Chapter 4: Hounds.
How could you know what it feels like to be outside yourself?
You think you know me so well
Monica Celsey.
Weston, New Hampshire.
They're making us do art.
Which, under any other circumstances, would be absolutely fine by me. I've considered becoming an artist, actually, after I graduate and everything, although with the family business, that's pretty much a shot in the dark. But the fact that we are legitimately sitting around and drawing pictures together has got to be the dumbest thing possible. Leave it to Haversmith Academy to waste a beautiful mountain range with such diverse wildlife by sticking us inside with the lights blaring, wasting so much unnecessary electricity- I could go on. At least the AC's off, because that's a huge energy sucker right there, and as hot as it is, it's good for us to have some natural air. As far as my own interests go, though, I'd be so much happier if they'd just give me a backpack, a sleeping bag, maybe a pack of jerky, and let me go camping for three days. It's not like I haven't done it before.
Instead, I'm trapped inside in a circle with Delinquent #2, the Greasemaster, little miss Romeo, and Freya, who I hate to dub Slowpoke Sloth, but someone has to. Oh, and Giselle. I'm still thinking of a name for her. She's not necessarily more pretentious than Mariana, but she's been reapplying lipstick for the last five minutes and me, my beat-up clipboard, and my busted blue crayon are way over it.
My piece is technically supposed to tell a story. Those are the instructions Giselle gave us (in her sing-song and gag-worthy voice), right before she told us that "nothing we share in this room is for anyone else's ears. What is said here, stays here." Which makes me worry that this is going to turn into a support group real soon, in which case, I may be forced to hurl myself out a window. These "river drawings" are supposed to be drawn in a shape that accurately describes our life experiences so that we can "empathize" and "bond" with our classmates. The river goes up for good things, and down for bad things. For example (as Giselle explained earlier, pulling a blue marker across the whiteboard at the end of the room), "My water would go down for the time when one of my maids lost my favorite diamond earrings" (I really, really wish I was kidding) "and up, for when my daddy bought me new ones!"
As much as I'm investing into drawing a pretty good river, what's more important is what we have to say. The drawing is just a visual aid of sorts to help us organize our thoughts for when we present them to our small groups. Everyone's is supposed to look different, but I have a hard time believing anyone's is going to turn out like mine. It's a little risky, sharing what I'm about to share. I'd just better hope my group members have the sense of humor to appreciate it.
As for Giselle... I'm assuming it'll fly right over her head.
"Try to make these nice and pretty," she adds. "You can keep them once you're done!"
Giles snorts. "You think anyone wants to take one of these pieces of trash home?"
"Your mom took you home, Giles," I say.
"What?"
"Nothing. Finish your drawing."
I provide some finishing touches to my river- rough shading, nothing so fancy, then, sufficiently pleased with my work, I look up. Everyone's finished except for Freya, who likely took Giselle's advice to "make it pretty" to heart. Shane's tapping his foot, examining the room with an uninterested expression. Juliet sits, leaned back, legs folded, staring blankly out the window. Giles looks like he's staring straight at the wall, like some sort of greasy, glazed-over corpse.
After a few minutes, Freya finally looks up. Nobody moves until Shane roughly clears his throat.
"Is everyone finished?" Giselle snaps out of her daydream and remembers that she's supposed to be babysitting us. "Oh, good! Who'd like to start?"
"I can," volunteers Freya with a sheepish grin. She holds up her drawing, and Juliet's eyes widen. Shane even raises his eyebrows a little. Freya's river is pretty flat- no real highs or lows in her life, it looks like- but her artwork is incredible. It's amazing what she's managed to do with a few shades of Crayola crayons and 10 minutes. "So my river starts in Fairbanks, Alaska, where I was born..."
We go around slowly. Freya finishes her tale after about five minutes, but Shane, whose drawing is a single blue line going straight across his paper, covers all he wants to say in under two minutes. Next is Giles. His drawing has more noticeable waves, but as deeply as he stares into everyone's eyes as he speaks, he tends to uncomfortably skim over the more important parts of his drawing. No one asks him to go into more details, so I sit back as well. Unfortunately, though not surprisingly, it doesn't seem like anyone's that quick to open up to the group. Doesn't matter. I've made a plan for what I'm going to say, and I'll say it. Not that it's a sob story or anything, but it may just come as a bigger shock now that everyone else has pretty much half-assed this project.
