Some things to note before reading:

I messed some stuff up. Mainly, names. I think I mentioned last chapter that Jasper is not in this story, so I replaced him with an OC, who's currently named Wesley. For maybe the first 12 hours the first chapter was up, he was named Brendan, but I realized having a Brandon and a Brendan could get confusing. If you read the first chapter after about a day or so, you won't notice any difference. For those who read it right away, this is what I've fixed.

Anyways. It's been more than two months, which is kind of ridiculous... so without further ado, here is Chapter 2!

The world around us is burning, but we're so cold

It's the few, the proud, and the emotional

Jeremiah Whittaker.
Calgary, Alberta.

This was the perfect day to get off campus.

Don't get me wrong, Haversmith is incredibly special. No school I've ever gone to compares to the experiences Haversmith has given me. And nothing beats the view from the seventh floor, with trees and sky extending for miles in every direction. But you start to feel like a captive, all cooped up inside the same building for weeks on end. There's only so far your mind will take you when you're staring at the same four walls of a classroom, day after day. You run out of things to talk about, or, in my case, write about. For creativity's sake, I had to get out.

It's a very exciting day, and the bus is even louder than normal. We're so rarely allowed outside the academy's gates that when we do get to go into town, it's a huge deal. I think everyone can agree that days like this are what we have to look forward to most. Some kids plan this day for a month. Where they'll shop, what they're buying, where they'll be eating their expensive lunches. Me? I don't really have much of an agenda. I'll keep my eye out for a photo gallery, a bookstore, or someplace else that'll be stimulating yet uncrowded. But I don't really mind where I go, as long as I get a change in scenery.

Freya, on the other hand, knows exactly what she'll be doing. "Do you think that little salon is open right now?" she wonders. "I want to go early so my nails look nice all day. I really hope it's not too crowded so that they can focus on my toes. They have to be super nice because my heels for graduation are open-toe. Ooh! Do you remember if they have massage chairs there?"

I smile. It's just like her to act so giddy over a nail appointment. "I wouldn't know, Frey. You're the expert here."

It's something of a joke between us. Both Freya and I know that she's clueless about nearly everything. I'm unquestionably the more intellectual of the two of us, the thinker. She trusts me to make most decisions for her. But when it comes to clothes, beauty, or designing, she suddenly becomes a whole new person. They're her real passion and forte. She makes me look foolish in that regard.

People always seem so surprised that our friendship has lasted this long, because we're really not much alike. But I think that's what draws us together. We balance each other out.

Next to me, Freya laughs and continues gushing over... well, I've lost track. I'm glad she doesn't mind when I zone out, because then we'd have a problem. She likes to talk, while I like to think. We accept that. But I've let my mind slip out the bus window and down to the freeway below, where weathered station wagons and mid-2000s Toyotas slip past beneath the bus. They wouldn't normally catch my eye, but the nature of this trip being what it is, well… I've had a lot of time to reflect on the consumerist ideals of our society. Or, on a smaller scale, our academy. To us at boarding school, those so-called average cars are embarrassing, unacceptable. Most of the class would rather walk than be seen driving anything outdated or beat-up. I can't pretend to be a better person than anyone else in that sense, but I do wish people would understand how lucky they are to have lives like this. We're hopelessly sheltered and blinded to the world outside our boarding school bubble. That's one more thing nice about going into town- we get a little perspective. Even the smallest reminder is better than none.

The pair in the seat behind us, for example, really feels negatively about the fact that today, we're riding an ordinary yellow school bus, contrary to the spotless, air conditioned shuttles we've grown accustomed to. I don't love the smell, either, but the bus does its job, so I can't complain much. Even Freya, who's obsessed with cleanliness and organization, doesn't mind- although part of me wonders if she's just happy it bears resemblance to the Magic School Bus, as she told me when we got on. Quincy and Giles, on the other hand, only want to complain about the cracked, slimy seats and dusty windows, which won't budge.

"This sucks," Giles grumbles. "This stupid bus is making me sick. Why couldn't they just pay for something that wasn't complete shit for once?"

"This whole place is shit, dude. My dad always says that if we weren't graduating next week, he would have pulled me out already. We always get the worst of everything."

Part of me wishes I was brave enough to turn around and tell them that they're being ignorant, but I know it's not my place. I just feel like there are better things to worry about than how much gum is on your seat. It's only thirty minutes of our lives, after all.

Except— we've been on this bus for much longer than we should have. Checking my phone, I find that it's nearly nine o'clock. By now, we should have already stopped in Conway and scattered, not to be seen for eight glorious hours. But for whatever reason, we're still going. Actually, the exit signs here are unfamiliar to me— these are not streets I've heard of. Either I'm delusional, or our driver is horribly lost. I suspect the latter. Four seats in front of us, Anabel keeps leaning forward to talk to the driver, then leaning back, then, seemingly aggravated, giving him more directions. I don't mind a longer drive, but I do want to make sure I have time to enjoy this last day in Conway. I mean, it's just graduation after this, so I don't suspect I'll ever be here again. I want to have time to enjoy my last trip.

No one else seems to have noticed any difference in our surroundings, and I trust that Anabel, at least, knows how to get us into town. Yet the longer we drive, the more unfamiliar the roads begin to look, and the more I become convinced that we're heading in the entirely wrong direction. And is it just me, or are we starting to go higher?

"Freya, does this street look familiar to you?" I ask, as we take a slow exit onto a narrow, winding road.

She looks out the window. At the sight of trees, not designer stores, she frowns. "Where's the town?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to figure out where we are." But when I pull out my phone, there's no service. "Do you have connection?"

