Chapter 3. In Which I Become an Omega #2
As someone who completed brAIN, Felix probably could’ve done whatever he wanted this summer. But instead of taking a fancy internship, he decided to come back to camp as a mentor?
“You didn’t want to do anything else this summer?” I ask on a wave of possibility. “No other jobs?”
“I suppose I could’ve worked at Old Haven if I’d wanted to.”
“What’s that?”
“The clock company. The first one ever founded in America.”
Which means it’s most likely a very large and successful one. “You turned that down?”
“There’s time to go back. My family owns the company. Might as well have some fun while I’m still studying at Cornell, you know?”
Fun. He thinks this is fun.
He chose fun over his family company.
“Right,” I mumble in defeat.
Felix leads me to the last cabin and onto the porch. Each wooden step creaks under our weight, and more mosquitoes throw raves around the two lit sconces. A Ω hangs on the door. The symbol for Omega.
Suddenly, Beta doesn’t sound so bad. “Is this us?”
Felix steps to the side and gestures at the door in response.
I follow orders and walk in.
A small foyer reveals itself to me. To the left is one twin bed, separated from the rest of the cabin. Plaid shirts are strewn along the sheets, and ornate old-fashioned clocks are set on the windowsill beside gift-wrapping paper. Must be Felix’s space.
Beyond the foyer, a hall empties into the rest of the cabin.
A space heater buzzes in the center, combating the chilly nighttime air.
On one side is a bunk bed. Two girls sit on the floorboards nearby, laughing around nail polish placed like a sacrificial offering.
No textbooks or notebooks for studying in sight.
On the other side, a boy sits alone on a bottom bunk. The top is untouched.
“I saw him by the parking lot when I showed up,” says one girl with a tan complexion.
Her voice is smooth and calming, like she should be narrating a guided meditation.
The bangs of her dark pixie cut are pinned back with floral bobby pins.
Her long-sleeved dress is full of flower patches, too, more fit for a Woodstock bassist than an academic.
“Same,” the other girl responds in a much higher, sharper voice.
Her all-black outfit is equally jarring, contrasting with her nearly pure white, ghostly skin, and her baggy jeans look seconds from falling apart.
Between her spiked choker necklace and studded bracelets, she’s a walking weapon.
Once more, not academic material, in a completely opposite direction.
“He’s built like a double-door fridge. A hot one. ”
They both laugh.
It doesn’t take me long to connect the dots as I stand in the doorway. They’re talking about attractive campers. As if, once again, we’re here to have a fun time.
This camp isn’t fun. It’s serious.
“Everyone,” Felix announces behind me. He’s kicking off his Doc Martens and replacing them with slippers. “Here’s our last team member, Rory!”
My cabinmates turn. They take in my wrinkled, stained dress shirt and oily skin after a six-hour-long flight.
Uneasiness eats away at my confidence. It’s different from the kind that usually attacks me at competitions, fused with adrenaline and optimism. This one settles heavy in my gut, enough to make me nauseated.
These kids are from some of the most notable families in the country.
According to Felix, one is even royalty.
And they’re geniuses, potentially on the same level as Luca—who thankfully won’t be here to make matters worse as usual.
brAIN may care more about sensationalizing than academics, but the admissions requirements, like Dad said, are still rigorous.
Maybe being the Prince Kid a couple of days ago would’ve been comparable, but now I’m a laughingstock online and my image is at a record low. They might call me Smoothie Prince to my face.
I summon my best smile, fighting through my doubts. “Hello.”
The space heater hums. Crickets chirp beyond the windows.
“Hi,” the girl in the floral dress says, saving me from the awkward silence. “I’m Christiana Garza Sada.”
Last name included. It must carry weight.
“Jade,” the goth girl says, short and not so sweetly. She returns to painting her nails and focusing on Christiana. “He’s hilarious, too. Like, he’s so unfair.”
The boy still doesn’t respond. He’s too wrapped up in the paperback he’s reading on his bed.
He may be silent, but he’s a sight to behold.
His thick blond hair sweeps around his face in a way that comes off effortless, shaping his sharp cheekbones and pulling attention to his contrasting dark brows.
He wears thin white gloves fit for a ball, and a lace cardigan drapes over his bloodred silk shirt.
Not in a weird trick-or-treat way. More like a Vanity Fair–October-edition way.
He’s too much like a textbook British royal family heir.
Borderline a caricature. If anyone is nobility, it must be him.
I wait for one of them to recognize me. And wait.
No one says a thing. No accusations of throwing a smoothie at an “innocent” human. No laughing or perceivable judgment.
Of course. Everyone arrived on this isolated island recently. Just like brAIN’s admissions team, they wouldn’t have seen the video.
Conflicting relief and bitterness fight for my attention. If I want to redeem my image, then not being recognized helps. But that doesn’t stop a chunk of my self-esteem from wilting.
“I have no idea how he’s so perfect,” Christiana says, still locked in their tête-à-tête about hot campers. “Luca will for sure win the Ivy selection.”
Luca.
My whole body tenses.
“For real,” Jade responds. “Cursed timing for us to come to brAIN.”
It can’t be.
It isn’t.
But who else would be a shoo-in for winning?
“Luca who?” I ask, trying to ignore my sweating hands and the ringing in my ears.
Christiana faces me again. “Luca Melendez. Do you know him?”