I promised myself this would be shorter. It's not. Also, Brandon's POV is about twice as long as everyone else's, which I can't help because it pains me to cut any of it.

If we go down, then we go down together
We'll get away with everything, let's show them we are better

Trina Kellington.
Barnard, Vermont.

"Oh, give me that," I say, ripping the ceramic plate roughly from Jeremiah's worthless hands. "You might as well just take a nap and wait for this to dry on its own."

"I'm sorry. I wanted to be careful with it."

"Careful isn't going to get us out of dish duty any faster. So keep up!"

I turn back to the mess of dishes still left for us along the counters. Even with tasks divided among us (and rather efficiently, not to toot my own horn or anything), I've suffered through nearly half an hour of this exhausting work. And the idiocy of those around me is definitely not helping. But with two of the counselors barring the only exit, I've been forced to stay put.

You know what? I deserve a break. So I step back to survey the scene, but something's off. It's been a little… too civil. I go down the line, trying to decide what's different. Gerard, Jackson, Nico, and Eimer are at the center island, drying and stacking bowls. Simone and Brandon are supposed to be washing glasses, but judging by the amount of foam in Brandon's hair, that's not really happening. I try not to vomit at the sight of them together. Alex, Madison, and Harper are working in front of the window, while Jeremiah and Griffin are at the nearest sink, where I was. That leaves Chanel, Audrey, and Alaina at the far end.

That's only 15. I know because when I set this up, we had a perfect sixteen. I swear I'm not OCD, but we had a system going. So who screwed it up?

"Someone's gone," I say to no one in particular, knowing someone nearby will hear and wimp into telling me.

"Oh, Gabrielle," Griffin says. "I saw her go in the back a few minutes ago…"

"That lazy, cheating-" I stomp into the back room to chew her out, but she's disappeared. It's just a lot of untidy shelves and scattered dishware. I'm ready to scream at Griffin for lying to me when I realize how much cooler it is in here compared to the stuffy, humid kitchen. Looking up only confirms my suspicions; a lone window is open halfway, just wide enough for the girl's narrow frame to fit through. She must have scaled the closest shelf, and relatively quickly, too, or one of us would have seen her escape.

There's no room for awe or laughter. Immediately my thoughts go straight to fury. Hatred. It's just like her to take the easy way out, as selfish and rebellious as she is.

And showing me up, too! When we're finished with this, people will be talking about her genius escape, not commending me on my brilliant leadership and organizational skills, especially among the most unruly, self-centered people I've ever known. All my earlier pride at putting Jeremiah in his place has seeped out of my stomach and left a gaping emptiness. I can feel my arms trembling.

No. I won't let her win so easily. Taking a second to compose myself and stretch my mouth into a rare, sugary smile, I turn out and head straight to the man and woman guarding the door.

"Gabrielle's gone," I say matter-of-factly. "Thought you should know."

The man, slightly taller than my 5'6" frame but with similar thick brown hair, widens his eyes. But it's his tall, narrow-faced counterpart who speaks up. "We've been here the whole time. There's no way anyone could have gotten out."

"Actually, there's a decent-sized window in the storage room that she may have gotten up to," I shrug.

I watch smugly as the woman scans the room, but among the glove- and apron-clad students, she doesn't find a girl with orange hair to match hers. "Aristotle," she orders. "Check the back."

"Right away."

He ducks his head and goes off. "That was clever of you to catch," says the woman, who I notice has an awfully privileged air about her to be in such a primitive place. I immediately connect with her. "Trina, isn't it?"

"Yes." It's such a relief to speak to someone new as well as worth my company. She doesn't head any of the student groups, but I wish she did. She'd be so much better than that nasty Rosalie.

"You're very assertive. Self-assured," she continues. "I like that."

Before I can gush out a stream of thank-yous, Aristotle has come hurrying back in. "Yes, Aristotle?"

"No one's back there, dear." He turns to me. "You were right."

I try to suppress a grin.