She shakes her head.

Hmm. This is definitely unusual. Minutes pass, and I'm still offline. I turn around, looking to see if anyone else has the same problem. Most people are either plugged into their music or enjoying loud conversations, so it's hard to tell at first. A couple kids roll their eyes at their phones and put them down, but that doesn't tell me anything. Then I spot Audrey, near the very back. She's fiddling with her headphones—then, when that doesn't solve the problem, tries shaking her phone. Nothing comes from it, apparently, and her expression shifts from mild frustration to sheer panic in a matter of seconds.

"Hey, Frey," I say quietly. "I don't think anyone has service."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." I look out the front of the bus, where the trees are opening up into… what, exactly? There's wide open sky ahead, but I can't tell what's past the road. "I just wish I knew where we were…"

Freya can tell you that she may not know much about anything, but she does know me very well. And the difference between us is, she's got no shame about standing up and saying what I'm thinking. "Hey! Where are we going?"

There's a lot of nasty laughter from the seat behind us, but it dies as soon as people start looking out the window. Gone are the streetlights we were expecting, the chain restaurants, the overpasses. On our left is the green, forested side of a mountain. On our right, a silver barrier, and, a hundred feet down, the very tips of treetops. And yes, we are definitely going higher.

"Where are we going?" Anabel repeats. "I'm so glad you asked!" She moves to stand at the front of the bus. "If you all would face forward for me, and sit quietly. I'd recommend paying attention for this, because it's news you're not going to want to miss."

There's a collective squeaking as people straighten in their seats. Eventually, everyone quiets down.

"There has been a slight change in plans," she says. "I apologize for not letting you know sooner, but we didn't want to ruin the surprise. We— the teachers and staff— have decided that rather than force you all to take tests and finish projects during the last few days of your senior year, we'd give you a chance to do something a little more adventurous. So, your last three days of school have been cancelled in lieu of something special that we've been planning for you all year."

No more classes? That grabs everyone's attention. A few people begin muttering, but they're quickly shushed. Everyone, for once, wants to listen to Anabel.

"We have realized that, despite the school's proximity to these beautiful mountains-" she motions out the window, as we continue to climb higher and higher- "the majority of you have never actually been out here. With so little time before you graduate, we toyed with the idea of a day trip, but we didn't think that would have done this place justice, or been much fun for most of you. Instead, we're announcing an overnight stay. You students will stay in the mountains for three nights, bonding, enjoying the scenery, and making memories together!"

The bus lurches as it pulls onto a dusty road, and my ears pop with the elevation. Three nights? That seems like a long time, but if I'm being honest, the thought of being in the mountains is a pleasant surprise. We're so distant from everyone up here, and I'm already feeling more relaxed. No work to do, no tests… just freedom.

But I wonder why they would wait to tell us. It would make sense to let us know in advance, surprise or not. Just to tell us what to pack, so we aren't completely caught unprepared out here. My outfit's very versatile— t-shirt, loose jeans, and runners— but Freya's all dressed up in sandals and a flowy dress. It'll be good for the heat, but no so much for any physical exercise.

We rattle down this road, and as we go further and further from the main drive, the trees seem to swallow us, blocking the sun and sky. It's disorienting, and I wonder, the deeper we go, what we might find in here.

Moments later, we come around a wide bend and finally emerge into a small, shady clearing. Ahead of us extends a wide wooden lodge, about the size of our gymnasium back at school. Among the trees, smaller, worn cabins dot the landscape, and in between, narrow trails weave among the ferns and wildflowers and disappear in all directions. There are no electric poles, no wires. And, no doubt, no service.

But the scenery is magnificent.

This is nothing close to Conway. But— I'll be blunt— it already looks one hundred times better.

"Hope you packed your hiking boots," Anabel says. "Welcome to the White Mountains!"

Shane Curran.
Toledo, Ohio.

This day just keeps on getting worse.

First, I had to wake up before noon, which I was really hoping to avoid. But fate seems to hate me, and someone decided I should be allowed on this field trip after all, even after I may or may not have come to class drunk and busted a window. My roommate Tyler announced this great news by pouring ice cold fucking water all over me. And then I had to go run down to the bus wearing the first shirt I could find, which I'm about 90% sure belongs to a girl.

Nice going, Shane.

Then, I wasted an hour of my life on this piece of crap bus, only to find out that— surprise!— we're not actually going to town today, and actually, we're going to be living together on the side of a mountain for three days. Without service. Whoop-dee-doo! What could be more fun than that?

Death by acid, probably.

The thing that's so weird is that Haversmith isn't the type of school to spring something on us like this. Everyone's so anal about getting parent permission and triple-checking everything that we'd normally be bound to find out, even if we weren't typically told weeks in advance. Yet as far as I know, no one had any idea about this trip. I'd give Anabel props if I wasn't convinced she just threw this thing together last-minute.

Around me, kids are slowly getting to their feet and pulling their bags and backpacks out from under the seats, but one of the teachers shouts at us to leave our bags on the bus, that they will be taken directly down to our cabins. Cabins? I glance out the window down at the huts scattered around the lodge. They're barely bigger than the bathrooms in our dorms. They can't mean those?

Apparently, others have the same thought. "We have to stay in those?" Alaina hisses to Blake, carefully stepping around the white handbag at her feet. "Not gonna happen. I'm sending myself home. Have fun eating spiders."

"Hey, hold up," I say. "If you're going, I'm going too. You can't just let us suffer here."

