Chapter 65 – Day of Rest 8 (Part 3)
The sea remained calm. The boards rocked with a slow rhythm, as if the water knew there was no rush. Bridgette and Cody floated nearby, with no fixed direction. The sun went down slowly, and the sky began to turn a soft orange. Owen and Noah were already on the shore, arguing whether they could open a surf school based on shouting and chaos.
Bridgette settled on her board, with her legs hanging into the water.
"Can I tell you something without it becoming awkward?" said Bridgette.
Cody turned his head, curious but relaxed.
"If it doesn't include sharks with knives, go ahead," said Cody.
Bridgette took a deep breath. Not out of nerves, but for clarity.
"I like you. And I don't say it like someone dropping a bomb. I say it like someone who knows what they feel. I like you, and yes, I know you're with Gwen. But that doesn't make me want less. It just makes me think more," said Bridgette.
Cody didn't answer immediately. He let himself fall back on the board, looking at the sky as if searching for a phrase that wouldn't sound cruel or false.
"Thanks for saying it. Really. It's not easy to be honest when everything feels like a game with invisible rules," said Cody.
Bridgette looked at him, not expecting an answer that would change everything. She just wanted him not to stay silent.
"I don't want you to see me as a threat. I don't want Gwen to see me as a shadow. But I also don't want to stay quiet and pretend nothing's happening. Because it is happening. And not saying it… also weighs," said Bridgette.
Cody sat up a little, resting his elbows on the board.
"Gwen matters to me. A lot. She makes me feel seen. She challenges me. She calms me. And yes, I love her. But that doesn't mean I can't have fun. That I can't laugh with you. That I can't float in the sea without feeling like I'm betraying something," said Cody.
Bridgette lowered her gaze, but not with shame. More with relief.
"That worried me. That you'd feel guilty for enjoying. That you'd lock yourself in an idea of fidelity that kept you from living," said Bridgette.
"I'm not a prisoner of what I feel. But I'm not an emotional tourist either. I don't go jumping from board to board. I'm just… here. With you. Because it feels good. Because it relaxes me. Because it reminds me that not everything has to hurt to be real," said Cody.
Bridgette smiled softly.
"Then I'm not going to hide. I'm not going to pretend you don't matter to me. But I'm not going to push either. I'm just going to be. And if that makes someone uncomfortable… let them talk. Because I already said it," said Bridgette.
Cody laughed, without mockery.
"You're brave. And I like that too," said Cody.
"Too?" asked Bridgette, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes. I like how you talk. How you laugh. How you make the sea seem more yours than anyone's. I like you. But not like someone who wants to change course. I like you like someone who knows there's more than one way to love," said Cody.
Bridgette lay back on the board, looking at the sky.
"Do you think Gwen would understand?" asked Bridgette.
"Gwen understands more than she seems. But she also feels more than she says. I don't know if she'd understand now. But I know I don't want to lie to her. And I don't want to lie to myself either," said Cody.
"Then we're fine. Not perfect. But fine," said Bridgette.
"Yes. Fine is enough for today," said Cody.
The boards barely touched. The sea kept moving slowly. The sun went down further. And between them, there was no tension. Only truth.
"Do you want to stay a little longer?" asked Bridgette.
"Until the sun tells us it's time," said Cody.
"And if a shark shows up, we face it together," said Bridgette.
"With fists. And sunscreen," said Cody.
Bridgette laughed.
"And a seaweed-scented candle," said Bridgette.
"And a sea tea with lemon," said Cody.
The laughter mixed with the water. The day went on. And so did they.
The sun had already hidden behind the trees, leaving the sky in soft tones. Bridgette, Cody, Owen, and Noah returned from the sea with tired bodies and clear minds. The boards were left leaning against the cabin, and the smell of salt mixed with that of soap as each went into the camp's improvised showers.
Owen sang something with no melody, Noah complained about the generic shampoo, Bridgette dried her hair with a towel that looked stolen from a hotel, and Cody put on a clean shirt, still with damp hair.
As he came out, Cody stopped. In front of him, a few meters away, Courtney was arguing with Duncan. Again.
The exact words weren't heard, but the tone was clear. Courtney gestured strongly, Duncan responded with indifference, and in the end, she turned away in frustration, walking quickly toward the forest.
Cody hesitated a second. Then he started to follow her.
Courtney walked without looking back, muttering things under her breath.
"Always the same… doesn't listen… doesn't change… why do I even try?" said Courtney, not knowing someone was following her.
Cody quickened his pace, stepping on a branch by accident.
Courtney spun around suddenly, startled.
