How do you know at what point you're in love with someone?

Okay, I figure I'm not technically 'in love', for those words seem to carry a certain weight that I am wary of bearing for now. But at what point, I wonder, does it become at least partially accurate?

A lot of people think you can't be in love with someone if you're not with someone, because it means you don't 'know' them, or something of sorts. But I think that's untrue. Because everyone does stupid things for others out of love, even if the love is unrequited and unfounded. The hunchback died for Esmeralda, Eponine died for Marius, and Cody would die for Gwen if she was surrounded by sharks. Not that I could ever condone such an impulsive and rash decision, not that I could condone his death, or that I could even condone the concept of him being in love with her, but in a world where all these situations co-exist, possibly a world invented by Victor Hugo, I do not doubt it would happen.

Therefore, I attest that people can easily fall in love without ever needing to be allowed in the sphere of their beloved. If not, why does love at first sight happen? I'm not a romantic, I believe love is a sort of weakness, but I do not doubt people fall under that spell of weakness from the most minute of prompts. A thorough knowledge of someone is only necessary for the establishment and maintenance of a mutual partnership, but not for the feeling of uncompromising love itself. In fact, to require such knowledge would negate the idea of it being 'uncompromised'.

And now, I've gone around my orbit, back to my original self-posed question. How do you know when you're in love, or at least on the path to it? How do you know when it's different than some silly feeling I had for somebody like Trent, or like Stéphane in grade 9, or like anyone else I had a passing interest in.

At what point do I confirm to myself that I am completely bound by my limerence to him?

Because it's 2 AM, August 3rd. The camera crews left, I treated Cody's sunburn, and I went to bed. That was at least two hours ago, yet all I can really do is lie here and think. We were informed of our guests yesterday, so I woke up earlier than usual, the day was eventful, I should be exhausted, but I'm lying here, mind activated, unable to shut my eyes for long.

Like, how fucking cliché am I right now?

I don't feel particularly depressed, so all that stuff about living in a Taylor Swift song hasn't plagued me yet. No, not even 'Love Story', calm down.

I'm going to stop for a moment and realize in horror that I know enough about Taylor Swift to know that 'Love Story' is one of her 'happy' love songs and 'You Belong with Me' is a 'sad' love song. I really want to cut myself off of this train of thought before I start likening my life to her songs. God, I am so gay. Don't I sound really gay right now?

On the bright side, my little digression made it so I could stop thinking of Cody for a solid three minutes. On the down side, I think I was really beginning to sound beautifully poetic, using such terms as 'limerence' and 'impulsive', and that streak was broken.

I want to smother myself with the pillow until I pass out, so I can sleep, but as I said, he refuses to leave my head. The thought is too consuming, but not entirely unpleasant. Perhaps I could liken it more to a waitress coming with the desert menu after you've eaten too much: nice thought, but really not the time. I'm not even sure what I'm thinking of. Just him. His voice saying no particular words; memories of his face, patched together and not directly correlated with any particular moment in time. This is strange.

I toss and turn so frequently that my fitted sheet is torn off my bed, revealing the clumpy mattress underneath. The texture is wooly and disgusting against my skin. My entire form is in a state of absolute discomfort, as the friction from my pillow has tangled and mussed my dark hair. I feel a sting just above my lower eyelids, my eyes begging to close, but when they close, the tiny strands of light that stare through my window and the narrow beam of yellow peaking beneath the door to the hallway instantly become rave-lights through my skin, jolting my optical nerve with imaginary stimulus.

I could rub one out. That would make me sleep. But if I 'accidentally' thought of Cody, I'd be so freaked out I'd stay up three times as long.

I decide to do a classic switcheroo. Sometimes, when you lay in your bed for hours without sleeping, the bed is no longer associated with sleep and comfort. You get used to it, but not comforted by it. Every pillow and lump in your comforter becomes an obstacle to your coziness. I stand up, grunt, and grab my pillow. I weakly punch it and toss it at the foot of my bed.

I slam my weakened frame back onto the mattress, face down, head pointed where my feet once were. From this angle, I can no longer see the minute crevice of light that leaks under the hallway door. I can still see the moon, wide and pale in my eyes. The moon is full tonight.

The moon is scary. So big, and barren. Mythology called it our mother. Why is our mother so much smaller than us? And does that mean the other planets have many mommies? Or that poor Venus has none? The moon is scary.

So big.

So barren.

It isn't cold when he's beside me.

The grass takes on a silvery appearance. Like always, my vision is clouded at the edges, like I'd eaten a load of wasabi and I can feel the fire in my sinuses up into my brain. I'm angry because I'm still tired, but this changes quickly.

Cody asks me if I've seen his laundry. I laugh. I say I didn't.

He pouts.

Everything is illuminated like daytime, but the sky is still navy-blue. I want to fall asleep once more, on this silvery, soft grass – almost akin to a tacky aluminum Christmas tree, yet so much softer. Cody lays his head on my chest. I feel calm, but I feel angry. I want to be sleeping.

