xThis is the story of two people who love Friday movie nights, dip their burgers in gravy, feast on ketchup packets, vandalize library shelves, write lame-ass diary entries, eat takeaways under the stars, and, unexpectedly, fall in love, bit by bit. This is the story of a silent writer and a rebel who became crazy together in the journey of a lifetime- but little did they know, there was something far deeper and darker lurking in the fact that they were chosen for the adventure, in which the last item on the itinerary was a series of murders, and the one thing that they can never have is trust.x
Natsume Hyuuga
In my defense, I didn't tag along on a stupid camp-slash-road trip of my own free will. My mother thought that it would be a 'refreshing' experience, my father exclaimed that I might find hot girls (to which my mother responded with a glare), and my sister smirked, saying that I could use some time off my books and stories. I found it all horrible because I was bad with people and simply seeing kids of my age pissed me off. Some could say that I seem like a nocturnal because of my hesitation to socialize, but I am not, in any way, one of those 'shining and shimmering' vampires.
No matter how hard I tried to argue that the camp-slash-road trip was expensive (Mom said, "Honey, does being on the Forbes magazine mean anything to you?") and I wouldn't survive in the company of breathing people, here I was, lugging an enormous bag behind me and walking towards a pretty neat tour bus under the scorching heat of the sun.
Not to be egotistic or anything, I growled at the girls swooning by my side. One even hiked her floral shorts up and giggled shamelessly. Sometimes I prayed that I would grow zits or whatever there was on the faces of those who were oppressed at school so I wouldn't have to put up with such a large fanbase (believe me, I could vomit to death knowing that). Damn, it would be awesome if I could just return to my manga instead of standing in a long queue with hormonal females who were pretty much screaming at my ears.
To make things worse, a seemingly transvestite man sashayed through the crowd, carrying a megaphone encrusted with jewels and all that shit. He winked (presumably at me because I was the only one who bothered to listen) and said, "Welcome to the Annual Summer Camp and Road Trip, sponsored by the Hyuuga Enterprises!"
Now I see how Mom managed to have absolute power over my decisions.
The transvestite continued to mumble sentences with that high-pitched voice of his. "Now, let me explain that the bus is only for our travel to the airport. This year's camp will be held in various European countries, and for everybody's convenience regarding clothes, we will be stopping by duty-frees and stores."
Europe? That's pretty impressive, even for an introvert like me. Good thing I brought a number of hard-bound notebooks, I may be writing plots and stuff if ever I get inspired by Europe's supposedly perfect sceneries. Our transvestite guide introduced himself as "Narumi" and led us to our respective transportation. We were given sheets of paper which informed us of our seat assignments and schedules. The camp seemed like school, to say the least (I was hoping to make this summer as laidback and shitless as possible).
Apparently, my bus was the silent one, to my relief. Once I found my seat, I groaned inwardly at the papers sitting on the provided cushion, on which cell phone numbers were daintily scribbled. I found this rather disturbing andcreepy and annoying, yet my seatmate only giggled, stifling a huge snort under his stuffed toy. And here I thought that the only attendees to this infuriating camp were teenagers.
"What are you laughing at?" I spat, throwing my huge backpack to the baggage compartment overhead. The blond head whipped up at the sound of my (hopefully) irritated voice and bobbed childishly. "Nothing."
I wasn't good at conversations, so I left it at that and turned to the window. A lot of adolescents were still scrambling outside to find their bus (don't they know how to stick to schedules?) but seeing as the passengers in my bus were already complete and eerily quiet, I guess that the organizing body of the camp grouped us according to personality. For our group, we were easily classified as the taciturn but intelligent ones—though I really don't think that my seatmate was highly intellectual.
The driver revved up the engine (finally—these guys would fail terribly at time management) and a dozen whispers of sheer excitement echoed through the chilly breeze coming from the air conditioner. It would be no wonder if "Highway to Hell" played on radio, and I am deeply privileged by this once in a lifetime opportunity. I'm discreetly trying to drown myself in sarcasm just so I can just die before I reach my eventual death.
Blondie tapped me on the shoulder lightly and whispered, "Are you writing a diary?"
From someone who reeked of baby perfume, the statement sounded curious and okay—nevertheless, I glared at my seatmate. Leave it to him to think that I was jotting down how my day was superb using glitter pens and such. "This," I waved my notebook in the air, "is a travel journal."
"A journal and a diary are the same thing, right? And besides, we haven't really traveled to someplace in particular."
He made a point right there, but unfortunately for the rest of the world, I am always right. Even when I'm not.
My fingers made circular motions at my temples. "No. Diaries are for sissies and I'm currently writing some sort of prologue for the actual travelogue. Why am I even talking to you?"
Blondie smiled. Not the flirty closet gay kind of smile, but a real smile. "Because we both have nothing to do. I'm Ruka Nogi," he said, offering his thin hand for a formal greeting.
I shrugged, but complied anyway. "Natsume Hyuuga. Would you stop bothering me now?"
"Okay, but later I'll bug you again," Ruka impishly grinned.
Unconsciously nodding in approval, I turned back to writing. I was much too caught up in our "small talk" that I failed to notice why the hell the bus wasn't moving an inch. Either that or my senses were paralyzed from too much stupidity beside me. Seconds after my silent rants, the bus sped forward, zooming in at 120 kilometers per hour to make up for its wasted time. We passed cornfields and mountains by a blur, but I took down notes about the details which could be essential in the descriptive aspect of a story. Really, Mom and Dad should really hire qualified employees in the future.
I was about to rest for the tiresome hell ahead, when—
Screech!
The bus was late, now this. I wonder if the driver would get sued and I would never have a summer at all. What the fuck is wrong with people nowadays, I do not have knowledge of. Not that I need the knowledge, anyway.
The automatic doors opened, and feet shuffled quickly and noisily. On second thought, this might be interesting—a group of teenagers held hostage in the middle of the camp. Of course, my family's business would be put in jeopardy. I guess what makes me think of these things are the mystery novels that my dad let me read back then, and he would always say, "There's always a reason for everything. Or multiple reasons, for that matter."
Maybe one of those reasons was so that my sister could call me geek or nerd, which is so damn judgmental. And here she goes 'fangirling' over action stars who were basically the same characters from the books that I've been reading.
I can never understand any species of girls, which is why I raised my eyebrows at the brunette latecomer, who, to my surprise, had clean and neat clothes after probably chasing the bus. How she even managed to catch up remains a baffling question to me.
"Hi," she whispered between gasps and apologetic smiles, "I'm Mikan Sakura."
Apologies for the extreme OOCs and the short chapter and the weirdness of it all. I cut the summary because of the character limit ;A; This is not the best ship for me, but it's the first and only canon ship I have. Um sorry for the lame-ass story, I guess?