I shove him in the shoulder. Hard.
“Ow!” he cries out. “What was that for?”
“For saying I carved your face in a tree like some obsessed stalker!”
“That’s what you get for saying I wrote a poem about your eyes.”
“Well, you’re the one who started waxingactualpoetry about them.” I cup my chin in my hands and turn my face up to the sky. “Like the heavens,” I repeat dreamily.
“Shut up,please.”
Dean turns away from me, but I spot the sliver of a grin creeping over his face. I laugh, holding on to the log for balance.
Giving him shit is fun—reallyfun, he’s easy to fluster—but this? Sitting in the afterglow together? This is fun too.
“Despite how…” Dean waves his hand in the air. “Truly awful, and painful, and degrading as a human being that was, I think we did pretty good.”
“They’re all definitely convinced we’re in love, that’s for sure.” I try not to stumble over the word. Now’s not the time to get shuttered by embarrassment. I’m Seyoon Shin, I don’tgetembarrassed. Don’t quote me on that, though. “You were right,” I say, bumping his shoulder with mine. “Playing the couple act was a good idea. Thanks.”
“What for?”
I bite the tattered inside of my cheek to stall. “For being a good teammate, I guess. You’re helping both of us get ahead.”
He’s quiet for a few moments. “Well,” Dean says, “it’s notentirelyhorrible teaming up with you, either.”
“Youarein love with me!”
Dean does his huffy-laughter thing again and stands. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. I’m hitting the showers. Good luck with your prank.”
“What do you mean? Aren’t you joining?”
He pauses. “You want me there?”
“Of course.”
Dean blinks. Had he really thought I wouldn’t? He perks up and says, “Okay. Cool.”
I grin. He’s trying to hide it, I can tell, but it’s clear he’s happy about the invitation. Probably also at the chance to screw with Carter, but I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.
I think maybe we’re on our way to being friends.
Here are three things I know about Carter:
He’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met in my life.
His uncle is the second-most annoying person I’ve met.
He’s aheavysleeper. And a very routine one, at that. Carter falls asleep promptly at lights out, and nothing can get him up besides the 7 a.m. alarm that blares through camp every morning. He snores, too. That sleep apnea is no joke.
When telltale honks echo through the sleepy cabin, it’s our cue for O.G.T.L.S.S.C.A.F.O to commence. The name has started to grow on me.
I throw off my blankets and hear Vendredi do the same in the next bunk. The mattress above squeaks as Dean climbs down the ladder. I reach out blindly in his direction, grazing his arm in the dark. He holds on to my wrist, and we pad gently over to Vendredi, careful not to trip or step on a squeaky floorboard and wake everyone up.
But then, of course, I run my toe into the corner of Vendredi’s nightstand.
“Fu—”
Dean covers my mouth with his hand. We stay very still and listen. There’s no interruption to the rhythm of Carter’s snores or any of the even breaths in the cabin.