I feel his face in the crook of my neck. My hair feels wet. I can't register anything anymore. Why aren't I sleeping? I stayed up so late last night. I should be asleep, not eating dried coconut. Why am I here?

I wake up at 10:39 with the brief feeling of terror, terror that I'd been so close to a restful sleep but I was awakened only seconds in. The absence of the moon at my window, replaced by blue skies of morning, quickly allay these fears. I had another freaky dream last night, but I can't remember it. I think Cody was there, but I'm not sure what we were doing. I almost want my Trent dreams back. At least those didn't have symbolism.

I stretch out my limbs with an animal groan. I feel disoriented for a moment by my position in the bed, but I quickly sort it out mentally. I stand, extending my body to its full (meager) five and a half feet. I take the moment to inventory whether or not I'm still exhausted, and after some brief preparations, I head downstairs.

Time is running out at the loser house. There are only three people remaining on the island. The idea brings a twinge of joy to my heart, the idea of going home so comforting to me, but still I feel an echo of sadness to leave this place, no matter my ever-negative attitude.

I greet Cody with a nod when I reach the bottom of the stairs. It's as if he knows when I'll be down to see him. He does hang out with other people, like Geoff and Bridgette who are accepting to people of all sorts, and strangely enough, he even spends time with Lindsay. But I think he likes me best.

Did I really just word it that way? He likes me best. I'm pretty sure that's an established fact. I never really thought of people liking me 'best', only enjoying me from an observatory standpoint. In any case, that makes me happy that we get along, it makes me happy to spend another lazy day with him.

Okay, campers, rise and shine! Don't forget your booties cause it's cold out there today, it's cold out there every day! What is this, Miami Beach? Not hardly!

The nine days following the visit from the camera crews grow quickly to a beehive of vigorous activity, as if everyone in the house is preparing for the second coming of Jesus Christ. I believe this can be easily justified due to the revered aura that is soon to be attained by whomever emerges from this contest a victor.

Today is the day we make our timely return to the island to bear witness to the crowning of a victor to this horrible reality show. I long, in the pits of my heart, to go on a tirade about how much I don't care and how this entire endeavor was a pointless one, yet I can't shake the subtle vibration of excitement I sense within me. Maybe I turned into a softy over the summer, or perhaps the idea that someone I know is about to win a large lump sum really is a noteworthy piece of news. Especially given the fact that as Canadians he or she will not find their winnings brutally taxed into oblivion.

The entire gang chatters excitedly as we walk towards the edge of the dock, lining up to file into a small boat to cart us over to the island. Some of the more ridiculous amongst us (Courtney) have a day-bag with them containing a cornucopia of mostly unneeded goodies, but I prepare to make my crossing empty-handed.

I crunch myself between Trent and Leshawna on a bench in the boat. I can't help but feel a bit uncomfortable at the sensation of my right thigh pressing against Trent, but the luscious rump of Leshawna leaves me little wiggle room.

The boat rides low once all members of our household are inside. Lucky Owen's not here. I feel a glimmer of nostalgia at the sight of so many kids jammed into small spaces, it reminds me of every vacation I've ever had in my life. The motor sputters a bit and we chop through the water to the island, visible as a sliver on the water's horizon.

During our ride, I avoid eye contact with Heather. To be fair, most people do. I think it's because she is clearly glowering and unhappy. But I actually feel mercy for her, I empathize with her, for real. On a personal level, she's an A-grade bitch, but I believe that if someone is that willing to completely destroy their reputation just to win, she kind of deserves said win. Plus, her hair. As someone with long hair, well, boy-long, I'd probably wreck someone if it was brutally shorn from my head. I imagine she had a good five or six years' worth on her head. Chef might need to thank God that she was in shock the moment it happened or the 270 pound, 6'5" imposing black man would have been brutally murdered by the bare hands of a sixteen year old Asian teen.

The last reason I feel bad for Heather is because I heard her cry last night. Everyone kept their distance from her. However, the room she got was the one across from mine – at the very back of the hallway – because she was so late getting here most of the others were picked over. I could hear sobbing through the door, only faintly, and it sent a shot through my heart. I'm not sure why. Maybe I understand Heather better than I thought. I know I've played the popularity game, but never so vehemently as her, only passively. I can only imagine she has some tortured soul inside her, or maybe I'm just romanticizing it. Maybe, if this were a novel, her hair would count as symbolism. Possibly her hair cut means her queen bee persona has been killed?

I dismiss the idea, because I consider it unlikely that long hair would be considered a negative trait especially on a Japanese chick. I decide instead her hair was like a shield to her, or it represented her confidence. At the moment, she has some ugly coonskin cap-like thing sitting in her lap. I think she's going to use it to hide her head once she's on TV. What a sin.

I realize throughout this I've been looking at her, which is exactly what I didn't want to do, but behind the fuzzy outline of her shaven head, I can see the island come into detailed focus.

One by one, we leave the boat and clamber onto the dock. To my surprise, it doesn't collapse this time. We stand around idly waiting for further instruction. I glance around to see Chris McLean sauntering towards us.