When it's my turn, Giselle makes me stand. "Show us your drawing, dear."
"I will, I will," I say. "Not yet. Let me build some suspense."
I clear my throat. "So, I'm Monica, and my river starts at the bottom of my page, because I was born to two pretty shitty parents. They were far more interested in building up their company- which, by the way, produces materials for nuclear weapons- bad, right?" Giselle looks mildly interested. "I know, pretty sketch. And so bad for the earth. I mean, common sense, people."
It's hard to tell if anyone's really listening. The nuke statement has at least drawn Shane's attention, but as I go into more discussion about my general childhood, I can't help but assume that no one cares. Would I care, if I were listening to this talk? I decide to speed things up a bit.
"Anyways, so life got steadily better once I got involved in things like Girl Scouts, hiking trips, and school and community conservatism groups back home, which, I can assure you, Lyn and Carson were none too happy about. Since their whole lives and careers revolve around trashing the atmosphere, right? So everything I've ever done is basically to spite them. And I'm not just saying that to be dramatic. They're really just closed-minded people. I'm sure one of you gets what I mean."
Some nodding. Giselle reaches into her handbag for her lipstick. Again. Come on. You're being so boring. Feeling a bit desperate, I pause to look at my drawing.
"And so, with this theme in mind," I say after a beat, remembering that my picture could still save me, "one day I just figured, You know what, Monica? Maybe trying to talk them into going green isn't going to work. You're going to have to be a bit more bold. So, when I was thirteen, I packed a backpack, grabbed my ukulele, and- as the biggest 'fuck you' of my life-" I flip the paper around to reveal that my drawing has indeed taken the shape of a giant middle finger- "I pretty much ran away from home for three days to go kick back in the mountains. Take that, you pigs."
There's silence for a long moment. Then Shane starts busting up. Even Juliet and Freya crack a smile. "As you can see by the shape of my river," I continue, "that was also the high point of my life. Total blast, would highly recommend it. Unfortunately... my parents got kinda pissed, basically banished me to boarding school, and it's been a steep downhill fall ever since. That's all you really need to know about that." I plop down in my chair. "Juliet, how about you?"
Shane's still silently shaking with laughter in his chair, covering his face with one hand. Giselle just stares at me, trying to form some sort of sentence. "That's... not exactly what we were asking for."
"Technically, it's a river. And it's irrefutably accurate. I'm sure you could give dear old Carson Celsey a call and he would agree with it."
"Well, it's certainly creative," she says, frowning. After a moment, she remembers Juliet still has yet to speak. "Oh, of course. Juliet. Please share."
As Juliet quietly stands up to speak, I look around the room to make a judgment call on people's reactions. Shane, of course, approves. I can't tell if Freya's really smiling because she thinks it's funny or because she doesn't really understand it yet. It's a horrible habit, but I know that as much as I like a good laugh, I've got to be careful that no one's really offended. I don't really want to piss anyone off. But at the same time, if you want to understand my sense of humor, you just can't take me so seriously.
Griffin Ellings.
Macatawa, Michigan.
The art isn't the problem. I can draw just fine. And I have no trouble with ideas- in fact, I have more than I'd like to admit. Ironically, for a kid who constantly gets shouted at for never shutting up, I don't know how I'm going to speak.
I can't focus on Nico right now. I have to figure out what I'm going to say! How am I supposed to lie about my entire life right in front of five other people? Back at school I tend to just avoid the topic, and people luckily don't ask too many questions. But what about right here, where our only focus is to open up to each other?
Just standing up and pretending that my life's never been that interesting isn't going to work. Nobody's that stupid. Rosalie is especially attentive, and it'd be even more embarrassing to be called out on lying in front of everyone else.
But I can't be honest. Not just because I don't want to be so vulnerable, but also because I know Trina, who's sitting almost directly across from me. I can't trust her. If she gets any dirt on any of us, she'll spread it in an instant. So what if we're not supposed to share any of this with anyone else? Trina doesn't care. She thinks it's fun to bring people down. I've been spared so far, but Karla, one of my best friends, almost transferred because Trina spread such nasty rumors about her being lesbian. Nowadays, Karla can laugh about it because she's unashamedly proud of who she is. But for a long time, Trina made life hell. I'm going to do my best to avoid that if I can help it.