"Well, we'll have to take care of that," the woman- his girlfriend? Wife?- states. "You stay here and keep an eye on these ones so no one else gets any ideas. I'll call Gio… see if we can't track her down." As she speaks, her cheeks flush pink with apparent enthusiasm, like there's nothing she'd rather do. "Thank you, Trina. I appreciate your concern."

"Wait!" Before she goes, I have to stop her. "What can I call you?"

For a terrifying second, I'm worried she won't answer me, or laugh in my face. Instead, after an apparent moment of contemplation, she says, "Davina. I'll be seeing you, Trina." With that, she turns and strides out.

As the door swings shut behind her, I try to determine what's so intriguing about her. She's pretty, yes, but I'm not attracted to her like that. After a few moments, it comes to me. It's her confidence, and the way she demands respect. Which is what I've always been striving for.

Satisfied, I return to scrubbing plates. Seriously, is there no decent dishwasher in this place? Or better yet, where are the maids? I'm trying to legitimately think of the last time I was forced to wash a dish by hand- though lacking in many departments, my parents did have the sense to hire others to do our dirty work- when I realize someone's been staring me down for the last few minutes. When I turn, Alaina only narrows her eyes further, crinkling her nose.

"Cheer up," I say. "It's not like you're the only one who has to do chores around here."

"Would it really have killed you to keep quiet about Gabrielle?"

"Are you really going to stick up for her? She doesn't get to be the only one of us who gets out of things."

"No one likes a snitch, Trina."

I want to protest that it's unfair that she gets to get off scot-free with the rest of us toiling and sweating. But Alaina has a point: no one likes a tattler. I know that all too well, and when am I not the most conscientious person when it comes to how people perceive me?

I swallow the disgust bubbling in my throat and try to focus on the task in front of me. If there's one thing I don't need right now, it's to start turning on myself again. I've got plenty of people wanting to be my worst enemy; I don't need myself to get in line.

June 7th. Just wait until June 7th. It's my mantra; it grounds me. If I can make it until June 7th, I'll have graduated and can be free to act and feel however I want. Until then, this is my rock. It's the reminder that has always kept me from completely falling apart.

Juliet Maudsley.
Peoria, Illinois.

It's refreshingly quiet in the games room, though there's a pretty intense game of poker going on at the other end of the room that I'm sure would be fun to get in on. I've never played, though, and both Mariana and Monica say they just want a quiet night, though Mariana keeps looking longingly at the rowdy table. With all the excitement of today, a mellow night sounds fine to me.

As we've sat here and talked, the skies outside have faded from blue to lavender, signifying that our first day is drawing to a close. I'm still not really sure what to make of things. One one hand, I've never gone to a summer camp before, and the whole idea of close groups and new roommates and exploring the mountains seems like fun. On the other hand… I really miss Ragnarok Online.

This game is the definition of a guilty pleasure. There's the social aspect that keeps me playing every evening before bed- I've made amazing friends from across the world through Ragnarok Online- but there's also something satisfying about defeating monsters and tough bosses or questing productively. I wish I could share it with my friends at school, because it's really a fun game. Unfortunately, doing this would almost definitely isolate me from my friends here. Haversmith students can be judgy, and they don't like quirks, they like conformity; I'd be bullied for showing that I had a different interest than everyone else. It's safer to keep it to myself, though I wish I could open up. People don't know what they're missing.

With no service and no laptop, I'm at a loss as to how to entertain myself, even though we have the whole room at our disposal. Where Mariana's acting distracted, Monica just looks fed up and rolls her eyes at any of Mariana's comments, and the conversation's dying anyway. I suggest we go find something to do.

The other two girls follow me across the room to the far wall, where a massive floor-to-ceiling shelf is stocked with everything from games to videos to old books. As we pass the cards table, the boys there erupt into loud arguing. Mariana just scoffs and says, "Who has the energy for this?"

