My calves burn as I try to make myself comfortable on a stone bench outside after dinner. Natalie sits to my left, while Adriana's twin, Martina, scrolls through her phone on the bench across from us, looking up every few moments.

"Okay guys," Natalie chirps, forever trying to initiate conversation, "what are your trainers like? I'm stuck with this cynical blue-haired hippie who already told me not to expect to have any fun here."

Martina snorts, brushing back her long black hair. "Can't relate. My guy's Austin, and he's beyond chill. He spent half the session trying to get to know me or cracking stupid jokes. I gave him a pass on the humor because he's nice to look at." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"What about you, Whitney?" Natalie asks, noticing my wide eyes and pursed lips.

Well shiver me timbers, can Martina and I please trade?

"Let me put this out there," I begin, rubbing my calf. "Is he hot? Hell yeah. Are we going to get through these next five weeks without wanting to kill each other? Hell no. I'm not sure what level of athleticism he was expecting, but this"—I gesture from my head to my toes—"was not it."

Martina shoots me a sympathetic smile. "Oh, come on, Whitney, you don't seem that bad at exercise. It's not like you finished last place in our run today."

"Yeah, because I thought that was all the running we were going to be doing today. Are there actually people who enjoy that sport, or have I been living a lie all these years?"

She snorts. "No, they exist. They're those weird cross-country kids from high school who never aged past fifth grade."

We all break out into laughter, as those people were arguably lower on the social hierarchy than I was.

But at least they could run.

Before anyone can add something else to the conversation, I leap to my feet and let out a shrill scream, swatting my hands around of my face like a ceiling fan.

"Whoa, whoa, are you okay?" Natalie exclaims, dashing towards me. "It's just a mosquito, Whitney. You'll be fine."

"What if she's allergic?" Martina suggests. "My cousin breaks out into crazy hives after a bite."

I shake my head and lower myself back to my seat, spitting out the strands of hair stuck to my mouth. "Not allergic. Just terrified."

A bout of awkward silence floats between us, and all we hear is the slight breeze and the faint chatter of other girls around us. In the left corner are three girls sitting under a large oak tree with a shared iPad, one of which is the tiny girl I finished ahead of in the race. Diagonal from us, but still a fair distance away are Willow, Adriana, and a model-like brunette, daintily sitting on another bench.

They all fit on the narrow seat, with room to spare.

Iconic.

"Wait a minute," I say, breaking the silence as I notice Martina stares in the same direction. "Do you happen to know that tall, skinny blonde over there?"

"Who?" she asks, but the face becomes clearer to her with a blink. "Wait, do you mean Willow?"

She knows her name? "Yeah."

"I do," she says. "She and Adriana have been friends since childhood. They danced together for years—ballet and modern and all that fairy shit—until Willow quit two years ago."

Willow didn't seem like the type to quit anything, having made it her steadfast mission to torment me for all four years of high school. Rumors, pranks in the locker-room, endless comments about my appearance; it was all a part-time job to her.

"Do you know anything about her?"

She doesn't understand why I'm asking but continues anyway. "She's okay, I guess, pretty aloof when you're not close with her. Definitely has some issues. She and Adriana would spend hours locked up in her room talking, and it always resulted in a tissue-and-runny-mascara session." Martina eyes her again, noticing just as much as I do how disconnected she looks. "Her family is loaded, though. She'd always invite Adriana and me to these fancy brunches or yacht parties with a few other girls, but I rarely went."

One of those "other girls" must have been Mina.

"Did you happen to meet a girl named Mina?" I ask, knowing I'm pushing it.

Even Natalie watches, puzzled, and soon decides to migrate over to the girls with the iPad.

"Tennis chick?" Martina asks, and I nod. "Yeah, she was part of Adriana's friend group outside of high school. Nicer than the rest but still pretty fake, to be honest. Do you know her?"

I debate letting her know our relation, since she doesn't seem to have a particular regard for her. "We're friends from high school."

She smiles. "It's pretty cool that we know the same people but never met before." I nod in agreement. "But that must mean you know Willow, right? Did she used to hang out with you and Mina at school?"

I hold back a snort, recalling the great lengths we went to avoid her. "No, God no. Let's say we definitely didn't apply here together."

Before Martina can answer, Adriana walks over to us, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. "We have to go back to Room 100," she says, her expression sour. "This camp already feels so repetitive. Would take another summer with my crazy Russian ballet instructor over this."

"Oh, get over yourself," Martina grumbles to her sister. She grabs my hand, dragging me off the bench. "You forced us into this."

Once we shuffle into Room 100, we find Bob and Cindy in the center of the room, standing in front of the large screen mounted on the wall.

"Good evening, girls," Cindy greets with her signature bright smile. "Hope you've all had some time to decompress."

