A day later, we were back to where we started.

"Once we get to the other end, we'll be done for the day. Sound good?"

I nod at Axel's instructions, having already ran down the length of this beach five times. The sheer distance wasn't what wore me out, nor did having to stop every five minutes to complete a different set of dynamic exercises.

It was the silence.

There was no playful banter, lively debate, or motivating dialogue between us the entire ninety minutes of this workout. Axel was lost in his world and I my own, but if we had the chance to peer into each other's heads, I bet they wouldn't have been so different.

In one way, Axel was simply respecting my unease about whatever it is that's between us—what he claimed yesterday was simply a figment of my own imagination. He and I both know our actions in each other's presence are beyond those of a normal trainer-trainee relationship, but then again, why do I care so much, if time will solve my simple predicament?

I'm going home at the end of the month, and that will be that. Maybe instead of worrying so much, I should embrace the thrill of this experience, no matter how many more curveballs life throws my way.

I pull the bottle of water from my lips and stare at Axel, breathless, trying to read his flat expression. When I don't say anything, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick text back to someone, his eyebrows furrowing together.

"Axel," I say, "you're not mad at me, are you?"

He slips his phone into his shorts pocket and blinks. "Why would I be?"

I fiddle with the wrapper on my bottle, growing more on edge. "I don't know. Maybe I made things awkward yesterday."

He gazes at my face in the same way he did that time in the gym, with a certain prying interest. His mouth opens to verbalize a reply, but only a small puff of air comes out. I look away for a few moments. When I lift my head again, I find him in front of me.

"No, you didn't," he says, running a hand through his hair. He glances at the roaring sea-green waves, tempering our silence this whole time. "You just made me think."

"About what?" I ask, brushing away the strands of hair the wind tousles. I ignore that I liked it better when he did it for me.

"That you're right. Maybe I should have done this the right way all along."

I part my lips in dismay. His words only follow from what I told him yesterday, yet they hurt more than I thought to hear from his mouth. "Oh," I say and swallow the ball in the back of my throat, "if that's what you think, then alright."

He leans forward a few inches. "Why do you suddenly look disappointed?"

"Because maybe I..." I trail off and stare down at the sand. I squint, and I swear I can make out a cracked heart drawn in the distance. I look up. "Maybe I changed my mind."

His hands lie still by his sides as he eyes my woeful expression. Then he takes a step forward, and they come to life, reaching out.

He beckons to me. "Come here."

I hesitate, realizing we're both still somewhat sticky, but decide to follow his commands, as always. He wraps his arms around my back, touch gentle and featherlike. I rest my head on his chest warily, hands floating in the air behind his back. A few seconds pass by in this stiff hug, until I realize how stupid it is to act like this is the first time we've gotten this close. I finally let my arms wrap around his body and realize I'm the sweaty one, not him.

Axel responds warmly and rests one hand on the back of my head, lowering his face to my ear. "You've grown on me, Whitney," he says and then rests his chin on the top of my head, "but some part of feels...regretful."

I pull my head back but still remain in his hold. "What do you regret?"

He sucks in his cheeks and glances at the ocean again over my head. I decide to look there myself, wondering if maybe the answer is hiding in the water, from how many times it's entranced him. I don't get to soak in the view for long, fingers turning my face back to him.

"I didn't realize how short these five weeks would be. I wish I assigned you to someone else."

It takes a couple seconds for my brain to register what that implies. "Does that mean...you chose to work with me?"

He nods. "I felt bad for not answering your question that other time."

I don't know what to think, unsure if he drew my name out of a hat or if there was a real motive behind his choice. But maybe these details are pointless to fret over, especially when some part of me feels like that wasn't the response he had originally planned on giving me.

To my dismay, I can't ask him for clarification, as he's already made it halfway up the sand, letting me know that we're done for the day.

I stay frozen in place for a few seconds before turning my head to the ocean again, letting it beguile me instead.

***

I'm restless for the rest of the day.

By the time dinner rolls around, my appetite has disappeared, killed off by my mounting anxiety. Between mulling over Axel's words and shuffling through theories about the notes, all I want to do is take a long nap and wake up back in my bedroom at home.