"Just think about how much crazier it'd be with all the rest of them here," I say, neglecting to comment on how she's been acting like she'd rather be sitting there than with us for the last twenty minutes. Seriously, though, Quincy might get heated, but the true rowdiest kids would have to be Simone, Shane, Brandon, and Yuto. Funny, though. Shane was on our team for the game earlier, but I haven't seen him since. Or Blake. Gwen and Yuto were here, but they're gone too. The supervising counselors, apparently, haven't been paying much attention. Or perhaps we're allowed to roam a little more, since this isn't exactly a scheduled activity.

Monica just nods, agreeing with my point. "I hope they have kitchen duty for this whole stinkin' trip."

We scan the assortment of old, beat-up books and board games. The classics: Clue, Monopoly, and Sorry, among others. Decks upon decks of cards for any occasion. Plus full volumes of every dusty old book I was every assigned to read in English Lit and never really got around to (Sparknotes, you saved my life). There's something cute and quaint about the setup, a charm despite- or perhaps because of- all the folded edges and faded labels. Mariana may wrinkle her nose at the odor, but I don't mind it. I feel a sort of happy nostalgia, like I'm young again. Then, of course, the immensity of graduation being in a few days comes roaring back. I'm not afraid of the future, but I'm happy with myself and my place in life, and I'd like to hold onto it as long as I can.

Personal bias aside, nothing really piques our interest. Monica's made it clear that she has little patience for Mariana, so I settle quickly on one of the decks of cards. By the time we realize that three of the queens are missing and two cards have been ripped clean in half, we're all back at the table, and no one cares enough to sort through another pack.

"There's got to be something better than cards," I say.

"There's a patio out back," Monica suggests. "We could look around a bit."

It's good to get fresh air, even if it's freezing on the deck. We press together against the railing and look out across the lake. We've gone out just in time to watch the last colors of a purple sunset glinting off the surface, and we're silent for a while, soaking it in.

I wish I had my phone to capture a photo of it. With the right filters and a cute caption it'd look great on my Instagram feed, which I go to great lengths to make pretty. But as I consider this, it crosses my mind that maybe it's better to be free from my phone for a few days. That unquenchable itch to post and keep my identity tied to "acceptable" things can be frustrating, and the good in this is that I won't have to worry about that while we're here.

In a few minutes, the colors are gone. Mariana, dressed the lightest of all of us in a thin sundress, complains of cold and goes back inside. Then it's just Monica and me, silently watching the night fall.

"People take this for granted," she says, after a pause. "I mean, all of this. Everyone's got their important little lives that they have to run back to as fast as possible, but you have to understand that there's more to living than that. Especially when you're so busy, you have to slow down and go back to the basics. Everything's so much simpler in the woods."

"I like that." People always act like Monica's weird for caring about things like the environment, but I realize how much I respect her for it. She's passionate, and she doesn't worry about what any of us think about it. I could learn from her. "I think I needed this."

"Everyone does. They just don't realize it."

There's a loud thud from inside the building, then a sudden uproar of shouting and laughing. From the glow of the windows, I can see Monica's sharp grimace; we both know what that means. "Sounds like the others are back. There goes my sanity."

I smile apologetically, knowing it's the best I can do. "Well, it was nice while it lasted."

Jackson Stroud.
Sands Point, New York.

By the time we're allowed to stop washing dishes, it's completely dark out. I struggle to find my footing and cringe at the dirt that must be pressing into my shoes. A suit and tie is optimal for looking mature and presentable either at school or in town. But in the mountains, I'll admit I'm a little overdressed.

I've just collapsed into a cushioned but weathered chair in the warm game room when Wes and Dane drop into matching chairs around me. "We need to talk," says Wes.

"We really don't," Dane pushes, but Wes shrugs him off.

"It's important. Jackson?"

I keep an unreadable profile, though I can't help my mind from turning straight to Wilma. We've done our best to keep things private, but who knows, in a place like this? "Go ahead…"

"This retreat doesn't make any sense."

I resist the urge to blow out a breath. This is a topic I can handle. "Explain."

"First off, games? Capture the flag? And why are we supposed to talk about ourselves like we're all friends? Everything's so pointless."

