It is the 29th of June, 2009. I am displeased.

I am malcontented. This is because grading day was literally 3 days ago, and instead of having the summer before my senior year being a mess of beaches (and reading books on the beach), bonfires (but not reading books at the bonfire, because some people think burning school copies of Lord of the Flies is a good plan), I'm here on this horribly disheveled island and I need to put up with a bunch of purebred morons for the next month. The worst part is, I should hope that I stay here for the full month, because if it winds up being less than that, it means I lost. I don't want to lose. I want money. I'm not sure why. But I like money, therefore owning a large sum of it would be a positive thing. Ergo, I am here, at summer camp.

Some green-haired genuine anus decides to grab me by the lip. Not in the sexy way, if there is a sexy way.

I don't even take the time to learn the names of half these people. In a perfect world, they'll all be out of here before I am anyway. Actually, in a perfect world, my brother Mark is here instead of me, because he's 'rough and tumble', and then we split the money. But I guess I mean perfect in a realistic way.

My glance falls briefly on a few people that catch my eye. Mostly because one is obese, one has blue hair, and one is very hot. He sort of reminds of poor drunken Brennan, but with darker hair. I examine him for a moment, lips tight, and decide on the spot that I will probably never talk to him. I already told myself to not get attached to anybody. Particularly if that involves making myself look incredibly gay on national TV. Not that there won't be a number of viewers that get tipped off by my very faggy voice, but you know what? I like my voice. It's nasally and annoying, but expertly crafted for sarcasm.

In addition to the aforementioned points, I see that my 'hot guy' is paying a fair bit of attention to the blue-haired girl. Which actually irks me slightly. She wears blue lipstick. Obviously just doing it for attention. She probably likes to think that she's somehow different than every other aching teen or that her writing or music or whatever artistic pursuit she entertains is somehow distinctive and special and it will get her places. I scoff, and turn my attentions elsewhere.

I spot all the stereotypes within about four minutes. The blond girl is probably some dippy-hippy who has a moral problem with meat. After hearing one sentence from the big boobs girl, I can tell she has more boobs than brain, but that will make for good tv. The guy with the slightly tinted glasses, well, do I even need to go there? I stretch as I run my hands through my hair. I'm annoyed with everyone already, but somewhat fascinated all the same. I'm sure some crazy scandalous stuff is going to happen before long, and I just want to ensure that it doesn't star me.

My hopes for complex drama are quickly squished when the dock beneath us collapses. I can see we're going to be relying on slapstick for this show's hilarity. Pity.

We don't get too much time to mingle before we're divided into two groups. I get put in with these Screaming Gophers. The 'hot guy' character from earlier is on my team, as is his blue-haired queen. I found out his name is Trent.

A couple times he speaks to me when we are completing our first challenge. He always stands near me. He smells too strongly of Axe, it's a bit of a turn off, and possibly a hazard due to the frequency of explosive fires around this place. He calls me names like 'buddy' and 'bro'. It gives off this strange feeling of intimacy, but I remind myself it's because he probably doesn't know what my name is. I make him chuckle with my snarky remarks once or twice. It's a nice feeling, but I leave it at that.

The morbidly obese guy also seems to have taken an early liking to me. Not sure if this is a good thing. He made some ambiguously gay comments earlier, and I would prefer to not be pinned under someone who emanates noxious fumes. I think I would choose Trent's body spray over Owen's pungent blend of methane and sulfates. Well, maybe if we did, by some crazy twist of fate, become friends, I could at least use the gravitational field of his mass to keep scary/insane people like Izzy and that guy with the unibrow diverted away from me.

So as I observe this crowd, I keep scheming things in my mind. Play the game. In school, the 'game' often involves making friend with people you don't like, but here, it's the exact opposite. I will observe them without getting too close, so I know how they act, what makes them weak. I did that in school, and I managed to overcome the fourth-grade and later the eighth-grade bully. This could be a breeze if I play my cards right.

However, as I watch my team-mates strip off to get into the hot tub, I note that I must avoid temptation to think with my dick. Not that it's ever been a problem to me! If I were to start coming on to someone, though, I would probably get singled out as a super creep, outed in front of everyone, and deeply embarrassed on national TV. I cringe at the thought. Okay. I decide on a mantra. Claws out, pants on.

I'm in a good mood so I dance.

And I keep my pants on.

It was the first of July last time I laid in bed to sleep. The sun is setting on the third, and I'm very grumpy. I devoured an entire copy of "Like Water for Chocolate". I like magical realism. And it's making me wish I had some Mexican beans and corn. I only brought one book over here with me, and I can't exactly run back up to my cabin to get another. I suppose that's for the best, because my eyes started drooping during the boring bits. Not that novels in which everybody dies are really that boring.

I sit with my knees drawn up towards me. I feel too tired to stand, even though standing would probably wake me up a bit. I crinkle my forehead as I try to look up. The sun is still bright enough on the horizon to sting my red and probably goopy eyes. I poke my fingers at the corners to clear out nasty sleep residues. Ew.

