Ronan limps back into the cabin about an hour later, his skin white as a sheet and his nose plastered with tape. He doesn't say anything to me as he opens the door and shuffles into the room. We make eye contact for a brief moment, and then his gaze darts away.

"So, what's it going to be?" I ask.

He doesn't reply. My fingers, threaded tightly together in my lap, start to quiver.

The wait was agonizing. After Ronan got whisked away in the motorboat, two other counselors came out to supervise the rest of the activity. Emily and I were the first ones back to shore. There were only two of us, but we threw ourselves into the task of paddling so that we wouldn't have to talk. While the rest of the campers went to get lunch, I came back to the cabin, too wound up to eat. Sweat, blood, and lake water had made a pretty mosaic on my shirt, so I changed out of my dirty clothes and took a shower, wishing that I could scrub the memories of what happened in the canoe off me as easily as the dirt.

"Will the Director give me marks? Kitchen duty? Is she going to kick me out of camp?"

Ronan just shakes his head. He walks over to his drawers and pulls out a blue camp shirt. I avert my eyes as he drags the ruined shirt off his chest and replaces it with the clean one, not wanting to look at his bare skin.

"They're going to send me home, aren't they," I say in a low voice, once he's finished. "I knew it. They're going to expel me."

Ronan sighs.

I stare down at my vibrating hands and swallow, hard. This is all beginning to remind me of the first day, the day where this all began— the day where I met with the principal and he told me I was going away to Alaska, and it felt like that sensation you get when you drive over a hill too fast and your stomach sort of falls, and you feel that emptiness, that missingness, and think, just for a moment, where the hell did my vital organs just go?

"I'm leaving."

My chin jerks up. "What?"

"I said that I'm leaving." Ronan kneels down beside his cot and sticks his arm into the foot of space between the bed-springs and the floor. A moment later, he withdraws a small, leather duffel bag. His initials are sewn in fancy cursive across the front. "Goodbye."

"You're what?"

He unzips the duffel, and my mouth falls open. The bag is filled with money. I'm talking twenties, fifties, and the occasional Benjamin, all glaring back up at me with his disapproving, founding father eyes. I've never seen so much money in one place in my life. It's breathtaking.

"What the hell, Ronan. Did you rob a fucking bank?"

"I robbed my trust fund. Sabrina's passwords are too easy to guess." Ronan runs his thumb across a stack of twenties, counting the bills as they fly past. "It's all here. Two thousand dollars. Enough to get me settled."

"Settled? What do you mean, settled?"

Ronan leans back against his bed and runs a hand through his hair. He closes his eyes and sighs, and for a moment, he looks genuinely exhausted, like all the sleep he's missed has finally caught up to him. There's always a spark in his black eyes, but now, that fire is just... gone. "Connect the dots, Fish. I'm running away."

His words take a moment to sink in, but when they finally do, I almost choke on my own spit. "Ronan, that's insane! We're in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness— you can't just pack up and run away!"

"I wasn't planning on hiking through the forest, idiot. Two thousand dollars can buy you a lot of stuff. Like a taxi cab in the middle of the night."

"You're not Harry fucking Houdini. How do you plan to give the Director the slip?"

"He died, you know," Ronan says softly. "Houdini. A friend punched him in the stomach, and his appendix ruptured."

"Thanks for the history lesson. Can we focus on something more relevant, like how you're planning to run away?"

"It's all pretty simple, Fish. I'm getting the hell out of Dodge." Ronan zips up the duffel and slings it over his shoulder, his expression as dark and brooding as a squall line. "I'd invite you to come with, but you've been kind of a bitch to me lately."

"If this is about our fight today—"

"It's not."

"Then what is it about?"

"Not everything is about you, Fish," he snaps. "This is... personal."

"C'mon, man, you can't just skip town without an explanation. I deserve to know why."

But instead of answering, Ronan sits down on his bed and just sinks. First the back of his head hits the pillows, then his legs swing over the side and land on the rumpled blankets, until he's lying there on his back, clutching at his bag like a safety blanket and gazing motionless up at the ceiling.