"What about the outdoor lessons?"

"Oh, you mean when they made us climb on ropes and told us about all the birds in the area?"

"Fire building is practical."

"Except none of the instructors had any clue how to do it."

I'm silent, trying to consider his point. What he's insinuating by complaining about our activities today. He has a point about the fire station, it was impossible, and the teachers were of no use to us. That's a serious pet peeve of mine. While I have no problem being the smartest in the room, when teachers don't know what they're talking about, that's when I lose respect.

"But maybe it's just supposed to be fun," insists Dane. "Think about that."

I meet Wes' doubtful expression, and understand. "You don't think it's plausible, do you?"

"Business-wise, it's not."

"I agree. And hear me out, Dane, because I think you'll see it makes sense. Room for eighty kids, if you count the other bus, then however many teachers, food for three days, clothes, laundry, power… it all adds up. You know that."

"It's a private school. There's always extra money," Dane frowns.

"Yeah, but we're going down," Wes points out. "Who hasn't heard the rumors?"

"And think about all the budget cuts this year," I press. "They try to keep that secret, but to smart kids like us…"

"And that's another thing!" Wes looks ready to leap off his chair. "Why is everything so secret? Why did none of the teachers know?"

This is much closer to what I'm built for. I thrive on debate, get pleasure from being able to speak intelligently about any topic, business most of all. Unlike that lowly work of washing dishes. A boy like me has always had the means to make others do it for him, and I don't expect that to change. With the future I have in front of me, a Columbia education on the horizon and the certainty that I'll be heading my own business by the time I'm twenty-five, I'm only climbing higher. It's a lofty goal, but if anyone can accomplish it, I can. And that's not just me being arrogant. All my teachers say it, Wilma most of all.

I feel a blush threatening to rise into my cheeks at the thought of her. Unfortunately, she didn't make it out here, just some administrative staff I've somehow never met, two of my sophomore year teachers, and Anabel, of course. But back to Wesley's point, it's remarkable that an event of this magnitude was all kept under wraps. Especially if Wilma knew. No, she would have told me. We're extremely open with one another. Then again, as far as I know, that's not common knowledge, and as special as what we have is, obviously I can't talk about it.

"I'll give them props," I say. "They did a good job surprising us. Not sure it makes a lot of logical sense, though."

The other side of the argument, of course, is that being out of classes is going to hurt us academically. I know, I know it's the last week of school, but there are some finals, end-of-year assignments, and other last-minute work to round out our transcripts. This can make or break some people's college acceptances. I'm not too worried about myself- I've got straight A's across the board, of course, but I want to make sure there are no complications with any paperwork. I've done as much as I can to ensure a bright future, including a little… extra work. But being accepted to an Ivy is the dream, and I don't intend to have anything ruin it for me now.

"Maybe not…" Dane admits. "But maybe it doesn't need to. What's wrong with having a few days to camp and relax?"

The answer: nothing, really. But something still seems off.

Unsettled, I agree to a game of cards with the other two boys. In between turns, I watch the men and women around the room. Some are walking around supervising our activities. Others sit silently on the edges, or talk in low voices to each other. Finally, I stop one of them as he passes our table. He eyes us curiously through his thick-rimmed glasses, like he's surprised to see us here.

"I've got a few questions for you about what normally goes on around here, if you'll humor me."

When he responds, it's in a soft, uncertain voice. "In this room?" he frowns. "I'd think it would speak for itself."

"No, the campsite."

"Well, school groups come, mostly. Or so I've heard. I'm new, you see." New? He's got to be in his mid-fifties, at least. Perhaps he's had similar jobs before. I raise the question, but he shakes his head. "I've never taught. This is all very new to me. I enjoy it, of course, but it's taken me awhile to acclimate."

"What did you do before?"

It seems like an innocuous question, but his face darkens. "Research," he says, but he doesn't expand on the answer. "You know, while I'm flattered by your curiosity, it's probably best I keep moving. There are quite a few of you I'm supposed to keep an eye on." With that, he turns his back and heads toward a far table.

