Everything is shattering and it's my mistake.

Shane Curran.
Toledo, Ohio.

The side of my face pulses as I drift into consciousness. A shaded room swims into view as an immense pressure weighs on my right eye, and as I shift among my sheets, pain shoots up my arm. It takes all of two seconds for the soreness to fully hit me, and when it does, I feel like I've been decked by a truck.

What the fuck?

Griffin, still sleepy, coughs from the other bed. It takes a few moments for me to realize where I am. My cabin... but why does it feel like I was somewhere else?

It feels like there's an elastic band stretching inside my skull. Even with my eyes squinted, the thin light shooting in from the single window is scalding, a golden laser. Every inch of me wants to stay still and remain in bed.

"Fuck, Shane..."

"What...?" I slur, my mouth pinching with the effort. I'm aware of a subtly tangy taste in my mouth.

"Christ, just look at yourself."

I sit up slowly, inadvertently making my head swim and vision turn filmy. But it's not until I see my reflection in the mirror hanging across from my bed that anything comes back to me.

The right side of my face is swollen, purple.

Fists collided here... and here...

The area under my left eye is quickly blackening, too.

And, to be honest, it's the most like myself I've felt in days. Cuts and bruises are my normal decorations.

Still, something about these doesn't sit right with me. Why did this happen? How did I get here?

"What happened to you last night?" Quincy's eyes are narrowed, clearly suspicious.

"I don't… remember," I say, grunting at the pain in my side as I push myself back to lean against the sturdiness of the bunk's headboard. I could really use a sip of water to wash the taste from my mouth. But whose fault is it that I can't go wash myself up at the sinks?

"How do you not remember?"

"I don't know. If I did, I'd fucking say it, alright?" That's when I take another look at him and see his expression in a new light. "Oh, you bastard-"

"I didn't do it," he says, defensive. "I'm not that much of a pussy to beat you while you're defenseless."

"Yes, you are. That's what you do. You love to have everyone fear you, when you just beat on the weak ones for intimidation!"

"Well, not this time." He gives me a look full of loathing before turning around and rooting through the closet for a change of clothes. "But you should really figure out who would."

I know I've made enemies over the last few days, but it's hard to come up with an idea of who would do this. And, of course, there's still the confusion of how my memory could be so fuzzy. My only hypothesis is that I was beaten so hard I blacked out.

I gingerly shift myself sideways to let my feet hang over the side of the bed. Even that motion makes my sides ache, and I wonder at the bruises that must cover my chest, my arms, everywhere that cries out. The best thing I can do right now is show up at breakfast and try to spot bruises on anyone I know. I'm tough, and I can't have gone down without getting a few knocks in first.

Except when I do enter the dining hall, and eyes drift to me, and whispers are shared behind cupped hands, there's not a face that looks like mine. Ignoring the predictable reactions and questions of "what did he do?", I serve myself burnt eggs and lopsided pancakes and sit down at an empty table, keeping my head down.

It doesn't take long for curious people to approach me. They're just not who I'd expect.

"Shane," says Monica in a serious tone, dropping down next to me. "What the hell did you do last night?"

"Are you okay?" Juliet doesn't sit, but stands rigidly on the other side of the table, anxiously twisting her hands together.

"Don't worry about it," I mumble, digging into my eggs. "Let me eat."

They don't. "We're worried about you," Monica says. "We just want to hear what happened…"

"And I'm sure you think you can solve the problem yourself, don't you?" I laugh humorlessly. "Just stop. We're not friends. Just people forced to be together."

Monica sighs, and out of the periphery of my eye that isn't swollen, I see her motion someone over.

Giles grumbles, clearly inconvenienced, as he comes around to sit himself down across from me. I don't look up, keeping my eyes on my plate, on these disgusting eggs. I didn't think it was possible for food to be both runny and burnt, but the incompetent cooks here have proven me wrong. Leave it to this shoddy summer camp to fuck up the world's most basic breakfast item.

"Look in the corner," Giles eventually says.

"Don't tr- what?"

