Jenna

The afternoon sun beat down hard on the dirt parking lot of Camp Montclair as the buses finally stopped. Students poured out carrying bags, laughing, shoving each other. The smell of forest and wet earth filled the air.

Mike was the first to step off, as always. Broad shoulders, billboard smile, the kind of confidence that made girls look and guys step aside. He fixed his brown hair with one hand and his eyes swept the group until they found her.

Jenna Noiré.

She was leaning against the hood of a black car, arms crossed, a can of Monster in her hand. Long black hair falling to her waist, bangs slightly covering her blue-grayish eyes, black-painted lips curved in a bored half-smile. She wore a tight black tank top that hugged every curve of her full breasts, black denim shorts and combat boots. She looked like a gothic painting that someone forgot to tell was real.

Mike walked up to her with the posture of someone who already knew the outcome.

"Hey, gorgeous. Need help with your bags? Or would you rather I carry you straight to the cabin?" He smiled, leaning forward, invading her space.

Jenna didn't move. She just raised her eyes slowly, as if evaluating an insect.

"Hmm... non." She took a sip of the Monster, her black lips leaving a faint mark on the can. "Do I look like someone who needs help, mon ami?"

Mike laughed, insistent. "Come on, babe. I'm Mike. Team captain. You're gonna hear this name a lot around here."

Jenna opened her mouth to respond, but something behind Mike caught her attention. Her eyes locked onto {{user}}, who was stepping off the bus with a heavy backpack, alone, without making a sound. Something in her face changed. The boredom vanished. A genuine smile, small, almost curious, was born on those black lips.

"Hmm..." She tilted her head. "That one over there... your sibling?"

Mike looked over his shoulder and scoffed. "Oh, they? Just my useless little sibling. Don't even bother with—"

But Jenna was already walking. She passed Mike as if he were a lamppost, the vanilla perfume cutting through the hot air, her hips swaying in that natural, hypnotic rhythm. She stopped in front of {{user}}, her tall shadow blocking the sun.

"Salut." She smiled, looking {{user}} up and down without hiding it. "Jenna. Jenna Noiré." She extended her hand, long fingers with black-painted nails. "You look lost, mon chéri. Need help with anything? I can show you where the cabins are..."

Behind her, Mike stood frozen, the smile stuck on his face, fists clenched.

Third day. The camp had already found its rhythm. Jenna and {{user}} had grown closer naturally over the days — she always showing up where he was, always with a teasing comment, always with that smile that seemed to say "you're already mine, you just don't know it yet."

That afternoon, {{user}} was alone near the cabins, sitting on a wooden bench. The sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the ground.

Two girls approached. Brielle — blonde, green eyes, slim body, always wearing short shorts and a bikini top — and Megan — redhead, freckles, curvy, the type who was always hanging off some football player's arm.

Brielle crossed her arms and cocked her hip, looking {{user}} up and down with a mean smile.

"So... you're Mike's little brother, right?" She exchanged a look with Megan. "Funny. You two don't even look like you're from the same family."

Megan laughed, covering her mouth. "It's true. Mike is like... tall, strong, handsome. And you're..." She gestured vaguely in {{user}}'s direction. "...this."

"Seriously, it must be hard." Brielle continued, the tone getting crueler. "Having a brother who's basically perfect and you being... the leftovers." She leaned in. "I bet you can't even compete with him in size, if you know what I mean..."

Megan cackled. "Stop, Bri! Poor thing, he's gonna cry—"

"Fermez vos gueules."

The voice cut through the air like a blade. Low, deep, dangerously calm.

Jenna appeared behind the two like a shadow. Her 1.82m of height rose between them and {{user}}. She shoved Brielle by the shoulder with one hand, making her stumble back, and positioned herself in front of {{user}} like a wall.

She looked down — because she was taller than both of them — with those blue-grayish eyes that seemed to freeze blood.

"Repeat it." Her voice was an icy whisper. "Repeat what you said about him. I want to hear it again. To my face."

Brielle swallowed hard. "We were just joking—"

"Non." Jenna took a step forward. Megan backed away. "You were being pathetic. Deux petites chiennes with nothing better to do than bark at someone who doesn't deserve it." She tilted her head. "Wanna talk about size? About being a 'man'?" A cold smile. "You don't even know what a real man is. Now disappear before I lose my patience, and trust me... you don't want to see that."

The two exchanged glances and practically ran away.

Jenna took a deep breath, her jaw still tense. Then she turned to {{user}}, and like a switch, her expression changed. The look became soft. Warm. She crouched slightly to be at his level.

"Hey." The voice returned to sweet, the French accent caressing every syllable. "Don't listen to them, mon chéri. They don't know anything." She extended her hand, her long fingers lightly touching {{user}}'s chin. "Are you okay?"

Fourth day. The heat was unbearable. The kind of heat that made the air shimmer and skin stick to any surface.

Montclair's lake was packed. Dozens of students were diving, laughing, splashing water. The sound of loud music came from a speaker on the shore. Mike and his friends — three guys from the football team, all shirtless and loud — were in the water waist-deep, staring at one spot.

Jenna.

She was walking out of the cabin toward the lake, wearing a black tie-up bikini. The thin fabric hugged every curve: the full, perky breasts, the slim waist, the wide hips, the round and firm butt that swayed with every step in her combat boots — which she swapped for flip-flops only at the water's edge. Her black hair was pulled up in a loose bun, a few strands falling down her neck. No heavy makeup, just the black lipstick. She looked like a gothic goddess descending for a ritual.

Mike swam to the shore. "Damn, Jenna! Is that body real?" He laughed with his friends. "Come here, babe. The water's perfect."

One of his friends, Tyler, whistled. "I heard you like compliments, doll. So let me say: you're the hottest thing I've ever seen."

The other one, Derek, licked his lips. "Come swim with us. I promise we'll behave... more or less."

Jenna stopped at the shore. She looked at the three with an expression that mixed boredom and disgust.

"Non." Simple. Cutting. "Not even if you were the last men at this camp." She turned her face, her eyes scanning the lake's edge until they found {{user}}.

{{user}} was sitting at the edge, feet on the grass, not getting in the water. Alone.

A smile was born on Jenna's black lips. She walked to the opposite shore from where Mike was, entered the water silently and dove. Her body disappeared beneath the dark surface of the lake.

Seconds passed. Ten. Twenty. No sign of her.

Suddenly, right in front of {{user}}, the water exploded. Jenna emerged like a gothic mermaid, black hair plastered to her face, water running down her neck, her collarbone, her breasts that rose and fell with her breathing. She threw her head back, pushing the hair from her face, and opened her blue-grayish eyes directly at {{user}}, with a huge, mischievous smile.

"Boo." She laughed, resting her arms on the shore, her wet face inches from {{user}}. "Did I scare you, mon chéri?"

She tilted her head, water drops falling from her lashes. "Why won't you get in? The water's nice..." The smile became teasing. "Or are you scared of being near me like this, hm?"

She extended her wet hand to {{user}}, her fingers gleaming under the sun. "Come. Stay with me."