His silence isn't just infuriating. It's also strange. Ronan usually has a snappy one-liner ready to go for every situation, and staying quiet like this... it just isn't him. He should be rubbing my defeat in my face right now. He should be rejoicing that he'll finally get the cabin to himself. But Ronan doesn't look like he's in the mood for celebrating. He looks like he's in mourning. Which is strange as well, because he's finally gotten everything he's wanted since his first day here. I finally snapped.

Then Ronan sucks in a sharp breath and says, "You can stop looking so worried. I didn't tell them you punched me."

His words, slightly muffled by the tape plastered across his nose, hit me like a sack of bricks. I'm not sure if I heard him correctly, so I lean forward— but I must have miscalculated just how far I was going to lean, because my inertia carries me over the edge of the bed, and before I know it, I'm careening towards the floor and my hands— still twisted together into one, big knot— are useless to break my fall.

"You seem a little surprised," he says mildly.

Gingerly, I pick myself up off the floor and check for any lasting injuries. The only thing that really hurts (other than my pride) is my elbow, which hit the floor pretty hard on impact; but I don't think it suffered anything worse than a bruise.

I dust myself off and sit back down (carefully, this time) on my bed. "You could say that," I choke out. "I don't understand. Why the hell didn't you tell them?"

"Because I don't give a shit, that's why. I don't give a shit about this camp. I don't give a shit about you. None of this matters— especially not the counselors and their silly rules."

"Um, okay. Second question: when did you become such a nihilist?"

"I'm not. This just doesn't matter to me anymore, that's all. I really don't know how to explain it to you in any other way."

"But you've always wanted to get me kicked out of camp. Why would you stop caring about that now when you're finally so close?"

"I just told you, Finn, I don't give a shit about your soap opera of a life. Maybe I used to want you gone. But I don't care anymore. So leave me alone, and stop asking so many fucking useless questions. I'm leaving tonight and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Something about Ronan's tone of voice strikes me as not exactly right. I've heard him sound sarcastic, angry, annoyed, bitter— but never like this. Like he's actually... sad.

Which doesn't make sense, because Ronan doesn't get sad. He's above all of that emotional, weepy shit. This is Ronan, who wouldn't cry if you were literally pointing a gun at his face. Even when I punched him in the nose he didn't shed a tear. It would take a serious blow to break through Ronan's mind of steel.

Right at that moment, Ronan sniffles. Actually sniffles. And the noise is so jarring that I hear myself asking the forbidden question: "Are you okay?"

Ronan's head lifts fractionally. "No, I'm not okay. You broke my fucking nose!"

"I know that," I say, cringing to myself as the memory of his body toppling over the rim of the canoe, my fist following soon after, flashes before my eyes. "I mean, are you okay emotionally."

Ronan slumps back down into the pillows, his expression cold as stone. For a moment I think he's about to tell me to fuck off, but instead he just says, very matter-of-fact, "No. I'm not." And then, "What, did you decide to become a shrink while I was gone?"

I ignore the last part, because his first three words are so genuinely miserable that I actually feel sorry for him. Sorry, for the person that mocked and tormented me for the good part of a month. Sorry, for the only person I've ever gotten angry at enough to punch in the face. Sympathy is an emotion I never thought I'd feel towards Ronan, but here I am, comforting the bastard like I'm his close friend. "What happened at the Med Cabin? Did something happen to you there?"

"I had a conversation that ended poorly," Ronan says. "Doesn't matter, though. That's over, too."

"Who did you talk to?"

"My friend, Jesse."

Ah. Jesse from the letters. "Was it bad?"

"Yeah. It was pretty bad."

For a moment, confusion flickers across Ronan's face, like he can't believe that he's telling me all of this. I don't even understand why he's telling me all of this. Ronan guards his personal life with the tenacity of an evil dragon hoarding its gold from thieves— he's never told me a secret about himself, ever. (Maybe when I punched him I broke his brain, and now he's going through personality changes. That would explain the sudden honesty.)

Then it dawns on me: I've seen the same pain on Ronan's face in other places, too. The movie screen. Anna's expression as she waved goodbye to me. My own mother's face, when dad packed up his last box and left for good.

It's so obvious that I feel like an idiot for not realizing it earlier. Ronan isn't feeling down because his nose is crooked. He's upset because he got his heart broken.