I notice the gleaming diamond on her left ring finger and nudge Martina with my elbow. "Hey, do you think Cindy is Bob's wife?"

"Well, her last name is Campbell."

"Wait, how do you know that?"

"You didn't dig that deep into the website?"

I did not. "Oh."

Bob claps his large hands together to gain our attention, the noise resonating through the room like thunder. "Everyone shut up and look at the screen." All of us quiet down and focus our eyes to the projection. "We want to give you some more information on the team challenges we have planned for each week. Since there are sixteen of you, basic math will tell you we've divided you into four groups of four people."

On the screen appear four boxes, labelled team A, team B, team C and team D. I find my name underneath D and scan the list of names.

Aspen

Martina

Whitney

Willow

I shift my eyes to the right and see Willow's gray-hazel ones fall on mine. The floor becomes my newfound interest, anything to avoid inevitable conversation with her.

"Okay, girls," Cindy says, "we hope that you can use the rest of this week to grow closer to some of the members of your team, and maybe even make some new friends." Haha, absolutely fucking not. "Other than that, you're all free to head back to the dorms and enjoy the rest of your night."

"Not what you expected, huh?" Martina says, eyeing Willow's name on the screen.

"I've given up on my expectations," I mumble back and just dream of a good night's sleep.

***

The next day, Axel and I meet in an open field, farther away from the beach. I tuck my loose strands of hair behind my ears as I walk towards him, a wide smile on my face.

"Hi," I say, mentally begging for some more enthusiasm on his side. "Or good morning, I guess."

In response, he presses his lips into a firm line and nods. "Sleep well?" I nod back, recalling my dreamless eight hours. "You're gonna need it."

He starts jogging across the grass without announcement, beckoning for me to follow him. The new day brings more energy, but my strides are still heavy and far shorter than his.

"I know you can do better than that!" he calls as he rounds a corner.

I force myself to his side, thighs burning all over again. "I mean, do you really know?" I ask, unable to curb my honesty. "I'm thinking these sessions will go a lot more smoothly if we share the same low standards for me."

He cracks a smile at my remarks, finding me entertaining for once. "Whitney, while my mental perceptions of you are—well—not what actually comes out of my mouth, I wouldn't be your trainer if I kicked you while you were down." He pauses and stares off into the distance. "Well, actually, I would get fired if I did that, but let's pretend it's because I'm nice."

I let out a belly laugh, surprised I'm not even offended. There's a certain complacency that comes when you know you suck, one that fuels the rest of our jog to wherever he has in mind.

"Okay, let's stop here," he instructs, and I do, trying to catch my breath. "Now follow me."

We step onto a longer patch of grass, and I feel it prick my ankles, sending a shiver down my spine. I have to remind myself it's just nature.

Another prick. Ew, ew, ew.

We continue to trek across the grass, and after a few minutes, I understand what he has in mind. Far above my head are wooden poles anchoring several thick ropes, looming above a padded area of ground. A few feet away from each rope are wooden cylinders, resembling seats, but I'm unsure if they actually are.

"I don't have to climb that...right?" I ask shakily, although I know the answer.

Axel walks towards me and stands about a foot away from my chest. "We could try this, and maybe you might even find it fun, or we could go on that one-mile run I had in mind. Your choice, Whitney."

"This." The reply leaves me in seconds, almost as fast it takes me to get to the foot of the rope. I drag my hand down the material, noticing it's a lot smoother than I thought, and then crane my neck to eye the top. "Would you catch me?"

"What?"

"If I fall," I clarify, running my hand down the rope again. A mischievous smile overtakes me as I add, "I doubt your camp is in the mood for a lawsuit."

"Catch you," he snarls. "Yes. You can save me the 'my uncle is a lawyer speech.'"

With that reassurance, he demonstrates his technique, while I stand several feet from the rope. He springs up and grabs it, the muscles in his back visibly tightening as he pulls his knees closer to his chest. Hooking the rope around one foot, he steps on it with the other and extends his body, dragging himself upwards. He reaches the top in what feels like three steps. I blink once, and he stands in front of me again, his height and athleticism towering over my inept figure.

"What do you think now?"

I'm caught off guard. "Oh, yeah, that was great. You have really impressive form—beautiful even."

He blinks, once then twice. "No. I meant what do you think of rope climbing. Do you want to give it a shot?"

Mortification overtakes me, dousing cheeks with fire, but Axel finds my blunder amusing, a faint smile appearing on his lips. I clear my throat. "I would give it a try, if you could show me how you did that"—I wave my hand in a circle in the air—"that levitating sorcery. Something's not clicking."

"Come closer to the rope then," he commands, trailing behind me. I tilt my head up to stare at the top again, realizing it's not that far away, but I doubt I'll feel the same when I try to drag my feeble body up a few meters. "Grab it, one hand on top of the other, and get a good feel for the material."

