"Are you in the mood for an adventure?"

Martina pops in the doorway of our room as I fold some laundry. Unlike me, she likes to change into non-workout-appropriate attire in the evening, clad in frayed black denim shorts and a cropped blouse. I look down at my track pants and white T-shirt.

"Does it involve looking presentable?"

"No, it involves eating," she says, propping herself against the doorway. "Unless you're still missing your appetite."

"Count me in." I chuck the rest of my clean laundry to the foot of my bed and grab a pair of sunglasses to somewhat elevate my outfit. "Wait...are you planning on leaving the camp?"

"No, only Adriana brought her car, and she'd have an aneurysm if I drove it by myself." I love how she doesn't mention we're technically required to stay on the premises for the entirety of these five weeks, but that shouldn't surprise me. "Come on, let's go."

We walk down the hallway, and she stops at the room in the middle. Poking her head in, she finds Aspen sprawled out on her bed upside down, watching a Netflix series on her phone. She jumps when Martina addresses her, clutching her chest.

I wonder how the two became friends; Aspen is so soft and timid, the opposite of the life of the party that Martina is. The only thing they have in common is they make me look so boring in comparison, with Martina's striking Mexican beauty and Aspen's head of perfect curls and smooth brown complexion.

"Where are you guys going?" she asks and hurries to the door. "Actually, you know what, I don't care. I'm so bored I've settled with binging the same series for the third time."

"Hey, don't bash re-watching shows," I say, remembering my only hobby from high school. "Do you happen to have any recommendations?"

We talk and laugh on our spontaneous trek across the camp to the central building. At first, I think Martina is going to suggest sneaking into the kitchen behind the dining hall, but then she pulls the two of us up a hidden glass staircase.

"Are we even allowed up here?" Aspen whispers, darting her eyes between the two of us.

"Up the stairs, yes," Martina says and stops at the last step. "The lounge... Well, time will tell."

"Wait, a lounge?"

So, first the luxurious trainer dorm and now a private lounge. Wow, might as well work here at this point.

"Let's just hope no one is in here," Martina mumbles and sneaks up to the door.

She slowly pushes it open, and the three of us peek inside, finding the room empty. It reminds me of an upscale airport lounge, with a couple white couches, some small tables, and large windows letting natural light in.

Then I see what Martina is really after: the mini fridges. She squats down and opens the one on the left, revealing three rows of cold drinks.

"Wait, is that coffee?" I peer closer and find an array of iced latte bottles, reawakening my subdued caffeine addiction. "God, pass me one."

"I could really go for a Coke," Aspen says, glancing behind her, "but I don't want to get in trouble."

"What are they gonna do? Kick us out?" Martina grabs the drinks and hands one to each of us. "Not when we're the ones funding these beverages, my friends."

"You're kinda right," Aspen says, cracking open the cap. "My parents paid way too much for me to drink grass smoothies every day."

We settle down on the couch closest to the door in case we have to bolt. Halfway through our drinks and a winding conversation about the camp's grossest foods, we hear a click of the door. Heart jumping out of my chest, I scramble to my feet, expecting the worst.

In some way, it is, as in walk Joanna and Willow, just as surprised to find the three of us here.

"Wait, you guys know about this room, too?" Joanna asks, shooting Willow an "oh shit" look. "We should probably leave."

"No, you guys stay," Aspen says and rises from the couch. "If they find all five of us in here, it'll be harder for all of us to get in trouble."

"Good idea," Joanna says, and we all nod in agreement.

"Where's Adriana?" Martina asks, eyeing the door. No one answers, and she sighs, adding, "Actually, why am I even asking? I'll just text her dumbass."

Joanna's strides across the room, long legs leading the way, and grabs two iced teas. Willow takes one but doesn't open it, still seeming uncomfortable that she and Joanna aren't alone. The two whisper to each other, while I look down at my phone, realizing I don't want to converse either.

I'm the first to hear a soft bang of a door down the hallway. I poke my head up and hurry to the door. I stick my head out and find someone walking down the hall in the opposite direction, back to us, making his identity unclear. I spin around and beckon to the four girls.

