Is it really the smartest thing to do, spending the summer in the woods for a television show?

He's just filling in time, really, finding something with which to occupy his summer. He already has the application for University of Toronto half-filled; it has his extracurricular activities and achievements splayed across the page, along with basic statistics and his full name – his real one, not the dopey moniker he was mailed several weeks ago.

"I mean – really? – who still names their kid Noah?" he wonders aloud to a computer screen.

It would be something interesting to add to the resume, he had decided, something interesting and unique and different enough to make him seem well-rounded on official applications to financial aid and scholarships. Little things like this always go a long way with those academic types who are looking for something more than just asocial nerds, something more than just Asperger's-ridden geeks and run-of-the-mill geniuses.

"Alright, I'm doing it," he says flatly.

And he hopes he won't come to regret it.

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She's impatient and it's no secret. She's tapping her clunky black shoes listlessly, playing with the gray hem of her long sleeves, and pulling absentmindedly at the sides of her long skirt. The sweater she wears over her shirt is beginning to feel scratchy and tight. Before this, she admits to herself honestly, she didn't know what it felt like to be talked into insanity.

"...and you'll remember to wash the second set of clothes every third night?" the woman asks, with a face that seems to say she suspects the girl before her is not actually her daughter.

"And you will write to us on those days to keep to make sure you are doing fine," her father adds.

"Yes, father. Yes, mother."

She's watching the planes take off through her peripheral vision, taking in the full experience of being in an airport. There had been pictures of planes in her schoolbooks, but she'd never actually seen one up close, much less been in one. And as soon as her parents finished their instructions, that would change.

If they ever finished...

"And, for heaven's sake..." Her mother leans closer and fiddles with the topmost button of her sweater, making sure it is fastened tightly. "...keep yourself covered up. You don't know what those..."

Her mother backs away, a little flustered, and her father takes her place. "Boys are untrustworthy. They are too young and undisciplined to be men. You are to be very careful when interacting. Do you hear me?"

She nods solemnly in response.

"You are to cover yourself up in public and mind your words and actions at all times."

Another somber nod.

"And..." He looks around the fluid crowds and reaches in his coat. "I want you to take this to protect yourself if you get in danger."

The glint as he pulls it out tells her it's her brother's old field knife.

"No!" Wide-eyed, she whispers loudly. "They won't let me through into the plane carrying that!"

"I think it's necessary that you take the precaution..."

"Yes. Father."

She takes the weapon quickly, careful not to seem disrespectful or ungrateful, and begins the process of departing from her family. They are a bit odd-looking, wearing conservative dress and speaking with a strange antiquity in their voice, but there are less heads turning towards them here in the airport than there have been in other parts of the city when they've visited.

Thirty minutes later, she's sitting in the leather seat and feeling hot.

The plane hasn't taken off, so she's still free to move around a bit, but really, she just wants to cool down. With a slow realization, she stops her fidgeting and peeks around the cabin: there's an old couple a couple seats in front of her and a girl far behind, no one that would really care if...

She breathes in deeply... and pulls off her sweater.

It takes her a couple of moments to let go of the breath and realize she isn't being berated by anyone. She leans back in her seat and loosens her posture, feeling fresh in nothing but her long skirt, long-sleeved shirt and undershirt, long socks and undergarments, and thick shoes.

Courtney has never felt so alive.

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Okay, she thinks to herself, that girl's pretty weird looking.

She saw her with her family in the airport terminal, all austere and stern, apparently enduring a preflight sermon from the father and a body search from the mother, and looking ready to bolt. Her clothes were... interesting. And the way she scrambled out of the sweater when she was on the plane made her think she didn't normally get to take it off.

Shrugging, her gaze returns to the back of the seat in front of her. She knows she shouldn't really be judging, being who she is. Everybody has different interests, she reminds herself. She exhales and peeks out of her seat. Maybe she's into...

And she lets herself smile a bit, reaching to a small bag she carries with her and unzipping the front. Inside, an ivory face smiles bemusedly back at her; the resin material is smooth and flawless and the hair is long and dyed beautifully. She loves her ball-jointed doll, and hates that the word "doll" is in the name. It's more like a model human being with its handmade clothes, posed features, and anime-like aesthetic. She's named it and taken pictures of it and given it a special place on her desk at home, where he watches her sleep at night.

It's a tad bit freaky.

Nervously looking around her, she zips the bag up and puts it back in the overhead compartment. Sighing, she opens her backpack and takes out a small book; flipping to the back, she opens the page and begins reading it backward.

There's no place for manga in competitive rowing circles.

Eva spends a lot of time training, so much time in fact, that she rarely has any left to read the list of Japanese comics that she's generated while in class. Most of her time outside of school is spent in weight rooms, on tracks, or on the water, going on long runs or tearing up the erg machines.

The exaggerated Japanese expressions on the page make her smile.

She gets one summer to live it up. She's not allowed to stop her training, as per coach's orders, but she can travel elsewhere and live among teens that aren't perpetually soaked or sweating off weight to lighten the boat. And maybe, she thinks, share some interests with friends?

It might be too much to ask for, she figures, but it never hurts to try.

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Izzy spends a lot of time looking at ceilings. They're separated, so removed from everything below them and they don't get as dirty as floors, she thinks to herself all the time CEILINGSIloveyou!

The ceilings at home are high and peach-colored. They make her feel hungry every time she looks up. One time, her dad tried to repaint the ceilings himself, even though her mom told him not to and that he would fall and break his back and die, and he did. But it was only his hip so he was okay.

The ceiling in her room is orange. It used to be bright, but it's faded and become softer over the years, and she likes it much better that way. Izzy spends a lot of time watching cartoons that she makes up in her head on that ceiling. Ninjadog is the best.

The ceiling in her bathroom is soothing. It's baby blue, the blue that makes you think of clear skies and beautiful eyes and pirates. She's Ophelia, captain of The Sea Siren, feared ruler of the Seven Seas, and bloodthirsty marauder. She's Beatrice, stowaway on the famed Golden Victory, struggling to survive a capsizing ship. Her mother gets mad when she splashes too much.

There is no ceiling outside, only the sky. The boring, old, dumb, cloudy sky. She was raised by the sky. And one time they exchanged bodies for a day. She spent the time looking down at everyone and everything in the world and realized that it was not nearly as fun as looking up. The sky spent the time failing her algebra quiz.

She can't remember what the garage ceiling looks like. Her mom says it's too dirty in there, too cluttered, and filled with dangerous things. Izzy tries to reassure her mom that Ninjadog knows how to handle chainsaws, but she doesn't listen. She just wants the chainsaw to herself.

The ceilings in hospitals are the worst of all because they're so boring. White, plain, undecorated in exam rooms. Mirrored in surgery rooms.

They've done all they can there, at the hospitals, and they've let her stay at home and come in for treatment for a year and a half now. She goes through the same routines everyday, staring up at the ceiling of whatever room she's trapped in that day feeling tired and holding staring contests with daylight. There's nothing to do and no one to do it with, and she's been dying to get out and go out and break out and freak out.

The doctor says it's fine if she goes camping, says maybe the fresh air will do her some good. But he says it as if he just wants to grant a dying girl's wish, and mostly, he just does want to. Which is fine with Izzy, because it's the last thing it takes to convince her parents to let her spend what may be her last summer on this television camping reality show with other people her age.

Izzy has spent a lot of her life just looking up at ceilings, but that's changing now.

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