I do as he says. "Now what?"

"Now let go, jump, and try to hold yourself up. No need to climb up just yet."

I back up about a foot and spring upwards. I latch onto it with one hand, while the other misses entirely. I'm too weak to bear my weight with one hand and stumble forwards, catching myself before I fall on my face.

"Try it again."

Cheeks even hotter now, I give it another shot and manage to hold on with both hands. He instructs me to stay up there for several seconds, likely trying to get a feel for my upper body strength. Well, jokes on him. This might be the easiest exercise here so far, as my arm strength is stellar after four years of carrying around twenty-pound textbooks all day.

"Tired yet?"

"Nope," I reply, swinging my legs a little for entertainment. I quicken my rhythm. "Wow, this is almost fun."

"Come down then," he says, allergic to my amusement. He walks back to the rope and holds on to it with one hand, beginning to explain, "Most of us probably climbed rope sometime in elementary school, and there you learn that the best method is to hold on as hard as you can as you pinch the rope between your feet and drag yourself upwards. Wrong. Unless you want to sprain your shoulders, we'll try a better technique." He gestures for me to come to the base of the rope again and pulls the wooden cube forward. "Sit down here."

Finally, an exercise I can get with. Without hesitation, I slide to the middle of the seat and let my legs dangle down, comfortable, if not for the hard surface under my butt. Looking up, we lock eyes, and I notice they're a mesmerizing olive-green in the early afternoon sun. I can't stop staring until he speaks.

"Good?"

I snap out of it. "Yeah, yeah. Wait, why am I sitting down again?"

"It's easier to practice the proper footing from this angle," he answers and stands by my side, about a half foot away. "Grab onto the rope again and push your knees up a bit."

I hesitate, realizing how oddly suggestive this form sounds, but I remind myself he's been appropriate with me this whole time. Doing as he says, I watch him bend down a little and grab the rope by my feet.

"May I?" he asks. I nod, despite my growing discomfort—not even because of this position, but because one wrong move could make this scenario either oddly sensual or awkward as hell. He remains professional. "Now, I'm going to show you how you should wrap the rope around your feet for maximum stability when you climb."

He runs the rope down the outside of my right shin and lets it slide under my shoe before threading it over my left shoe. His thumbs brush my ankles as he pushes my feet together, and my body shivers.

"Try lifting yourself up now and keep your feet together." I begin to pull myself up a little but stop, worrying that I'll lose my footing and tumble down again. He notices my apprehension. "I'm still going to be down here, Whitney."

I force out a breath and yank myself up from my sitting position. My legs fully extended, I keep the rope between my legs and feet, noticing how it creates a flimsy base.

"Alright, good. Lower yourself down by spacing out your feet a little." Although there's barely any distance between me and the ground, he lets his hands float protectively in the air, gently grasping my legs as I return to a sitting position. "Let's try it again and see if you can complete one pull."

While climbing now sounds less abstract in theory, I'm not surprised when it takes multiple tries for me to even move a couple feet up the rope. Axel tries to offer some words of encouragement, noting my arm strength from before, but I underestimated the energy and willpower it takes to do more than just hang there, motionless.

"Oh crap, oh shit."

I lose my grip and fall to the ground after trying another pull. Axel grabs on to my arms, stabilizing me on my feet, and leaves them there until the hold becomes awkward—to him. On the inside, my heart flutters, swooning at how invested he is in my wellbeing, even if he is paid to do exactly that.

I walk a few feet away from him but feel a burst of pain shoot up my ankle. Wincing, I bend down to rub it and then try to take another step, before realizing I need to take a quick rest.

"Are you okay?" Axel asks, watching me sit down again. "Did you hurt your foot?"

I shake my head, propping my leg up on the seat. "No, no, I think I just landed too hard. I'll be fine."

I take my hair out of my sagging ponytail, letting my hair flow down my back. He gets lost in thick locks for a few seconds before blinking and looking away. A few awkward seconds of silence pass, each of us finding a different part of nature intriguing.

I feel the need to break the quiet. "I apologize if I'm taking way too long to actually get all of this. At this point, it's not you; it's me." I wince at my own remark, sounding like a character in a nineties rom-com.

"Whitney, you really don't have to keep justifying yourself," he says, stretching out one of his arms. The black short sleeve affords me a view of his beefy bicep, straining against the shirt material. He drops his arm. "I'm not one for the sappy stuff, but the journey of a thousand miles does begin with a one-mile run."

I furrow my brow. "Isn't it 'a single step'?"

"To you," he says and stands before me, extending a welcoming hand.

I take it for once and realize that there might be some light at the end of the tunnel: the long and winding one-mile tunnel, that is.