Upon reaching the group, he explains:

"We have a peanut gallery set up for you guys to observe the finale. It's segregated by who you're rooting for, so make sure you decide before we reach the field! And if you change your mind after we start rolling, too bad."

"Fuck that, we better not get shit on if we choose the wrong person, like I wanna partake in the glory." Duncan says with a scowl. Chris rolls his eyes.

"Come on Duncan, could you tone back the language? Censor beeping actually costs money on the editing floor, you know."

"How much did blurring Heather's tits cost?" Duncan jabs.

Heather takes on a disdainful look, lip jutting, but she doesn't speak. Maybe her hair really did symbolize her confidence.

On the short walk towards the competition field, I decide to think closely about who's side I'm on. I actually never thought of it too deeply in the past. Owen gets on my nerves majorly, but he was very kind and accommodating to me, if not a bit creepy. He isn't exactly some kind of brilliant conversationalist but there's a time for everything, and when it's time for excitement, he brings it. I realize now I've grown somewhat fond of the boisterous boy – I'd never call him my best friend, but his company is at least worth some giggles.

My thoughts turn to Gwen. I never really liked Gwen. I have a very negative and sarcastic attitude, understand this, but she somehow reaches a level beyond me. That's like someone being more obese than Owen or more anal than Courtney. It goes from being a character trait, a stereotype, and becomes some monstrosity of an exaggerated personality, a trait that washes over every other aspect of the self. I will admit, as well, I remain eternally jealous of the feelings she aroused in Cody, regardless of whether I believe she is worthy of his praise. I know, however, my dislike of Gwen extends further back than my liking of Cody, so I don't attribute my irritation to the jealousy.

As if Cody knew I was thinking of Gwen, he catches up to me in the moving crowd. I turn my gaze to him and make a tight-lipped grin.

"Your ass already has an imprint on Gwen's side of the bleachers, I take it?"

He cackles lightly. "Of course, I want to show her my moral support! I think she likes me."

My face is so unimpressed and lax I feel like it's partially melting. "Are you seriously going to go back there, I thought you were done with her."

He waves his hands in front of me defensively. "No, no, I mean she likes me. Like you like me! She enjoys me now that I'm slowly learning to not be a creep!"

I tilt my head and give a single-breath scoff. "I think we'll have to be parted today, then." His mouth scrunches up. "You know I never liked Gwen that much, Owen was actually an acceptable buddy throughout this ordeal."

He nods. At this moment, I cement that I'm on Owen's side for victory. He always competed earnestly from day one. That's almost as formidable as Heather's tactics. Gwen sat there moping and somehow stumbled her way through. I know she did have her moments as a fierce competitor, but she doesn't have the attitude of a winner. She'll probably mess up during the finale due to simplistic overconfidence, so used to riding knowing nothing matters, that she won't take note of something that does.

I look to Cody to send him an offhanded encouragement: "May the best man win…" I say it with a lackluster tone, but I do mean it.

We make our way up the hill to the area where Gwen and Owen wait. There's a subdued feeling of excitement in the crowd, though my potential excitement decided to leave me a while ago. I note that the usually forlorn Heather is grinning again, which makes me believe she has a plot in line. It almost warms the cockles of my heart to see her back to scheming. It's the Heather we know and mostly hate.

I sit a few rows behind her on Owen's side of the bleachers, beside Courtney and Beth. I'm confused why they're on this side – I thought they liked Gwen. Then again, what do I know about how girls feel about each other? It changes frequently. I don't like either of these girls enough to converse with them regularly so I guess their alignment will stay mysterious to me.

"So campers." Chris begins, "This is your chance to tell the peanut gallery of failure what you would do if you won 100 000$"

Gwen riddles off some nonsense: "If I made it this far, maybe the rest of high school won't be so bad!" It's met with some giggles from the crowd and I roll my eyes so hard they practically fall out of my skull. "I promised to give some money to Owen, but that still leaves me with a lot. I guess I'd do some travelling, then put some down on university to study art history!"

I momentarily look upon her in favour for her generous treatment of Owen, but as I glance over to her side of the peanut gallery, I see that Trent and Cody are totally lapping up her college dreams like they're something so special. Why do the two hottest guys on this island both like the blue-haired girl? I'll never understand that.

I direct my view back to Gwen. In my head, I project to her: "Enjoy the money while you have it, you'll have lots of fun years of job-searching, unemployment, and time as a barista to look forward to once you hit that admirable art history degree…"

Maybe I should stop pissing on people's dreams. Or at least I should wait to hear Owen's plans.

"I would throw the sickest, biggest party ever, and invite ALL OF YOU!" He screams emphatically while flinging his arms in the air. We all cheer. I know I made the right choice. I just hope he would use the money to make several small installment parties and not blow it all on a The Hangover-style explosion of wasteful bullshit.

Half of Gwen's gallery trots over to our side. Expectedly, Cody and Trent stay where they are.