We all look at each other.

"I told you this was suspicious," I say.

"So what? You think the school stole money and hired some frauds to give us an outdoor education?"

"I don't know what they did. I just know it's all a little strange."

"You both are so paranoid," says Dane. "Come on, relax. Kick up your feet and stop trying to overanalyze everything."

But our conversation only raises more questions that I'm not sure anyone here can answer. Maybe we are overthinking it. But I have a pretty good sense for what feels right and what feels wrong, even if I don't always follow it. And something's up with this retreat. I know it.

Brandon Prescott.
San Francisco, California.

If only every teacher or tutor who's ever called me lazy or a loudmouth could see me now. Our entire table has fallen into a concentrated hush, and I've actually followed suit. Not that there's much of a choice, if I want to win this game. So rather than making pointed comments about either of the other remaining players, I focus on the cards as they slide from Blake into my left hand, then to the discard pile on Eimer's side.

"Save that six," Yuto whispers, his lips to my ear.

"Shush. You're distracting me." I take Blake's ace and swap it for my seven of clubs, leaving a pair of fives and aces in my right hand. "See? Two of each."

"Students." A deep, low voice by the far door penetrates our tight circle, but I don't look up to see who it belongs to. "Please finish your conversations and games. We will be heading back to shower and prepare for bed in the next few minutes."

"Not yet!" our table yells. There are only three of us left in the game, though the others have stayed to watch and mutter choice words about getting out. I'm not about to quit, not when I've spent so much time actually trying to win this thing. Blake's card passing accelerates, becomes more frantic. When I find one more five, I give up all sense of order and start tearing through the pile he's giving me. Looking for my one winning card.

By the time I can react to the glint in the corner of my eye, both Blake and Eimer are shouting like fools, spoons gripped in their fists. I lean back in my chair, shocked. "Eimer, you dirty cheater."

She smiles slyly, not denying it. I huff and push my chair out, but as she looks back towards Blake I can't help my gaze from drifting down to her chest. I'm almost certain I'm not the only one who's really seen what's underneath- with a body like that, she can have her choice. She's incredible. It takes a few minutes for Blake to get my attention and pull my cards out of my hand for the next round. Still thinking of Eimer, I don't even make a comment about how three of my cards spell out ASS.

After the final round ends with Blake lurching across the table for the single spoon at the center, claiming victory and getting nasty looks from everyone, we stand to head back. The clock above the exit suggests it's just past nine as we shuffle out into the cold, dark air. Because I have absolutely no clue where our cabin is, I end up just grabbing onto Blake's shoulders and having him guide me back to our little home. Gerard is already inside when Blake pulls open the door and lets me off, and looks like he's already sorted our things for us.

"Towels for all of us-" he points to our respective stacks along the single bed- "then a bag of toothpaste, a toothbrush, soap, and floss. I think our best bet is to change up here after showering and everything. The bath hall is a bit too open."

There's no question that Gerard is the most innocent of the three of us. I don't want to call him naive, because he's probably one of the most brilliant people I know and he's not one to buckle if anyone gives him trouble, but he's more sheltered, for sure. With all the time we've spent in the football locker room, Blake and I have no issue seeing others' bodies. But maybe Gerard does, and since Blake doesn't push the matter, neither do I. Although he's still going to have to deal with my nakedness, if he's going to be sharing a room with me.

Towels tossed over our shoulders and bags clenched in hand, we walk out and down the slope- myself in front, with the other two flanking behind. After a few minutes of making conversation with everyone else peeling out of their rooms, we reach a long, wood-shingled building, where through the top windows we hear echoes of chatter and running water. At the front, we're separated; girls step inside and head towards the right, and boys to the left, to an identical but opposite-facing bathroom. I'm barred from the right side by a young and severe-looking dark-skinned woman, who shoves me back in the boys' direction.