I stop in front of the doors of the dining hall, my hunger still non-existent, and decide to turn back around. When I exit the central building, I walk down the sloping grass and linger by the trainer dorm, hoping Axel will be somewhere nearby. After a minute, I sigh and keep walking, realizing chance encounters would lose their meaning if they happened like clockwork.

Another person's appetite is equally depleted, but it seems to be a much more common occurrence for her than me. Willow sits by herself outside, mindlessly scrolling through her phone while sipping on some iced water.

I soften my footsteps as I approach her. Maybe my brain has just hit storage capacity or I'm in a weird mood, but for once, an overwhelming amount of spite doesn't rush over me in her presence. I stop in front of her, hearing a dry leaf crunching under my sneaker. She blinks at the sound and looks up, taken aback.

"Oh," she says, putting her phone away, "hey. What are you doing here?"

"I could probably ask you the same question," I say, folding my hands behind my back. I fidget a little, realizing this is the first time I've initiated conversation with her. "I don't always see you at dinner."

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks away. "I don't really like eating around other people. It's not like school when I could go out to my car and have lunch alone."

Funny, just replace 'car' with 'library' for me. "Mind if I sit?"

"Yeah, of course." She scoots over a foot and leaves plenty of room for me. She looks down and adds, "I like your sneakers, by the way."

I glance at them myself, a pair of red-and-white Nikes from Poppy for my last birthday. "Oh, thanks. I kind of got inspired by your sneaker collection in high school."

She laughs and looks down at her sole pair of ordinary shoes. "A lot of them were sent to my mom by different designers, and she'd usually end up giving them to me. I would've had no fashion sense if it wasn't for her."

Perks of a former model for a mother, I guess. I eye the faint smile on her lips, lighting up her hollow face. This close and without her usual sneer and layer of foundation, she looks several years younger, but nothing like the ten-year-old girl in that photo on her Instagram. Her cheeks were once so full; now they sink into her face.

"Willow, are you okay?" I ask. "You look tired."

I expect her to brush me off and utter something along the lines of "yeah, I'm fine," but nothing escapes her lips other than a melancholic sigh.

"No," she admits, shoving her hands into her sweatshirt pocket, "but you don't have to worry yourself."

"I want to be a doctor, Willow; it's only natural. But..." I focus on her glassy eyes, holding back tears that probably won't ever trickle down her empty cheeks. "You don't have to tell me, if you're not comfortable."

She shakes her head and stands up, knocking over her bottle of water in the process. "God, how are you still so nice, Whitney? I was nothing but a vile bitch to you for years, and you're still concerned about me? If I was in your shoes, I would have already socked me in the eye. How do you not fucking hate my guts?"

I grip the edge of the bench, knuckles turning white. "Who says I don't?" I ask, taking her by surprise. "But unlike you, I don't think Hammurabi's Code still applies."

"An eye for an eye," she scoffs, remembering something from history class. "I don't even think that applies to me, Whitney. What did I have against you anyway? I didn't even know who you were before high school."

"If you can't answer that, how can I?" I stand up. "Gosh, Willow, why do you think I came to this goddamn place anyway? To leave school behind and start anew. I didn't think you'd follow me here."

"My reasons weren't so different, Whitney," she says softly. "I have so many fucking regrets."

I shake my head, taking a step back. "Look, you can guilt yourself all you want, but it won't do anything for me. Or you either, quite frankly. I don't care for an apology right now—especially if you don't mean it."

She buries her face in her hands, blowing out a sigh through her fingers. She looks up at me and swallows. "Even if I meant it, Whitney, I don't think you would ever believe me. I wouldn't blame you either."

I've never been put in this place before, in front of someone who has wronged me so many times but makes me feel like I would do the same to her if I didn't buy her sincerity. My heart twists in my chest, betraying my rational mind.

A ringtone interrupts our thoughts, and both us reach for our phones at the same time. The sound comes from hers, and she groans softly.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this," she says. Before hurrying away, she warns, "But please don't skip dinner, Whitney. It's not worth it."