Hopefully, it won't even matter to anyone. Who's listening at this point? Besides, Harper is the next person after me, and with all that happened earlier with her falling off the wall and everything, maybe she'll draw attention away from me. It's strange, actually. She's never seemed the reckless type, yet here she is, hands and ankle wrapped up in tape. It makes me wonder about how none of us really know each other. I don't know her, or Trina, or Nico, or Brandon. And they don't know anything about me.
I feel lightheaded and sick to my stomach, and not from the heat. This is killing me. I'd do anything, anything else to not talk about my whole life in front of my classmates. I wish I were still asleep in bed, not living this nightmare. Why did we have to come here today? Why do I have to do this?
It feels like Nico hardly says anything. Too soon, he's sitting down, and Rosalie is now nodding in my direction.
"Is that all you're going to say?" I frown at Nico, trying to stall.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you just went through some things really fast. I think it'd be cool if you were more detailed."
"We don't have time," Rosalie says. "Griffin, please share your drawing with us."
I gulp. There's dead silence for a long moment as I desperately skim my drawing, searching for courage anywhere. I need something to get me through this. One of my milestones eventually catches my eye, and I feel my shoulders loosen as I realize that this is hardly any different from acting. Isn't that what I love most? Performing a little? Yeah, the stakes might be higher, but I've performed under pressure before. I'm no stranger to stressful situations.
"So," I say, getting to my feet and turning my paper around for everyone to see. "This is my river. Yeah, it sucks. Don't laugh. I'm pretty obviously not an art person, and Brandon, I see you cracking a smile, and you'd better quit it, because I actually tried really hard, and yours was worse. Anyways."
I clear my throat. "Probably one of the biggest parts of my life was when I was born, since, you know, I'm kind of a big deal in my life. Apparently the doctors said I was the biggest-headed baby they'd ever seen, and that's physically, so don't be a bitch about it, okay? My mom and dad still joke about it a lot, but it's all good. They're very supportive otherwise..."
I break off. Rosalie's staring at me, eyebrows raised. I don't know if it's just the way she looks so deeply into everyone's eyes, but I get the feeling she already knows all my secrets. Maybe even things I don't know about myself. It's a little creepy. Trying to shake her off, I continue with my lie, this time making a point to avoid her gaze.
"Mom's a professional organizer, and Dad manages a restaurant. We've always lived pretty comfortably since my granddad is rich. That's why I got to come here. Back home in Michigan, though, I went to this really gross public school all through middle school. It was a pretty terrible experience. People were bullies…"
As I work my way through my improvisation, I watch as people's faces fall into frowns, pity. No one ever doubts an embarrassing or self-deprecating story. Maybe it's not fair to be playing with people's emotions, but that's just a side effect to protecting myself. This guilt doesn't even compare to what I'd feel if I ever came out with the truth.
At least as I transition into talking about my time at Haversmith, I can be fully honest. People know what I've been involved in at school, so there's nothing I need to hide. I share my experiences in the theatre program, especially when I earned a top role in our production of Much Ado About Nothing in only my third week being here. My river goes all the way up to the top of the page for my sophomore year, since that was one of the most awesome productions I've ever been a part of.
"Then junior year," I continue, "we go down a bit. Obviously junior year messed all of us up, though luckily for me it didn't have anything to do with friendships or my family, but more just the stress of school and colleges and everything. I don't want to go into it too much, since it's not really that interesting. Senior year has been way more exciting, as you can see here. Our fall musical was absolutely amazing- props if anyone went and saw it- especially getting to be the lead actor. But a more important event happened this December." I break out into a grin. "I was accepted early into my dream school on an acting scholarship. Considering that's all I've devoted myself to ever since I started high school… It's such a blessing. It's a dream come true."
Acting has always been my passion. The fact that I get to pursue it in college- the fact that acting is the whole reason I can afford college- is so cool. Especially with all that drama about the tuition at Haversmith this year. My foster parents and I scraped together everything we could and just barely came up with enough for me to finish my senior year. But that's not worth worrying about anymore. I have too much to look forward to in this new big step in my life.
It means I'm finally growing up.
"Anyways..." I shift from one foot to the other. "I don't know how interesting that was for anyone, but I'm happy with where life's taken me. Even though… even though there have been some lows in my life… I'm happy with it. I'm happy with what I've experienced at Haversmith, and I can't wait for the future."
I sit. Brandon, Harper, and Nico clap politely. It feels like I've just completed a long school presentation, not a lecture about my life. And instead of being graded, I'm being personally judged on who I am.
