I lie down on my soft duvet after lunch, listening to the faint sound of yells outside and the incessant ticking of the analog clock on the wall. I don't know what I've been pondering most for the last hour: why I was Willow's only target, why she had to follow me here, or what's changed so quickly.

When will I get my revenge, or if I have to get it at all?

I place my feet on the ground beside me again and realize it's pointless to lock myself in my room alone, giving her power even in my head.

Besides, I can't bail on Axel so soon.

I tug on black leggings and change into a white long sleeve, noting the muggy afternoon weather—aka mosquito heaven. I lace up my black Adidas sneakers and head out of my room, making sure to fully shut the door behind me and scan the hallway twice before leaving.

Axel and I meet at the rope climbing fixture in the woods, which somehow seems smaller a week away from it. As we breeze through some dynamic stretches, I don't tell him that I wish we were running today, so I can take out the rest of my annoyance on a couple thousand angry steps.

"Do you need me to demonstrate again?" he asks, cracking his knuckles. He didn't get the memo that today is insect bite heaven, sporting a sleeveless shirt. I don't complain, admiring the lines in his tight muscles when he grasps the rope.

"Uh, sure," I reply, snapping out of it, "why not?"

Like every other athletic skill, he performs it like it's nothing, effortlessly gliding to the top of the unrelenting rope. This time around, he adds some commentary for how I should approach each pull, and more excitement than apprehension fills my mind.

I decide not to overthink the activity and jump as high as I can into the air. My grip vice-like, I pull myself up while fumbling with the end of the rope at my feet. Axel hovers below me, arms ready to catch my struggling body at any time. His presence motivates me to impress him for once, and with all my little might, I drag myself up the first third of the rope.

"Nice job, keep up that form," Axel comments from below, moving out of the way. "You think you can keep going?"

The coarse rope bites my soft palms, and my core aches from hard I'm clenching it, but I still yell back a yes. I walk my hands up about a foot and draw my knees closer to my chest, squinting as the cloud-covered sun shines in my face. As I push my feet together and extend my body, I notice the top is almost tangible now. But the pain in my hands is unbearable, still unused to the strain climbing puts on them.

"If you can't keep going, start to slowly walk yourself down," he calls, tilting his head up. I look down at his warm hazel eyes, creasing with sympathy, and feel less bad about myself. "Come on, Whit, you got this."

Whit? That nickname is forever associated with family members or close friends, too unprofessional for everyday life. But I've always loved it, and I like it even more coming from his mouth.

In my distraction, I let my sweaty palms drag down the rest of the rope, sending me careening to the dirt ground. Axel's hands lock onto either side of my waist to keep me on my feet. I stumble backwards and find my back flush against his chest, my heavy breaths to his.

"You good?" he asks, taking a step back. I nod, noticing the one hand still on my waist. He removes it. "I thought you had the descent at first."

I clear my throat, choosing to stare at my palms to hide my embarrassment. They're red and slightly puffy, probably the same color as my cheeks. "Sorry, I got distracted. I don't even know what I was thinking about." Liar. At least I did stop thinking about Willow for a good twenty minutes. "Can I try it again?"

As I give the rope another go, I filter any organized thought from my brain, laser focused on the top. As I complete pull after pull, I can only hope my grunts and groans aren't nearly as loud as I think they are, exaggerated by my building aggravation.

"Almost there!" Axel calls right as my hand hits the highest point of the rope.

I take a moment to catch my breath before making my way down with caution, ignoring the pain in my arms and focusing on the shock in my mind. By the time I'm standing on my own two feet, I can hardly believe that wasn't a fail, because all I see is that moment three years ago, where I stood with the same shock—not over my success, but over the fact the rope had snapped in half just from attempting to climb it. Despite my gym teacher's reassurance that the material had loosened over the years, making me the unlucky straw that had broken the camel's back, nothing could shake off the humiliation and anger as Willow called over her group of friends to decimate the last of my already deficient supply of self-esteem.

Axel halts my drifting thoughts with a bottle of water, noting my overheating face.

"I don't get it," I breathe out, cracking the cap open with extra force. "I spent the last four years of my life getting humiliated for my shitty athletic skills—among other things—and you're telling me with only eight days here, I can do that? Where was this willpower before high school?"

