Becca is wearing Ronan's sweatshirt. She's wearing his sweatshirt, and she's acting like it's completely normal; as if she didn't just spend seven minutes, alone, in the rain with the same roommate who's been trying to make my life miserable for a month. I try to catch her eye, but her attention is elsewhere. She's staring at Ronan. And she's staring at him hard. She's staring at his face like there's an invisible script imprinted there, one that only she can read, and if she's able to decipher it she'll finally understand all the mysteries in the universe. Her eyebrows are furrowed into tight knots, as if she's concerned. I can't imagine Becca feeling concerned for anyone, let alone Ronan, but then again, I never could've imagined what was going to happen tonight.

Ronan isn't looking at Becca. He's looking at me, and he's smirking like an asshole. Because he is an asshole. He's the biggest asshole in the universe.

I don't think I'll ever forgive him for this.

The two of them take their places in the circle. They both look so casual, as if nothing is out of the ordinary— as if they hang out in the rain and swap articles of clothing every other day. I feel my cheeks start to heat up. Despite the chilly breeze forcing its way through the window, the air inside the cabin feels suffocatingly warm.

Jasper looks alarmed. Giselle looks intrigued. I just try to keep my face blank.

"So," Giselle asks, "Who's up next?"

Something inside me snaps. A rib, maybe, from the impact of being stabbed in the back. "Nobody," I snap, reaching forward and snatching the ketchup bottle out of the circle and rolling it over to the other side of the room. "The game is over. The party is over. You guys need to leave."

Giselle recoils from the harshness of my words, her expression quickly turning incredulous. "Excuse me? Who gave you the right—"

"This is my cabin. I get to decide who stays and who goes."

"Oh, please," Ronan scoffs. "Don't act like you get to make all the rules around here. I live here too, you know."

"Nobody cares," I growl. Locking eyes with Giselle, I rise to my feet and jerk a finger towards the door. I know she's going to make my life a living hell for this, but I can't find it in my heart to care. All I know is that if I have to spend another second around these people, I'm going to lose my fucking mind. "Get out. You heard me."

Giselle opens her mouth to give a scathing rebuttal, but then Jasper places a hand on her shoulder. "I agree with Finn," he says softly. "It's getting late. We should all go back to our cabins and get some sleep."

She doesn't try to shove his hand away, but she doesn't listen to his words, either. "I don't know if you noticied," Giselle snarls at me, "but it's pouring outside. Do you really expect us to walk back in the rain?"

"Yeah. That's exactly what I expect. But don't worry— just because you act like the Wicked Witch of the West doesn't mean the water will actually make you melt. At least, I hope it doesn't."

Giselle's pretty face twists dangerously. "Now you listen here, Fish—"

"No more fighting!" Jasper exclaims. "Please, Giselle, let's just go. Your cabin is near mine— we can walk together. It's not like this birthday party was that fun, anyways."

"It doesn't matter if it was fun. What matters is that Finn is being a total dick!"

I flash her a sardonic smile. "I don't think I made my myself very clear. If you don't leave right now, I'll the Director that you were here after light's out. How's that for a fun birthday party?"

Jasper gapes at me. "Finn, you wouldn't."

"I would, and I will. So leave."

"You're unbelievable," Giselle says furiously. "You are really, truly un—"

He tightens his grip on her shoulder. "It's over, El. You're fighting a losing battle here. Please, let's just go. I'm so tired of fighting. I just want this whole night to be over with."

Giselle glares at him, but she doesn't argue. (Weird— I've never heard someone call Giselle by a nickname and live to tell the tale.) "Fine. Let's go, Sostenuto."

The circle splits into two smaller groups. Giselle and Jasper depart together into the rain, and Becca, Ronan, and I remain seated on the cabin floor. The ensuing silence is deafeningly loud. I haven't felt such a tension since the night my dad almost-arrested me.

"Well," Becca says. "That was rude."

Finally, I'm able to meet her gaze. There's nothing kind in her eyes. Nothing at all. "This is my cabin. Not Giselle's. She doesn't get to tell me what to do here."