Alaina shoots me a dirty look, staring me down with those strange grey eyes. It's her signature look; paired with her wild blonde hair and impressive height, it's no wonder she's one of the most feared girls in the school. Not by me— I'll challenge her any day of the week. But there's something cold in her expression that has given her an abusive level of power. I see it in the hall sometimes; the freshmen scatter, heads down, when they see her. She can control them with just the coldness in her expression.

"Like I'd let you come with me," she says, finally breaking our gaze to roll her eyes. "Besides, I'm sure you could get yourself kicked out of here in the next ten minutes if you really tried."

It's true. Aside from Gabrielle, probably, I've got to have the record for most detentions and in-school suspensions of anyone at Haversmith. The first couple of years, it was mostly vandalizing. Stealing from people's dorms and lockers. Flooding the bathrooms. Small stuff. But the last two years, I've stepped up my game. I broke in and trashed the headmistress' office for a dare. They found molly in my bag a few months ago, and flipped their shit over that. No, getting in trouble is not something I'll have any problems with.

But if I'm gonna be kicked off this trip, I don't need to prove to anyone that I can do it in ten minutes. Whatever stunt I pull, I want to make it good.

I'm the last off the bus, after waiting for everyone else to go ahead so I can root through their bags. But two teachers are waiting for me at the front, so I have to settle for an old twenty dollar bill and the last of a box of cigarettes, which I shove into my pockets. One teacher raises an eyebrow as I pass, but chooses to say nothing. I follow the other students across the dirt road and down the rickety wooden steps, which lead us to the doorway of the lodge.

We file inside, craning our necks to get a look at the place. Unfortunately, it's not much more special than the outside. Though wide and open, the room is lit only through dusty skylights and the single doorway behind us, leaving the corners in shadow. Beat-up folded chairs are arranged in rows, forming a half arc around the center, where two men and a woman look to be waiting for us. As we come inside, my attention is drawn to the walls, where many more adults sit, watching us. They range from a few years older than us, to sixty or seventy years old. Some of them whisper to one another, not taking their eyes off of us. It's creepy.

"Find a seat, kids!" Anabel says. She strides up to the front, where she shakes hands with each of the men and the woman in turn. I choose a spot near the back and try to ignore the old guy at the wall behind me, who I'm pretty sure hasn't blinked the whole time we've been in here.

"I'd like to introduce you all to an old friend of mine," Anabel continues, grinning. "Mr. Caville is none other than our nation's Secretary of Education, and he has kindly taken a break from his duties to oversee our trip here. Let's give him a round of applause!"

Secretary of Education— that's more like it. I was starting to worry we wouldn't have any special privileges here. Being a prestigious boarding school and all, we're conditioned to expensive tastes and influential people. Still, the most he gets is a weak patter of applause, which he shrugs at.

"Good morning," he says, stepping forward. "It's great to see all of you— so glad you all made it out here safely. I'm sure you all are dying to know what, exactly, this trip entails, so I'll keep this short."

He pulls a stack of papers off the seat behind him and hands them to Seraphina, in the front. She begins passing them down the row.

"Think of this excursion as less of a school field trip, and more of a retreat," Mr. Caville says with a smile. "You will be out here for three nights, participating in a number of camp activities, learning, and getting the rare chance to enjoy the world around you. This trip is designed to allow you to reflect on your four years at the Academy, as well as on the friendships you've made with those next to you. It's an exciting opportunity, and I invite you to make the most of it."

The papers reach my end, and I pull a pamphlet off the top. On the front underneath a generic stock photo of the mountains are the words "Experience the adventure of a lifetime!" in fake, poison-green lettering. The inside just looks like an overload of fun facts and descriptions. Statistics and things. Too much reading. I set it aside.

"You may also have noticed a number of our staff along the walls." Yeah, you'd have to be blind and stupid not to. "They will be participating in a number of the same exercises you will, and some will even be your leaders for group activities. I promise you, they are perfectly friendly, and they are only here to help you and to support you."

Somehow, I'm not fully convinced. A dark young man in the corner has had the same smug smirk on his face for the past five minutes. And something about that redhead's expression is unnerving to me— as her gaze falls upon each of us in turn, I can't help but get the feeling she's scanning for the weakest of us—to pick out and crush under her heel.

"Each of you has been placed into a group of four other students, with whom you will hike, partake in activities, and hold discussions together. While you will have the chance to work and interact with everyone here, those four will be your closest companions for much of this trip, so I urge you to show each other the proper respect and courtesy."

Yeah, okay, sure. No one's going to pretend to be nice to each other just because some guy said we should. I definitely won't. I may have my shortcomings, but at least I'm not fake- there are those I respect, and those I don't. I'd just better hope the people I'm partnered with aren't total idiots, or else I'm dragging them down with me.

"You will also be selected for a cabin with two other students. Yes, the cabins are small, but please, try to make do with the space you have, and be courteous of your roommates. Your daily schedules will be posted each morning on your doors, with all new activities each day. The only thing that will not change is your meal schedule— breakfast at eight sharp, lunch at one, and dinner at six. Simple enough, yes?

"One more thing, before I forget. We understand that, of course, none of you brought clothes or toiletries suited to an outdoors trip. You will be able to pick up a bag with enough clothing and supplies for the extent of this trip when you choose your cabins, but that won't be until this afternoon, after lunch. But first things first. Does anyone have any questions about anything I just covered?"

In a display of participation never before seen in any American classroom, ten hands immediately shoot into the air.