"Look up," Giles tells me. I do. He motions his head towards the opposite end of the room. Empty bins, likely for bussing our plates, are set up on tables against the far wall.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Not the wall. The table in front of it."

I look. And after a few seconds, I do see. Of the seven adults sitting together, conversing quietly with their heads pressed close together, I catch glimpses of a bald, olive-skinned man. He's the same one who gave me a nice, friendly talking-to yesterday morning- and, to be clear, that's sarcastic- but he wouldn't be noteworthy now if it weren't for the reddish-pink mark blossoming on the side of his jaw.

"What's going on?" Freya says, coming up behind me. "Are we having another meeting?"

"Okay, that could be from anything," Juliet says to the rest of us as Monica fills Freya in, although her tone betrays her doubts.

"Don't be fucking ignorant," Giles says. "They're pure evil. Who else would have done it? Quincy?"

"Quincy didn't do it," I say.

Juliet sounds hurt, but she doesn't make it a point to get back at Giles. "Shane, do you think it was Arron?"

"Who's Arron?" Giles asks.

She inclines her head towards the other table. I never felt any need to know any of their names, but apparently Juliet has been paying attention.

They turn to me expectantly, but try as I might, I can't form a clear picture of my attackers in my mind. Which probably speaks more to the degree of injury they caused than my carelessness.

"No," I tell them. "I can't remember what anyone looked like."

But as I force my brain to remember last night, bits and pieces, fragments of images and feelings do come back to me. I remember hands pulling at me after I went outside late at night, planning to relieve myself in the bushes… I remember my mouth and eyes being covered, so I couldn't cry out… and then there was a hand in my mouth, fingers curled and holding something, and I bit down on someone's grubby fingers.

After that, it's a blackout. But that's my issue. Not for me to worry them with.

"I need to eat, alright? So can you give me space for a few minutes?"

"You don't want to worry about this?"

"Believe me," I say, still watching the far table. The mark on the man's bronzed cheek stretches with every hushed word he says. "I'm worrying about it. I just need to think in peace."

Chanel Agresti.
Scarsdale, New York.

The tension at this table is palpable.

Blake hasn't spoken all meal. He barely touches the apple in front of him, the only thing he took back from the buffet to eat.

Simone won't smile, but keeps looking back and forth from face to face, dying for us to ask her what's bothering her. No one cares to ask, but she's stressing us out.

Eimer just looks exhausted.

Normally when I'm this stressed out, I react in one of two ways. Since there's no volleyball court in the nearest eight hundred miles (give or take), I shovel my breakfast into my mouth like it's the last food I'll ever get.

No one really cares that my chewing is the loudest noise at this table.

There's no real reason for me to be this uncomfortable, but I'm feeding off the negative energy around me, and I generally don't do well with tiredness, either. Barely having slept the last few nights really fucks with my nervous system. How can I sleep when Gabrielle snaps at anything I do? But even when she eventually quiets down, I stay awake, staring into the dark. Thinking about lots of things, much of them having to do with what happened a few nights ago, back at school, when Georgia and I last talked.

It's not really my problem, the deal with the money. Tuition being raised isn't something that affects my family; it's a drop in the bucket for my father and mother, respectively a plastic surgeon and renowned architect. But Georgie and I were roommates for two years, and I can't pretend that it doesn't bother me that her family's suffering for the carelessness of a school that's supposed to have its students' best interests at heart.

I'm torn. I know I should tell someone, hopefully spark some outrage that leads to some consequences for those with power and justice for those who lost everything. Yet it's also my secret. And I like having power over the people in this room, even if they're unaware of it.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only one who knows the truth… or at the very least, a part of it.

"Okay, Simone, what?" Trina finally gives in to Simone's hyperactivity.

Not unlike a deflating basketball, Simone lets out a string of words in a rush of air, so fast that no one can understand her.

"What?"

Simone takes short breaths, eyes wide. "The school is closing next year."

