshift nook tucked away in the deepest, shadowed corner of the hut. Resting on a milk crate is a small, curved box television—a total relic from the 1990s, covered in a fine layer of gray grime. Meg steps closer, her analytical mind automatically taking over as she examines the chunky gray plastic of the console.
"It's an NES," she says softly, a mix of awe and skepticism in her voice. "It's pretty ancient. Probably won't even boot."
Kaz’s smirk turns into a challenge. "Is that a dare, Margaret?"
Meg doesn't say no, and that is all the permission Kaz needs. For the next ten minutes, the rifts, the camp counselors, and the roaring rapids are entirely forgotten. The two girls sit cross-legged on the dusty floorboards of the nook, working in tandem. Kaz blows aggressively into the game cartridge, a ritual she insists is scientific, while Meg carefully untangles the stiff cords and matches the yellow and red AV cables to the dusty jacks on the side of the box TV.
There is only one game cartridge to be found in the entire hut: *Demon Quest*.
With a satisfying, heavy click, Kaz presses the console's power button. The television screen crackles to life, static giving way to a bright, pixelated title screen and an 8-bit synth metal soundtrack that blares softly into the small space. Kaz hands Meg a rectangular controller, keeping one for herself. As the match starts, the disparity in their gaming styles becomes instantly clear. Meg sits with perfect posture, her thumbs moving with deliberate, practiced precision. Kaz, on the other hand, throws her entire body into it. She leans hard to the left, her thumbs a blur of chaotic movement as she resorts to pure, unadulterated button mashing.
"No, no, no, no, don't! No, no," Kaz groans, her character on screen taking a brutal, sweeping kick to the torso.
Kaz aggressively jerks the controller upward, as if physical momentum could save her pixelated warrior. Meg lets out a bright, genuine laugh, her eyes shining as her character unleashes a flawless three-hit combo, utterly powering over Kaz’s struggling avatar. The sound of Meg's laughter fills the small, dusty nook, warm and resonant. Kaz pauses her frantic button mashing for a fraction of a second, her gaze drifting sideways to study Meg's face. She notices the fierce concentration in Meg's eyes, the effortless way her thumbs execute complex combos without a single wasted movement. Meg isn't just winning; she knows this game inside and out.
Without needing Kaz to voice the question hanging in the air, Meg’s smile softens, tinged with a sudden, quiet melancholy. She keeps her eyes fixed on the glowing screen, but her voice drops to a vulnerable register.
"I used to play this all the time," Meg volunteers softly, her character executing a defensive parry. "With my sister. Before she ran away from home."
The confession hangs heavily between them, underscored by the upbeat, artificial chirping of the 8-bit game music. Kaz stops mashing her buttons entirely, letting her controller drop slightly into her lap, giving Meg her full, undivided attention.
Meg clears her throat, trying to keep her tone light, though her eyes glisten under the glow of the CRT monitor. "I tell myself that she's travelling Europe with her university friends. That she invited me along, but Mum and Dad wanted me here. It’s easier to think about it that way."
Before Kaz can find the right words to respond to the raw honesty of the admission, the television speakers emit a triumphant, digital fanfare.
*“Knockout! Player One Wins,”* a robotic, synthesized voice echoes from the game.
Meg lets out a small, breathless huff, turning her head to meet Kaz's eyes. The vulnerability fades back behind a shield of playful sarcasm. "If you're just gonna mash the controls, obviously I'll win," Meg says, her lips curving upward. "Do you want help?"
Before Kaz can answer, a sharp, metallic click cuts through the air. The heavy brass key is turning in the main padlock of the equipment hut door. Panic spikes instantly. Kaz’s survival instincts kick into overdrive. Without a second thought, she grabs Meg by the forearm, her body moving automatically to shield the younger girl. She drags Meg backward into the deepest, darkest recess of the nook, pulling a heavy, canvas boat cover over both of them as they squeeze tightly into the cramped corner. Meg’s heart leaps into her throat, her chest pressed flat against Kaz’s shoulder. She can feel the warmth of Kaz’s breath and the rapid, steady beat of her heart. For a second, Meg forgets to breathe entirely.