He shrugs. "Maybe it only exists because you know what it's like to not have had it." I stay silent for a few moments, until he notices my downturned lips and heavy eyes. "Look, I don't know the story, but you're still young. You haven't missed the boat for anything, and you can only keep improving from here. High school matters way less than you think it does right now."

I manage a smile and take a few steps forward. "I guess you're right. But that also sounds like advice the former captain of varsity football would give me."

He coughs, beginning our trek out of the woods. "I was more of a wannabe Eminem than the next Tom Brady in high school, if that helps paint a picture."

For the first half of our winding jog back to the center of the camp, I grill him on his former rapper dreams, forced to stop every few moments to contain my laughter. All I could see were oversized light denim jeans and a bag of burned CDs on hand, a few Eminem posters on a bedroom wall as the cherry on top. That was enough for me to thank my lucky stars that I never had that idea myself, knowing that I, for one, did not possess any musical ability to counteract my missing athletic gene.

My distracted thoughts didn't allow me to register where we were jogging to until we both stopped in our tracks. The beach once again called his name and lies before us in all its gray and rocky Connecticut glory.

"What circuit do you have planned for today to top off my misery?" I ask, taking a few uneven steps down the sand. "Abs, arms—maybe legs?"

"Your head," he says and confuses me as he keeps walking. He stops at the shoreline, just a few inches away from the flowing water. He turns around, grinning. "You're not a fan of adventure, are you?"

"I don't know," I say, pausing a foot behind him. "This camp has been pretty adventurous so far, and I no longer want to hitchhike home every morning. Not bad, right?"

He angles his chin towards the waves. "Then go in."

"What?"

"For a swim," he clarifies, dunking his hand in to get a feel for the chilly water. "It'll take your mind off whatever shit you're thinking about."

I look down at my sports bra, white long sleeve, and leggings, the furthest things from swim attire. On the other hand, they might offer some protection from the sixty-something degree water. Either way, Axel is unbothered, already having kicked off his shoes and walked knee deep into the ocean.

I set my sneakers down next to his and scan the area behind us, finding no one in sight. Shaking off any embarrassment, I run in and fight against the resistance of the rolling waves. Soon enough, I'm in up to my chest and freezing my ass off.

Smirking, Axel remarks, "Not so bad, right?"

He swims a few feet before standing up again, his height giving him a clear advantage in terms of the water-to-body-part ratio. I can't rip my gaze from the perfect set of abs peeking through his soaking wet shirt, each groove and indent seeming carved by an artist. He seems just as fixated on my chest, making me wonder if the padding of my sports bra is just an illusion.

"Right," I laugh, pulling my half-damp hair out of its ponytail, "just a little cold."

We bask in the serenity for a few moments, each floating in different directions, before a forceful wave tears us from our positions. I shudder and wipe the salty water from my eyes, only to find Axel swimming left and right in a panic.

"Do you see a necklace anywhere?"

"A necklace?" My confusion subsides when I feel something metallic brush my hand underwater. I uncurl my fingers and let the chain fall into my palm. Lifting it above water, I find a silver cross on a dull chain and hand it to Axel. "Is this it?"

"Yeah, thanks," he says and tightens his hand into a fist. "The clasp has gotten looser over the years—my problem for not getting it fixed."

I wrap my arms around myself underwater and swim a little closer. "Maybe we should get out of the water before you lose it for good."

"I've managed not to for almost a decade," he says, trudging forward, "but maybe I'm holding on for nothing."

My voice lowers a notch. "Does it remind you of someone, the necklace?"

He looks between my warm eyes and the object in his hand. "Yeah, my dad. He passed away when I was twelve." The words "passed away" come out with a hint of scorn, as if they don't do the situation justice. He licks his lips and looks away, before shrugging off the subject altogether. "Come on, let's just get out of here."

He places his free hand on the small of my back and gently pushes me forward. I realize it's the first time he's gotten this close for a purpose that's not exercise-related. My freezing body warms when his fingers dance against the sliver of exposed skin, and I forget altogether what we were talking about.

I wonder if he did that on purpose.