It's clear she expects a big reaction. Unfortunately, she doesn't get it. No one else seems to be listening. Blake has his head down on the table. Brandon won't keep his eyes off Alaina. And, of course, I already knew her news. Trina, across the table, can't even hear her over the clatter of dishes from behind her.

"Sims, hon, you have to speak up-"

"Haversmith is getting shut down!" she squeaks, exasperated. Her voice carries, and I quickly look around. Luckily, everyone at the other tables is too self-absorbed to notice.

"How the hell do you know that?" says Trina, skeptical.

"Madison was telling Gwen last night..." Simone says, hushing her words for dramatic effect. "And you know she knows things..."

"I don't believe you," Trina says. "You're probably just saying it for attention."

"I swear, this is real!" she says. "I one hundred percent heard it."

"Uh-huh. Just like you've 'one hundred percent' heard everything you've ever tried to tell me. You never make any of it up for attention." She rolls her eyes. "Honestly, why are you always such an attention whore?"

"Fuck off, Trina," I say. Which I partly regret. There's no good reason to defend Simone, other than the fact that by jumping in, I can get one step ahead on the gossip. "She's right. I overheard Anabel talking to Francine the other day about things. There's... a lot of shit is going down, alright, with the school and funds, and it's way too complicated to get into, but the school is bankrupt and it's closing after this year."

Trina's mouth curls up, but after a few moments she realizes I'm telling the truth. "Okay, but so what? We're not going to be around to care anyways."

"We might not," I say, annoyed, "but some of us have siblings. My sister's going to be a junior, which is already the shittiest year of high school with standardized tests and such-" I would know… "and having to switch schools on top of that is just going to complicate things so much more."

She only smirks. "I don't think Gianna's going to have much trouble fitting in…"

"What makes you say that?"

"You know what she's like these days, don't you?" I guess my blank expression proves that I don't. "Well, if you're dying to know, Gi's become very… how do I put this… whorish."

"What gives you the right to say that?" I spit.

"The fact that it's true."

"According to who?" I tear pieces off my napkin, shredding it with my nails. "I'm her fucking sister. You just think you know her because you have one class with her- and, by the way, that says something about both of you, that she's in a math class that's ahead of her grade while you're in one a year behind."

Trina doesn't let up. "Then I guess we're both slackers, since I haven't seen her in class in over a week. She claims it's to get her knee looked at, but from what I've heard, she's working more on the PT staff down there than they're working on her."

"Guys, stop…" Eimer groans, but I'm not letting this end here.

"You'd better fucking take that back, bitch," I say, muscles tense with fury. I'm all but on my feet, balanced on the very edge of my chair, and I wring the napkin in my hands, not caring when it eventually rips in half. "Or I will end you."

"Don't get mad at me," Trina says calmly, but her eyes are slightly wider. "I'm just relaying what I heard. Simone, are you with me on this?"

Simone perks up. "About Gianna being a slut? Oh, yeah, for sure."

"Simone!" I turn on her. "Why the hell did I just defend you?"

"I can't do anything about what I heard!"

"Unbelievable," I say, shaking my head. "Go to hell, both of you."

I can't stay here. I get to my feet, furiously throwing my shredded napkin down and grabbing my plate.

"What, are you going there, too?" Trina says.

"Bitch, I'm already there." I leave them behind me. Fucking bitches.

My original plan was to relocate to a table with less… shitty people, but another idea occurs to me as I slowly cross around the tables, trying to let my anger evaporate.

I grab the last roll off my plate before dumping the rest into the dirty bins, then approach the adults' table.

"Morning, all," I say.

Their conversation cuts off immediately. Anabel flips her frown upside down and flashes me a warm smile, but the rest aren't as welcoming. Baptiste, the only other one I know, looks away quickly and gives the woman opposite him an irritated look. But I stand my ground.

"Nice to see you, Chanel," the blonde smiles. "We're still eating, though, so if you wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes before we leave-"

"Actually, I would mind," I decide. "Anabel, I just need a minute with you."

The rest of her sentence dies on her tongue. Momentarily uncertain, she glances around at the other faces at the table before placing her crumpled napkin on the table and standing. I briefly wonder if she had cause to twist it, like I did, but I let the idea drop.