"Do we get to choose our cabins?" Brandon asks. "And, follow-up question, how many girls can be in mine?"

"Cabins are random," Mr. Caville says. "And… none. They are single-sex. That should go without saying." Brandon pouts, to scattered laughter. "And stay out of each other's rooms. Teachers will be coming around to make sure everyone's in their correct bed by ten each night. You, on the right." He points to Harper.

"Can we go home?"

"No."

"But the bus is right there."

"No one's going home," he says. "Your parents have paid for you all to be here, and everyone is staying for the duration of the trip. No exceptions. You, left side."

Audrey sits up straight. "What's the wifi password?"

"No wifi." He forces a smile. "In fact… Thank you for the reminder. Giselle, would you be a dear and go collect phones for me, please?"

Audrey's mouth drops open. "What?"

"There's no service here, and no electricity. This will at least ensure that no one loses anything. Phones, please."

I probably would try to fight Giselle if I could, but she's too pretty, too dainty. I'd feel bad. I give in and put my phone in the box. Others, however, are far less willing. Yuto tries to claim he left his on the bus, but Simone, sitting behind him, pulls it out of his back pocket and hands it over. Audrey straight up refuses to give hers up; Giselle has to physically wrench the thing from her grasp.

"Thank you," Mr. Caville says, satisfied, as Giselle returns the box of newly confiscated phones. "Any other questions?"

Those three questions— and their poor results— have been enough to sate all but one of the remaining hands. "Yeah, I have a question," announces Jackson. He motions extravagantly to the rest of the room. "Where is everyone else?"

"An excellent observation," says Mr. Caville. "Due to limited cabin space, we decided to split the class into two groups, one of which is across the mountain at our sister site. At the end of the trip, we will hike together up to the peak for a class lunch. For the next three days, however, you will be separated from each other. I hope you'll manage."

A few people look disappointed that they won't be seeing their friends until Friday, but I'm not really bothered. As far as I'm concerned, the fewer, the better. Less people I have to deal with. Less people I'm going to have to act like I'll miss when I leave this school. No, I like having my space. It's not lonely, it's comfortable. It's just the way I roll.

No one else has any questions after that. Mr. Caville thanks us for our attention, then directs us outside, where snacks are waiting on a fold-out table. "Make sure you eat enough to keep you going until lunch," he advises. "We'll be out in the sun for the next couple of hours."

Outside, gnawing on a bagel, I go around the back of the lodge. There's a deck here that overlooks much of the valley. From here, I can see a large lake down below, dock included. There's an amphitheater, a mess hall, and more tiny cabins. The skies are cloudless, and birds float above.

It's nice. If you're into that nature spirit shit sort of thing. But it's not for me.

The way I see things, we've got about eight hours until dinner. If I can cause some kind of horrible mess before then, I can almost guarantee I won't be here tonight or for the rest of the trip. It's going to be a heavy task, but if I can pull something out in these conditions, I can do it anywhere. And I'm up for that challenge.

Bitches better watch their backs. These adults won't even know what hit them.

Mariana Brinley.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

"This place is beautiful," I sigh. "I can't believe how lucky we are to be out here."

It's so freeing out here. So much fresh air, and a stunning view for miles. We're up with the clouds! And I always thought the vista from my dorm window was incredible. This is something else.

Seven or eight, maybe, of the staff have started off our trip by leading us straight up a hill, and while it's near excruciating to try to hike in wedges and a sundress, it's something I'll more than put up with. It's worth it, being surrounded by flowers and trees and sky. Out in the wild, there's so little to worry about. And so little pressure out here to act like someone I'm not.

Oh, who am I kidding? That's the fun of it all.

"I couldn't imagine a better outcome," I continue, keeping that smile firm on my lips. "I mean, one minute we're on a stinky old bus, thinking we're just going to go walk around a town for a few hours, and now look at us! No school, no phones, no anything. Just think of all the adventures ahead of us!"

"You're killing me, Mar," Griffin whines. "It's so hot out here. And… yucky. Why couldn't we just be inside?"

"Hey, it's not my fault you wore black jeans. Come on, chin up! This is going to be so much better than you think. Admiring nature… making friends..."

"You're crazy," he says, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'm literally melting. Like Elphaba when she touched water."

"Oh, please," I scoff. "She didn't even melt. It was all a ruse so she could escape with Fiyero. You should know."

"Whatever," he says, waving me off. "I'm still dying. I want fro-yo…"

In all honesty, I'd rather be in town today, too. It would be hundreds of times better for my arms to be dropping with the weight of Sephora and Anthropologie bags than my calves burning from this gross exertion. But what can I do about it? What can any of us do? Nothing. I've accepted that, and I'm willing to do what I can to enjoy my time out here.

Which mainly entails messing with the people who really don't want to be here.

"Oh, Jacksonnn," I sing out.

His expression as he turns around is so sour at first that it's all I can do not to burst out laughing. I mean, the kid's wearing a full on suit, for God's sakes. They're all he wears. After classes, on weekends, even when we go into town. Maybe he even sleeps in them (I wouldn't know). Mud's already begun to stain the fabric around his ankles, and his face is pink with heat, exertion, and the beginning of a sunburn. He tries to fix his grimace into a neutral expression, but it's clear that he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"Mariana." He nods politely, but curses under his breath as he slips in the dirt, feet sliding out from under him. He manages to catch himself, though, which is a little disappointing from my end. Not because I hate the kid, but because, well, he almost fell on his face. It would have been funny. "It's my loafers," he explains, red-faced, as he straightens. "How could I have known we'd be hiking up the side of a mountain?"