Ah. No wonder he's in such a rush to leave.

I pause for a moment while I summon up all my courage. Then I ask him an even more forbidden question, "So, did you like her a lot?"

Ronan's response is pure surprise. "What?"

"Jesse. Did you like her a lot?"

Ronan's eyes widen. "Oh. Oh." I fear that I've crossed a line with him until he shakes his head and replies, half-laughing, "You know what? I did. I really liked Jesse. Her. For a long time, too. But that's all over now. Done. Finito."

I frown. He's definitely starting to act weird now. (I hope that it's not brain damage. One of my running buddies once told me that if you punch someone in the nose too hard you can shove cartilage straight up into their frontal lobe.) "What happened between you two?"

"I called Jesse with the emergency phone in the Med Cabin. Yes, I know that we're not supposed to call people outside of camp, so stop giving me that look. I was breaking the rules. I know. Anyways, while we were talking, she told me that—" Ronan stops. Clears his throat. "Well, she told me that she was dating our other friend. They've been together the entire summer."

"Ouch," I say. "Did you ever....?"

Ronan smiles bitterly. "No, we never went out. But there was this one night... not that it matters anymore, of course. We're over. For good."

"I'm sorry. That sounds like a really shitty phone-call."

"Don't apologize to me. You're not Jesse."

"I know. I just... I feel bad. Crushes are the worst, and when they end poorly, it's hell for everybody involved. We've all been there before."

"What if it was more than a crush?"

I give him a wary look. Before, Ronan was just being open with his feelings, but now... we're edging into dangerous territory. I feel like I'm learning things about Ronan that I have no business in knowing. "What do you mean?"

"I guess I just thought... that we could be something, you know? I thought that we could be together, for real. Which is so fucking stupid, now that I look back on it. We never had a chance. I was stupid, so stupid, to think that we did. Falling for Jesse— that was probably the worst fucking decision I've made in my entire life."

"Love makes us stupid."

Ronan gives me a derisive look. "It wasn't love."

"But you just said that it wasn't a crush—"

"You don't have to repeat to me what I said myself. Maybe it wasn't a crush, but it wasn't love. I don't do that. I don't just— fall in love with people for no good reason!"

"Nobody falls in love because they want to. It just happens."

"That's bullshit," he says angrily. "So Cupid just shoots us with an arrow and suddenly we're head over heels in love with some rando? That's not fair. We don't even get a choice in the matter. It's just— BAM! You're in love! Deal with it! That's bullshit."

"It's a shitty deal, but it's what everybody gets stuck with it. Nobody gets to choose who they fall in love with— it's just life."

He fixes me with a withering glare. "Finn, your advice sucks. 'It is what it is'. Great. That's just what I wanted to hear."

"Hey, you're the one that asked. If you want real advice, go talk to someone else. I'm not some sort of love expert."

"Oh, I know. I've only seen you make a fool out of yourself in front of Becca Fisher about a million times. Whatever the opposite of a matchmaker is, that's you."

My temper flares up again, but then I look across the room at Ronan, all slumped across his bed with his hair even more prickly than usual and his perfectly ironed clothes all wrinkled, and I can't bring myself to be angry with him, even if he's being an asshole. He's too pathetic to get angry at right now.

Ronan meets my gaze and sneers. "What? Are you going to break my nose again?" He lets out a dry, mocking husk of a laugh, and that's when I see it— for an infinitesimal of a second, the curtains lift behind his eyes, and the shadows behind them are revealed; and then, in that moment I realize a fundamental truth about Ronan.

He really doesn't mean half the shit he says.

Ronan is belligerent because he can get away with it, but also because he can hide behind it. It was dumb to believe that Ronan is immune to sadness— of course he gets sad just like everybody else. Now that I think about it, Ronan is probably sad more often than other people. He's just gotten good at disguising his sadness with anger.

All this time, I've been letting his harsh words get to me, when I really should have just treated them like they're nothing— because that's what they are. Nothing. Just hollow sounds that he uses to cover up what he's really saying. When Ronan said all of those things to me on the boat, I was the one who reacted. I let him get to me. Use me. I should have been the better person, but instead I let him play me— and for that, I'm the only one that can truly take the blame.