I lead her towards the door to make sure we aren't overheard.

"Are you doing okay, sweetie?" she asks as we walk, clearly trying to distract me from whatever she thinks I'm about to ask. And enough with the fucking pet names! "Any trouble with your roommates or group?"

Roommates, for sure. "No. But I am having trouble working my mind around why the school's closing and no one's made a point to tell anyone yet."

If she's alarmed, she does a convincing job hiding it in her expression. Still, there's a subtle but telling waver in her voice that proves that what I thought I heard two days ago was correct. "It's a little more complicated than simply breaking the news, dear…"

"But is it?" I step closer to her. Up close, she shrinks under my six-foot-plus frame, and I realize just how little she is. "Prove it."

I look her dead in the eyes, knowing I have the upper hand in this showdown. "You either tell everyone the truth about the school… or I will."

Simone Collins.
Los Angeles, California.

I'm restless. My mind is buzzing… with rumors, observations, new news and old news. Knowing about Haversmith, knowing about Gianna, just excites me.

But I need to know more. I'm not satisfied. I know that everyone around here has secrets and I'm desperate to find them out.

The top offenders… hm. I look around the room, and my eyes land first on Audrey Spenser. Her head's down on the table. When I've seen her over the last few days, she's been dead silent, or trailed closely by Alex. Trust me, I know there's history there, but I'm more suspicious of her because you just know the quiet ones are hiding shit.

Then there's Harper, who… I don't know, just seems sketchy. Maybe it's because she also rarely talks, never wants to be with the rest of us. At night, in our cabin, I've tried to bait her by feeding Trina lies about her. But Harper doesn't care enough to argue. She just turns over and puts her pillow around her head.

There's Shane… nah. He's an idiot and if I had to guess, he probably just tripped in the dark or ran into a pole. He's boring, anyways.

But Griffin. What's his deal? He looks fine this morning, but why was he so moody last night? Trina can be… difficult… but compared to what she's capable of, she hardly did anything to him by reading part of his poem. Yet he snapped and acted like she'd completely ruined him.

I can't stand it. I can't focus on anything else. And the worst part is, I'm the only one who cares. Doesn't anyone have their priorities straight?

It's almost a blessing when the meal ends, and our leaders order us outside and to line up with our groups. I fill in behind Eimer in the dusty area in front of the building. Although it's barely nine in the morning, it's already clear that it's going to be a sweltering, humid day.

As if my hair weren't already bad enough…

Once everyone's together, the announcement comes that we have another session of outdoor skills this morning. "Groups will, again, be paired together. Milo's and Giselle's groups, you're first. Grab your backpacks and follow your leaders out."

Maybe the early heat is already weighing on everyone else, because there's little conversation as I watch the first group of ten pick their bags from a bin. Notably, as Dane lifts his large backpack up over his back, Doran tries to… maybe make a joke, or something, but all Dane does is ignore him and follow closely behind Gabrielle. Drama!

I love it. If only they were in my group… I could get the deets...

But my alternative isn't bad, either. We're matched up with Sawyer's group, consisting of Madison, Alex, Jackson, Audrey, and Jeremiah.

I step forward to pick up my pack. Although it's large, it's strangely light. I try to unzip the top to see what it holds, but Zara slaps my hand away. "Not until we're at the top."

At the top? I crane my neck to view the side of the mountain we're on. The peak is way higher. Climbing will take ages, especially because these shoes give me absolutely no arch support or traction. Also, blisters. My poor toes...

"We'll be taking a trail as high as we can go," Zara explains as we start to walk. "There, we'll be fully immersed in nature, and Sawyer and I will be able to teach you more about the surrounding forest, as well as some critical survival skills to help you navigate the area." She sounds like she's reading directly from a script, and even has the monotone to match.

She's not even excited to be hiking. Luckily, I am. But only because of the people in this group. Immediately, as camp quickly disappears behind us, I catch up to Audrey.