It's a fair question. We had no hints about any of this, which, while it makes for a successful surprise, isn't a very practical approach. I'm just lucky I had the good sense not to wear my grey three-inch boots. I mean, I kind of regret it, since honestly they would have been way cuter than the wedges. But hey, can't have it all.

"So, how excited are you to be out of school early?" I say, carefully stepping around a pile of deer droppings. Gross. "No place like the mountains, right?"

"Not exactly," he says, frowning. "What about finals? What about all the study guides I made?"

"...Seriously?"

He looks peeved. "Believe it or not, colleges do care about second-semester grades. I would hate to have my acceptance voided because I never had the chance to boost my grades."

"Hey, no offense," Monica cuts in from my right. "But I'm pretty sure you still have straight A's in every class. I mean, I think you might have mentioned it one or seventeen times."

"Hey, grades are important. What's a college going to think if twenty percent of my grade is missing?"

"That you actually have a life?"

"Hey, hey, hey," I say. "Come on, now. We're not out here to bicker. I thought we were here to make friends with each other."

"I'm only here because there's no way home for three days," says Jackson. "I should be back at school, actually doing something worthwhile."

"Like making out with a picture of Ms. Langley?" I grin.

"Oh, grow up," he says, shaking his head. "I'm not that immature."

"He's just bitter because she won't actually hook up with him," says Monica.

Funny, that wasn't the rumor I'd heard. Angela and Lenore both told me they'd heard that someone had actually seen them making out in an empty classroom one time. I don't believe it, though. Jackson may be attractive, but he's not that attractive that a teacher would risk her career for him. At least, I wouldn't. He's too formal and stiff and can't really take a joke. And he's a little too pretentious, even by my standards. For what it's worth, I think people are just jealous he's smarter than them and are willing to make things up to drag his ego down. But he's up so high already that they're going to need to make a better effort.

"I'm a serious student. I would never pull anything like that." Jackson glares- first, at me, for dragging him into this, then at Monica, for her role. "It would tarnish my reputation, and she's just my teacher. She likes me a lot because I'm the best in the class and I work hard. There's nothing else going on."

"I trust you, Jackson. But if there were something else…" I giggle- it's pushing it, though, it's a little too high-pitched and phony, but the boy's so self-absorbed I doubt he registers it anyway. "Well, I just want you to know I would always support you, every step of the way. It's your life, your choice!"

He shakes his head. "Just give it a rest, alright? You're blowing things way out of proportion. We were talking about this retreat and colleges and adult things. Now, sorry to be a downer, but let's go back to making conversation over things that actually matter, hm?"

Monica raises an eyebrow, but lets the topic drop.

For me, it's too fun. Too easy. Obviously, I'd never support something like that, but my rule of thumb is, if it earns a reaction, it's worth saying. After four years of this, you'd think someone would have caught on, but I guess people haven't figured me out if they still take me seriously. I'll exaggerate. I'll switch roles in a heartbeat if I want to. If all the world's a stage, I'm the only one who truly takes advantage of it. Any given moment is a new chance to shine.

The slope flattens out, and we come onto an open clearing. A lone folding table sits at the end of the trail, grasses flowing and swaying around it. One man sits in the center, a clipboard flat in front of him, while the rest of the students begin to approach. Towering red and white pines circling the clearing graze an endless sapphire sky, and beyond them, the faraway tips of mountains peek between the trunks.

It may have been hell for my feet to get up here, but I'll be honest— the view from the top is well worth it.

"Welcome, students," the man at the table says as we approach. "Please form a line in front here, then give me your names one by one. I will direct you to your groups, and we can begin your first activities.

We fall into line. First up is Simone, who skips right up. "Simone," she sings, bouncing up and down. "Simone Collins. S-I-M-O-N-E, C-O-L-L-I-N-S."

"Simone, Simone... here you are. Group Five. Zara, my dear, would you come take Miss Collins?"

An intense-looking brunette with a lengthy, lean frame emerges from the group coming up behind me. The t-shirt and cargo shorts she wears look out of place with her shining, straight hair and made-up face. Simone skips right up and offers her a hand to shake, which Zara callously ignores. Awkwardly, the pair move out into the field to wait for the rest of us.

"Imagine being put on a team with that one," says a husky voice, hushed, from behind me. "That Zara chick might be nice to look at, but honestly. Collins is a nightmare."

I'm not surprised to find Wesley Byrne staring right back at me when I turn around. "Well, she is. Don't tell me you actually like her."

I slip into an expression of serious concern. "Simone's a good friend of mine," I say. "I'd gladly be her teammate. She's truly compassionate and one of the realest girls I know."

He makes a face. "Well, you're mistaken. She's crazy, you know that, right?"

"At least she's got a personality," I say. "Geez, lighten up."

Brandon goes with a pretty dark-skinned woman, and Trina follows soon after. Next up is Alex Grim, who is led away by a man called Sawyer. Gwen, blowing bubbles that match her pink hair, joins Quincy and Seraphina with a tan, handsome man whose name I must have missed. I want that group. Even if Quincy's in it.

"Next."

I step forward. "Mariana Brinley," I say with a curtsy.

The man doesn't look up. "Group Three."

Straight ahead. Three students stand around a man with brown curls and a bristly jawline, and when he looks up, I meet a pair of narrow cobalt eyes. Oh, this will definitely do. I fit myself between Doran and Blake, then present a perfectly manicured hand for him to shake. "I'm Mariana. It's a pleasure to meet you. I absolutely can't wait for our next three days together."