The layout inside is just as worn as the outside. Chipping floor tiles and moldy curtains that block off the row of showers on the left wall. On the middle wall, a line of rusty sinks and a single long mirror, scratched and splotchy. Then, stained urinals and bathroom stalls at the far end. I'm a little disgusted, but I have gone way too long without soap and conditioner, and I need to look pretty again. Chicks dig the rugged look, but there will be plenty of time for that tomorrow. Right now, I just need a nice, hot shower. Preferably with someone else in it.

I strip down in the open, feeling my muscles relax as they're freed of my sweaty shirt, which I pull off as slowly as possible, relishing the eyes that are sure to be on me. Then I unbuckle my jeans and let them slide down to my ankles. With my thumbs on the waistband of my underwear, one of the counselors finally notices. "Prescott, there are curtains for a reason!"

"Oh, it's not like we've never seen his dick before," Wes says, and even I laugh at that.

The room is beginning to turn humid with the steam of the showers, or maybe it's just me as I drop my last layer of clothing and stare at my reflection in the mirror, wholly satisfied. It's not hard to see why so many others want me, or are jealous of me. With muscled arms, a toned chest and thighs, and tanned skin— among other exceptional aspects— I'm nothing short of the full package. I step back into a shower.

The water's choppy, and won't stay warm. I end up jumping around like some sort of idiot as I'm sprayed by alternating bursts of scalding and freezing water. Well, it's no luxury, but eventually I'm clean and stepping back out into the open. I pause, letting everyone else's eyes circle back to my body, before drying my skin as slowly and suggestively as possible. Then, wrapping the towel around my neck, I take care of my next business, making my teeth shine like pearls, all while being perfectly naked.

As I brush, I watch the reflections of the other boys changing. Many are shy, hugging the walls or dressing behind curtains they've drawn tight over the stall. Others are unashamed, like Wes, whose tanned, freckled skin complements his dark curls. I'd find him more attractive if Chanel didn't threaten me every time I said something nice about him. Jeremiah keeps his head and eyes down as he unsteadily pulls on the assigned sweatpants. Before anyone can catch me looking, my eyes latch back onto myself in the mirror. Which isn't hard to do, as I'm clearly the hottest person here.

When my hair's dry, face washed, teeth glimmering, I finish by tying my towel loosely around my waist. With a dramatically melancholic wave of farewell to the others, I step out into the open air.

I don't wait for either of my roommates to finish up. Instead, I hurry to catch up with the girl ahead of me on the path back up to our rooms. Even with her bleached-blonde hair put up in a towel, I'd recognize the back of her anywhere. "Eimer, you busy?"

She stops, tilting her head sideways, curiously. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" The words lift off her tongue in an accent laced with honey. God, she's so hot.

"They never locked any of the rooms from this afternoon. Besides, there's plenty of time." I grin, sure she can't resist me, but she doesn't bite.

"I'm a little tired. Why don't you ask someone else?"

Because I want you, I almost say, but I bite my tongue. She might take me for some kind of romantic, which I'm clearly not. "Are you sure you're too tired?" My fingers guide my towel lower, not quite exposing myself but definitely previewing what's underneath. "Because I don't know anyone who wouldn't want some of this."

Her throats reddens and the edges of her lips tip up, but despite the clear offer, she waves me off. "No, thanks. You should try to sleep, too. We have a busy few days ahead."

I watch her go, heading up the slope and disappearing behind the first cabin on the left. Alone, I have no choice but to trudge back up to my own room. She's right, of course, that I could ask someone else, but with her rejection I can't think of anything except sleeping with her. It's a mixture of excitement and frustration, and I can't shrug it off. I'll try again tomorrow. She'll come around.

When I get back to the cabin, Gerard's stretched out on the solo bed, book flipped to the middle. Blake is still getting changed into sweats as I pull the door closed behind us. When he comes back up and stretches, his shirt lifts, revealing a low strip of his stomach. A slight pang flickers in my chest.

"Do you have to do that every time you take a shower?" Gerard shakes his head. "You should have seen the look on Milo's face. He looked ready to kill you."

