"He's got a girlfriend," Mia says.

She sits across from me in one of the four camp chairs. Sophie quickly joins us with a plate full of tacos and corn on the cob.

"I hate to say it," she says. "But I think she's right. It's either that or something worse."

"Oooh! Like the plot of a thriller?" Theresa is the obnoxious blond sitting on the tarp with Blake. She looks about sixteen but has the maturity of a child high on sugar.

"He waits till you're all alone," she says. "And then—attack!"

She feigns attacking Blake with her claws and giggles loudly as she collapses onto his lap. Blake smiles a little too widely for my liking, and Brianna sighs loudly from the picnic table.

"You know, she was alone with him this whole afternoon," Brianna says. She and a couple of the younger boys are preparing the tacos. "Unless—"

"Hey, watch it!" One of the younger boys says.

Mia leans forward, looking past my shoulder and rolls her eyes.

"God, Bri. That's like the third shell you've broken," she says, then she leans back in her chair and laughs. She looks at Sophie. "Maybe someone else needs a little herbal—"

"Shut up, Mia!" Bri says.

I tap Mia on the knee to regain her attention.

"Couldn't it be something else?" I say. "Something more innocent?"

"Like what?"

"Like maybe I said something I shouldn't have said. Maybe I scared him away."

Mia raises her eyebrows, and for a moment I think I almost see pity in her eyes.

"Look, I told you. He's got a girlfriend. Case closed."

"But what if he doesn't?"

Mia leans forward and pats my knee, "Then he's a jerk who doesn't deserve your time."

But Blake lets out a snort beside us. "Or he's protecting his balls."

Then Brianna says, "Blake could you come over here?"

I catch him rolling his eyes, but he gets up and follows Brianna to the edge of the campsite.

"Look," Sophie says. "Maybe you could call him later and—"

I shake my head. "I don't have his number."

"Oh."

"Yep. Girlfriend," Mia says.

Sophie shakes my knee and gives me her own look of sympathy. "I'm sorry."

And then Blake storms through, cursing under his breath as he picks up his belongings on the tarp. Brianna follows closely behind.

"I'm sorry, Blake," she says. "I just—"

But he points a finger at her and says, "It's none of your goddamn business. Just because your cousin is a . . ." He stops short and glances at everyone. "It doesn't matter. I've had enough here. Care to hang out in my parents' camper, Theresa?"

"Oh," she says, and her chipper expression falters for only a brief second. "But aren't your parents there? Maybe we should go to my parents' camper instead."

"Sounds great," Blake grumbles, and as they leave, Brianna looks at me and lets off an angry huff.

The sun sinks in the sky as streaking clouds drift over it, and the campsite dims to near darkness. Again, the effects of Philip's presence wear off. I try not to think too hard about anything that will upset me, but the murmur of everyone's voices unnerves me. Bits and pieces of conversation reach my ear, but I comprehend little of it.

I want to hide and cry and just deal with my emotions in private. Did Philip really reject me because I'm suicidal? Is depression that much of a turn-off? Can no one want me until I'm happy?

I wrap my arms around myself, close my eyes, and imagine how this night might have turned out had Philip come. But the fantasy keeps getting interrupted by visions of Philip making out with another girl. For some reason, I keep picturing Theresa. It makes me so mad.

Then, Brianna says out of nowhere, "It's true, isn't it, Alison?"

I open my eyes. Brianna is sitting on the ground on the far side of the camp fire with a red blanket over her knees. Caden sits behind her in one of the camp chairs, massaging her shoulders.

"What?"

She pops a popcorn kernel in her mouth.

"Your imaginary friend," she says. "His name was Philip . . . or well, Phil, but same difference."

I blink, stunned. Everyone is staring at me.

"That's what your mom told me," Brianna continues.

"Bri, her mom is dead," Mia hisses, but the older cousin just rolls her eyes.

I shake my head. "What are you talking about?"

"Philip, your imaginary friend? The boy you wanted me to meet when we were little? You said he lived in your parents' barn. Don't you remember? You nearly had me freeze to death waiting for him. And then there were those rumors about the barn being haunted. Come on. You played a mean joke. You really forgot?"

"I don't . . ." But I feel the blood drain from my face and become hyper-aware of my own breathing. And the sky seems to drastically darken like it's trying to invade and conquer the light of the campfire.

I wrap my arms around myself and shiver.

Brianna sighs, and then she is before me, handing me a blanket as if it were a peace offering.

"Alison, just admit it. You were making Philip up. You tried to come up with some new excuse to ditch everyone. All because you're afraid of water."

For a moment, my breath hangs mid-chest. My eyes start to burn and swell. Everyone seems to be judging me, condemning me.

I hiccup out a breath, and then I'm running. Sophie shouts my name. Brianna says, "What the hell?" And then their voices fade behind me.

When I finally let myself breathe, it comes out in whimpers and my tears partially blind me. I pass music and laughter. Light from each camper flickers by. I make turns based on what will allow me to disappear faster, cursing myself for not choosing a more heavily wooded campground.

Eventually, I jet left toward the playground and swivel around toward the restrooms. I run to the door like it's the surface of the water. My muscles ache. My ankles protest. I can't seem to run fast enough, but then I crash into the doorway of the lady's restroom.

Thankfully no one is inside. I lock myself into one of the stalls, and my body curls into a ball, shivers, weeps. My body rocks, and an angry voice starts chanting inaudible words. I am able to make out: Abandoned. Freak. Scum. Deserted. Unwanted. Unlovable.

I try to identify where the voice is coming from, till I am forced to recognize that it is my lips that are moving. It is my vocal cords that are vibrating. I am saying these words to myself, and there is something satisfying about it. It's like I'm entertaining thoughts of vengeance for my worst hated enemy, but the enemy is me. I hurt, and yet there is something satisfying about hurting myself.