This scrawny gap-tooth kid on my team saunters nearer to me. He makes a crude attempt to talk to the blue-haired girl, and I scoff. If one pays close attention to his expressions when he's near her, one will notice a rather humorous pattern. Firstly, in his eyebrows – arched down when she faces him, or rather, one up, one down, in the 'say whaaat?' expression, and arched up when she faces away. The smile he gives her is tight, fake, and I guess one could say 'pimpin'. As soon as she walks away from him, he always relaxes his chest, breathes out, and smiles in a more innocent but decidedly more pathetic way. I can't help but laugh.

However, as he approaches her right now, she doesn't even look up. She's gazing into Trent's eyes. They've been together pretty much all night. Huge flirt-fest if you ask me. I'm not bothered by it. Punks of an oh-so-snowflake –special and individualistic feather can discuss mainstream screamo music together. Trent might be eye-candy, but certainly not brain-candy. He seems melodramatic.

The geek hovers a hand near her seated form, bites his lip, and pulls away. He keeps walking without saying anything. Poor loser.

He sits down near me and seems a bit crestfallen. God, should I care? I glare at the side of his head, lips pursed, and try to answer my own question. He begins to blur while I try to think of it. I get stuck in that strange phenomena that happens when you're very tired when you can only think of one thing, stuck in a loop. Unfortunately for me, I'm thinking of his name but I can't hear it in my mind. I keep thinking Brady, but I know that's wrong. The stripes on his shirt fall into a weird rainbow smear. I can't sleep.

He turns to me quizzically.

"Jesus." I say finally. He smiles a tiny bit. "I'm tired." I add defeatedly.

"It shows. Your eyes are glazed, man."

"Yeah I guess.." I fumble for something funny to say. "I guess you shouldn't take high-end pharmaceuticals before a staying-awake challenge."

His eyes widen in horror. "What? You could get kicked out for that!"

I laugh in slow motion. "No, I'm just, just kidding."

He presses the heel of his hand into his forehead, and begins a quiet and heaving laugh.

"That wasn't even a zinger, kid, calm down."

"I'm sorry, it's not what you said, you're just talking like you're totally out of it. And me too I guess. Oh my God, I'm tired. I almost fell asleep when I was trying to take a leak."

"I finished a 250-page book today without sleeping." I say smugly.

He nods with a toothy grin. "Good work Noah."

I'm surprised he knows my name, because I can't think of his.

"I'm losing my mojo now. I'm drowsy. I don't think I have the strength to go on!" I add a touch of mock angst to the last sentence.

"Believe in the force…"

"Ugh, you did not just say that…"

He giggles. "Sorry, I like Star Wars."

"Yeah, but you don't show your love by making the most blatant possible reference."

"Oh?"

"No Yoda-speak either."

"So…um. Okay let me try. Oh, gee, Noah, it sure is getting cold out! We'll need to cut open Owen and hide inside him."

I snicker. "Good reference, absolutely horrid set-up."

"I was just making an example."

"I bet you don't even know what the creature was that got its guts diced."

"Um, yes I do! It's a Tauntaun!"

I turn away from him slightly and smile. "Don't like that somehow makes you a master geek just because you know your Star Wars."

"No, Cody is no master-geek. Cool people can like Star Wars too!"

It's 2009. Do people still care about coolness at this point? I thought with the advent of the internet, having geek smarts totally put you ahead of the pack. It seems to work that way with me. I realize at that moment that I've just learned his first name. I suddenly feel less tired now that I'm talking to someone. Something must be said on the necessity of maybe possibly making a friend or two here. Like a legitimate friend for purposes of friendliness and no monkey business or alliances.

"Okay then, Mr. Cool. What's your favorite of the Star Wars films."

"The second one!"

My face goes blank. "You mean…the fifth?"

"No I mean the one with Anakin and that red guy!" I shake my head sadly, with a voiceless utterance of 'no, just no.'

He smiles tightly. "Don't worry, I'm not that much of a noob. The sixth is actually my favorite. Nobody likes the prequels. I was just messing with you."

"You really need to learn a bit about humour."

"Sarcastic remarks isn't funny, it's just lying with a funny tone of voice!"

I can't argue with that. So I go back on topic. "I like the fourth best. I always had a thing for Han Solo. I wanted to be so snarky and badass my whole life." I hope it didn't sound weirdly gay for me to say I had 'a thing' for Han. Then again, this Cody kid seems too innocent to jump to such a conclusion.

"I always associated myself more with Luke." He glanced the other way. "Too bad Gwen's hair is way too short to do the cinnamon bun style."

I grimace. "You do know Luke and Leia are twins right?"

"Yeah, but they did kiss once!"

"And it was a huge mistake!"