"What are you doing?!" said Courtney, heart racing.
Cody raised his hands, laughing.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just saw you leave like you were about to fight a tree and thought… maybe you need to clear your head a bit," said Cody.
Courtney looked at him, still frowning.
"And what are you doing following me?" asked Courtney.
"Curiosity. Or camper instinct. Or maybe just wanting to walk without getting balls thrown at my face," said Cody.
Courtney lowered her gaze, crossing her arms.
"I didn't want anyone to see me. But of course, you always show up at the least expected moment," said Courtney.
"It's a talent. I trained with ninja raccoons," said Cody, smiling.
Courtney let out a brief laugh, as if it escaped her.
"Do you want to walk a bit? No drama. No challenges. No Duncan," said Cody.
Courtney hesitated. Then nodded.
"Alright. But if you make me laugh, I won't admit it," said Courtney.
"Fair deal. I also won't admit I like chamomile tea," said Cody.
They both walked among the trees, leaving behind the camp's noise. The air was fresh, and the leaves crunched under their steps. Courtney was calmer, though still tense.
"Fight number what?" asked Cody.
"I lost count. I think they're not fights anymore. They're repetitions. Like we're stuck in a scene that doesn't move forward," said Courtney.
"And what makes you keep going?" asked Cody.
Courtney stopped for a second.
"I don't know. Maybe habit. Maybe the idea that if I stop trying, it means I failed," said Courtney.
"And what if stopping means choosing something better?" said Cody.
Courtney looked at him, without answering.
"I'm just saying. Sometimes continuing isn't bravery. Sometimes stopping is," said Cody.
Courtney walked a few more steps. Then sat on a rock, looking at the sky through the branches.
Cody stayed standing, watching her.
"Do you want to go to the treehouse?" asked Cody.
Courtney looked up.
"The one they built near the lake?" said Courtney.
"The same. No one will be there. It's quiet. Has a view. And if you behave, I'll let you use the emergency flashlight I found under the mattress," said Cody.
Courtney laughed, more relaxed.
"And if I misbehave?" asked Courtney.
"Then you have to climb up the broken rope," said Cody.
Courtney stood, brushing off the leaves.
"Alright. Let's go. But if I fall, I blame you," said Courtney.
"Fair deal. I also won't admit I like chamomile tea," Cody repeated, as they walked together toward the lake.
The forest surrounded them. The camp was far away. And for a moment, there was no competition. No drama. Just two people allowing themselves to be.
The treehouse was calmer than ever. The wind moved the branches softly, and from above you could see the lake reflecting the last tones of sunset. Cody pushed the improvised wooden door with his foot, carrying a backpack that seemed heavier than normal.
Courtney followed, curious.
"What do you have there?" asked Courtney.
Cody set the backpack on the old mattress and opened it carefully, as if revealing a treasure.
"Loot from the dining hall. Chips, sodas, and a napkin with the Chef's face drawn on it. Don't ask how I got it," said Cody.
Courtney laughed, more from surprise than the contents.
"You stole food?" said Courtney, incredulous.
"I borrowed it without intention of returning. Technically it's not stealing if you share," said Cody.
Courtney sat on the window ledge, taking a bag of chips.
"This is the most rebellious thing you've done in weeks," said Courtney.
"The most rebellious thing they've let me do without Chris showing up with an alarm and an explosive goat," said Cody.
They both ate in silence for a few seconds. The crunch of the chips mixed with the sound of the leaves. The air was fresh, and the treehouse seemed suspended in a bubble without rules.
"How do you do it?" Courtney asked suddenly.
Cody looked up.
"For what?" said Cody.
"So that your team doesn't fight. So that they don't fall apart. They always seem… united. Or at least functional," said Courtney.
Cody settled on the mattress, taking a soda can.
"I don't know if there's a formula. But I think I'm lucky. I get along with most. And more than that… I think I understand each one's language," said Cody.
Courtney frowned, interested.
"Language?" asked Courtney.
"Yes. Look, for example, you. For you victory is fundamental. You're a competitor. A strategist. That's a good quality. But it clashes with others," said Cody.
Courtney looked at him, without interrupting.
"Duncan has a severe problem with authority. However minimal. If you give him an order, he goes in the opposite direction. Not because he doesn't want to help, but because he needs to feel he decides," said Cody.
Courtney nodded slowly.
"DJ doesn't want to clash with anyone. If there's tension, he withdraws. If there's conflict, he stays quiet. Not because he doesn't have an opinion, but because his peace is worth more than any point," said Cody.
"And Geoff…" said Courtney, anticipating.