The rules of the game treacherous game are explained. Although deadly, it's decidedly simplistic compared to some of the things we've needed to do in the past. Gwen and Owen ready themselves to run. I can't help but sympathize with them, because neither a 293-pound guy nor a girl in heavy wedge boots are in a position to be racing, but at least they both have handicaps, as well as animals hats.

Chris yells 'Go'.

And they go.

Some of the more adventurous amongst us decide to chase after the competitors to push them onwards, but, true to my nature, I maintain my comfortable position on the bench. Besides, I can get a better view of Trent being shirtless from here, even though I have no idea where said shirt went.

The pair of finalists reach a pole and shimmy up, Owen maintaining the under-ass support of three friends beneath him. They capture coloured flags at the top of the post at about the same moment, but Owen is a bit slower to slide down. The grip of his massive paws clenches down on the pole, allowing an ear-scathing screech to resonate throughout the woods as he slides his large body down.

Gwen reaches the rickety bridge over a shark-filled chasm first. Trent, who had been up until now following her closely, decides to turn and take the 'easy way'. I'm not sure why Gwen is acting so coldly to him. It actually makes me like her less, if that's possible. He's made every effort to appear repentant for whatever acts caused her to be angry with him, but she rebukes him every time he tries to get mushy. It makes me angry for roughly a hundred reasons, most of which involve some combination of Cody, Trent, and the handsomeness they share. Why can't she appreciate that she has two men flinging themselves at her?

On the bright side, she's about to step on the bridge. I might get to witness her die in a few seconds. On the sad side, Cody would probably dive in after her to play the hero, so there's that, too.

She wobbles, putting one foot in front of the other. Owen is only inches behind her. The race is close, and I surprisingly feel a bit of anticipation for the result. I begin to resent Gwen more and more as I watch her compete, and only now that the race is half over do I truly grasp how much I really want Owen to emerge victorious.

A sharp screech is heard from the sky, and a pair of bald eagles swoop down towards the two teens climbing across the planks. Is this show even for real? Where did the eagles come from, and how are they legally allowed to keep the eggs of a protected species in their hand? I have no doubts that most of what happens here is made up of strictly controlled publicity stunts, but that hardly reduces the surreal nature of watching it occur in person.

The pair duck every time a bird flies by them. They could literally be killed. There must be some kind of safeguard in place – a safety net, something? I don't have any desire to move closer to the gorge just to investigate, so I make a feeble attempt at directing my attention back to the finalists. This is not an easy feat. It seems that every other person here has some kind of minute sub-plot going on, which is not unexpected for this show, but nevertheless distracting.

On the topic of distracting, Heather makes another scheme of removing Justin's shirt in plain view of Gwen and Owen. Their eyes widen, their gazes soften, and they seem to ignore they stand before an abyss. I stare at Justin, disinterested, and look back at the eagles, who now hover in confusion, likely also taken aback by Justin's sculpted beauty. I snort at the massive irony that as the solitary gay guy at this camp – at least to my knowledge - I don't see much appeal in Justin. Maybe I prefer pale guys.

I'm getting the strongest taste of heterosexuality I've ever felt as I find myself wanting Justin to put his clothes back on so the game can continue, however senseless the game may be. Seriously, after all the creative challenges that have been imposed on the competitors this summer, the most mundane and unoriginal footrace was chosen as the endgame? I am very unimpressed. I want this to be over with so we can have Owen's party. That is, if he wins. When he wins.

At this point, the two racers have run too far from my field of vision. Only those who decided to run alongside them can see where they are. I recline in my seat. I thought this would be a bit more exciting. Maybe they ran out of budget, just like Evangelion? They should have instead subjected these guys to psychological torture and awarded the money to whoever survived. They should have locked them both in a room so quiet they can hear their own hydrochloric acid sloshing inside their stomach, so quiet they can hear their pulse throb. On second though, Owen would have lost because his guts make more noise than Gwen's. Then again, maybe he's used to the gut noises and they would keep him company…?

I rise with a jolt at the sound of Lindsay screaming. "Oh no! Gwen's in the lead, our yacht party is in jeopardy!"

"I have a plan!" Izzy shrieks. Many of us exchange worried looks. "Does anyone have a giant electric fan?"

I'm not surprised Chris does. He has everything in his cushy trailer. Izzy cartwheels into action, a psychotic grin on her face. I'm not sure if I want to add her on the people I hate list. Maybe she'll land with Heather in the 'hate but respect' list. I think that depends entirely on how well-conceived this plan of hers it.

Gwen approaches the finish line, along with Trent carrying a boulder, and no, I don't understand that either, it's absolutely more stupid than his recent clothing removal. I think Trent might be just as insane as Izzy, at least she does it 'for the lols' - he's probably going to develop a severe mental illness any day now. That's a pity.

Owen is not too far behind, but clearly very winded. I'm truly surprised someone so massively obese could keep up. He comes into detail, just metres from the finish line, but collapses on the ground with a cry of 'Gordie Howe!' He begins to crawl pathetically, as Gwen continues to walk on two feet. Although I did not make it far in this competition, I would still feel so much more personally vindicated if Owen won, and chances are disappearing in front of him quicker than a plate of brownies would. Brownies. Do I smell brownies?

