Yet again, another family member walks away before I can finish saying what I need to say. Everyone must be busy and flustered about this big week ahead of us. I myself feel like I’m spiraling, and I just got here. I just need to get through this day. Then the next. And the next. I groan. Maybe a nap in my quiet cabin will be just the ticket.
My cabin is settled a bit off the main road, which is nice because it gives me a bit of privacy. My luggage sits outside, patiently waiting for my arrival. I fumble, trying to find the key in my pocket, before noticing that the door is already unlocked. I push the door open and step inside, and it’s perfect. Does it probably look identical to every other cabin? Yes, absolutely. But it’s mine. With string lights hanging across the ceiling, the bed sits in the center of the room in front of the door, with two old nightstands nestled tightly against the mattress. There’s a huge trunk sitting proudly in front of the bed, probably full of extra blankets and pillows. Or a dead body. Even still, it’s everything I would have wanted at summer camp, and it’s all mine—my very own cabin. I do a little dance in place as young Isa finally cannot contain her excitement. I did it. I’m here.
As I step farther inside, I notice some things on one of the nightstands and a pair of shoes by the closet door. I suddenly feel hyperaware of my every movement. Is someone in my cabin? Oh my God, Maria is right. The place is haunted. Or worse. There really is a killer on the loose. What if they’re in the trunk, waiting to pop out and slice my throat open? That would be my luck. No, maybe they’re in the closet. Waiting for the perfect moment to jump out and slash my Achilles tendons, rendering me useless at running away. Then they’ll drag my lifeless body under the bed, where I’ll surely bleed out and die.
I sneak around the cabin slowly, making each step practically mute. I walk over to the nightstand and pick up one of the lamps. I blame Maria for this. I will return and haunt her for the rest of her life if I die. I walk toward the closet. My heart is beating so loudly that it’s almost deafening.
“Come out now! No need to hide anymore. I know you’re there. I have a weapon!” I shout into the air. My voice is shaky. I reach my hand out toward the knob—my pulse racing. Sweat piles up on my forehead. With all my force, I pull the door open and yell as loud as I can as I swing the lamp up, ready to hit my assailant.
No one is there. Duh. I must stop watching horror movies before bed and believing everything Maria says.
“What are you doing?”
I scream and turn around to see Valentina leaning against the doorway, sipping what looks like a can of kombucha.
“I’m just—taking precautions,” I say, straightening myself out. “What are you doing here? Haven’t you bothered me enough for a day? Shouldn’t you go to your cabin and be your cool self over there?”
“Yeah, I am,” Valentina replies between sips.
“Okay, then go. I’m busy.”
I walk past her to grab my luggage and I get a whiff of her perfume. It’s a heavenly blend of amber and sandalwood with notes of vanilla. It’s almost intoxicating. I sniff outwardly as if it would help the scent shoot out of my nostrils and stop tempting me. On the other side of the bed, I notice a measly cot on the floor with a blanket folded neatly on one end. A pillow rests comfortably on top.
“What the hell is this for? Is something wrong with the bed?” I wonder out loud.
“That’s your bed,” Valentina declares coolly.
“Hah, good one, Val,” I say, clapping mockingly. “Is this about that one time I peed on the bed when we were kids? For the hundredth time, it wasn’t me, okay? But sure, keep making jokes. You’ve always been great at that.”
There was a time when jokes like this didn’t sting. When Valentina and I could tease each other and laugh it off like it was nothing. Sofia, Valentina, and I were inseparable once—always getting into trouble, sharing secrets, practically glued at the hips. And there was always something about Valentina…even when we were young. I’d never let myself think too much about it, but it was there, that magnetic pull. It’s still there, even though I wish it wasn’t.
But that was before. Before the quinceañera, before everything changed. Somewhere along the way, the teasing stopped feeling light, and every joke started to feel like a reminder of how far apart we’d drifted—and of things left unsaid.
I catch her eye for just a second too long, and my heart does that stupid flutter it’s been doing since we were kids. Annoyed, I break the gaze, glaring at her. “Can you please just go to your cabin now?” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. I need her to leave before I give too much away, before I remember what it felt like to be close to her in ways I still don’t fully understand.
Valentina chuckles and walks toward the bed. In one fell swoop, she twists her body and lands on the bed. She kicks off her shoes and puts her feet up. I’m speechless.
Before I finally get to muster a word, she says, “Thisismy cabin.”
Chapter Seven
“Good one again, Val. Have you considered stand-up comedy as a profession? You’re on a roll today,” I insist.
She looks up at me with a slanted smile and raises her eyebrows. With those two motions, I know immediately. I’m sharing my cabin with Valentina. Fuck. You have got to be kidding me. This is just my luck.
“I am not sharing a cabin with you, let alone a bed.” I laugh, incredulous.
“Who said anything about sharing the bed?” Valentina points to the cot once more. “Like I said, that’s where you’ll be sleeping for the week.”
“Ab-so-fucking-lutely not. This isn’t a part of my plan.” I rush to the door and scream out Sofia’s name into the camp so loudly that I alert a few vendors to my direction.
“Someone get Sofia now!” I shriek.
Valentina winces. “Ugh, you’re so loud.”
I turn around to see Valentina put on her headphones and place a pillow over her head in the most obnoxiously dramatic fashion. I can’t imagine sharing a space with this person for an entire week. I scan the room slowly, inspecting all of her things. The nightstand near her is covered in crumpled-up receipts, a wallet, and two empty mugs, undoubtedly dirty with coffee or, in her case, kombucha. I feel the urge to pick up the mugs and clean them, but I resist. There’s a pile of clothes on the floor next to the nightstand, possibly whatever she wore the day before, which she stripped off before throwing her body onto the bed. I highly doubt she took a shower before doing that. The towel she used whenever she did decide to shower is lying on the floor. A sad, wet ball of 100 percent cotton. How could someone who has only been here a day longer than me have already made themselves at home so quickly? The bed looks as if she just rolled out of it in the morning and didn’t bother to make it. I sigh hopelessly. There is just no way this is going to work out. We’re absolutely different people. She’s messy and unorganized. I’m…not that at all—the complete opposite.
“Hey, you two,” Sofia pipes up as she enters the cabin. “I see you’re getting acquainted.”