"Geoff is too relaxed for what you want to impose. If you talk to him about strategy, he falls asleep. If you talk to him about fun, he gets active. He's not lazy. He just has another rhythm," said Cody.
Courtney stayed silent. The words floated in the air, as if the wind held them.
"The key is to try to speak in their language. Not change who you are, but know how to approach them. If you know how they think, you'll know how to handle them. And it's not about manipulation. It's about connection," said Cody.
Courtney lowered her gaze, as if something had settled inside her.
"That… that makes sense. I'd never thought of it that way," said Courtney.
Cody, irritating.
"It's like surfing. You can't control the wave. But you can learn to read it. And if you read it well, it doesn't knock you down," said Cody.
Courtney laughed.
"Since when are you so wise?" said Courtney.
"Since I threw myself against a bear and survived. Something unlocked," said Cody.
Courtney stood, walking toward the window.
"Thanks. Really. Not for the chips. For this," said Courtney.
"The chips help too. But yes, you're welcome," said Cody.
The sun was already gone. The treehouse filled with soft shadows. And between them, something had changed. It wasn't romance of the ages. It wasn't strategy. It was clarity.
The treehouse no longer seemed like a hideout. It had become a shared space, where words floated without hurry and laughter needed no permission. Outside, the forest kept murmuring, but inside, Courtney and Cody were on pause. Not out of discomfort, but something rarer: comfort.
Courtney had stayed sitting on the mattress, with the bag of chips between her legs. Cody, still with a soda can in his hand, had leaned against the wooden wall, looking at the ceiling as if waiting for an idea to fall on him.
"You know what I like besides winning?" said Courtney.
Cody turned his head, curious.
"Strict schedules and task lists?" said Cody.
Courtney laughed.
"That too. But I like crosswords. I'm obsessed with them. I like solving things. I like when everything fits. I like that there's only one correct answer, and that it's there, waiting for you to find it," said Courtney.
Cody sat up, resting his elbows on his knees.
"That explains why you get so frustrated when someone improvises. It's not that you hate chaos. It's that it throws you out of your system," said Cody.
Courtney looked at him, surprised by the precision.
"Yes. I like planning. I love planning camps. Those where they give you maps, schedules, and let you organize everything. I'm obsessed with order. I like studying. I like learning. I like feeling I have control over what I know," said Courtney.
Cody, irritating.
"You're like a computer with emotions. But with better hair," said Cody.
Courtney laughed again, more relaxed.
"And I've practiced violin since I was eight. I'm not a prodigy, but I'm consistent. I like that it demands discipline. I like that you can't fake with a violin. If you're bad, it shows. If you're tense, it's heard. It's like a mirror that sounds," said Courtney.
Cody stood, walked to a corner of the treehouse, and lifted a blanket covering a box. Inside was a violin. Not new, but well cared for. The case had a label with his name, and an extra string rolled up in a corner.
"I kept it from the instruments they gave us at camp. I thought no one would use it, but I didn't want to leave it," said Cody.
Courtney approached, took it delicately, as if it were something sacred.
"Do you play?" asked Courtney.
"A little. I learned on my own. I'm not good. But I like it. It calms me. It reminds me that not everything has to be useful to be worthwhile," said Cody.
Courtney looked at him as if she had just discovered a part of him she didn't expect.
"And what else do you like?" asked Courtney.
Cody sat on the floor, cross-legged.
"Comics. I love them. I like how they exaggerate everything. I like that heroes fail and still try. I also like sports. Martial arts. Extreme sports. I like what moves. What challenges me essentially. I like music. I'm not an expert, but I like playing. I like listening. I like losing myself in it," said Cody.
Courtney sat in front of him, with the violin in her hands.
"Did you ever think about studying music?" asked Courtney.
"Yes. But I never took it seriously. I was afraid that by turning it into an obligation, I'd lose what I liked," said Cody.
Courtney nodded, understanding more than he said.
"And you? Have you never felt trapped by your own goals?" asked Cody.
"All the time. Sometimes I feel that if I'm not competing, I'm not moving forward. But it also tires me. It makes me feel I can't stop. That if I stop, I lose," said Courtney.
"Maybe stopping isn't losing. Maybe it's tuning," said Cody.
Courtney looked at him, with a soft smile.
"That was very violin-like," said Courtney.
"I thought of it while looking at the broken string you never changed," said Cody.
They both stayed silent. The violin remained in her hands. The treehouse seemed to hold the moment as if it were a sustained note.
"And if we do a competition?" asked Courtney.
Cody raised an eyebrow.
"Violin?" asked Cody.
