The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 60: Becca

After the Sunday night campfire, I return to my cabin to say goodnight to my roommate. But I have no intention of sleeping.

Angela is already in bed when I arrive, working on a charcoal sketch in the fancy sketch-pad her girlfriend sent her in the mail. She barely gives me a second glance as I start stuffing pillows under the sheets of my cot to make a fake body. "Sneaking out again?"

"If I told you, that would make you my accomplice."

Her hands sweep across the creamy paper with a delicate intensity, the outline of a rocky mountainside beginning to appear. "And if the counselors ask, I didn't see anything."

I flash her a grin. Then, I grab my jacket and head for the door.

By the time I reach Beckarof Cabin, it's past ten and I'm expecting for the lights to be turned off (Finn is an obsessive follower of the lights out rule), so I'm pleasantly surprised to see the warm glow of a lamp peaking through the crack between the curtains and the wall. I clear the three stairs with one jump and rap my knuckles against the door.

Ronan opens it promptly. He gives me a quick once-over. "You're not a counselor."

"No. Why are your lights still on?"

In response, he opens the door wider. "War," he says as if this explains everything. "The war to end all wars."

I step inside. A puzzling scene unfolds in front of me. "Uh, care to elaborate?"

"We're playing war," Finn says cheerfully. He's sitting on the floor and clutching a handful of cards, the rest of the deck piled messily in front of him. I look over at Ronan and see that he's holding his own hand of cards. It takes a moment to process all this, but then the details start clicking in my brain— this is war, the card game, not war, as in mutually assured destruction. (Although, with some competitive players, the two are more synonymous than not. This looks like one of those cases.)

"Want to join?" Finn asks. There's a competitive gleam to his eyes I've only seen once before, during our game of Capture the Flag. It's incredibly endearing. "I've never tried to play with three people, but I'm sure we can make it work."

"Hell yeah," I say. "Deal me in."

Which is how I end up breaking camp rules, yet again, by playing a game of War with Ronan and Finn in the middle of the night.

Of course I win. I'm a killer at cards.

Sometimes, it pays to be a psychic.

As I lay my final card down with a triumphant smile, Ronan throws his cards across the floor and exclaims, "That's not fair! You were looking at my cards the entire time!"

"It's a game of chance, not of skill," I tell him, trying to rein in my smile, which is more difficult than it sounds. My life has been a series of losing streaks, so my victory is insanely satisfying, even if it's at something as simple as cards.

Ronan fixes me with the evil eye. "Why are you even here?" he demands. "Nobody invited you—"

"Actually, I invited her," Finn interrupts. (He didn't, but I appreciate the cover.) "So let it go. She didn't cheat at cards, she just got a better hand than you."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

I'm sure Ronan is about to fire back one of his wise-ass retorts, but instead, he leaps to his feet and announces, "I have to go."

"Wow, sore loser much?"

"It's not about the game. I have to—" he stops mid-sentence, then stares at us with wide eyes, like he's already given himself away. "Shower. I have to shower."