"It's Jasper's birthday," she insists. "You don't kick someone out on their birthday. That's just rude."

"So what? It's not like he was going to get a better birthday anywhere else."

Becca's mouth twists with displeasure. "Stop being so ridiculous. You're acting like a child."

"Oh, I'm the one acting like a child? You're the one that ignored me for five days because I took credit for you stupid 'prank'! Which, by the way, wasn't even that good!"

Ronan coughs into his fist.

"You made your choice," Becca says, her voice ice-cold. "I made mine. You didn't have to take credit for my prank, but you did. And I don't tolerate liars."

"Well, I don't tolerate cheaters," I fire back. "So get out of my cabin."

"Really? You're kicking me out, too?"

"Yeah. That's what I said."

Her mismatched eyes are blazing now, and she's looking at me like she expects something. For me to say sorry, probably. I guess I was a bit harsh with her earlier, saying all that stuff about how she knows thing she shouldn't, but I was just so mad. And for me to apologize, sincerely, to say that I messed up and I'm not really kicking her out— that this is my fault, not hers— I would have to be in a far better, far more considerate mood. So she's not getting anything out of me. Not today, at least.

"I think Becca should stay—" Ronan begins.

"Well, I think she should leave," I say hotly. "That's the choice I'm making."

My words ignite something inside of Becca, and she springs to her feet, smashing her hands down onto her hips. Her cheeks are a fiery shade of red. "Fine. You win. But here's a tip, Fish: the next time you like a girl, don't talk shit about her in front of all your friends. It's just common sense."

"Here's a tip," I say, fury rising in my throat, "get out of my cabin before I tell the Director that you were here past curfew."

Ronan raises an eyebrow at me, mildly surprised by my threat. "C'mon, Fish. Don't go there."

"Don't tell me what to do," I snarl at him. Then I turn back to Becca. "Just leave. Please."

"You don't need to ask me twice," she says coldly. "Sweet fucking dreams, Finn."

She storms out into the rain, the screen-door slamming shut violently behind her. I stare at it for a moment, watching the frame vibrate from the impact, and wonder, for a dazed moment, what the hell I just did.

Ronan waltzes over to his bed and sits down, running a hand through his spiky hair to clear the rain out of it. He's not even wearing a camp shirt. Instead he's got on one of his fancy polo shirts, as if any of need a reminder about how pretentiously rich he is. (I hate him. I really, truly hate him. Fuck Ronan. And fuck polo shirts too.) "Sometimes I ask myself, 'Could Finn fuck things up more than he already has?' and then I think, 'No, there's no way he could accomplish that'." He shakes his head at me. "But then you prove me wrong. Again, and again, and again."

I can't tear my eyes away from the door. "Shut up."

"Keep going like this, and you're going to die a virgin," Ronan tells me. "Becca was right— girls don't usually think it's 'hot' when you insult them to their face."

"I said, shut up."

"Hmm. I think the saddest thing about this whole mess is that you actually thought you had a shot with her in the first place. I hate to break it to you, pal, but Becca doesn't like you that way. She told me so herself. We talked about a lot of things, outside in the rain. There's just so much you can do in seven minutes."

My eyes snap away from the door. "Like hide a body?"

"I wouldn't know. I was busier doing other things."

"Fuck off, I know you're lying. Becca might not like me anymore, but she certainly never liked you."

Ronan smirks. "Is that jealousy I hear, Fish?"

"You wish."

"I don't have to wish. I already know. And I'm not even a p—"

"Prick?" I finish for him. He shrugs, and it's such an infuriating gesture that I find myself storming over to my side of the room throwing myself down on my bed so hard the wooden legs creak and tremble. "God! Do you always have to be such an asshole? Like, do you ever wake up and think 'Hey, maybe I shouldn't act like an absolute blight upon the earth today'?"

Ronan rolls his eyes. "Look, Fish, I didn't ask to be your roommate. I certainly didn't want to. And it's not my fault that you make it so easy to be an asshole in the first place."

