Chapter 8
LACHLAN
Clouds of dust waft through the open windows of the old yellow school bus I’m on as it rumbles down the dirt road Monday morning.
The lane is so narrow that tree branches scrape the sides of the vehicle.
The brakes squeal. We’ve discovered that cell service up here sucks, so most of us are chatting or using our phones to listen to music.
For the next week, the senior class is on a retreat at a historic camp in the sage-and-oak foothills. It has a little lake for canoeing nestled in pine trees.
My heart’s soaring. I’m away from home.
Like you can call the hellhole where I sleep at night a “home.”
One more hairpin turn, and the four buses pull up in a gravel parking lot near a lodge.
The doors swing open with a creak, and we all push and jostle each other to get off.
The first thing I notice when I step outside is how the air smells despite the dust: like fresh leaves. I like it. This is going to be fun.
The second thing I notice, when I check out the other buses emptying, is Isak Hammond.
I mean, of course he’d be here; he’s a senior and his grades are surely passing, which is what’s required to come on the retreat.
He’s talking with his friends as they make their way off the bus.
I feel ultra-awake, like I’ve been rejuvenated by adrenaline.
Isak’s wearing an olive green flight jacket with bright orange lining peeking out from the inside, a black band T-shirt, and skinny black jeans that stretch down his long legs. On his feet are classic oxblood leather boots with lug soles that look very broken in.
His eyes alight on me, and I can’t help nodding at him. Warmth radiates through my body. He flashes me a quick smile that makes me want to tattoo it on myself. Or at least tattoo something that reminds me of him.
In fact, that’s not a bad idea. I saw the Latin phrase “omni luci est umbra,” and it stuck with me. There is a shadow to every light.
I’m a shadow.
He’s every light.
You’d think it’d be different—that given Isak’s emo style, he’d have an emo personality.
But he doesn’t. Isak Hammond’s real personality is the facade I show to the world.
Only he’s not faking it; the Goth boy is true sunshine.
At least, if he’s stayed anywhere near the way he was as a kid—and I’m pretty sure he has.
He reminds me that the shadow isn’t all there is.
My mom already let me get a tattoo when I was seventeen and she was feeling guilty about a particularly bad period with Uncle Norm. I had it done on my left hip. Maybe my right hip needs a companion piece.
I shake my head. What the hell am I doing, thinking about tattooing some homage to Isak on my skin? I barely talk with him. I only think about him when I’m by myself in the shower. I just keep track of what he’s doing and where he is at all times. No biggie.
A distant-neighbor relationship is all I’ll ever get of Isak.
I can’t allow myself to imagine that there’s a chance at …
more. That doesn’t exist in my world. We get pleasantries only.
I squish the idea of “more” down and stomp on it.
Then take it out back and shoot it, for good measure. Done. Gone. No problem.
Vince claps me on the back. Vince is great.
He’s probably my closest friend, although I don’t talk to him much outside of school, football, and the occasional party.
He’s a little taller than me, with short, curly dark hair and warm-toned umber skin.
He’s been on the team with me all four years, since he’s a great wide receiver.
He’s going to UCLA next year to study engineering, thanks to his 4.
4 GPA, but he also plans to play football while he’s there.
My chest burns with jealousy. Not about him playing football in college. I don’t want to play after high school. And not about him going to UCLA. I got accepted to my first choice, Albrecht.
The thing is, Vince is content. I’ve met his parents, who own a business in town, and they seem like genuinely caring, emotionally stable people who have raised a smart, fun-loving guy.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to survive without my family tearing me apart—and if they could stop doing it to each other, too, that would be even better.
“Where are we going?” Vince asks, raising his voice above the chatter of four busloads of high school seniors.
“Not sure,” I start to say, when the teachers start pointing.
“This way, everyone!” Ms. Gaston calls.
We’re directed to an area where rows of rough log benches surround a firepit. Isak’s on the other side.
A cheery-looking twentysomething woman in khaki shorts and a T-shirt, with a whistle around her neck, claps when we’re all seated, and we quiet down. “Welcome to Camp Dorian! We’re pleased to host your senior retreat!”
Scattered, somewhat unenthusiastic applause. I put my fingers up to my lips and whistle loudly, and people laugh. My eyes shift to see what Isak’s doing. He’s smiling, like he can’t contain his grin, which he directs at his feet.
Dammit, sunshine emo boy. You’re too cute.
Not cute. I can’t think of him as cute.
Except … maybe, this week, I can. We’re away from home. And if I set things up right, we’ll have some privacy.
The woman introduces herself as Bambi and tells us that we’re going to be divided up into cabins and assigned by cabin to groups for activities like a ropes course, horseback riding, canoeing, archery, and so on. A few kids groan, but I perk up. I like physical challenges.
Bambi consults a clipboard and reads off the cabins where we should take our bags and sleeping gear—currently in a pile hauled out from the buses.
For a while, it’s chaos. I hang back, letting everyone sort themselves out before I take my turn to confirm my cabin. I mean find out. I’m finding it out.
My heart starts racing when I get the cabin number. Did my plan actually work? There are perks to being in student government.
“Who are you rooming with?” Vince asks me as we walk down the dusty trail with our stuff. People are laughing as they run into their respective cabins to set up for the week.
“Not sure,” I say. Technically true. They could’ve changed the assignments from what I suggested. “They just told me cabin twelve. Where are you?”
“Fifteen. I think Darin’s with me, which is cool.”
“Awesome.”
“See you after we set up. Are you doing archery first?” Vince asks.
“Nope. Ropes course.”
“Sounds like fun. See you at meals, then, if we’re not at a group thing together.”
I nod. Hefting my duffel bag up to my shoulder, I find cabin twelve and walk in, then stop short. Someone’s here already. My heart thuds.
The rustic cabin is dim inside, even though it’s a sunny afternoon, and it takes my eyes a second to adjust. A figure is sitting on a bed that seems like it’s straight out of World War II, with a narrow, striped mattress and white metal frame.
One of the other beds is empty, likely for me.
The remaining two have duffels and sleeping bags and pillows on them.
The figure is the one who occupies most of my errant thoughts.
Isak clears his throat and takes out his earbuds. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I beam at him. “So, we’re rooming?”
“Guess so.”
“Who else is with us?” That question will make it believable that I didn’t rig this, right?
“Josiah and Russ from the swim team. They already took off to join their girlfriends.”
I nod. “They’re cool.” Since I chose them based on hearing them say how they were planning on sneaking into their respective girlfriends’ cabins the entire week. I point to a bed. “It okay for me to be here?”
“Of course.” Isak stands. “Well, I’ll let you unpack.”
“Stay,” I blurt. “I mean, you don’t have to go just because I’m here. We’ll be rooming together for a week.”
Please stay, please stay. I can’t explain why, but please stay.
I hold my breath.