The Art of Being Alone (Together)

27 | How Much You Mean To Me

By the time my alarm jolts me from my sleep, Lizzie is already gone, and I can't decide if I'm relieved or disappointed.

When I got to the cabin after visiting Mei last night, Lizzie was asleep— or more likely, pretending to be asleep. From the looks of things, she's still upset with me. But with a little work, I'm hoping I can fix this.

It's showcase day, and the excitement levels are running high. You can see it on campers' grinning faces, you can hear it in the chatter, and I can feel it in the adrenaline running under my skin. Adrenaline that gets a little more intense when Ms. Rodriguez, who's standing outside the mess hall, waves me over.

I offer a polite smile as I walk up, wondering if it shows how nervous I am. As nice as she is, there's something about Ms. Rodriguez that's intimidating. Maybe it's her perfect posture, or the memory of her intense speech after the dock was vandalized— or maybe it's the way she gets straight to the point, like she does now.

"Delena, I believe I owe you a thank you," she greets, patting me on the shoulder. "You were right about Rita Wexler. She showed up at the building after curfew, just like you said. The counselors apprehended her just as she was heading for the costume rack with a pair of scissors. She confessed about the dock when we confronted her, and was sent home early this morning."

Am I wrong for not being able to stop myself from smiling? I try to catch myself and cover it, but Ms. Rodriguez just laughs and gives me a shake of her head.

"You're allowed to smile, Delena. You saved the production, and I'm very grateful for that."

Relief floods through me, and I let myself relish in it for a second. Despite everything I did wrong this summer, I at least did some good.

But the summer isn't over yet, and I still have things to fix. I brace myself as I take a deep breath, knowing a lot hinges on my next question.

"Grateful enough for me to ask a favor?"

• • • 🌻 • • •

I watch as another photo slowly comes out of the printer, the glossy paper shining under the lights of the photography room. Since it's showcase day, the place isn't exactly empty— campers have been going in and out of the darkroom all day. I'm lucky that I came early to get a computer, since they've been in high demand since breakfast ended.

I flinch as I feel an arm wrap around my waist, but my gasp cuts short as Ethan leans down to kiss me on the cheek. My insides flutter as I plant a quick one on his lips— if it wasn't for the fact that I had a lot to get done, and that we're surrounded by campers, it might've been even harder to keep it so short.

"Hungry?" he asks, moving his arm from behind his back. He's holding a plastic baggy with a sandwich in it, and shoves it in my direction with a smile. "Eat. You've been living off of granola bars for twenty-four hours."

I wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him before I accept the food. "You made this for me?"

"Someone had to. You haven't been in the mess hall since breakfast yesterday— I was worried you were avoiding me, but your body language says otherwise."

I didn't even realize how hungry I was thanks to how busy I've been, but my stomach growls at the sight of the sandwich. I unwrap it fast, and sigh as I finally take a bite. "Thank you. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," he says, leaning against the large printing table behind him. "I also wanted to commend you on a job well done. Word got around with the staff about what happened with Rita. How a certain photography student happened to overhear her evil plan."