He doesn't say anything at first, just narrows his eyes. My hand hangs stiffly between us. For several seconds, the tension mounts.

Then he sighs. "Milo," he finally says. "But don't pull any of that ass-kissing shit on me again. I can make your life hell in an instant if you give me a reason to."

My hand drops.

That wasn't supposed to happen…

The five of us don't say another word until after Dane has come to round out our group. "Excellent," Milo says. "Now that we're all here, I'd like for us to have a nice little chat with one another. There are introductions that must be made. Disclaimers. All that. And for the sake of privacy, I suggest we put some distance between ourselves and the other groups. Shall we?"

He turns and begins moving towards the far treeline. The rest of us look at each other for a second, then hesitantly begin to follow. We've already learned not to question him.

I'm upset that he's upset with me. It wasn't meant to be disrespectful. It may have been a bit over the top, but I just never expected he'd call me on it. I'm used to people rolling their eyes, shrugging me off, or just flat-out ignoring me. Milo did none of that.

On the other hand, I'd hate to waste this beautiful day pouting. I ought to just move on from that and not dwell on it while I'm here. No use taking this lovely place for granted.

It's just unfair.

Ahead of me, Gabrielle is ignoring the rest of us, kicking at the dirt as she walks and generally looking murderous. Blake, on the other hand, tosses a football back and forth in his hands and walks with a spring in his step, like there's nowhere he'd rather be. Dane also looks interested and eager, but Doran, on his left, looks glum and sleepy.

It's a 50-50 split. Two are excited. Two are not. So where does that leave me? Putting on a brave front and making the most of things? Or being honest with my feelings about Milo, like Gabrielle and Doran?

When it's put that way, there's no question. I've got to play the more interesting part.

Not that I'm not typically optimistic, but my charming attitude is still a facade, at some level. It's impossible to be that peppy and confident all the time. But at least I can still look it.

And as long as I look like I'm a step ahead of everyone else, well... I am.

Madison Carell.
Coventry, Rhode Island.

I don't say this about a lot of people, but Sawyer Krebbs is downright repulsive. As the others talk about their hobbies, interests, college plans— some version of an introduction, apparently, although of course we all know each other already— he constantly cuts them off, insults them, laughs loudly at a joke at their expense which no one else finds particularly funny. When Audrey shares, he spends the whole time eyeing her up and staring at her chest. He shuts Jackson down completely when he tries to suck up. Alex gets the least of it, but Sawyer still leaves him pale and silent.

Now all eyes turn to me.

"You," Sawyer says, lips curling into a smirk. "What would you like to share?"

He doesn't blink. I'd shrink away if I didn't think it was an intimidation tactic, if he wasn't trying to push me around. But I've dealt with his kind before. I'm not that easy to break.

"I'm Madison," I say, staring right back. "Eighteen years old, resident of Coventry, Rhode Island. I was in the spring play, I like English, and I cheer and dance. And I'm going to Emerson this fall. For college."

"Cheerleader. Of course." He grins, but it's anything but friendly. "You know, I've always been a fan of cheer. Slutty, underdeveloped bodies in tight skirts— that's definitely my style."

"That's... not what cheer's about." I don't even like cheering that much— it's more a way for me to stay active and keep my stunts in practice— but what he's saying is so wrong that I have no choice but to defend it. "Cheer is about athleticism, working with a team, and showing spirit. It's not about the uniform."

"Maybe not for someone with your figure."

"Oh, really?" I refrain from rolling my eyes. "My shoulders? Thighs? It's muscle. For strength. It's the thing that lets me and the other girls do stunts and flips. We're not just skinny girls in spandex."

"Sure, sure. Just give me a call when you lose ten pounds. I'm sure I could still tame you into something submissive."

There are varying degrees of reaction from around the circle. Jeremiah's jaw drops. Audrey turns furious. "How dare— you can't—"

"Forget about it," I shush her. "It was a joke."

"It wasn't a joke," Sawyer clarifies. "And I wouldn't say no to her, either. The things I could do to that body..."

"You're disgusting," Audrey spits, eyes ablaze. "Disgusting. I can't believe you could just say that to a girl."

"You'd be surprised how often I actually get a positive reaction from that line."

"Do you do this often?" Audrey asks, face still red. "Like, lead these little groups and perv on all the girls or whatever you're here for?"

"Technically, you're all legal, so it's not perving." He wiggles his eyebrows. "But no, I haven't been here in a few years. I tend to avoid this kind of babysitting gig if I can help it."

"Well, it shows," she says. "You've really got a terrible attitude for working with high school kids."

"The irony," he groans. "Look, hon, you don't make it any easier on me. High school was not long enough ago for me to forget what kind of hell it was. There's no easy way to deal with kids like you. You're self-righteous, you're stuck up, you think you've got all the answers. The only 'attitude' you'll accept from me is indifference, and unfortunately for you, I do care what kinds of things you get up to out here. Because if one of you gets hurt, I get in trouble for it. So that's not going to happen."

"If you hate kids so much, then why did you come back?" I ask. More like, why did they let him back, if he's completely opposite of what a proper "mentor" should be? But I'm still doing my best to maintain both Audrey's and my calm, and I doubt pointing this out will help matters.

His gaze locks back onto me. "I didn't exactly go looking for this position. They had a spot open up out of the blue, they contacted me, I said sure, I'll come. It's good money. Simple as that." Then he narrows his eyes. "But I'm sure that's all familiar to you, hm?"