"What is it?" Ronan demands. The sneer fades slowly off his face, and is replaced by a disconcerted expression. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I just realized something," I say.

His eyebrows furrow together. "Well, what the hell was it?"

"I know that you told me no apologies, but I'm going to have to break that rule. Because there is something I have to apologize for."

Ronan opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "I'm going to say this to you whether you want me to or not. Here goes— I'm sorry I punched you in the nose, and I'm sorry you almost drowned in the lake, and I'm sorry your friends suck. Okay? I'm sorry. Now deal with it." Then, I take a deep breath, and say what I've been meaning to say this whole time: "Also, I'm not letting you run away. You don't get to just avoid your problems like that. I don't care if you entire life is falling apart— you're not going to be like Houdini and fuck off the moment something bad happens."

"He died, Finn."

"I know that! Stop over-analyzing my metaphor. What I'm trying to say is— you're going to finish this summer, whether you like it or not. Don't let Lightlake beat you. Stick it out until the end."

"And what if I don't?"

His question throws me for a loop. "Well, uh," I stammer. "I... I'll be very mad at you!"

Ronan shuts his mouth. I think that for the first time, I've actually struck him speechless.

But he does speak, eventually. "Okay," he says. "I'll stay."

"Wait— you're seriously not going to argue with me about this?"

"Nah. I wasn't that dead-set on leaving anyway. Mostly, I wanted to see how you'd react when I said I was leaving. I've got to say, it was pretty funny." Ronan smiles darkly. "Of course, you better not speak a word about this, or about Jesse, to anybody. Not even your friends. If you do, I'll break your nose and your face and every other stupid bone in your stupid body."

"I understand."

"No, you need to promise. Look me in the eyes and promise that you won't tell anybody about what we talked about here."

I hold his gaze and say, "I swear on my life not to tell anybody about Jesse."

"Good," Ronan says severely. "Now about that apology— probably the worst I've ever heard. Complete and absolute shit."

I crack a grin, because I know that cursing me out is just Ronan's way of accepting my apology. "Too bad. You're not getting another one."

"Unless you break my nose again."

"Is it really broken?"

"It really is. You throw a mean punch, Finn Murphy. And you claim to have never gotten in a fight before."

I shrug modestly, even though his comment about my punch makes me almost feel proud, in a small, messed up kind of way. "My dad's a cop. I know self-defense."

"Sure. What exactly were you defending yourself from on the canoe?"

"I'm not going to argue semantics with you. You were being an asshole on the boat and you know it. I'm not going to say you deserved to get punched—" Ronan's eyebrows fly upwards— "because fighting is always wrong, in any circumstance. But I know that I'm not the only person who did or said something they shouldn't have on that boat. We were both in the wrong."

"One of us more than the other," he says quickly.

"You were literally bragging about how you kissed the girl that I liked."

"Oh yeah, about that." Ronan pushes himself up on his elbows and stares at me from across the room, his gaze inquisitive. I'm relieved to see that while his eyes are still red, he doesn't seem as depressed as earlier. We're making progress. (I'm pretty sure he doesn't hate my guts anymore, so that's an improvement.)"I didn't kiss Becca. All we did was go outside and talk. It's you she likes, not me."

For a moment, I think I might fall off the bed again. "If this is your idea of a joke, it's not funny—"

"I'm not joking. I can tell when people are lying. Becca was lying when she said she didn't like you like that."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know. I'm just tired of fighting. Or whatever."

"But if you weren't kissing each other— then why the hell did you pretend like you were?"

"Isn't it obvious? Becca wanted to make you jealous. And I wanted to piss you off." Ronan shrugs carelessly, and I'm suddenly reminded of why I punched him in the face. "By the way, your expression when we walked back in and Becca was wearing my sweatshirt— her idea— was priceless. I almost started cracking up so hard—"

"Ha-ha, very funny. Can we move on to a different subject now?"

"Just one quick thing: there's more to Becca than you think. I'd be careful around her. She likes you, for now, but I really wouldn't want to get on her bad side."

"What's that supposed to mean? Did she tell you about why she got sent to