As Harper eventually, with some argument, submits to speaking, the smile slips from my lips. Lying tastes slimy in my mouth. Although it's not as disgusting as I feel about the truth. There's no acceptable way to relate my foster history, with all its stress and abuse, without looking like a pity case. Or a monster.
No one deserves to know me like that. Especially Trina. Especially four other people who may or may not have been entirely honest about their histories, either. Why would they? For me, there's nothing to gain from telling the truth. It wouldn't draw us together. It would isolate me.
I don't want word of my abuse getting out. I don't want to change people's perceptions of me, and for some horrible, abused person to be their last impression of me. That's not who I am. It's a part of my past, but it doesn't define me. I refuse to let it.
As nice as this mountain trip seemed earlier, I wish I'd stayed home today. I don't like showing myself to anyone. More than that, I don't like coming face-to-face with myself.
Blake Chapman.
New York City, New York.
I'm really trying here. Trying to sit and be patient and listen to Mariana talk about all her wonderful blessings in life. It's not her fault I'm anxious to get outside, but I can't help wishing she'd end her speech already. I need to go run.
I've been tapping my foot ever since I sat down. The problem with being the first to go is that I've had to sit through everyone else's speeches, with no nerves to make the time pass quicker. Not everything has been too boring, luckily. Dane talked about his confidence issues last year, and following his lead, Doran opened up about how he used to be bullied a lot. I'm grateful they trusted us with parts of their hearts. Gabrielle, of course, was the complete opposite, refusing to speak for ten minutes until Milo literally had to threaten her with making her speak in front of all thirty of us. Even then, she just used her time to rant about her family and the school, which, I won't lie, was pretty funny. Still, I'm ready to wrap things up. When I'm tired of something, I drop it and move on. It's just how I'm wired.
"And so, sophomore year," Mariana is saying. I check the clock; it's frozen, but I'd estimate that she's been speaking for at least fifteen minutes and she hasn't even gotten halfway through high school. "I had a really amazing experience when I got to travel all the way to South Africa and stay with my great-aunt there for two weeks, and it was just such an incredible cultural experience..."
"Okay, okay, we get it," Milo says, standing. "Unless you have anything... meaningful... to add, we can probably wrap this up."
"Are you saying that my life isn't important?"
"Yes. Pretty much."
She scoffs. "I barely even got to say anything. What if I had a huge death in my family that completely changed my whole outlook on life?"
"If it was that important to you, you would have cried about it already. We're going to move on." Milo sits back down and checks his phone. "Looks like nearly everyone else is already done, so we can start heading outside..."
"Wait a second," I say. "How do you have service here? All our phones cut out when we were driving up."
"I'm a leader. I get priority." Whatever that means. He scrolls for a few minutes, brow creased. "Oh, wonderful..."
"What is it?" I ask. "Did something happen again?" Ever since Harper got hurt, all the counselors have been more on edge. Not that Milo wasn't a bit of a prick before.
"Worse." He groans. "Anabel made a change in plans. You're going to be playing... capture the flag."
"YES!" I leap up. Everyone stares. "What? It's a classic."
"We're group Three, which means we're to meet on the north side of camp along with groups One and Four. Further instructions will be given upon arrival," he reads. "Grab your dumb drawings on the way out, I don't want to deal with your shit."
I'm the first one out the door, flying past the cabins until I realize I have no way of knowing which way I'm supposed to be going. "Hey, Shane!" I call out to the first person I see, also making his way across the camp. "Which way's the north side of camp?"
"It's to the north."
"Alright, smartass." I catch up to him quickly. "What group are you, man? Maybe we're together."
"Four. I'm supposed to be over there too."
"Oh, nice! Are you excited to play?"
He shrugs, sighing. "Not really. I'd really just rather be home right now."
"Really? But this place is so cool."
"But at what cost? We're on a schedule all day. We have no freedom. We should be in the city right now." Suddenly he stops me next to one of the cabins and lowers his voice. "Hey, listen. I know we're not best friends or anything, but I feel like I can trust you. Can't I?"
"Of course," I say. "What do you need?"
"Look, I really, really would rather be home right now. And I know they all told us that no one was going home, but... I think if something serious enough happened... they'd want me gone."
People are giving us sideways looks as they go by. I wait for them to pass before responding. "Are you going to hurt someone?"