"Yes. Here. Nothing serious. Just you and me. One song. One attempt. And whoever goes off-key less, wins," said Courtney.
Cody laughed, taking the bow from the case.
"And what does the winner get?" asked Cody.
Courtney thought for a second.
"The last soda. And the right to choose the next song that plays in the dining hall. Even if it's 'La Macarena,'" said Courtney.
"That's absolute power," said Cody.
Courtney settled on the mattress, adjusting the violin on her shoulder.
"Ready?" asked Cody.
"Always," said Courtney.
Cody took the other violin, the one he had repaired with tape and patience. It wasn't perfect, but it played.
They looked at each other. Then laughed. Then looked again.
The competition was about to begin.
...
The treehouse was silent. Not the uncomfortable silence of a forced pause, but the kind that settles when something important is about to begin. Outside, the forest seemed to hold its breath. The branches barely moved, as if they didn't want to interrupt. Inside, Cody and Courtney looked at each other with a mix of challenge and complicity.
Courtney held the violin firmly, but not rigidly. She placed it on her shoulder as if it were part of her. The bow rested in her right hand, and her fingers positioned precisely on the strings. Cody, sitting in front of her with his own violin resting on his legs, watched her without saying anything.
"Ready?" asked Cody.
Courtney didn't answer. She just closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and began to play.
The first notes of Chopin's Nocturne came out soft, as if they didn't want to disturb. It wasn't a technical interpretation. It was something else. Something that floated between intention and emotion. Courtney wasn't trying to win. She played to say something she didn't know how to say with words.
Cody straightened, surprised by the tone. He hadn't expected that. He hadn't expected Courtney, the strategist, the competitor, the one who organized maps and schedules, to play with such vulnerability. Each note seemed like a confession. Each vibration, a doubt. Each pause, a look she didn't dare hold.
Courtney kept her eyes closed. Not out of concentration, but out of modesty. As if playing to him with music were more intimate than any hug. The Nocturne advanced, and with it, something opened. It wasn't a song. It was a scene. A story only the two of them understood.
Cody felt the air grow denser. Not from heat, but from meaning. The dim lights he had hung weeks before flickered as if they wanted to listen. The mattress, the wood, the strings—everything seemed in tune.
Courtney reached the climax of the Nocturne with an expression that couldn't be faked. It wasn't perfection. It was surrender. It was saying "this is me" without saying it. It was touching his heart without touching his skin.
When the last note faded, Courtney lowered the bow slowly. She didn't open her eyes immediately. She stayed still, as if unsure whether to look.
Cody applauded. Not exaggeratedly. Without sarcasm. With sincerity. With respect. With something that seemed like deep admiration.
"That was… incredible," said Cody.
Courtney opened her eyes, still holding the violin.
"I don't know if it came out to express. It just… came out," said Courtney.
"It came out. And you said more than with any speech," said Cody.
Courtney lowered her gaze, as if unsure what to do with that praise.
"It wasn't to win. It was for you," said Courtney.
Cody stayed silent. Not for lack of words, but because the ones he had weren't enough.
"Why?" asked Cody.
Courtney sat on the edge of the mattress, setting the violin aside.
"Because with you I don't have to pretend. Because with you I can play without fear of going off-key. Because with you… I can be more than the girl who wants to win," said Courtney.
Cody leaned closer, without touching her, but nearer.
"Then you won. Not the competition. Something else," said Cody.
Courtney looked at him, with an expression mixing pride and vulnerability.
"Your turn?" asked Courtney.
Cody took his violin, placed it on his shoulder, and breathed deeply.
"Yes. But don't expect Chopin. Mine is more… chaotic," said Cody.
Courtney smiled.
"I'm ready for chaos," said Courtney.
But before Cody began, he stopped.
"Thank you. For touching me without touching me," said Cody.
Courtney didn't answer. She just looked at him. And in that silence, there was more music than in any score.
Cody stood up. Not with solemnity, but with energy. He stretched as if about to run a marathon, turned his neck, and then placed himself in the center of the treehouse, right where the hanging lights made an imperfect circle.
"This is going to be weird. But if it isn't, it wouldn't be me," said Cody.
Courtney settled on the mattress, crossing her legs, her eyes shining with curiosity.
Cody lifted the bow, positioned it on the strings, and without warning, began to play Offenbach's "Can Can."
The first notes came out fast, lively, as if the violin were in a hurry. But what Cody did wasn't just play. He acted. He danced. He became a cartoon character.
With each measure, Cody made ridiculous little jumps, moved his legs like springs, spun around, and struck dramatic poses that had no musical sense but plenty of comic sense. The violin kept sounding, surprisingly well, while he launched into an improvised choreography that seemed pulled from a Looney Tunes episode.