Izzy comes through with a plate of warm brownies. For an instant, I'm confused, but it doesn't take long for me to put the pieces together. She uses the fan to waft the scent of chocolate towards the drained and sweltering Owen. In a burst of dying energy, he erupts from the ground, in a hungered frenzy. He takes on an incredible speed to reach his precious baked goods. At this moment, I understand the cause of Owen's size – he may be able to run for 4 kilometres, but he downs 700 calories worth of brownies immediately afterwards. Quite the diet plan if you ask me.

His body tenses like a hippo charging through water, mouth opening wide like the massive water-horses, as well. He gallops at an erratic and unbounded pace, breath tearing from his throat loudly. Through his skin, the strain of his body can be seen – the sharp burning within his ancient muscles, long buried by layers of fat. He cries out like a Neanderthal hunter closing in on a mammoth, or perhaps like like mammoth itself. It is impressive to say the least, just when we thought we'd seen the peak of Owen's athleticism, the temptation of deep chocolate goodness wrenches from him the last of his reserved power.

I jump to my feel and cheer, unbridled. The others join me. I feel excited, so excited, so unusual for me, but I enjoy the feeling. Noah is screaming, Owen is running, Izzy has a good idea, everything is upside down today. Owen takes his mammoth/rhino/hippopotamus likeness to the logical extreme, barreling directly into his mate at the finish line. He crashes into the ground, brownies flying, raining down on him in cocoa ecstasy. We bolt from our seats and run to him to bask in his victory.

Screaming rings in my ears, so many hands grab at Owen that I can't even tell who owns what pair. I eat a brownie off the ground. The party hasn't even started but I feel the energy already. I almost need to stop and think, how unusual it is for me to feel so excited, I've never engaged in the thrill of a sports victory, I've never felt the pulse in my skull at the vibrant exuberance of some kid's party. I'd always just sit. Maybe Owen has that effect on you – making you feel just as innocent and good-natured as him. In any case, I'm happy for him. I'm happy.

In front of the crackling fire, the twenty two of us sit together for what might be the last time. All eyes are on Owen, and for once, no one, not even Gwen, is envious. He crams his victory marshmallow into his maw and throws his fists to the sky.

"Party at my place next week!" He shouts.

I smile warmly, but with a hint of malice. I wonder if the camera crews will follow us to this party? Maybe their contracts will be worn out by then. Part of me hopes so, but I know inside that something juicy is bound to happen at that party. I can't say for certain what – almost everyone in this group already hooked up with someone else, half of us have done a censored nude scene, and many of us have vomited, so I honestly don't know how it could devolve any further than that, but I'm sure an Owen party is as massive and eccentric as he is.

He begins to waddle towards his seat.

"Is that a wrap? I think that's a wrap. Wow, we're actually done." Chris says nonchalantly. He looks directly into the nearest camera, which remains fixated on him.

"Yo Owen, you know what it's time for?" Geoff says with a gesture. I glance towards him – I'm under the assumption they want to get the party started early, or perhaps make a feeble attempt at re-constructing the hot tub from the start of last month.

Evidently, they have other plans in mind, I notice as three of the stronger boys close in on Chris. With one grabbing him by the feet, one at the shoulders, and one supporting his midsection, the smaller man is easily lifted from the ground. Amid cheers, he is dragged to the edge of the dock and tossed into the lake. For a moment, he bemoans the destruction of his hairdo, but slipped between his gripes, a few lines of bureaucracy such as 'don't forget the waivers you signed!' rear their heads.

With a snort, I migrate back to the bonfire, as do the majority of us. We make a mutual and unconscious decision to stay at the fire until we can burn away at least some of our negative memories of the past month and a half.

I catch sight of Cody giving Tyler a demonstration of his habitual, gesticulated cool-kid talk. Tyler looks on with a hint of confusion, but a sort of acceptance. They might actually be birds of a feather, both so much more incompetent than they even realize. The muscles of my eye sockets urge themselves to roll, as they are so accustomed to doing, but the smile on my face belies any irritation I could possibly feel towards Cody. If I observe him speaking to someone who isn't me, it sort of drives home how awkwardly wonderful he can be…

I cease my staring and plop down on a log stool. To my surprise, our crowned victor lumbers over to me, wood creaking as his ass makes contact. I raise my hand to limply pat his robust forearm, in a sort of failed congratulatory gesture.

"Some good work out there, man." I say, realizing the unusualness of the punctual 'man'.

"Thanks buddy! I saw you cheering me on, it made me wanna win even more! Well, that and the brownies." His voice lowers slightly in pitch and drags over the word 'brownies', almost to emphasize his sensual obsession with the luxurious treat.

"My cheering made you excited?" I say with a narrow smile.

"Oh of course! You act like you don't care but you're a super funny guy. Smart too! I was sure if I had you on my side, I must be…worthy!"

A small explosion of laughter erupts through my teeth, sending a small dot of spit flying.