"Well I figure if Gwen kisses that Trent dude it will be a huge mistake and then she'll succumb to her belligerent feelings for me."

I lie back. "Man, you have issues."

He looks a bit more hurt than he should. I just laugh lightly. This guy is lucky he's not really popular at school. He would be instantly devoured. But here, talking about Star Wars? He's safe in his word of nerdy concerns. We can just talk about that for a while.

He knows a strangely huge volume about the technical specifications of the Millennium Falcon. I see right through any denial of his nerdy status, but I will not mock him for it. In my life, I've seen too many wonderful and complex kids dumb themselves down to appeal to the popular crowd. Maybe I've done it to some extent too, but I never forgot who I was. There's a difference between putting up a front and being internally confused.

He seems more at ease as he explains to me how hyperspeed works, and how asteroid fields aren't actually the way they are in the movie, and you'd never actually hit a damn thing. He moves his hands around a lot. What he's speaking of becomes more confusing, and I start to tire again. It's about three twenty AM.

He turns to me silently, as we're laying on our backs. I assume that means he's done talking.

I smile at him. "Here's a reference for you." I say, about the prompt of this conversation.

"If anyone ever tells you they love you, just say: 'I know.'"

He lets a rush of air escape his nose. "I don't think I could be so indignant if someone finally said that to me."

"I know."

Each time I look at Trent, his eyes are sometimes green, sometimes blue, and his height seems to waiver slightly. I don't remember him sitting this close to me. Where did he put the blue-haired girl? I guess she decided Cody was a better catch after all. He looks at me for a moment and opens his mouth.

"Hai stile. Voglio assaggiare. Il dolce ... piccante ... violento carne di plastica. Avvicinatevi, vi aviaria bello."

I give a dark and strangely horny giggle. I don't speak italian. I don't question why he's speaking italian. I slide a little nearer to him. His words aren't really in synch with his mouth as he continues:

"Stai sognando fiumi di nuovo. Você poderia me entender melhor se ..."

I don't remember lying down, but suddenly, I see the sky stretched above me. The smell of his body spray is less overwhelming many hours after application. He looks down at me. For a second, he has brown eyes, but after I blink they seem green again. He doesn't seem opposed when I wrap an arm around his waist. He wraps one around mine too.

I didn't question the italian, so I don't question why this Trent character thinks getting intimate with me at 3 AM, on TV, is a good idea. But it feels really, like really, awesome. I feel the warmth of his skin radiate against mine. I shouldn't do this, but I close my eyes to kiss him.

I'm angry, because suddenly things are going dark, and I can feel myself slipping into slumber just as I make contact. It's bizarre though, because habitually as you fall asleep things get darker around the edge instead of lighter. Orange sunlight bleeds into the corners of my field of vision, and hollow sounds begin to echo in my ears. I still feel stubbble-less skin against my lips. I'm dreaming.

Or I was. I think I stopped dreaming. It was a nice dream. I was dreaming of Trent.

And this is fucking Cody.

My eyelids snap open and his dark-ringed eyes slowly peel to look at me. For the briefest instant, I feel we both share the same empty space between brainwaves. How buddhist of us. But within about three seconds, we roughly untangle our bodies, scream into each others faces for good measure, and run.

Like, why.

That's the only thing I can say. Okay, not that kissing Trent would have been a good thing. Well fine, it would have been pretty awesome, but the only encounter I would ever want from him would be hushed and frantic moments of hormonal intimacy inside a mildew-ridden shower stall where no one would see. This wasn't so secretive. This was during a challenge, so nice job me, I just smashed both of my rules at once and blended them thoroughly in the process.

Cody ran very far. I ran approximately 100 centimetres before realizing my legs still weighed 190 pounds each, due to the exhaustion of last night. Returning to my favorite position, on my ass, I yawn and swallow hard. Trent never fell asleep, Cody ran away, and since it's at least 7 am, if not later, I've definitely lost this challenge, so as much as it pains me, I return to my feet to make the trek back to my cabin for a proper rest.

If I were a predictable person, I would spent the rest of the morning huddled in the top bunk of my bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the meaning behind this morning's events were. But I'm not predictable, or at least, I'm less predictable than I am exhausted. So it takes in the neighbourhood of seven minutes for me to fall asleep. Part of me hopes that I can finish off my sexy Trent dream, but another side of me worries I'd wake up on top of Owen.

I set the story in 2009 so that all the crazy new seasons can still stay in line. Actually, I originally set the story in 2008 but I couldn't bear to have all the characters turning 21 this upcoming year. Poor kids need to still wear the same outfits they have since 11th grade. Why don't they get new outfit models every season? I have the next 2 chapters on reserve so far, so I'm hoarding them until I'm always two chapters ahead of what I've published. Don't wanna keep the crowd waiting for all eternity of course.

I just found out that apparantly in total drama world tour, Noah does indeed wake up crushed under Owen. That was some interesting foresight on my part.