"Guys, let's get out of here," I hiss, trying to rip Martina's attention away from her phone.

She snaps her head up and realizes what I mean. While the other three race to the door, Martina steals two bags of chips from the basket on top of the fridge and then bolts along with them.

This camp has given us all the gift of speed, and we use it to zoom down the stairs and out the back door of the central building in less than ten seconds. We catch our breaths in the cool air of the evening before ambling back to our rooms in a small herd.

We all head our separate ways when we open the double doors of our building. I can hear a lively conversation coming from the Cynthia and Natalie's room, but I can't linger and eavesdrop, the risk of getting caught too high. Martina excuses herself to the bathroom, and I continue to our room.

I stop in the doorway and wrinkle my nose, smelling perfume, but not the luxury type Martina and I drown ourselves in; it's flowery-orange body spray. I figure it wafted in from the hallway, but the smell is so strong, it's almost repugnant.

Sighing, I plop down on my bed and open the side table drawer to fish for my headphones. Instead of feeling the thin cord, I prick my finger on a pointy edge of folded paper. I squeeze my eyes shut and groan, the feeling too familiar.

Not again.

I fold it open, realizing it's too big to fit in my phone case, but at this point, I want to burn them all in the same fire pit at home I dreamed of utilizing for my chemistry textbook.

Less than two weeks left, and you still haven't figured it out? Guess you haven't been embracing your valedictorian title enough, smartie. – X

Squeezing a handful of my sheets, I grow more rageful with every reread of this note. Getting called a bitch, slut, and boyfriend-stealer somehow offended me less than being called dumb, indirectly or not.

I rise to my feet and pace the small space between the two beds. The last time I listened to music was two days ago, meaning this note had to have appeared between now and then. But as I stare down at my hands, I notice a blue smudge on my right thumb. It matches the color of ink on the note, meaning this note is a lot fresher than I thought.

If Martina, Aspen, Willow, and Joanna were with me in that lounge, and there are five or six girls whose names I barely know or are from way out of state, then that leaves four plausible suspects: Adriana, Natalie, Cynthia, and Miranda.

Miranda seems improbable, especially after nagging her as much as I did that time I stormed in her room and still getting nothing from her, but something about her is ominous. After all, her warnings turned out to be necessary.

I push the thought of her away and mull over Cynthia. She and I have exchanged no more than five words this whole experience, but the roommate switcharoo still lingers in the back of my mind. As far I'm concerned, Cynthia and Natalie didn't know each other before coming here, so why did they both need to change rooms? I guess I can sort of buy the incompatibility between her and Martina, but I can't be sure.

That brings me to the unassuming snake herself, Natalie. In the oddest way, I see Willow in her, with the way she went from bubbly and sweet in the first couple days to a textbook two-faced bitch. The handwriting comment muddles my assumptions, as every single note has been written in a third-grade boy's chicken scratch.

Is this some Gossip Girl practical joke, and a guy is actually the mastermind of this elaborate scheme? Because Jonah and Axel make zero sense, from both a logistical and practical standpoint.

But Natalie has to play some role, given she knows my room's passcode. Who knows who else is aware of the six numbers now, too?

I shake off my unease and focus on the most realistic culprit: Adriana. Putting aside her attention-seeking complex and entitled nature, she's shown no particular liking to me—certainly nothing by the way of her twin sister's genuine affability. And if I want to keep going with the Jonah theory, the pieces start falling into place, her comment on Willow's winter formal photo offering me the biggest clue. While her desire to be "there" could have been referring to the dance, I have a feeling it had a lot more to do with the guy wrapping her arms around Willow's tiny waist.

But still, over a year lies between Willow's breakup and the start of our weird three months of unreciprocated flirting after homecoming. Did something happen between him and Adriana before then?

I toss the folded note on top of my laundry pile and groan into my hands, hating that everything in my head is pure speculation. But maybe I just don't want to believe my theories because they seem too obvious, and life is far from black and white.

Someone in this camp has to be the gray, and something tells me Adriana isn't that person.