To me? Of course not— I've never met him until today. Then I begin to draw a connection between his reason for being here and my own. Which is unsettling, since I'm not ever that open about my family or my personal history. A year or so ago, my family was met with a similar scenario when a hospital up in a tiny New Hampshire town rang my dad's office, and a couple of weeks later, we relocated 250 miles north. Dad was offered a pretty substantial sum to be the new head surgeon at the hospital up here, though we're still not sure why they wanted him, of all the doctors they might have called.

The connections are striking, but they're not as noteworthy as the fact that a man I've barely met has already somehow heard about this.

"How do you know about that?"

"I know a lot, sweets," he smirks. "I've got more in my head than you'd ever dream of. So I'd be careful with your tongue if I were you. If you get on the wrong side of me, something might just... slip."

My pulse skips. In a second, I swallow my momentary panic and push it aside. I won't give him any reason to diverge anything I don't want shared just yet. He's not worth a reaction, anyways. "I'll watch myself," I promise. "Don't worry."

Trouble is, he's already done the damage. I can see it in my groupmates' faces— in Jeremiah's, concern, but Jackson's eyes light up at the concept of someone else's secrets. Typical... he would want to hear my stories rather than the other way around, for once. But Sawyer's set the spokes of the rumor mill spinning, and I'm going to need to do something to halt that. Because if there's one thing I've learned during my time at Haversmith, it's that when people want to know anything, they figure it out. Especially since any dirt on the new girl is coveted goods.

I've always thought I've guarded my secrets wisely. But I've got to stay on my toes if I really want to keep them sealed.

Gabrielle Harman.
Stockton, California.

This discussion has been utterly pointless, which doesn't bode well for the rest of the trip. Not surprisingly. I mean, come on. Camping? With these idiots? And just when I was oh so close to sweet and total freedom.

Three days straight of detention ain't got nothing on this.

Seriously. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I just want to be back at Haversmith. I can't say I'm really friends with them, but the kids in detention are my people. These neurotic snots are not. The worst thing about it is that people are actually pretending like they're enjoying themselves. Mariana is the worst offender. Horribly, disgustingly hyper and excited, like it's the coolest thing ever she doesn't have to go to school today. News flash, we weren't even supposed to have full days of classes after yesterday anyway. And what is there to do out here? Sing songs? Watch some birds? I can't wait for everyone to come crashing back down to reality and remember that not only are there no phones out here, but there's also no escape from any of these people. The mood right now is a little too upbeat for my taste.

Our group has run out of things to share, so we mostly stay quiet, waiting for the other groups to finish up so we can go back to camp. Blake is the only one who seems to be making an effort with Milo; the rest of us have decided he's a lot cause, but Milo actually seems to be taking a liking to him. "So you're the big football star around here?"

"Quarterback," Blake grins, spinning the football in his hands.

"And how's your arm?"

"It's strong. Has to be, right? Do you play?"

"Not at all. Never been the athletic type."

"Well, can you catch?"

Milo eyes him up and down, creases his brow. "Sure," he says. "To some extent."

"Let's go, then." Blake jumps up. "Go long."

I watch them toss back and forth. Blake's got a good arm, but it's nothing special. Football's overrated anyways. No question, rugby's a truer test of your toughness. You don't get any safety net. No helmets or pads to protect you from skull-crushing hits, just your own grit and drive to keep you on your feet. It's less of a game and more of a war. You need a deeper respect for organized violence to make it in rugby. And that's what makes me so good.

People call it anger issues, say I'm rogue, untamable. It's the case of all the Harman siblings, courtesy of our phenomenally shitty and distant parents. I can't forget my anger, but sports, at least, give me some structured way to relieve that frustration. I wrestled for a long time before rugby captured my interest. It's much faster and far more dangerous— definitely my speed.

I've been following the ball in the air so lazily that I almost jump when another hand tips the ball out of the air. Brandon, from out of nowhere, tucks the ball into his side and takes off for the far end of the field. "And it's picked by Prescott! He's off to the races, and nobody can stop him. He's at the thirty... the twenty... the ten... TOUCHDOWN NINERS!" He spikes the ball into the grass and starts prancing around like an idiot.

"Oh, congrats," Blake jokes. "First thing you've caught all year that isn't herpes."

Brandon scoffs, mocking offense. "Hey, at least I get some action. That Adaline's a prude."

"Don't talk about my girlfriend like that," Blake says. "She's perfect. I don't care about any of that stuff."

"Don't try to hide it, Chapman. I know you want her."

I hop up. I'm done with this shit. Tearing the ball out of Brandon's hands, I say, "How about both of you just shut up and we actually do something with this." I press it into Blake's chest. "Me and Brandon, you and Milo. Full contact, two on two."

The boys frown, looking at each other, but quickly come to an unspoken agreement. "Sure," Brandon says. "I'm up for a game."

"Two on two is going to be tricky, though. Maybe Dane or Mariana—"

"Hell no. We'll figure this out ourselves," I say.

We're about to line up for our first play when Chanel comes barreling in, Quincy and Wes right behind her. "Holy shit, get me in on this," she says, setting up on the other side. "You don't mind, right? We saw you guys throwing from over there. Two on two doesn't really work, anyway."

"Works better than uneven teams," I say. "We can't play like this."

"I don't count," says Milo. "Go ahead. I'll watch... make sure you all don't kill each other."

I'm forced to glower at Chanel from across the line, but she doesn't look at me.

"Alright," Blake steps up. "Boundaries are from Doran over here to that far boulder. Let's play fair."

"Best of luck, ladies," Brandon grins.