Courtney burst out laughing at the second spin.
"What are you doing?!" said Courtney, laughing.
"Free interpretation. School of musical martial arts. Level: duck with hat," said Cody, without stopping.
He hopped on one leg, spun the violin like a sword, and then stopped abruptly to do a poorly executed ballet step. The bow moved with precision, but his body seemed to have a life of its own.
Courtney covered her mouth, laughing uncontrollably.
"You look like a cartoon!" said Courtney.
"Thanks. I practice in front of the mirror with a broom and a wig," said Cody.
The "Can Can" continued, and Cody didn't slow down. He threw himself to the floor, rolled as if dodging invisible balls, then jumped up with an exaggerated leap, playing a high note like a seagull's cry.
Courtney clapped between laughs, her eyes full of light.
"This is the best thing I've seen in weeks!" said Courtney.
Cody made an absurd bow, playing the last measure with one leg in the air and a serious face, as if he had just performed a ten-movement symphony.
At the end, he held the violin high, like a trophy, then collapsed onto the mattress, panting.
"That was my version of Chopin. In an alternate universe where instruments have legs," said Cody.
Courtney looked at him, still laughing, but with a different expression. It wasn't solitary amusement. It was tenderness. It was something that couldn't be faked.
"Thank you. For making me laugh like that. For playing without fear. For dancing as if no one were watching, even though I was," said Courtney.
Cody turned toward her, hair messy, violin still in hand.
"If I can't make you laugh, then I'm not playing right," said Cody.
Courtney moved closer, without saying anything. She sat beside him, and for a moment, just looked at him.
"You know what I like about you?" said Courtney.
"My violin jump technique?" said Cody.
"That too. But I like that you're not afraid to look ridiculous. I like that you don't need to win to enjoy. I like that you make space for others, even when you also want to shine," said Courtney.
Cody lowered his gaze, as if unsure what to do with that praise.
"Thank you. For saying it. For seeing it," said Cody.
Courtney gave him a beautiful smile. Not for aesthetics. For what it contained. It was a smile that said "I see you," "I understand you," "You make me feel good."
The violin rested between them. The music had ended. But the scene kept sounding.
The treehouse was left behind, wrapped in dim lights and strings that still vibrated with music. Courtney went down first, with firm but soft steps. Cody followed, still holding the violin, as if he didn't want to let go completely of what had just happened.
The forest welcomed them with fresh air. The branches moved slowly, and the ground crunched under their steps. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was comfortable. It was shared.
When they reached the clearing that separated the cabins, Courtney stopped. Cody did too.
"Thanks for today," said Courtney.
Cody, excited, with his hair still messy from his chaotic performance.
"Thanks to you. For playing. For laughing. For staying," said Cody.
Courtney stepped a little closer. Not too much. Just enough.
"It was a good day. And you… were part of that," said Courtney.
Cody lowered his gaze, as if he didn't know what to do with that phrase.
Courtney leaned in quickly and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It wasn't long. It wasn't dramatic. It was precise. It was clear.
"Good night, rebel violinist," said Courtney.
Cody stayed still, with his cheek still warm.
"Good night, strategist with a heart," said Cody.
Courtney turned, walking toward her cabin without looking back. Cody watched her leave, with a smile he couldn't erase.
Then he walked toward his own, with slower steps. When he opened the door, he found Gwen sitting on the mattress, with a huge smile.
"There you are!" said Gwen.
Cody left the violin in a corner, closed the door, and sat beside her.
"Everything okay?" asked Cody.
"Yes! Leshawna and I went for a walk on the north side of the lake. We found a giant rock shaped like a turtle. Then we did a comedy sketch just for ourselves. It was ridiculous. I laughed so much my stomach hurts," said Gwen.
Cody laughed, imagining the scene.
"Sketch of what?" asked Cody.
"Of two scientists who discover that ducks are secret agents. Leshawna did the duck's voice. I was the crazy scientist. It was beautiful," said Gwen.
Cody let himself fall back on the mattress, looking at the ceiling.
"I'm glad you had a good day," said Cody.
"And you?" asked Gwen.
Cody thought for a second. Then spoke.
"Me too. It was weird. It was fun. It was… unexpected," said Cody.
Gwen settled next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"I like when days don't follow the script," said Gwen.
Cody closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the soft weight of everything that had happened.
Courtney. The violin. The laughter. The kiss. Gwen. The turtle rock. The spy ducks.
"Today was one of those days that stay," said Cody.
And he stayed silent, smiling.