The heavy wooden door swings open, banging against the interior wall. Footsteps heavy and hurried thud across the floorboards. It’s not just one counselor. It’s Steph and Daniel—Bea’s parents.
"She's not been herself lately," Steph’s voice cuts through the quiet of the hut, laced with a mother's sharp, underlying anxiety.
Daniel’s voice is muffled, accompanied by the aggressive clatter of plastic bins being shoved around on the shelves just on the other side of the nook. "Where do we keep the printer toner? This place is a mess." A heavy sigh. "Finn and Alice have always been an influence on her."
"Is that your professional opinion?" Steph fires back, her tone dripping with skepticism.
Daniel scoffs loudly, a sound of pure frustration. Under the canvas tarp, Kaz and Meg remain frozen, completely still. Meg is hyper-aware of Kaz’s arm wrapped protectively around her upper back, pinning her close. Kaz’s jaw is set, her eyes narrowed as she listens intently to the unfolding camp drama.
"Maybe she'd talk to you if you opened up more," Steph presses, her voice growing closer to their hiding spot.
"Come on, Steph," Daniel groans, his footsteps pacing back and forth. "I swear, I'm going to issue a repudiation of these ill-advised friendships of hers. They're bound to get her arrested or killed."
Rolling her eyes at his pretentiousness, Steph drops her voice, though it carries clearly across the rafters. "There's a rumor in camp that she, Finn, and Alice snuck off to the old cabin last night."
The silence that follows is loud. Daniel’s footsteps stop completely. Even without seeing him, the palpable, simmering rage radiating from him is obvious. He is silently pissed off. A second later, he storms toward the exit, the heavy wooden door rattling on its hinges as he flings it open and marches out into the camp, clearly intent on a direct confrontation with his daughter.
"Daniel! Wait!" Steph yells after him, her boots clicking rapidly on the floorboards as she rushes to follow. Just before she steps out into the rain, she pauses, her voice echoing back into the hut. "Elliot! Make sure you keep this hut tidy!"
The door slams shut, the lock clicking into place from the outside. For a long, tense moment, the hut is dead silent save for the looping, upbeat soundtrack of *Demon Quest*. Slowly, deliberately, Kaz and Meg unfold themselves from the cramped corner, shedding the heavy canvas tarp. Meg takes a deep, stabilizing breath, her cheeks burning from the prolonged physical closeness, while Kaz stretches her arms, a wild, exhilarated grin breaking across her face.
They drop back down onto their milk crates, their fingers eagerly wrapping around the rectangular plastic controllers once more, ready to lose themselves back in the pixelated world. Kaz repositions her thumbs, determined to actually learn a strategy this time.
Suddenly, a floorboard creaks right behind them. Both girls freeze. Slowly, they turn their heads. Standing at the edge of the nook, holding a clipboard and a stray roll of duct tape, is Elliot. The fourteen-year-old looks down at them with his characteristic tight curls and earnest expression. He had clearly slipped into the hut through the back door while the argument was happening. Kaz’s grip tightens on her controller, bracing for the inevitable lecture, the detention, or the call to the camp director.
Elliot doesn't yell. Instead, his gaze shifts away from the girls and lands squarely on the glowing, pixelated television screen. His eyes widen behind his glasses, and a sharp, involuntary noise of utter shock escapes his throat. He points a trembling finger at the bottom left corner of the CRT monitor, where the leaderboard is flashing. "You beat my high score," Elliot whispers, his voice filled with a profound, reverent disbelief.
Kaz’s defensive posture instantly vanishes. A triumphant, incredibly impressed smile lights up her face. She turns completely toward Meg, tossing her controller onto the floorboards, and raises her palm high in the air. Meg, a breathless, victorious laugh escaping her lips, raises her hand and slaps it against Kaz’s in a crisp, resounding high-five. Kaz looks at Meg, her eyes bright with a newfound respect that makes Meg’s stomach do a wonderful, complicated flip.
"Alright, Margaret," Kaz says, leaning back on her crate with a cool, easy grin. "Teach me your ways."