"No! No. Just cause some healthy trouble, you know. Thing is, I need someone to help me out- not really do anything, but just watch my back."
I weigh the possibilities. Saying no would probably be the safer option. I wouldn't get in trouble, wouldn't hurt my reputation. But then again, who am I to back away from a little risk?
"I mean, you'd better be doing something big. I don't want to risk my skin for some pussy little prank."
"Don't worry. I'm not that lame." He grins. "Find me back here before dinner. We're going to need to strike when everyone else is busy."
Eventually, we make it to the right place. Our groups are standing together, chatting as they wait for the game to start. As soon as I'm sure everyone has found our side, I call everyone together.
"Alright. Ladies. Gentlemen." I nod to their respective sides of the huddle. "We've got a big game today. We've been training all season for this one. Now, we know they're big. They're strong. And they're hungry. They want this bad. But you know what we are? We're tougher than them. We're stronger. We're hungrier. So let's show them what we came for. Let's show them who we are!"
Chanel, Quincy and Wes start hooting. Everyone else just looks confused.
"Were we supposed to be preparing for this?" asks Freya. "Because I honestly didn't know this was happening until, like, five minutes ago."
Everyone laughs. "No, Freya," I say. "I was exaggerating. Now, fellow Haversmith friends, clearly this is just a pickup game. But as we've seen today, pickup games may be just as intense as the real deal." Chanel and Gabrielle glare at each other, but Quincy keeps Gabrielle back. "I want you all to channel everything you've got into this game. Because I don't know about you guys, but I want to win."
"I don't really care," says Doran. "As long as I don't get my shirt that sweaty. It was expensive."
"Ohhh, wait," Freya says. "You were just pretending it was like a big football game or something. I get it now." She laughs, and several people join in. "Yeah, anyways. Keep talking."
"Winning's good and all," says Gwen, "but honestly, who gives? Like, what's the point?"
"The point? The point?" I grab my hair with my fingers, ready to pull it out. "The point is to win! The point is to establish our dominance over everyone else because we're better than them! The point-"
"Losers have kitchen duty tonight," drawls Baptiste as he comes to stand behind our group. "Oh, sorry, Chapman. Were you having a moment?"
Baptiste's method of motivation is much more effective. Everyone snaps to attention.
"Here's your flag," he says, pressing it into my palm. "You all are free to hide it anywhere between here and the lodge, but make sure you protect it well. Everyone-" He stops. "No, I'm not going to explain how to play, because if you don't know how to play this game by now, then you shouldn't be graduating. Two-hand touch for captures. Don't get hurt. Don't fight anyone, please... And, you'd all better win, because the six of us Bene- the six of us counselors agreed that whatever punishments you all get, we have to act on too. And I'm too manly to be doing dishes."
I reach over and give the flag to Chanel. "You and Gwen, go hide this somewhere. I trust you two to be good defenders. Actually, Quincy, you're a good call too. Just... try not to act like anyone coming at you is an opposing football player, okay?" I cringe, remembering the time he nearly snapped that Northridge player's neck. Kid had to be driven off in an ambulance. "And Juliet, you go with them and see where they hide the flag, then come back and tell everyone else so we're all on the same page."
She, Gwen, Quincy, and Chanel run off. That leaves my entire group, plus Freya, Shane, Giles, Monica, Wes, and Seraphina. They look to me expectantly.
"Alright. The rest of you. You all are my speedsters and my utilitarians. The ones who are going to outhustle the other team and find their damn flag, leading us to victory. We'll need a few to stay back and protect this side of camp, too. Anyone want to volunteer?"
"Me," says Dane. "I'm not that fast."
"Me neither." Doran steps forward.
"I want to run," says Mariana. "Can I run?"
"In wedges?" Wes frowns.
"It looks like fun," she just giggles.
"Of course," I say. "I'm not trying to boss anyone around. Everyone else, just choose whatever you want to do. And feel free to switch at any time, but just communicate to make sure we always have enough defenders."
In hearing some of the arguing going on at the other end of the field, I can tell that we're the more organized group. I can't help but attribute much of that to my own leadership. I know it's just a game, but it never hurts to be prepared, right?
When Juliet returns, she also volunteers to stay back and defend our side. As soon as everyone knows where our flag is hidden behind one of the nearby buildings, we break off. I head out towards the boundary line, which is just a long rope raid across the circled gravel road in front of the lodge. Not everything can be a perfect gridiron, I guess.
