Boot Camp

13: Old Version

"Wait, what do you mean we're stuck?" I ask, jolting from my chair.

"The power is gone, and outside just went from sort-of-heavy thunderstorm to on-the-verge of a tropical storm. We're not going anywhere."

I groan, feeling claustrophobic and sweaty. "I don't like this."

"Are you seriously going to start being annoying now?" Axel groans, turning around from looking out the window. He drags a hand through his hair and stares up at the ceiling.

"You didn't think I was that 'annoying' before," I retort, the bluntness rolling off my tongue.

He mutters something indistinct. "Look, Whitney. I don't even know what that was. We haven't even known each other ten days; we can't already kiss." It sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than me.

"Romeo and Juliet fell in love at first sight so yeah factually, it's not too impossible. Granted, their love story ended tragically, so maybe that's a bad example."

"Does it look like the sixteenth century to you?"

I stand up, looping my thumbs in the waistband of my leggings. "Pretty much. There's no electricity, my phone is useless, and you look like a disgruntled Englishman."

"I do not," he says, crossing his arms across his chest.

"And now you look like a five-year-old," I add, pointing a finger at him.

"You and your remarks," he mumbles. "You're starting to make me regret choosing to work with you."

I don't focus on what he says at first, but then my head snaps up. "Wait, what do you mean 'chose'?"

His head flips up. "I mean, I specifically asked Bob if I could work with you. I saw your application. You're inexperienced in pretty much every sport and not very sure of yourself, so I knew I could help you."

"I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted," I grumble. I take a step closer to him and try to look a bit more intimidating. "But if you chose to work with me, why you are so rude sometimes?"

"I'm not rude," he says. "I'm strict. No one gets anywhere without serious hard work, and you're not the exception." I stare at his strong biceps as he talks and definitely know those didn't come from nothing.

"Fine," I answer. "Fair enough."

"Glad you think so." He turns his head around and looks out the window. It's still raining in torrents, but the thunder has finally stopped. "What do you want to do now?"

"Find a way to get the power back," I mumble, noticing the room is getting darker. I get up and wander back to the bookshelf.

"Clearly not an electrician here," he replies, but then his eyes glance up, and he leaps over to me.

"These aren't your business," he says, placing his arm on top of the photo album and journal I was looking at.

"I wasn't even going to touch them?" I answer, bothered by his sudden defensiveness.

"I don't care. They're still none of your business," he snaps, placing them on a higher shelf row.

"You don't have to be so harsh," I say. "I know what privacy is."

"Well if you do, then you'd stop being so nosy and trying to inspect everything on this shelf. You should be happy I showed you what I did."

I bite the inside of my lip to keep from raising my voice and then speak. "You know you're not the only one in this world with problems."

He raises his eyebrows and scoffs, almost mocking me. "You're the last person who should be talking."

"Excuse me?" I assert. "You don't know anything about me."

"Well I do know most of your troubles fit in the category of first world problems," he remarks. "What, did Starbucks mess us up your skinny vanilla latte last time?"

My lips part, and my blood begins to boil. I have told him practically nothing of my life; he has no right to jump to boorish assumptions. "You know what? I thought maybe underneath, you were actually an understanding person. But it turns out you're just another one of the countless judgmental assholes out there. You don't know my life, and I don't know yours. But at least I'm choosing to be respectful, unlike you right now." I open the door and walk down the hall, as far away from his room as I can get without walking out into the storm.

I shove myself into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I place my hands on the counter and look into the mirror, seeing my tousled brown hair and damp green eyes. I look down and let out a breath, squeezing my eyes shut.

A knock sounds. "Whitney, I know you're in there."

"And I know too, so goodbye."

There is another knock at the door.

"Can you just unlock the door please?" he pleads, sounding exasperated.

I let out a breath and unclick the lock, returning to the counter before he comes in. I stare at the mirror mindlessly and see his figure in the background, but I don't turn around.

"Whitney, look, I wasn't trying to offend you—" he says, and I spin around.

"Really?" I ask suggestively, raising a brow. "You didn't think I'd be a little angry you think I'm a stereotypical shallow idiot?"

He looks down and rubs his neck with his hand. "No I—that's not what I meant. I'm sorry. I was out of line."

"I'm not looking for a meaningless apology," I answer. "If you don't want to say it, then don't."

"I'm not very good at saying sorry," he admits. "But I am sorry." He turns his attention to the door. "I should probably get you out of here. The rain finally stopped."

I open my mouth to speak but then shut it since Axel has already walked outside. His mind is so tricky to pry into; one moment he's vulnerable and the next he's the closed door he wanted me to open so badly.

Outside is a muggy and damp mess, but I'm thankful there's no more rain. I see some of the girls gathered outside of the dorms and others wandering around and holding their phones in the air to gain a signal.

I run over to Martina standing a few feet away from Adriana who is complaining about having no WiFi.

"Whitney, Whitney, did you hear?" Martina asks, grabbing my arm.

"Hear what?" I ask.

"Apparently one of the girls disappeared," she answers. "I don't who it is, but the staff has been trying to find her."

Only, I know exactly who it is.

Miranda.