The dull blue light from the computer illuminates the PodgeLodge, matching the hue of twilight in the sky outside. It’s still early in the evening; the nights are drawing in much sooner these days. Blakeleigh stands by the printer, grabbing sheet after sheet of A4 as the obnoxiously loud machine spits them out. It chugs and clicks, then with a final whoosh, falls silent. There it is. Her finished project.

Blakeleigh gathers the papers and heads back towards the cabin. Not a lot else left to do around here these days, and it shows. The atmosphere is strange. People seemingly hopeful for things to come despite an unmistakable bittersweet air of things drawing to their timely end. Another summer completed.

Placing them down on the side, she turns to her next task at hand. Her belongings are packed in her bags ready to return, though a few remain sprawled out here and there for the last days. Amongst them all, an empty jar waits. The label on the front, worn through and barely stuck on from being washed, still just about reads ‘buffalo sauce’. She laughs lightly to herself, remembering how Salé brought the jar into her possession, and peels off the remainder. She observes the object, pouting. It’s a good jar really, sizeable, sturdy, wide enough to fit some of the little knick-knacks she’s obtained over the course of the camp. A bunch of tiny rocks she found under her pillow one morning. A pressed flower from the forest. A series of neatly folded printouts: an advertisement for a talent show in bright pink writing; a picture of Jen giving the middle finger to an upside-down Hunter; copies of the Oyster Sauce from the bulletin. Shame it never really caught on. She adds them one by one, topping the contents with pink and purple feathers and glitter, followed by additional gold flecks, before securing the lid with the medal Pippa gave her. With one last fond look, it’s wrapped tightly in the clothes in the suitcase, stashed away for the other side. As this chapter of her life ends, another begins.

The next day is the last full day.

The next evening is the last party in camp.

The day after, the summer comes to an end.

“GOOOO ACORNS!!!”

The crowd erupts as the whistle blows for the end of the game, before a sea of red and gold descends onto the pitch. The first win of the season for the Ohiocester State University.

“Hey, wanna go and crash the party?”
“Party?”
“You know, the afterparty?! Whole university’s coming out to celebrate. Big night on the TOSU semester calendar.”
“It’d be a crime to miss it.”

A series of excited giggles follows.

***

It’s true: almost the entire university has made a pilgrimage to the venue. Blakeleigh arrives with her partners at her side (they wouldn’t have dreamed of missing a party as big as this). Already, clusters of high-spirited drunk people are dotted around, chatting to each other, starting up games, drinking, dancing.

Grabbing yet another questionably bright red drink from the bar, she heads over to the rest of State Spirit, the full squad there in tandem with the winning team as always. One person in particular catches Blakeleigh’s eye, one she hasn’t seen in a while. Not since the summer. She makes her way over to the object of her attention, eyes meeting, as Viola clearly spots Blakeleigh in kind. Tonight, unmasked, she’s another girl at the party, not a hint of her secret identity in sight, clad in her signature dangly hoops swinging enthusiastically back and forth, magnetic charm in full effect. Blakeleigh grins.

The moment is interrupted by a buzz from Blakeleigh’s pocket. She takes a quick glance. An email notification. It wouldn’t hurt to read it right now, it’s application season, so any of the internships for next summer could be waiting in there. Blakeleigh closes an eye for a better view, squinting down at her phone. Damn, the last two shots are certainly taking a hit. She stares at the sender.

From: KatsuragiKiriko katsuragikiriko000@wahoo.com

To: Mahler, Blakeleigh A. blakeleigh.a.mahler@tosu.ac.ba

Her brow furrows. Who? She opens the rest of the notification.

Subject: FUNDING CAMP OHIOCESTER!!!

Ah. She laughs to herself. That explains it. It’s about time Herb got back in touch about the camp finances. Of course, it’s not that he had to take her offer up to work at the camp’s strategy for the next quarter, but it would’ve been nice to hear back sooner. She skims his EMAIL, grins, marks it as unread again, and puts her phone back in her pocket.

That’s going to have to wait for tomorrow.

Written by Danielle S