"Super funny and smart. Gee, thanks. You might be the first person here to compliment me!"

"Why would anyone speak bad of you? They just don't know you 'cause you left so early. But they didn't give you a chance! When you gave me one of your fun sized Smartie boxes on the first day, I thought, wow this guy is great! We should be friends. Too bad you left so early though!"

I feel a bit flustered at his earnest appreciation of me. I thought all the gophers hated my guts except possibly Cody because they only remembered my bad parts and not my good, I guess I was a bit of a one trick pony. The lazy kid. The token brown bookworm. But I do need to take his comments with a grain of salt, Owen doesn't have a mean bone in his entire body.

"So…" I start, trying to move the topic away from myself. "What do you want to do with the money?"

"Party!" He yells, a bit too loudly, and with the required accompanying arm gestures.

"Owen bud, you can't spent 100 000$ on a party, that's irresponsible and wasteful."

"Irresponsible and wasteful…listen to you! A party isn't a waste, it's a valuable life experience, just like coming here! Although I guess maybe a hundred-K is a bit much for a party. So I'll probably get some nice stuff for my Mom because she's just so great…maybe I'll get her expensive cookware! That's a present for her, and kinda a present for me too! Indirectly, I mean!"

"Well my advice is, blow the money in installments on parties. With a load like that, you could have the best birthday parties every year til you're 30, depending on how high quality you go with the booze once you hit the college years."

"Wow you're right! My brother is turning nineteen at the end of this month and I could give him money for all the Pabst Blue Ribbon in the World!"

I laugh openly at that one, it just seems like such an Owen thing to say.

"You should have a little party the night before we leave at the Playa. I think you'd like it there, they have food and a pool and the toilet paper is actually name-brand and not single-ply."

His eyes light up. "Sounds awesome. But anyway buddy I'm gonna go see the girls now! Take care!"

I nod. Everything that guy says sounds like it's followed by a colon-D smiley face. It makes me smile. He starts to meander over towards Lindsay and Beth, but gets distracted by the fact that Duncan managed to sneak several dozen all-beef wieners over to the island and is now charring them over the bonfire.

For a moment, I space out, but I am brought back by a sudden itching tickle on my shoulder. I turn to see a mess of fiery hair, far too close for comfort. Izzy has her face centimetres from mine, narrow, browless eyes alien and opened frighteningly wide.

"Hey No-Wah" she says.

"Um, Hi." I try to keep it cool. "So are you…" I swallow. "Proud of your…man?" The last word sounds even more awkward here than it did when I opened the conversation with Owen.

"Oh yes, so much. Izzy thinks that this money would be helpful to her plans. Izzy set up a PO box long ago for particular internet purchases, but has yet to use it due to lack of funds." Her voice quiets. "Then again I don't imagine accepts Tim Hortons gift cards! But it is worth a shoooot"

She drags the last word out slowly. I realize in horror, Owen's a cool guy, but if I want to be his friend, I have to deal with his insane girlfriend.

"Um no, they probably don't. Good investigation." I say, uncomfortable.

"You're a handsome guy."

Oh God, is this really fucking happening. "Thanks…"

"I like your nose."

"Thanks…" I squeak.

"If you ever need to find your place in a, oh, glass menagerie, I know a certain duo of compadres who would be quite ready to entertain the notion. I think, I haven't asked Owen."

My mouth opens to say 'what', but I needn't say it for my expression speaks it loudly enough.

"I mean if you want to be a third wheel of course! Why have a bike when you can have a wheelbarrow?"

My jaw still hangs open in confusion. Is she saying what I think she's saying, or rather, is she saying what I really hope she isn't saying?

"Oh nevermind, you silly, you need to read more than books. If you change your mind come see me, Jethro! We should hang out some time! Of course, I know you already find yourself occupied with a certain somebody-somebody." She says as she stands. "Squawk to you!" She says as a sort of goodbye.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat and search around for someone new to talk to. Trent and Gwen are tightly bound, Leshawna still doesn't like me, Cody seems occupied talking to Lindsay, Tyler, Bridgette… I ultimately decide to sit close to them, even if I stay silent, they'd remain a sort of protection to me. I'd honestly prefer if Izzy never spoke to me again, ever.

The following morning we came to in staggered awakenings at about seven to seven thirty AM. Most of us sat at the fire until it petered into embers, not long before the sun rose. We caught a few fleeting moments of shut-eye between twilight and dawn.

My eyes peel open and I'm lying on the ground. Cody is beside me, but our bodies don't touch. He is curled up in a ball between me and Bridgette, who, unsurprisingly, has her head resting in Geoff's armpit. This brings back lukewarm memories of the Big Sleep over a month ago. If I were brave, I'd put my arms around Cody right now, and he'd never know the difference, but I don't know if the reward would be worth it. If I were stupid, I guess I'd do it – if I were really stupid, I'd kiss him, too! I roll onto my back and the bones in my spine pop, pressing into the uneven shape of the hard earth beneath me. The sky is mostly blue, with an early-morning hue of yellow covering us. I squint in the summer brightness.