"He's jealous," I say, dropping my towel to dress in the clothes they left for us. I'd stay naked, but it's too cold. "You know, what's the deal with all the girls around here, anyway? It's like they've all turned into nuns in the forest."

"Who rejected you?"

"Eimer," I grumble. "But she'll come around."

"If you say so," Blake replies. "Anyways, I'm dead tired, so do you want top or bottom?"

"Is that an invitation?"

"It's a bunk bed, damn it."

"Top. I like control."

"Gerard," Blake pleads. "Switch beds with me, please?"

He smiles apologetically. "I can't. Sorry. I'm going to need this window light. You can handle it."

Blake just groans.

I busy myself by flipping through some of the books around the room (they're all terrible) while we discuss the day's events. The lights turn off automatically at ten, at which point the counselors come around, bang on the doors, and shout at us to shut up until seven. After that, we lie down in the dark, silent for a few minutes until eventually, I break.

"Blake?"

"Huh?"

"I'm scared."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not used to sleeping alone. Can you come sleep with me?"

He just chuckles. "Good night, Brandon."

"Night, guys." I turn over and close my eyes, suddenly aware of how weighed down I am with tiredness. As I drift off to sleep, I can't help smiling. Doesn't kill me to try, does it?

Audrey Spenser.
Las Vegas, Nevada.

Showering was an absolute nightmare. They time you. They give you the world's shittiest conditioner. And then they squeeze you in with fourteen other girls at the mirror and expect everyone to civilly wash up without throwing elbows or anything.

Needless to say, that was not my experience. Luckily, I have a nice warm bed to look forward to. My cabin is so far away, though. It's as if this... campsite? Retreat center? Whatever it is, I swear it was built strategically to place the bathroom as far away from our rooms as possible. Which means, if I'm seized in the middle of the night by a desperate urge to relieve myself, there had better be bushes nearby. Like hell I'm braving this again if I need to pee.

My only hope is that my two roommates, whoever they are, will be relatively subdued by the time I get to the room. Because I'm not in the mood for polite chit-chat. No, thanks. I have one goal in mind right now, and that's to be horizontal as fast as possible. I didn't get the chance to see who was in my room earlier, what with all the mayhem of getting to our groups and then getting to the showers twenty minutes ago. Maybe it'll be Harper. Please, God, let it be Harper. She's a little weird, but I'll take weird over hyper energy or morning people any day of the week.

The door is cracked as I approach. Through the gap, I can unfortunately make out a whole lot of shouting, muffled though it may be. I close my eyes as I pull open the door, hoping, maybe, when I open them, I won't see who I'm about to see.

I'm out of luck.

"This is MINE!" Gabrielle is screeching in the other girl's face, red-faced and spitting. "I was here first this afternoon and first back from the showers."

"Because you pushed everyone down to hog all the hot water. I deserve it for not being a bitch." Neither Chanel nor Gabrielle look at me as I push inside behind them. I try to shuffle around them, but there's no room. They've uprooted the place. Books are tossed everywhere, pages torn and bent against the walls and shelves. "You were completely out of line earlier. You need to fucking learn how to relax!"

"Oh, I need to relax? You hit me first! I was just playing the game!"

I groan under my breath. This is the opposite of what I was hoping for. "Guys."

"The rules said no tackling, so either you were deliberately trying to hurt me, or you're just really, really stupid."

"Oh, good one," Gabrielle spits. "Come on. Come on. Stop throwing books and square up. Or are you too scared of getting your ass kicked again?"

As they lurch at each other, I push an arm out in the middle of them. "Both of you, please. Shut. Up. For one second."

They slow down for a moment, but don't relax. Gabrielle has a fistful of Chanel's curls that she doesn't want to give up.

"What do you want?" Gabrielle says, not looking away from Chanel.

"Welcome to our lovely room, by the way, we're delighted to have you," Chanel grins. She drops her smile in a second, snarling at Gabrielle's haughty glare.