"Ready to get crushed, Chapman?" Trina sneers from across the road.
"You wish, Trina. You wish."
"On the count of three!" Zara announces, stepping into the center. "One. Two. Three!"
Freya Pritchard.
Fairbanks, Alaska.
Everything's happening so fast. It feels like everyone around me knows what they're supposed to be doing, and I'm a few steps behind. I don't get this game. I mean, I've played it before, and I know the rules and all, but I don't get the strategy. And I've always been confused about why sometimes, you can be on the other team's side and sometimes you can't. And what are all those rules about jail again? I'd rather not think too much about it.
Then, there's the whole sports part of it. I don't do sports. I always get really sweaty and gross, which I hate. Add the dirt factor, since we're outside, and it's pretty much the opposite of my dream activity. Instead of running, I find a nice soft patch of flowers, and sit.
This day has just been one twist after another. I woke up thinking I'd be getting my hair and nails done, maybe buying some dresses or something nice. Instead, I'm in the forest. I don't hate it, though. I thought I would, but it's really pretty, and I like mostly everyone here. Jeremiah's here, too, but he's not in my group, sadly. I wonder where he is. He's probably not that into the game, like me. That's what's so great about him. He gets me.
People are shouting as they run around the cabins, chasing each other. I smile. It's nice, but not for me. Nice to watch, though, while I pick flowers. I have a good daisy chain weaved in my hands when Jeremiah finds me.
"What are you doing over here?" I ask, patting the grass next to me for him to sit. "Someone's going to tag you."
"I'm tired of this game," he says. I smile. I knew he would be. "Besides, if someone wanted to tag me, they would have already."
"I could still tag you."
"You could. But if you do, then I have to go to jail, which is all the way over there."
I throw my hands behind me. "I won't tag you. Promise."
"And I promise I won't expose you for fraternizing with the enemy." He grins, then rolls onto his stomach to watch the game going on. "So tell me about your day. Starting with after lunch. Did anything crazy happen in your groups?"
"No, it was so boring! We had to make a fire and they didn't even tell us how to do it. Even Dane couldn't figure it out. Me and Monica just sat there talking about how dumb it was that we were just sitting on the ground for half an hour. The other group's leader guy, Milo, he was really rude to them, but he didn't really talk to me too much. Giselle's our leader, she's really nice and I like her, but she doesn't really know that much about anything. I don't know how she got to work here. She's kind of like me," I laugh. "And then we were going to climb on this big wall, but they wouldn't let anyone, cause apparently someone got hurt in the other group, so we all had to do the ropes thing, and it was really hard..."
Jeremiah always smiles when I talk. He's such a good listener. Sometimes he doesn't hear everything I say, but that's okay. I talk a lot, and I'm happy he likes to hear me talk. I talk for the both of us, and it works out.
We talk for a long time, and hardly anyone notices or seems that worried about us, which is a good thing. Eventually, back on the field, Brandon starts yelling at Chanel on our team. "Hey! It stinks over here! Did someone rip something? Oh, no, it's just Chanel's pants!"
"Hey! It stinks over here, too! Oh, it's just your whole team. Fight me when you've got teammates to back you up!"
"What? My whole team-" He turns around. "Oh. Everyone's in jail. Hey, wait, Jeremiah's still in this thing!" He points to us, and everyone's heads swivel our way.
"Shoot. We'll talk later," Jeremiah says, scrambling to his feet and taking off towards his own side, as Juliet and Doran come barreling after him.
"Bye, J!"
I look around. Now it's just me on the ground. I still don't want to play, even if Jeremiah has to. Luckily, someone else on my team is in the same boat. Seraphina's standing in the back of our side, looking a little lost. "Seraphina!" I call out. "Are you playing?"
She just shrugs. "Come sit," I say, beckoning her over. Hesitantly, she sits down next to me. "What are you doing? You looked all sad over there."
"No," she says. "I'm just not really that good at this game."
"Me neither! It's way more fun to make flower crowns. Here, look at this one I just made."
She nods. "It's pretty."
"Yeah, do you want one? I can make one for you super fast. Here." I get to work.
"It's fine, you don't have to do that..."
"Well, I want to. You're super nice and sweet, you deserve a little something pretty. You know, why don't we ever talk at school? We used to have classes together."
Seraphina blushes. "Thanks. I don't know. I don't really talk to that many people."