The recollection of the Awake-a-thon makes me imagine for a brief moment that the horrifying and short conversation with Izzy last night didn't happen, but I'm sure I have no such luck. I'll only need to remind myself to not fall asleep or take prescription medication in her presence.

I prop myself up and rub my eyes with a light groan. Upon looking around, I notice most of the campers are also stirring already, eyes unable to stay shut when exposed to the blazing, cloudless sky. I muster the gumption to venture a hand gently to Cody's hair.

"Cody. You up?"

He whimpers. "Did I win?"

I smile and shift my position, winding up cross-legged. I rustle his hair playfully.

"Yep, you did, actually! Didn't think you'd make it but you sure love brownies. Gwen was cheering for you, and she'd pretty pleased with you!"

He rolls around to face me, eyes opening a slit, still pasted shut by corners of beige gunk. "Noah. You bastard."

"Did you ever think we could wake each other in a pleasant way?" I snicker.

He stretches and I hear his knees pop into place. A tiny 'ouch' exits his mouth.

"I think I slept on a root."

"Come on, let's get up. The sooner everyone's awake, the sooner we can get back to the other side of the lake."

Eyes red and hair matted, we drag ourselves to the dock for the least shameful of rides back to the playa – not before seven or eight of us start jabbing Harold with sticks to rouse him, as he is the last one up. Predictably, upon returning to the house, the majority of us immediately slam back into bed. A good portion the campers don't even bother to return to their rooms, instead resorting to a kind of snuggle-orgy in the main living room on the massive leather sofa. I am not among them.

It's somewhat hard to fathom that today marks the end of this ordeal. In a way, I've waited for this day for awhile, but it's still bittersweet to depart from this place, however tormenting it was. In all honesty, when I was still in the competition, I wanted it to be over so I could be the winner. When I got eliminated, I wanted it to be over so I could get home. But I've gotten accustomed to being here. The people aren't perfect, the conditions on the island itself broke several codes, but I grew a sort of masochistic enjoyment out of being here.

Which I suppose is why, as I stand here jamming my things into my suitcase, I feel a hint of misery despite the fact that I should be feeling washed in a sea of excitement. I should be counting down the minutes, but I'm not. I look to my vanity and see it empty except for my toothbrush, hairbrush, and a singular face-cloth. The closet is empty, too. Now I have five copies of that same sweater-vest thing.

Here's a little secret about our show: at the start, we needed to choose a shirt from a nearby clothing outlet and we were purchased five copies of it. I'm not even kidding. We wear the same thing day in and day out, it's bound to get dirty or even destroyed, so it's useful to have extras handy. I'm just not exactly sure what I'll do with all these identical shirts when I get home. Maybe I'll give them to the sibs as hand-me-ups?

I smoosh my suitcase forcefully and try to pull the zipper around the perimeter, struggling at the corners. I have all fourteen of my books in there, each one stacked carefully and cushioned by clothes, because God forbid someone so much as dog-ear one of my novels. When I get the damn suitcase closed, I push myself off of it with a gasp. This counts as heavy exercise for me.

I sit on my bed and glance about the room that had been my home for five or six weeks and feel the slightly sense of nostalgia. Would I say I like it here? No. But it ended up being less painful than I expected.

So I imagine that's why I feel a tug at my heart when I imagine never sleeping in this bed again.

I hear a rap at my door and I predict who it is. I get up swiftly and open it.

"Ready for the sick party tonight? " Cody says when I open the door, wringing his hands.

"This is literally the first party of your life isn't it."

"No –"

"If none of your female friends had their periods yet last time you had a party, that doesn't count."

"Well…"

"If there was Dungeons & Dragons, that doesn't count."

"But…"

"It's okay, it's fine, relax you'll have a good time tonight, I'm sure. Just don't embarrass yourself, for the love of God."

He looks up at me, with a hint of a smirk, but an innocent smirk. I melt a little.

"Well, you're coming, right?"

"Nah…parties aren't really my scene."

He looks genuinely hurt for an instant. I shove him into my room and let the door shut behind me.

"I'm kidding, Cody, of course I'll be there. It's in our own house, how can I not be there?"

"You finished Atlas Shrugged during one of Eva's rampages."

"Ah-ah-ah, 'Eva's rampages' falls in with 'ten year olds playing mini putt' and 'nerds playing D&D' in the category of things that 'aren't parties'."

He pads over to my bed and meekly attempts to lift my suitcase off my bed. He mostly just drags it to the floor. He sits on my bed and brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his bony, hairy legs.

"So like do we need to bring something to this party?"

"You got weed?"

His eyes widen. "No!"

"Then no."

"Someone's going to have weed?"

"I almost hope someone does, just so the hammer of the law can come down hard on Chris and on TeleTeen, but I'm pretty sure that would not be the result, and Duncan spending the next 8 years in prison would be."

"Well then…" he shifts his gaze to the side for a second. "Do I need to wear something particular?"

"I'd suggest one of the four remaining copies of that striped sweater that doesn't have blood and holes from a bear's paw in it."