I look back and forth at the both of them, taking in the frozen chaos, wanting to hold onto this second of peace as long as I can. Gabrielle eventually wrenches her eyes away from Chanel, raising her eyebrows expectantly, and I know I'm going to have to let it go. "Thanks, Chanel," I finally say. "Yeah, can I have top bunk?"

"Um... yeah, sure," Chanel says, frowning. She turns to her feisty counterpart. "You got a problem with that, Gab?"

"Don't start with the name thing," she says. "Audrey, whatever. Go ahead. I'm taking the solo bed anyway."

"No, you're not, because it's mine."

"Great!" I say, getting out of that situation before I get myself crushed between them. I'm not an instigator by any means, but I also don't see any point in getting involved whatsoever in keeping them away from each other's throats. If there's anything I've learned from my stupid reckless brother, it's that you can't control other people's stupidity. So it's really not my problem.

I try to tune them out as I change in the corner out of my towel and into some ugly brown sweats and a t-shirt. By the time I turn back around, it looks like Chanel has won their argument, since she's stretched triumphantly across the single bed. Or maybe Gabrielle just couldn't physically pull her off it, in the end.

Bringing my bag with me, I nearly drag myself up the ladder and collapse onto the top bunk. They're quiet, finally. Normally I'd take more time to wind down, watch some YouTube, reblog a bunch of cat pictures, but some idiot decided that what we all needed to be happier and healthier people was an electronics break. So, I'd better seize this quiet while I have it, because even though my fingers are itching to type something and I haven't heard music in fourteen hours, I'm too damn exhausted to try to cope by doing anything other than sleeping. Drying my hair is one of the sacrifices that has to be made. I press my face into my pillow and anticipate sleep's delicious embrace.

But it's too slow to come with the lights and the heated discussion happening below, and ten minutes later, I've grown impatient. "Do either of you have an extra pillow? I can't sleep."

"I've got one," Chanel says. I hear a muffled "thump", then feel the pillow land on my back. I don't need to open my eyes to know Chanel took the opportunity to smack Gabrielle with it on her way up, and the screaming that ensues only confirms it.

I thank her internally for my pillow, wrapping the other around my head. Two pillows under me and one shielding my ears.

Bring on the fighting, because it's going to take a lot more than that to rouse me from this sleep. I've been waiting all day for this.

Song: Paris by The Chainsmokers.

I was rushing to get this chapter out before next Tuesday (March 7th) but got bogged down with a lot of things. I celebrated my 18th birthday, softball started, and I swear my teachers are trying to drown me with homework before I graduate. Oh well. Everyone's busy, but I wanted to get at least one chapter out before Tuesday, since that's when I'll be leaving on my own retreat.

The one I'm going on is one of three big senior ones my school does every year, and it's the one that inspired this take on the story. Unfortunately, it's top-secret. No one knows what goes on between 3 PM on Tuesday and 6 PM on Friday, other than that there are no phones allowed and it's supposedly life-changing. The kids don't talk about it, but everyone comes back high on life and hugging each other. Kids who never said a word to each other are suddenly best friends. All my friends went in October or January, but I got put in the last group. So I don't get to experience it until this week.

In a way, this is a very good thing. I need ideas to keep this story rolling until the blood starts flowing, and what better way than to experience it by hanging out in the redwoods with a bunch of classmates? I'll get my own roommate, my own small group, and I guess I'll bond with people or something. The main difference between the two is that ours is super Jesus-centered, with Mass and Confession and silent reflection. People come back super religious. It's wild. Also, as far as I know, no one dies at the end. Or maybe that's the big secret I'm not allowed to know about. Although people are trying to tell me there's a naked hike. I'm not convinced.

Anyway, I'm super excited, and I hope this will add a more personal layer to this story, since things will be fresh in my mind. And who knows, maybe I'll start updating faster (I really hope so).

Thanks again for reading. I'd love for you to drop a review if you're around, since I hardly know who's here anymore (Fanfiction has become a very lonely place these days). Mwah. Love you all. See you next chapter.