Van was a pretty hardcore atheist, but if anything could have convinced her that god did, in fact, exist, it would be the get-up Willa was rocking. There was a whole crowd gathered in front of the boathouse and Van was going to have to talk to them in a minute, but for now, she only had eyes for Willa.

If someone would’ve told her yesterday that a Slimer costume could be sexy, she would’ve called bullshit, but Willa had some mad skillz. She was wearing her running shoes, but it looked like she’d custom-made everything else on her body. Neon green knee socks, something that looked, honest-to-god, like one of her tennis skirts dyed an unnatural Day-Glo shade of green. Then came the best part. From her waist to all the way over her head, Willa was encased in what looked like a papier-mâché blob, which for Slimer was On. Point. Willa’s tennis-toned arms stuck out the sides, and his mouth was open so she could see Willa’s eyes. Heaven help her, the woman had even cut a hole in the back of Slimer’s head so her blonde ponytail could stick out. It was all she could do not to drool all over her freshly purchased official Ghostbusters regulation jumpsuit.

Heather’s voice coming through the megaphone yanked her back from some pretty inappropriate cosplay imagery that had started playing in her mind.

“Welcome to Ghostbusters night at Camp Firefly Falls!”

Cheers went up among all the campers and staff, most of whom were decked out as either ‘busters or ghosts. Some looked like zombies, but Van wasn’t going to be particular. They could be ghost zombies. Yeah.

“Tonight’s offerings include both the 2016 and the 1984 versions of the movie playing on loop in the lodge, Stay Puft s’mores at the firepit, and the highlight of the evening: Ghostbusters laser tag. Now I’ll turn it over to Van Thompson, the mastermind behind all this paranormal fun and the—no shit—engineer of all this equipment.”

She gestured to the DIY proton packs, harnesses that had the receivers, and satchels packed with slime balls. The crowd oohed and aahed, and pride swelled in Van’s chest. The only time she was comfortable being the center of attention was when she was in front of a lecture hall. There was an element of embarrassment in there somewhere, and she was sure her cheeks were pink, but mostly she was…happy.

Heather handed her the megaphone, and she hefted the thing up to explain the rules.

“Everyone will grab a receiver and strap it on—‘busters are going to grab a proton pack, ghosts will grab a satchel. ‘Busters, if you shoot someone and their harness lights up, that’s a hit, and they’re out. Ghosts, your bags are chock full of slime balls and a paintball pistol. Shoot them at the nearest target, and if they hit, the cartridge will bust open and splatter glow-in-the-dark paint all over them.”

She waited for someone to sound the alarm about this not being a fair fight or that this wasn’t real laser tag equipment, but some jury-rigged stuff that looked like it had come out of someone’s garage. But no one seemed to mind the firepower wasn’t exactly even and it was clearly DIY tech.

“Last one standing wins bragging rights, plus the right to slime any CFF staff person they choose.”

The roar that went up in the crowd was awesome. The Aquitaine group had proved to be very enthusiastic. Never had Van thought she’d hear that kind of noise, and for her. She worked hard and got recognition for that work, but it was in the staid halls of academia where credit came in the form of pieces of paper, journal acceptances, and being awarded grants. Not these visceral, human roars of approval. She envied Willa for a second, who must hear that on a regular basis. Van had always thought sport was a foolish pursuit, but she could see how this kind of feedback could drive someone to the pursuit of excellence.

* * *

Willa bounced on the balls of her feet, same way she would if she were getting ready to face down an opponent’s serve. She was ready for this. She might not have a racquet in her hand, but she was going to rule this game and slime the ever-loving heck out of Van, oh yes, she was.

Being one of the ghosts meant she wouldn’t have firepower on her side, but she was counting on the fact she’d still have speed and—despite the limited visibility and range of motion her Slimer costume afforded her—agility.

When Van blasted the horn on her megaphone, Willa ran for the table full of harnesses and satchels. Slinging the harness over her shoulders and clipping it in the middle, she had to laugh. The thing barely fit around Slimer’s lumps. How in the hell was she going to haul the satchel around? She’d counted on being able to sling it messenger-bag style over a shoulder, but it wasn’t going to fit over her ginormous green head.

Then there was someone at her side, tugging her hand. “Try this one.”

Van handed her a different satchel, this one with an adjustable strap, and then helped her work it over her head. Perfect.

