He shakes his head. “Forget about it. It was nothing, like you said.” He starts to lower himself down the ladder.
“But we’ll still stick to our plan, though, right?” I’m suddenly struck by how deeply I may have messed this up, how there’s so much on the line, and I could lose it all.
I clamber down the ladder after him.
“We’ll stick to the plan, right?”
He gives me a grim smile. “Sure.”
I swallow back a lump that has inconveniently appeared in my throat. This is for the best.
We don’t say much on the walk back to camp. As the clearing comes into view, we loop our mics over our heads.
“Let’s do this,” he says, with more resignation than enthusiasm. I reach my hand out for his, and he hesitates.
“I thought you didn’t want—” He trails off.
“I don’t want to be with you, but I still want to win.” I don’t mean for it to sound so callous. I’m such an asshole. His mouth sets in a firm line. “Come on,” I say, softening my tone. “Eyes on the prize. We can still win this.”
He looks at my hand, and finally takes it, his reluctance painfully apparent.
At this time of the morning, camp is normally busy. The campers are usually working out in the makeshift gym, cuddling in the hammocks, or gossiping in the lounge. The producers and crew are usually milling about, updating the Chore Board or setting up for the day’s challenge. But today, the field is empty. It’s totally quiet—no movement, no sound. Just vacant stillness.
“Where is everybody?” Kei says, frowning.
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re letting everyone sleep in?”
“Huh.”
“Or maybe they’re down at the beach,” I say, reaching for an explanation.
Kei looks toward the beach path. “Maybe,” he says, sounding unconvinced.
We slow our pace. In the absence of all other noise, the sound of our footsteps crunching on the gravel is crisp and loud. The trash can outside the Arts & Rec cabin has been overturned, and the ground is littered with empty beer cans and wine bottles. The door of the Mess Hall is slightly ajar, but there are no shadows inside, no signs of life at all. It’s like we’re the only two people left.
At the Bunkhouse, Kei hesitates as he reaches out to pull open the screen door. I look at him, holding my breath. I’m steeling myself for something—I’m not sure what, but something feels very wrong. A bird flies overhead, and we flinch at the sound of its flapping wings.
He clears his throat, then laughs nervously. “Come on,” he says, pulling the door open. “It’s fine.” I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
Inside the Bunkhouse, the silence is like a vacuum. The air is warm and still, but a shiver travels through me. I squint into the darkness.
“Hey, look who’s back.” Damian’s sleepy voice makes me jump. I put my hand on my chest and feel my heart thumping back against it. As the shapes of our fellow campers begin to emerge, relief washes over me.
“Hey babe, how was your night?” Harmony asks, stretching her arms over her head.
I glance at Kei. “It was good. Great!” My heart pounds. Harmony will see right through my forced enthusiasm. I double down, looping my arm through Kei’s and resting my head on his shoulder. His body tenses at my touch.
“Go away, the bell hasn’t rung yet,” Sue-Ellen moans from her bunk. Isa is sound asleep beside her.
“Yeah, what’s with that?” Kei asks, extracting himself from my grip. He sits down on our bunk, leaving me standing alone. “Was there a change to the morning schedule?”
Damian sits up and reaches for the mic hanging by his bedside. “Say what?”
“It’s like, ten thirty, and there’s no one around.”
“Maybe they stayed up even later than we did,” Giovanni says, hoisting himself up. His eyes look sunken, and his face is pale.
“I’m never drinking again,” Sid groans from Trina’s bunk.
