The Art of Being Alone (Together)

06 | A Taste of Her Own Medicine

Sleep came surprisingly easy last night, even with the noisy crickets outside my window (and a few creaks and groans from the cabin that had me wondering if maybe Grace Milner's ghost is real).

Today is another beautiful summer morning of clear skies and singing birds. It feels all Disney-movie as Lizzie and I walk to the mess hall for breakfast, which is ironic considering how Mean Girls it's about to get in a few minutes. 

We go through the line and get our food, and I'm admittedly a little disappointed to see that Ethan isn't behind the buffet today. Obviously it would go against my plan to catch any feelings, but a girl can still look, right?

At the end of the serving area, I turn to head to the table Lizzie and I sat at yesterday. I flinch as my tray bumps into someone, nearly sending a whole plate of eggs and bacon all over their shirt. Our trays clatter together, orange juice spilling over the rim of both of our cups. I gasp, steadying myself, watching my plate slide back to the safety of my tray in slow motion.

"I'm so..." I trail off as I look up from their blue t-shirt, finally looking at their face. Unfortunately, the next word escapes me before I can take it back. "Sorry."

Mei stares back at me, mirroring my surprised expression. My chest tightens, pulse quickening like I've just come face to face with some sort of deadly animal. On the social food chain, I guess she is a predator now. 

My head rings with questions. Mainly, why is she here? And why did the universe just put me in a position of apologizing to her? As we continue to stare, Lizzie joins my side and Rita saunters up to stand next to Mei.

"Come on Mei, let's go," she insists impatiently. "Unless you suddenly feel like slumming again."

I narrow my eyes, glaring at the two of them. Honestly, it doesn't even feel like I'm looking at the Mei I used to know. She used to wear her hair straight, now it's curled. Her eyes always used to be decorated with colorful eyeshadow, now her makeup is light and barely noticeable. And her old graphic tees and ripped jeans have been replaced by a neutral-toned wardrobe that matches Rita's. The change has happened slowly over the past two months, and I've watched as pieces of the old Mei were chipped away week after week. Now, she looks like a completely different person.

And apparently acts like one, too.

"No way," Mei replies like a slap in the face.

Despite everything, she's never made a jab at me like that. I always assumed we had some sort of unspoken understanding-- we don't like each other, but out of respect for our dead friendship, we wouldn't stoop to insulting each other. I guess I was wrong, which means may as well take the chance to let her know what I think of her new persona.

"As if I'd want to hang out with a cloned copy of Rita Wexler." I sneer, saying the name with as much disdain as possible. Two can play at this game. Or four, rather. 

"Better than hanging out with the leper of camp," Rita snaps back, looking between me and Lizzie. "I heard you got a little present delivered to your cabin yesterday."

Lizzie huffs. "Don't think I don't know it came from you just because you got some of your little minions to do it. I know better than to think you do your own dirty work."

"You of all people should know I can handle my own dirty work just fine." Rita crosses her arms and gives Lizzie a once over, a smirk growing on her face. "Maybe you forgot who was swimming with you in the lake that day?"

Lizzie stiffens beside me. My eyes widen as I slowly understand the insinuation. 

"You messed with her bathing suit?"