"Excuse me? How are you blaming this on me? I've done nothing to you! You've hated me since the first day of camp for no reason— just admit it!"

"Oh, you give me lots of reasons, Fish."

"Name one!"

"Well, for starters, you're annoying. You're maybe one of the most annoying people on the planet. If there was a way to measure how annoying someone is, you'd be in the book of Guinness World Records."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, it's right! Should I go on? Because I can do this all day. I mean, I haven't even started on how you're from Indiana—"

"What the hell did Indiana ever do to you? It's a perfectly fine state!"

"C'mon, Finn, the current population of Indiana is like, five million potatoes and maybe ten actual human beings. If the United States ever gets into a nuclear war with Russia, we should all just evacuate to Indiana, because that's the one place in the world nobody would ever want to bomb. And if we were ever in a zombie apocalypse, I'd hitch a ride to Indiana, because it's the only state where I know for sure there aren't any brains—"

"Leave Indiana out of this!"

Ronan holds his hands up in the air. "Fine. But Indiana aside, you're still a pain in my ass."

I clench my hands into fists, crumpling the bed-sheets between my fingers. I like to imagine that they're Ronan's face. "You might think I'm annoying, and from a dumb state, or whatever. But at least I don't act like I'm better than everyone else. And at least I respect the consequences of my actions. Also, unlike you, I actually have friends at this camp. The only person who likes you is yourself!"

"Whatever. You're just pissed because I kissed Becca, and you didn't. And don't act like it's not true— everyone knows that you've had a crush on her for weeks."

"What? No, I didn't!"

"Don't lie, Fish. You're not good enough at it. Also, don't accuse me of not respecting

"You shouldn't lie, Fish, you're not good enough at it. Also, you can't accuse me of not consequences when you literally just insulted Becca to her face, and then got upset when she decided not to like you anymore— I mean, what did you think was going to happen? That she would promise never to kiss anyone again and fall into your arms? Oh, Finn, you're so smart, why couldn't I see that you were the man for me all along—"

I jump to my feet. "Shut up. Just shut up!"

"Why? Because I'm right, and you're afraid of the truth?"

"No, because you're the worst! You're the complete and absolute worst! You're a terrible roommate, and a horrible person, and you make me wish that I had been sent to jail instead of camp just so I didn't have to spend time with you!"

Ronan snorts. "Ha. I could care less about what you think of me."

Something thuds against the window. A tree branch, probably, knocked loose by the rain.

"What was that?" I ask, frowning.

"I don't give a flying fuck."

"That'd be a first. You've been quite the little drama queen lately."

"Well, excuse me for not be emotionally vacant like you. I'm sorry that my parents didn't raise me to be a perfect little uncaring robot—"

"Don't bring my parents into this, Fish."

"Oh, so I'm not allowed to talk about your parents, but you're allowed to kiss my friend? How come you get to sabotage my life while I don't even get to mention yours? God! I am so sick of you, Ronan! Sick!"

"Yeah, well the feeling's mutual. Also, I'm not the one sabotaging your life. You've been doing a pretty bang-up job of ruining it all on your own."

"You— you—" I can't force the words out anymore. It feels like all the oxygen has left my brain. The only thing I know for sure is that if I listen to Ronan for one more second, I'm actually going to punch him in the face. But even as angry as I am, I can't bring myself to violence, which is why I fling myself off my bed and stalk out of the cabin, the rain pouring down my face while the door swings wildly behind me, smacking against the wooden frame with the same viciousness as my heartbeat pulsing in my chest.

Ronan yells after me, "And don't bother coming back!"

I give him the finger as I storm into the forest, though I doubt he can see it through the rain. I'm sure he gets the message.

The rain soaks through my clothes instantly, but I don't care. In a way, the freezing water almost feels cleansing. Like I'm rinsing this night off me, one raindrop at a time. Soon I start running and then I'm sprinting into the trees and I don't look back.

I don't think about where I'm going. I just run, and run, until my breath runs out and my foot catches on a vine and I go sprawling.

My chin bangs against the ground, hard. "Fuck!" I shout. Then I shout it again, and again, because it just feels right. "Fucking shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—"

And then, out of nowhere, I hear, "Need a hand?"