“You know I’m not going to take pity on you out there.” There was laughter in Van’s voice, and it did something to Willa’s insides. Made them all toasty warm. She wanted to hear that tone of voice again—maybe when they were naked in the cabin, because surely that’s how this was going to end up?

“I’m not going to show you any mercy either. I hope you made sure the slime was washable, because I’d hate to ruin your coveralls.”

Jesus, coveralls had no right sounding sexy. Three months ago, she would’ve vociferously denied they could ever be. But Van… All Willa could think about was how she wanted to uncover all the things that damn jumpsuit was hiding.

“This ain’t my first rodeo.” Van had already picked up one of the proton packs and took the opportunity to pose with her gun before sliding her goggles over her eyes.

“May the best—” Willa’s sporting good wishes were cut off by another blast of the megaphone’s buzzer, and that was the cue to scatter.

* * *

Van watched Willa take off into the woods, dyed tennis skirt swinging in an incredibly tempting way high up on those muscular thighs of hers. She was slowed some by the satchel wedged over her shoulder and her Slimer get-up, but she could still outrun everyone else.

If she wanted to get a shot in, Van would have to rely on stealth, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to outrun Willa. Even with that damn papier-mâché thing restricting her movements, she wouldn’t expect Willa to be clumsy. Which was proven by the fact that Willa had just vaulted over a fallen log like a post-nuclear apocalypse gazelle.

Van’s hands itched to pump the gun, but the old-school video game pistol didn’t have any moving parts, so she’d have to fake it and make some convincing sound effects.

She followed Willa at a walk, keeping an eye out for ghosts who would take her out with a slime ball or paint pellets, aiming for their targets when she had a shot. She passed by two campers before reaching the border of the woods Willa had sprinted toward and gingerly climbing over the fallen log Willa had so easily leapt over. Partly because she didn’t trust her own two feet not to trip her up, but also there was no way in hell she was going to do anything to put her equipment at risk. She and Nate had busted their asses on these things.

Van stalked through the trees, trying to stay alert for any crunch of leaves or snapping of twigs that might mean someone was nearby. But all she could hear were distant shouts of both victory and agony. If nothing else, people were having fun, and she’d helped make that happen. It was a good feeling.

* * *

Willa ran as far and as fast as she could until her lungs started to hurt, confident there was no freaking way Van would be able to keep up. Girl might be a goddamn genius, but in shape, she was not. Which was good, because Willa needed some advantage in this competition.

She could lurk around the outer borders of the field of play that had been established until things quieted down some, but that seemed unsporting. Also it wasn’t in her nature to sit still. Her fingers itched with the adrenaline of competition, and all she wanted to do was slime someone, watch that gooey green stuff Van had whipped up drip down someone’s clothes.

Heart racing, she stalked along the border, listening for any close-by sounds, but only hearing distant shouts. Sure sounded like people were having a good time. She hoped wherever Van was that she could hear them too. She’d have to remember to call Nate and tell him as well—it was a major bummer he’d had to miss this, but then again Willa couldn’t be too sorry because Nate’s idiotic injury had meant she’d finally gotten a shot with Van, a shot she wasn’t going to blow. If she played her cards right, this had potential. And not just for a semester of dirty texts and sexy snapchats, but…more.

A crunch of a branch behind her activated Willa’s reflexes. She swung around to face the direction the noise had come from, dropped to her knees, grabbed a slimeball out of her satchel, and threw when she caught a glimpse of a taupe jumpsuit. But the only color Willa cared about was the satisfying bright green splatter that resulted when her ball hit the mark and exploded as someone shouted.

After she’d caught her breath, she took a second to figure out who her victim was and came face to…well, papier-mâché Slimer costume with none other than Michael Tully.

“You’re not going to fire me for sliming you, right?”

Michael shook his head, and Willa enjoyed the way the slime dripped from his coveralls and onto the ground. Fully biodegradable, Van had assured her. Well, right after she’d mumbled something about Willa having higher standards than the EPA.

“No, but you might have to answer to Heather. She was looking forward to sliming me herself, and now you’ve deprived her of the pleasure.”

Oops. Well, Heather would have to beat Michael at something else. She’d been surprisingly good as a light saber gladiator the other night.

“Sorry, not sorry. Now head back to the boathouse. I’ve got more slimeballs to throw.”