Blake taps his fist. "I look forward to crushing you like dirt."

They may be joking, but I'm not. I don't lose. I don't care if this is only a pickup game. If Brandon's team wants to win this thing, they're going to have to go through me. And I'm not easy to beat.

Wes hikes the ball, and I take off downfield, Chanel pushing me the whole way. Brandon launches a throw into the sky over me. I shove my elbows into her, hoping she'll get the fuck off, but she fights back. As the ball comes down, it tips off my outstretched fingers, and we tumble to the ground.

"No catch," Milo rules.

I yank Chanel's ponytail as I get up, then stomp back to the line. "Watch your fucking throws, Prescott."

Brandon just shake his head and sets up for another play.

We score once. But Blake, when he's on offense, is dominant. He, Quincy, and Chanel are up by three touchdowns when four more kids find our game. "Oh my god, football?" Simone claps and stands on the other side. "I'm so playing." Giles, the creep, sets up next to me with Shane, who must have also been pulled from detention this morning. I'm pleased to see he looks just as pissed as I am.

Then Yuto comes bounding in on the other side. "Holy fuck, am I down for this."

"Yu, you hate sports," says Brandon.

"Yeah, I know. I'm just here to see you get the shit knocked out of you." He pushes Chanel and Blake aside. "So move your asses so I can get a good view."

Brandon, Wes, Shane, Giles and I line up against Blake, Quincy, Yuto, Simone, and Chanel, who pushes up towards me. If she wants to challenge me again, fine. She may have half a foot and forty pounds on me, but she's a pussy who can't handle physicality like I can. I'm about to show her who's tougher.

Wes shoots the ball into Brandon's hands. I push Chanel off me, jabbing an elbow into her face, and she recoils. I use this pause to push my distance towards the end of the field. Come on... come on... But when the throw comes—a dime this time— my foot catches on something and I stumble to my knees. I look up just in time to see Chanel scoop the throw out of the air and switch directions towards the other end line.

That bitch. She tripped me. No way in hell am I letting her score this. Milo doesn't call anything. Which just means I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands.

I scramble to my feet and race after her. Brandon is also converging on her, but I shove him out of the way. This is my hit to make. No one's getting in my way.

Ten yards from Doran, Chanel lets up, convinced she'll score easily.

Nice try.

I launch at her, grabbing around her waist, and pull her to the ground. Chanel shrieks. As we hit, my teeth clamp down on my tongue, drawing blood.

Chanel thrashes and rolls over, looking murderous. "You—bitch—you fucking bitch—" she struggles to get out, the wind knocked out of her.

"You fucking sabotaged me," I spit, bloody. "You earned that. Don't fucking cross me."

Milo tries to pull me off her, but then she's throwing fists, and I'm fighting to keep her down on the ground. He gets an elbow in the nose. Eventually Shane lifts me up and off of her. Blake pulls Chanel up and stands between us.

"I think we're done here," says Milo. Gone is that short-lived sense of good humor he had with Blake as he shoots glares at each of us in turn. "The other groups are done. We're going back to camp, and I'll have a nice long chat with you two once we're there. Now, get the hell away from each other."

As we move back towards the clearing, Brandon whistles. "Damn, that was hot. Can't ever get enough of girl-on-girl action. Feel free to fight each other again, ladies."

Shane grabs my arm before I have a chance to do any more damage with it.

We walk back, silent. Fuming. At least, I am. For Chanel, she's never done a thing wrong in her life. I'm entirely at fault. Of course, I am. Poor, prissy Chanel, with all her boy troubles. She makes me sick.

A few feet ahead, she's arm in arm with Yuto and Brandon. Suddenly I notice something on the back of her jeans. A clean tear, all the way through her pants. Right at the bottom of her ass. No doubt, my doing. And the bitch has no fucking clue.

I smirk. At least there's some justice in this world.

Fairly Local by twenty one pilots.

Hey...

Yeah, it's been pretty long. I can't hide that. I also can't promise that future updates are going to be very quick- you can blame varsity volleyball, APs, and college apps for taking over my life right now- but there's a lot that I had to take care of before this chapter went up that won't be an issue in the future. Mainly, getting character forms. Thanks again to all who got back to me! The only form I'm missing is Alex's, but I'm kind of resigned to the fact that he's never going to show up. So we'll just do what we can with him.

Also, huge shoutout to JabberjayHeart, who came back from the dead out of nowhere back in August (that's how overdue this chapter is, wow). I have no clue where he is now, but he was around for a bit and not only supports this project, but gave me a lot of direction as far as plotlines and plans he had. He also helped me find some of you guys for forms, so I owe him a ton for that.

Basically, I did decide to go ahead and try to write multiple characters, and the format will be five a chapter for every chapter up at least until the Games. Trying to figure out each of these kids was definitely a challenge, but I'm really happy with how it's been going so far. I know some had more to say this chapter than others, but I'm trying to balance it out more in the future.

Uhh, what else? Oh, yeah. I made a blog for this. Apparently that's a thing people do. It's not really that different yet from the old one that's still up, but I've switched some FC's around (the poses, not the actual person in the picture) and I will be updating it as we go. I'll put a link at the bottom.

Updates on chapter status will be up on my profile.

Finally, questions:

General thoughts on each character?

Who do you want to see next?

Most importantly... not really... song recs? Unless you just wanna see Lorde and twenty one pilots every chapter. But seriously, help a girl out. I'm unoriginal.

Thanks for all your patience! See you next time!

Blog: themurderedhg at blogspot