"Well, don't be shy. I'm, like, the least scariest person ever."
"This entire group is just overwhelming. I don't really know anyone. I can't help it."
"You know me, sort of. And I can introduce you to Jeremiah and everyone else at dinner! Hey, do you want to sit with us? Everyone's super nice, I promise."
"Oh... I don't know." She looks at her hands, twisting a flower stem in her fingers. "You don't have to do that."
"Well, I want to. No one should be lonely on a field trip like this."
She doesn't say anything for a while, just watches the game. I'm about to ask if she maybe didn't hear me or something when she finally says, "Okay. That sounds really nice. Thank you."
"Don't mention it," I say.
On the field, there's an uproar. Suddenly, four members of my team emerge out of the trees, hoisting Blake on their shoulders. It's like something crazy out of a movie. He's waving the other team's flag in the air and pumping his fist up and down, while Wes is chanting, "We won! We won! No kitchen duty for us, you scrubs!"
"Congratulations to us," Seraphina says. "I think we just won."
"It's all because of us."
When she looks at me, she finally smiles. "Yeah. We're pretty great, aren't we?"
"The best," I say. "Come on. Let's go get some food."
Alexander Grim.
Los Angeles, California.
I've never been so exhausted in my life. I mean, I know what it's like to run on two or three hours of sleep— that's not the problem this time. I'm still hungover, though, and after running as much as I did in this last game, my head is killing me.
I didn't have to foresight to keep a lighter or cigarettes on me. After we went through all our stations and came back, I poured everything out of my bag in my cabin. Nothing. No pills, no cigarettes, no medication. After Jackson and Giles dropped their things off and left, I went through those, too. Still nothing. By that point, I was panicking. I'm not used to going so long without a drug to calm me down. I'm doing my best not to look like I feel, which is to say, terrible.
"Hey, Yu," I say nonchalantly to the boy walking on my left. After finishing the game a few minutes ago, we're heading down to the dining hall. "Do you have anything on you right now?"
"Yes...? Oh. No. My bag got raided. Everything I had is gone, pretty much."
"Everyone's is gone..." I try not to look too panicked, though my stomach drops. I've got to get my hands on something, or I don't know what's going to happen. "Gerard thinks the leaders took everyone's drugs for themselves."
"I'm not surprised. They're all sketch as hell. Sawyer creeps me out, man."
"Oh, he's harmless. All talk," Gwen says from Yu's other side, freeing her bright pink hair from its ponytail. "I mean, he signed up to work with kids, didn't he? I bet he has a secret soft side. Maybe he likes dogs."
"Right," I say, rolling my eyes. "When he isn't sacrificing babies and summoning the devil, I'm sure he makes loads of time for animals."
"I was joking, you know. He seems awful. Is he really?"
"Oh, he's not as bad as you think," I say, shoving open the double doors. They stick, so I have to throw my shoulder into them to get them to budge. "I mean, he probably has violent tendencies or anger issues, but other than that, he's kind of a badass."
Inside, an average dinner awaits. A short table at the end of the room holds a couple of plastic bowls of Asian salad, two platters of some boring chicken, and more fruit. Nothing looks good to me. I'm sure it tastes better than the crap they feed us at school, but I'm really not hungry. Still, to avoid unwanted questions, I scoop a bit of salad onto my plate and pick one of the wings off the platter, then fill my water cup to the top.
Yuto and Gwen are deep in another discussion by the time I get to our table. I don't have anything to add to Gwen's political discourse- that's more my sister Rachel's domain than mine. She's the Poli Sci major and the smart one in the family. As I listen, I try to swallow some of the salad, but it doesn't really taste like anything.
Looking at them hurts. I know they're not a perfect couple by any means. Yuto hardly talks about Gwen if she's not with us, and they're not exclusive, but to me, that kind of relationship is way better than none. Whether they're talking or bickering, watching them together just reminds me of how powerless I am. I'm doing everything right and it still all went wrong with the girl I love.
It's so stuffy in here. I need space. Ironic that I'd find myself surrounded by open land, and the only thing I want more than a smoke is some space to breathe. And it doesn't matter what I fill my lungs with at this point. I'd definitely kill for a cigarette, but I could use a run around the lake, too. Just to get my heart beating for a good cause, and quell the knot in my chest that's bordering on suffocating me.