"Hi. I need to talk to you," I say. Realizing I've bumped a boy out of the way, I turn to him. "Sorry, but you don't mind, right?"

Audrey squints at me. "Have we ever talked?"

"Oh, sure, all the time. Listen…" Alex tries to butt in, but I push him away. "The school is closing. And no one wants us to know about it…"

"Should I care...?" she says.

Why does nobody even give a fuck that I know the biggest secret in this entire fucking place? "Yes! You should! Because..."

"Simone, leave us alone," Alex says bluntly. "We were talking..."

"We weren't," Audrey corrects, "but you still should leave us alone."

That makes me pause. "Whoa, I smell tension… what's going on here?"

"Like I'd ever tell you," Audrey scoffs.

"She just won't admit that she's the one who ruined our relationship," Alex says, his jaw set.

She gives him an exasperated look. "That's not what happened! I-" She groans. "It's- it's complicated. No. But- whatever. Leave us alone, Simone."

She's flustered. Something's up. "So did you ever love him, or do you just like messing with his head?" I ask innocently.

It's not really a qualified question, but it produces its desired effect. She freezes. He waits. Any response is deadly. And I wait restlessly for it, trying to look only mildly interested when I'm dancing around inside. Tell me!

"It's none of your business," she finally says. "This is our issue. Stay out of it."

"You can't admit it," Alex says angrily. "Why don't you ever just give an honest answer?"

And they continue to bicker, eventually forgetting about me standing right next to them.

But I'm satisfied. So I leave them alone to argue among themselves and hang back to let Alaina and Eimer and the others catch up to me.

Oh, they are going to love what I have to say.

Blake Chapman.
New York City, New York.

We reach a place to stop in a little over an hour. My legs, firm from years of dedication to my role as quarterback, feel loose and strong. It's my head that's swimming... heavy with exhaustion, confusion, and probable dehydration.

It's not a feeling I'm used to, being as healthy as I normally am, and I definitely don't like it. Something about this place has drained me- drained my usual easy-going personality and replaced it with someone who feels so cautious and unsure for the first time in his life.

There's only one way I can think of how to help it. As we sit to listen to the first lesson, I make sure I'm next to Shane, so I can finally get the chance to talk to him. "Shane…"

He turns to look at me. Up close, the bruising around his eyes is even more pronounced and grotesque. As an athlete, of course I've seen injuries far worse, like bruising from a sprain that stretched from the heel of my right foot to halfway up my calf. But my own injuries have never hurt as bad as the ones that are done to others, caused by my mistakes. Handing the ball off to Axel, my running back, only for him to be clobbered by another player and sprain his neck. Throwing downfield to Jeremy, only a sophomore on varsity, to have his leg broken in our Homecoming game.

And, to me, there's no doubt that Shane's injuries were caused by my mistakes… by my lack of responsibility to follow up on a promise.

"I fucked up, dude," I say, exhaling.

He doesn't say anything at first. I suspect I'm going to get the biggest chewing-out of my life. Except that's not what happens.

"What did you even do?" he asks.

I stutter for a second, caught off guard. "You- you- you asked me to have your back, yeah? I was supposed to be your lookout the other day." It's odd to have to explain it, since I was all but positive that he's been spending the last day secretly simmering in hatred for me.

"I don't remember that."

My stomach drops. This seems unfathomable, that while I've been worrying so much, he doesn't even... remember? "It was right before we played Capture the Flag. You stopped me at one of the buildings." His face doesn't register any hint of recollection. "Look, I know you wanted to get out of here, so I agreed to help you with your plan. Even though you said we weren't friends or anything..."

I trail off. He's looking back towards the trees below, but I don't suspect he's really admiring the view. His eyes have a glazed-over sort of look that suggests he's deep in thought.

I'm vaguely aware of the lesson going on around us. Milo is saying something about rocks and shelter being used as a deterrent against bad weather conditions... and yet it sounds as if both Shane and I are underwater, and this discussion is happening in fresh air. Being with Shane now, everything on the outside looks and sounds wavy and distorted.