"I actually kept the shirt I wore during the bear attack! Although it's actually just a bloody rectangle of fabric. I should make a blanket out of it! Or…or a teddy bear! Wouldn't that be twisted? "

I turn at him with a disbelieving smile and turn back to my random fiddling of leftover objects on my dresser. "It doesn't really matter. We're just getting together to…say goodbye."

"That's kind of sad!" He says empathetically.

"I suppose you're right. I'm sure some people will be sad."

"Won't you be?"

"Ah, I dunno." I say with a sigh. "I didn't really get to know everyone that well, they kind of ignored me except for you, Owen, and…" I shudder instead of saying 'Izzy.' "At least, I didn't get much positive attention."

He stays silent for a second. My back is turned to him, but I know he's observing me. "We're meeting in the basement lounge at seven?"

"Mh hm." I turn my head. He glances at the clock on my beside table and slides off the bed, expulsing a breath.

"I'll be back."

He slips out my door. I motion a hand towards the alarm clock, turning it towards me to check the time. It's ten after six – the girls, being girls, are probably already dressed and ready. I should probably 'choose something to wear', and by choose something to wear, I mean decide between one of the two outfits I left hanging in my closet instead of packing up with everything else. Right now, I'm wearing shorts and a plain white t-shirt, which isn't party material. I throw my closet open. The two garments for my consideration are a burgundy top with a pocket on the left breast, and a collared American Eagle shirt that I'm pretty sure I stole from my brother Gabriel. I decide the former looks really, really gay, so I go with Gabriel's shirt.

I toss that on, throw on some jeans, and begin to brush back my dark, wavy hair. As I gaze at myself in the mirror, I suddenly think to myself that I'm glad to not be bald. And then I snicker darkly, remembering Heather. When I reach the last lock of my hair above my left ear, I hear another rap at my door. I don't hesitate to reach for the doorknob.

Cody stares back at me. "Do I look appropriate?" He holds his hands out. He's dressed in dark-coloured jeans and a button-up red plaid shirt. He actually looks rather splendid. My mouth splits into a smile.

"You've got it." I say. He slides into my room under the arm that props open the door. I release the door behind him.

Instead of sitting down on my bed like he usually does, he circles around in my room. He reaches the window and flicks the locking knob up and down.

"I think I should do something nice for her."

I put my hairbrush down on my vanity. "For who, Gwen?"

"Yeah." He affirms. "I mean I don't think she's sad she lost. Or maybe she is? I'm not sure. But I should do something nice for her, so she'll remember me."

I lean back against the vanity and give him my full attention, raising an eyebrow. He continues: "Well I'm not sure what I could do, I don't want to do anything flashy or embarrassing, I just want to look cool, like worthwhile….I want her to remember me."

"She will remember you, don't be crazy. "

He directs his eyes straight into mine. "But will she miss me?"

I open my mouth to speak, but I am unsure of what to respond.

"I never had my chance with her, but I got to see her, and seeing her makes me happy, and then I won't see her anymore, and that will make me unhappy. Right?"

Something echoes inside me as he says this.

"So I guess tonight is my last chance to make sure she never forgets."

I finally muster up something to say: "Don't think of it too hard. Have a good time tonight and be…you. Not the you that tries so hard, just…" I search for words, knowing I sound stupid. "The you that I know."

He laughs. "I don't know if everyone else is as impressed with that."

"And people are sooo impressed with your cool guy schtick…"

"Point taken." He breathes heavily and fiddles with the window lock again, twisting it down into the closed position. "What time is it?"

"Six fifty four."

"We should definitely go."

"Ye." I mutter.

We both make our way to the door. In the instant before my fingers surround the doorknob, he speaks again.

"Oh and Noah?"

Before I can even turn to him, his hair is in my face and his arms tangle loosely around my chest.

"I'm going to miss you a lot. I mean it."

A heavy lungful of air fills me, in a state of surprise. Unsure of where to place my hands, I leave them hover above him as he hugs me. I think this is unwise, but I can't think of an alternative. My heart flutters.

"I'm going to miss you too. Actually –" I choke on the syllables. "More than anyone else, really."

I finally decide to let my arm fall over him, too. I close my lips tightly and I am overcome with the sudden realization that I might never see him again after tonight, and that yet another parallel has been drawn between my situation and his with Gwen. I believe much of the bittersweetness I experienced upon the contemplation of my departure is due entirely to leaving him. As I break the embrace, I quickly grab at the doorknob and we slide out the door. I let him out before me and watch him as he walks a pace ahead. He turns to make sure I'm still there, and gives a small gap-toothed smile. I've never really had to miss someone before.

I finally updated! It took precisely 100 days! I got some nice reviews in the space between my latest chapter and now. The first block of this sat in my computer gathering mould for two months and I realized, I just need to GET R DONE. I think it turned out pretty good... I've had some personal experience in the past few months that really serve as inspiration I guess. Now that I'm done school for the year, you can at least hope that I keep this story updated. Thanks for reading! :D