This is stupid. I'm not usually so self-deprecating, but without my usual high, I can't help negative thoughts from creeping back in. You're better than this. Everyone knows it. Quit feeling sorry for yourself.
"Anyone seen Shane?" Gwen asks, as I take a long drink of water.
"He's probably busy setting something on fire," shrugs Yuto.
"That's classic."
"Yet when I do it, it's 'disrespectful' and 'childish'."
"Oh, you're kidding me. That was entirely different. That was Simone's hair, you fucking-"
And they're off. The arguing gets old really fast nowadays. "Guys, cut it out," I say. They stop and look at me quizzically. "Seriously. No one wants to hear it. Can't you just find one thing not to bitch about?"
I wouldn't be so bitter if Audrey weren't sitting right behind them. I have almost an unobstructed view of her, and as I risk a glance, she tosses her hair and pouts. It's an honest pout, not the type girls like Alaina or Simone do when they're looking for attention. No, Audrey is genuinely just miffed, of course. She probably just hates being off her phone. I want to laugh at how predictable she is. She must hate this place even more than I do, and that's saying something.
That'd make a good conversation starter. She wouldn't mind a chance to complain.
Just not to me. No. She hates me. And I don't know why.
You know what? I'm done getting heartsick over her. She's not worth it. I deserve someone who respects me, who doesn't put me down and make me feel so worthless. I deserve better than a girl who's going to let me take her to the prom, then dump me right there for someone better. There's no one in this place who can compete with me. Why can't she just see it?
"Dude, are you feeling okay?" Gwen asks me, concerned. "You look a little pale."
"Of course, I'm pale. You don't see many healthy-looking guys named Grim, do you?"
As she rolls her eyes, I'm spared from actually answering her question by another one of the leaders, who calls out over the chatter of the other students. "Can you all hear me? Please, settle down for just a moment."
"Who is that?" Gwen whispers. Of course, neither of us have the answer. Other than the six group leaders, who we've had ample time to talk to and talk about, the remaining counselors are nameless and insignificant.
The man is dressed strangely. I don't mean that he's wearing women's clothes or horribly clashing designs, but his plaid blazer and golden tie, especially on such a warm day, seem out of place. I don't recognize him from this morning; he must have been shadowed in one of the corners while I was too dizzy to look past the first few women I saw. Now, he stands alone in the front of the room, and clears his throat as the room settles into murmurs.
"Right, then. Thank you. I have two quick announcements. First of all, if anyone is looking to speak to Anabel- although I doubt anyone ever is-" He peers nervously at the other leaders leaning against the wall, though they just shrug in response. "She will be away for the evening, simply checking in on her responsibilities back at the school. If you have any questions, please come see one of us. Now, following dinner, we will be heading up to the rec room for some fun and relaxation before we all meet back in the cabins. Groups Two, Five, and Six will stay here for cleanup, as well as the two students who were spoken to earlier, but the rest of you are free to go once you're all cleared up here. That will be all."
"Ouch. Sucks to be you," Gwen says to Yuto and me, as the man disappears into the back kitchens.
"Like hell I'm doing dishes," Yu scoffs. "Grim, you don't mind taking over for both of us, do you? Fifteen people is way too many to be cleaning a kitchen."
He's gone before I can agree or disagree. Gwen gives me an apologetic smile as she rushes to catch up with him.
Reluctantly, I stack our trays and plates and go to scrape the remaining morsels into the trash. As I shake my head over Gwen and Yuto, I bump into someone, knocking my silverware to the floor with a metallic clatter. "Oh, sorry," I say. When I look up, I freeze.
"Sorry. Should have looked where I was going," Audrey frowns.
"Probably." I stoop to pick up the forks and knives from the floor. "Not like this is the first time you've caused a big unnecessary scene."
She sighs. "Alex, that's not-"
"No. Forget it," I say.
I head towards the far trash bins instead, furiously flinging the salad and chicken scraps into the compost tray. I said I was done with her. And I am. I don't need to go through this again. I don't want her to look at me ever again.
Hasn't she done enough?
Song: I Blame Myself by Sky Ferreira.
This chapter feels way different from the last few. I'm still trying to find my voice.
Also, this chapter officially puts this story over the chapter count for Darkest Desires! Maybe that doesn't mean that much since its last chapter was just a summary (and I've been over the word count since chapter 1) but I thought it was cool :)
Thanks again for reading. Drop a review if you like and I'll see you next chapter!