Shane's still thinking, twisting a stone between his thumb and index finger. Dust rubs over his fingertips, but Shane isn't paying attention to what's happening on such a minuscule scale.

Finally, he flicks the stone away.

"Okay, you're right," he says. "I probably did ask you to help. But believe me, I didn't mean to make you feel responsible. This was my choice."

"But I could have-"

Milo cuts me off. "Would you two please pay attention?" Even from the very back, there's no missing the anger flashing in his eyes. Heads turn to face us, and I can't stop heat from rising to my cheeks. "Believe me when I say that you should be finding this lesson of life-or-death importance."

I mumble an apology, and he returns to the lesson, but dread remains in the pit of my stomach.

If this were Haversmith, I'd be laughing this off. Sure, I can get distracted sometimes, but I'm a dedicated student. I have fun, and I get my work done, but I really don't feel anywhere close to laughing this one off.

Why did everything become so serious? This isn't what a retreat should be. I suppose most of it can be traced back to the negative presence of the adults here, but the rest of it is my own damn fault.

There's no relief in letting my conversation with Shane die. There's too much that remains unsaid. On one of the empty pages of my journal, I neatly print the rest of my response. But I could have protected you.

I tap his arm and point at what I've written. He narrows his eyes and takes the pencil and book, writing his own answer in a much messier hand. I don't need protection. I can handle the consequences for myself.

When I look at him again, I can't see past the bruising. I can't see past the fact that I'm responsible. As a quarterback for all four years of my high school career, and as captain for the last two, it's simply in my nature to look out for those around me.

Which begs the question- how did I ever let him go alone?

He seems to know what I'm thinking. He arches over the book with a much more slanted posture than I've been using. A minute later, he returns it.

You would have turned out like me. Don't think you could have done anything but get us both hurt. Stop acting guilty.

Maybe he can flip a switch and decide when to care. I can't. So I nod and let the conversation drop... but deep down, I still feel responsible.

Audrey Spenser.
Las Vegas, Nevada.

After a long lecture that I inevitably just snooze through, we're split into partners to practice forming shelters, using the materials from our packs. Thankfully, I'm paired with Jeremiah.

He and I agree to move away from the other groups, to a spot around the side of the hill. Maybe he's thinking strategically, but I'm just trying to separate myself from Simone and Alex and the rest of the crazies in our two groups. Their level of drama is really not my speed.

We pick a good spot and set our bags down in the grass, rooting through them to see what we have. Each of us has an irregular combination of thin, folded tarps, bags of string ties, pegs, coiled ropes, and some other materials that I don't have a clue what to do with. There's also a thin, plastic water bottle that's been wedged into the bottom of the pack, but it's bone dry, and the day's only getting hotter. Couldn't they have taken three seconds to fill it up?

"So I was thinking, we could start over by those rocks…" Jeremiah starts, organizing the goods from his bag into piles, but he trails off as he sees me staring blankly at the tarps in front of me. "What's wrong?"

The idea of actively building something right now is way too exhausting to even consider. I just shake my head. "Nothing. I'm just…" I yawn. "So tired…"

He chuckles. "I'm completely with you. Hopefully after tomorrow we should be able to go back and get some rest. I never thought I'd miss our crowded dorms, but I've really had some perspective out here… I think I'm ready to have my real bed back."

"Amen to that." I haven't had a good night's sleep all trip, thanks to my psycho roommates. Don't Gabrielle and Chanel ever give their petty problems a rest?

"Well, I guess the sooner we get this done, the sooner we get to be back," he says. "So we can definitely use this stack as one of our walls…"

He keeps talking, thinking out loud and trying to determine the best way to construct our shelter. He's so serious and passionate, but I eventually have to raise a hand to stop him because he's completely lost me.

"What?" he says, then realizes that I'm entirely clueless. "Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be," I say, as he blushes. "I just… Did you really just pay attention to all of that?"

"Maybe…"

"But what's the point?"

