Boot Camp

33: Old Version

A week has passed by since I got home, and I've spent every day of it trying to distract myself from my thoughts.

Instead of sulking in my room, wallowing in my sorrows over a new TV series, I've been spending every moment outside. Running, climbing up hills, laying in the sun; it all makes it feel like the camp never ended.

Only it did, and there's no Axel right next to me telling me to keep going farther. Instead, it's just me and my lonely thoughts.

I run back up the road to my house panting, my face tomato red as I wipe my forehead with the front of my shirt. As I walk up to my front door to go back inside, I see my father unlocking it after a long day at work.

I catch my breath and grab the door handle after he walks in. He turns around and sees me.

"You like to run now?" Confusion overtakes his face, as if he didn't remember what I had been doing for over a month away from him.

"I mean, I went to a fitness camp," I state, stepping inside the house, the cool of the air conditioning greeting me.

"Right," he answers with a nod, seeming the slightest bit embarrassed. Instead of asking about my experience, he walks up the stairs without saying anything else. I close my eyes for a second and heave out an exhausted breath—not from my workout, but from him.

I go upstairs and take a long shower, staying under the showerhead until my conscience remembers the environment could use some sparing. There's just something about the shower that makes you feel like you can get your life together in minutes, even though most of the time, you can't.

After I get dressed, I step out into the hallway and find my mother leaving her room. "Oh good you're here, Whitney," she says. "We need to go dress shopping for you for the wedding."

"Already?" I ask until it hits me again. "Oh my god, not already. It's in two weeks."

"You got that right," she chuckles, taking the first few steps down. "I'll be waiting in the car."

Before heading to a dress boutique, we stop for a late lunch at a sandwich café in town. As I walk in, I see a familiar face in the corner organizing plates. I decide to walk up to her.

"Miranda?" I question, recognizing that fiery red hair anywhere. She glances up, her eyes surveying me with slight confusion before she talks.

"Oh, it's you," she says, taking a second to recognize me. "What's up?"

"Nothing really," I answer with a shrug. I catch a glance of the name on her name tag: Miranda Campbell.

"Wait a second, are you related to Bob and Cindy?" I blurt. She raises a brow, amused at my epiphany.

"I'm their daughter, if that clarifies anything," she replies, taking a stack of small white plates and putting them up on a shelf.

"Seriously?" She nods. "So wait...why would you run away if your parents own the camp?"

"Like I told you, they forced me to go here," she replies bluntly. "And the camp was full of bitches."

She was sure right about that. "So did you know about the notes?"

She looks over at me again and gives me a nod. "I knew everything about that camp. Even including who wrote them. It's not that hard to dig up easy secrets."

"But why didn't you tell me?" I ask, furrowing my brows. I don't understand why she would hide that from me, especially after I asked her.

"Well think of it of one way," she begins, finally turning around and glancing at me straight ahead. "Did anything good come out of them?"