My head jerks upward.

Wolsey the groundskeeper looms above me, his whole body covered in the biggest, lumpiest rain jacket I've ever seen. It's huge and beige and absolutely disgusting, and, for a second, my only thought is Bigfoot is real! before I realize that it's just Wolsey, and not the large, furry mythical beast. I feel my jaw drop at the sight of the groundskeeper and I don't bother closing it.

"I said, do you need a hand?"

"Er, sure." I'm so stunned that I let him help me up without complaint. He stares at me, more concerned than upset. Which is startling enough in itself, considering that I must be breaking a bazillion rules right now. "Thanks."

"Looks like you got a bad scrape there," Wolseley remarks, gesturing to my bleeding chin. "What are you doing out here so late at night, anyways?"

I'm still gaping at him in complete bewilderment. (I am so. Dead.) If Wolseley decides to tell the Director about this, she'll actually murder me. "Running," I say, stupidly. "Because... that's what I like to do. Go for runs in the middle of the night, that is. Preferably in the pouring rain."

Wolsey nods his head, as if this is a perfectly acceptable response, and not just some crazy bullshit I made up on the spot. "Okay. Just as long as you're not getting yourself into any trouble."

"Oh, no sir, no trouble for me." In my mind, I see Jasper's illicit birthday party, the catastrophic game of Spin the Bottle, and my epic fight with Ronan. I cringe a little. Unfortunately, Ronan was right— I really am a shitty liar. "Staying out of trouble is what I do best. Uh, and I hope you don't mind me asking— but what are you doing out here in the woods so late at night?"

He shrugs at me. "Just finishing up a few errands. Don't worry about it."

"Um. Okay." This clears up nothing, but I'd rather run into Wolsey doing vague errands than Karen or one of the other stricter counselors on their nightly patrol. "And... just checking, but are you going to give me a mark for this? I know that it's really late and all...."

"No," says Wolsey, and I hear myself exhale a sigh of relief. "You're not in trouble, Finn. I understand. We all need to run sometimes."

"Yeah." His words hit me harder than I expected, and I blink vigorously. "Thank you."

"It's nothing. Just promise me that you're going to go back to your cabin and fix up that cut of yours. Oh, and don't worry, Finn," Wolsey says, already trudging away into the trees, "I won't tell anyone I saw you here tonight."

I stare at his back as it disappears into the gloom. Rain runs down my face and my arms and my chest and it sort of feels like I'm melting. I imagine myself liquefying, seeping into the ground and joining the snow melt, maybe ending up in a beautiful untouched glacial lake in a few decades or so, or even spending a few months in a nice, puffy cloud. In all honesty, dissolving into the forest floor sounds much more appealing than having to face my maniac roommate again. Or Becca.

Lightning flickers through the trees. It looks too bright and jagged to be real. For a split second, I wonder if I'm dreaming. Or if, somehow, my soul has detached itself from my body and all of this was some sort of crazy astral projection. Seeing Wolsey in the forest so late at night certainly felt like an out-of-body experience. Did that really happen? I think. Or am I just going crazy?

Hollow laughter tears out of my throat. So that's what's happening. I've finally lost it. I can almost see the headlines: After four weeks in an Alaskan Hell camp, Finn Murphy, sixteen, goes absolute, bat-shit insane (and nobody is surprised). I laugh some more. Rain drips into my mouth.

I can't go back to Huron Cabin. Not like this. Ronan would have a field day if I came back looking like this! Soaking wet, blood dripping down my chin, my shirt looking like I just got a hug from the creature from the Black Lagoon... I'll be damned if I let my roommate turn this into another embarrassing anecdote to torture me with. I'm not going back. I'm not. The Director can kiss my ass— I don't care if I'm breaking every single rule in the handbook. There's no way I'm dealing with him again tonight.

I start walking forward through the trees, sort of stumbling and tripping around until I find the main trail. And then I walk to Jasper's cabin.

I can only hope that he isn't fed up with me, too.