He half-smiles, still a little embarrassed. "I don't think it hurts to know some of this, you know, in case I ever want to go camping or something. I mean, why not?"

"Good on you," I say. "But my camping career begins- and ends- here. Once I get out of this school, I swear, I'm never coming back to New Hampshire."

"Mm," he agrees. We leave it at that, focusing on the manual project at hand. And by that, I mean I let him do eighty percent of the work, while I hold things for him. It works out well for both of us.

We're both sweating buckets by the time we're done. The structure, admittedly, doesn't look like much. "This looks completely terrible," Jeremiah sighs. "We should really start over…"

"Can I try it out first?" I ask.

"I guess," he says. "You want to see if it's stable enough, and protects against the wind? That's more important than looks, I guess-"

"No, I just want to take a nap."

He finds that pretty funny. "Okay, go right ahead. But give me your thoughts when you wake up, alright?"

I crawl under the tarp. It's stuffy as hell in here, but my face is shaded, and it's the most quiet I've had in days. I'm out in minutes.

I don't sleep long at all. When I come to, the first thing I see is Sawyer, lifting the tarp to let sunlight stream in.

I cover my eyes with the back of my hand. "Get out, you perv," I say, my voice slurred with grogginess. "Girls don't like it when you watch them sleep."

He makes me get out for that and tears the tarp down, but I swear that comment was worth it.

Returning to the rest of the group is less funny. Sawyer praises several of the other groups, eventually deciding that Jackson and Madison's shelter was most structurally sound. Well, of course Jackson won. Also, since when was this a competition? If I'd known that- well, actually, I wouldn't have done anything differently. Actually trying to care takes so much energy.

"And as a prize…" Sawyer opens his pack and pulls out an unopened plastic water bottle. Beckoning the pair forward, he splits the bottle's contents between their water bottles, leaving a small amount for him to gulp down.

The rest of us wait, but he zips his bag back up. "Off we go."

"We're thirsty, too," says Alaina, a hand on her hip.

"Well, you should have been paying better attention when Zara told you to use something heavy to keep the tarp down."

She scoffs. "Whatever. Sorry. Now, give us some water."

He turns around, narrowing his eyes at her. "Just wait until we get back to camp for your drink, alright?"

"It's noon!" Alex says. "It feels like a hundred fucking degrees and we're all parched!"

"I can't help you, boy," he says. "Even if I wanted to. That's my last drop."

Jeremiah and I look at each other. It seems too ridiculous for him to be serious, but he is. I'm suddenly aware of how thirsty I am, and looking back down the road we came up, I feel nearly hopeless with exhaustion. We'll have to walk for another hour, at least, with no breaks for hydration.

Zara has already left. As I watch, she tips her own water bottle back and drinks some of the water in an irritatingly arrogant way. She looks to have no intention of turning around.

For the first time, I can truly understand that these people aren't just annoying. They're downright neglectful.

But Sawyer has his mind set on leaving, and no one has the energy to fight back. I sure don't. So there's nothing left to do but follow him, dreading the horrible hike before us. And dreading the rest of the day to come, knowing somehow that it's only going to go downhill from here.

FOOLS by Troye Sivan.

Hi again!

I'm pretty proud that I got this out as quickly as I did. I was driving back from orientation and just ended getting a ton done on the six-hour drive home. Also, finally getting into the good stuff in this story makes writing less of a chore, hence, I got this done in a reasonable time frame.

But, yeah. I was at orientation last weekend, which was beyond exhausting- so many people to meet, and so little time- but I'm really looking forward to school starting next month. Also, my schedule fucking rocks. I have Mondays and Wednesdays free and all my classes end by 3 every day. And one of my roommates wants to learn to surf and play volleyball all the time when we don't have class, so I'm getting pretty excited. I mean, I'm also terrified of college, but there's so much to do before I get there that I can't really worry too much right now.

I can't remember what I normally put in these things. Something about me updating faster or something. I don't know, I'll keep this one relatively short for now. Unless I think of something to add, in which case, I'll edit it in later or something.

Let me know what you thought! See you next time :))