Michael loped off in the direction of camp, and Willa continued on her trek, busting a few more Ghostbusters she happened upon who were trying to hide behind a bank of trees. Even though she knew she shouldn’t because it would attract attention, she had to let out a cry of “Busted, suckers!”

Yeah, Heather probably wouldn’t appreciate her yelling at guests, but she couldn’t fault Willa for getting so into the spirit of the game. That’s what she was always after them to do, right?

* * *

Bless Willa’s complete and utter lack of ability to stay silent in the face of victory. The cry of “Busted, suckers!” made Van’s head whip around. She’d calmly walked toward where Willa had disappeared into the woods, keeping her Duck Hunt gun primed at her chest. While she’d been keeping an eye out for other players who could take her out, she hadn’t been trying to score kills.

After all, there were two ways to win this game, and she was only interested in one of them: having Willa at her disposal for the rest of the night. Even if that hadn’t been her goal, her strategy would have been the same. When you were smart but lazy and out of shape—not that she’d ever been in shape—it made more sense to let the other, more enthusiastic players take each other out. Then even the survivors would be exhausted. Of course, this whole thing fell apart if everyone had the same attitude.

Fortunately, she knew Willa couldn’t help herself from going full steam ahead when there was a competition in front of her. Also lucky for Van, Willa was rather vocal in her triumphs. Willa’s exuberant shout echoed through her ears, and she headed toward where the war cry had come from. On her way, she managed to take out a few ghosts who were practically lounging by a tree and didn’t seem all that upset to be knocked out of the game.

Unlike the agonized cries in response to a euphoric yell of “You got slimed, marshmallow man!”

Willa must’ve busted the guy Van had seen earlier in a pretty realistic Stay Puft costume. Van hoped the slime she’d cooked up would wash out of that fabric…

She didn’t have time to fret over that detail, though, because she had a Slimer to track. Whatever benevolent god created Holtzmann must have been with her because the marshmallow dude was not going gently into the good night. Oh no, he was raging. Had maybe had one too many drinks at dinner. Either that or he was getting into this way more than was strictly necessary. Whatever the case, the racket he continued to create made it easy to both find him and sneak up on him, lest Willa still be there.

But the green goblin had fled already, and all that was left was a half-deflated Stay Puft with a pathetically sagging cap on his head. After Van had determined they were, in fact, alone, she snuck over to the still-wailing dude.

“Hey,” she said in a hushed voice. “I’m gunning for that Slimer who took you out. Which way’d she go?”

Like the vengeful soul he was, he raised one puffy arm to point toward camp.

Van took off at a jog, which was pretty much her maximum speed, and soon enough there were more noises and disgruntled ‘busters and ghosts alike that Willa had left in her wake. Not a one of them refused when Van asked which way Slimer had gone.

About an hour after the game had started, she’d come nearly full-circle back to camp, and given her calculations, she and Willa were probably some of the last players still standing. Not that Van cared about winning the whole shebang. No, she’d let anyone slime the heck out of her or stand still as one of Willa’s beloved rocks to allow another Ghostbuster to zap her if they let her down Slimer first. There was no staff member she wanted to slime worse than she wanted to have Willa at her mercy tonight.

Another victory cry went up. “Boo-yah! I outclassed your ass, class four apparition!”

So Willa had paid attention when they were watching and was coming up with personally crafted taunts for everyone she busted. That was… Van rolled her shoulders and shimmied in her jumpsuit, because that was kinda hot is what it was.

Then Van saw her, standing over her latest “kill.” From the back, it was everything she could’ve asked for in a woman: super-fly cosplay and a damn fine ass. The ingenuity of cutting a hole out of the back of Slimer’s head to let her blonde ponytail swing free was as effective at jumpstarting Van’s libido as any aphrodisiac, maybe more.

While Willa was still celebrating her victory, Van took up position behind a tree on one knee to steady her shot and confuse her target. She was only going to have one chance to zap Willa, or the much more athletic woman would have her slimed beyond belief within seconds.

So she took a deep breath, muttered a prayer to Holtzmann, and then called Willa’s name.

Slimer whipped around, and it was almost comical the way the green papier-mâché gremlin seemed to search for where the noise had come from. By the time Willa/Slimer had located her, it was too late. Van had her dead to rights, pulling her trigger and setting the tag off, the screen blinking a satisfying slime green and a cry rising up from the beast as though she’d mortally wounded it instead of merely triggering the electro-luminescent backlight of the tag.

Victory was sweet indeed.