It's five in the morning, and I can't fall back asleep— probably because Ronan opened the curtains, and the sunlight is blazing through my eyelids. I sit up and raise a hand to block out the sunlight. Ronan is sitting on his bed, flipping through the same comic book he's always reading.

I squint over at the clock. It's five-thirty A.M.

I'm actually going to murder him.

It's too early in the morning to be polite, so I demand, "Why the hell did you open the curtain? The counselors don't come for another hour."

"I couldn't sleep," Ronan says, as if this is a perfect explanation. "And I got bored. So I opened the curtains."

My mouth falls open. I can practically taste my morning breath; I forgot to brush my teeth last night. "What is wrong with you?"

"As if I'd tell you."

I slam my face into the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut so tightly that my temple starts to hurt. Maybe if I pretend hard enough like this isn't happening, I'll wake up in Indiana, at home, in my own bed.

I crack an eyelid open. Nope, still in Alaska.

"Ah, fuck." I push myself up on my elbows and shoot Ronan my meanest glare. "I'm awake now. Are you happy? You've officially ruined my night's sleep."

Ronan starts to hum something— I think it's the theme from Star Wars.

"Great. Real mature."

He switches to the Imperial March.

"It's too early for this bullshit," I grumble.

Ronan stops humming. He sets his comic book aside and swings his legs towards me, pushing his thin fingers together to form a steeple. He looks like he's trying to pose as one of the people on my mom's self-help books for single women. "What would you like me to do, Fish? I don't sleep at night. I can't. Also, I'm not just going to lay in this bed for ten hours and stare at the ceiling— not while you get your beauty rest and wake up all happy and refreshed. That's not fair. The sun is up, so I'm up. And if you want to keep the curtains closed, then come over here and close them."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Yes, because that's how I want to spend my morning— fighting with my roommate over a pair of curtains."

"It's not even the morning yet— five-thirty A.M is still an ungodly hour to be waking up at."

"If you never go to sleep, you never have to wake up," Ronan advises.

I groan and flop onto my back, dragging a pillow across my face to block out the sunlight. I lay there for a few minutes before finally giving up. There's no way I'm going to be able to fall asleep now— I'm way too annoyed at my roommate, and there's too much agitated energy vibrating in my bones. I can't lie in this bed until seven. I need to get up and do something else.

I fling my pillow to the side and tumble out of bed. My whole body feels like shit— the mattress didn't show any mercy to my back or neck last night. I stretch my arms and legs out in front of me, trying to shake some of the tightness out.

Maybe I'll go for a run. At least then I wouldn't have to be stuck sitting around with Ronan for the next two hours.

I kneel in front of my drawers and start rummaging through my clothes, trying to find a pair of clean shorts and matching socks. I end up dumping half of my clothes on the floor before I finally manage to scrape together a real outfit.

I turn away from Ronan while I change out of my PJ's. "So, what issue are you reading?" I ask him over my shoulder. I've been curious about the meaning of the comic book ever since I met Ronan while he was reading it. There has to be something important about it; he wouldn't be skimming through it constantly if there wasn't. Seriously, what comic could be that good?

"You have eyes, don't you? It's Superman."

"Which one?"

"Why do you fucking care? Stop asking questions."

I yank my shirt on over my head. My neck, already bent at the wrong angle, gives a painful twinge. Screw you, evil mattress.

I'm all dressed now, and I pivot around to face him. "You don't have to be so rude, you know," I say.

Ronan glares at me so fiercely that I almost have to look away— his eyes can be crazy intense sometimes. They're just so black— like holes, or pits. Creepy. "And you don't have to be such an annoying little shit," he says roughly. "Just stop asking dumb questions about my life, okay? It's none of your fucking business what I read or do."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize comic-books were such a sensitive subject for you."

"They're not! I just don't like you prying into my personal shit like you're some kind of private investigator!"

I open my mouth, then close it. Then I realize that my hands have clenched into fists.

Can't he see that I'm trying? It's not my fault that I asked the counselor to give him large shirts instead of medium ones. Or that I accidentally brought a Walkman to camp. (Seriously, blame Sarah for that.) I want to be friends with him— not enemies. He's the one making this all so difficult!

Ronan grabs his comic book and starts reading again. He's silent now— well, more seething than silent— and I don't expect him to start talking again any time soon.

I reach down to shove on my sneakers. My fingers shake as I lace them up, either with nerves or anger, I can't tell. It takes me twice as long to finish tying the knots. My head pounds as I reach for the door. I need to get out of this camp. I need to run.

A stifling, suffocating feeling swells in my chest. It's bitter and sour and unpleasant, and with it rises an abrupt hatred- -towards this camp, the people in it, and all of the people responsible for sending me to it. Ronan and Clancey and Anna and dad and mom and Sarah and even the Twins— I can't stand any of them. They're all miserable, and this is all their faults.

"I'm leaving," I declare.

Ronan doesn't look up when he asks, "Leaving where?" asks Ronan, eyes still fixed to the page of his comic book.

"Do you even care?"

He flips the page again. "Let me think about that one. Oh wait, I already know the answer. No."

I really hate him right now. I really do.

"Enjoy your morning," I snap at him. And then I add, "Dick," under my breath, when I know for sure that he can't hear me.

I throw open the cabin door and stomp down the steps, determined to leave my roommate and all of my other problems behind. I'm breathing hard as I head towards the woods, where I find a trail that leads deep into the trees— I don't bother to check where it goes, I just run. I run fast and hard and try to think of nothing except the rhythmic sound of my feet hitting the dirt, and I let the trees swallow me whole.

I used to joke with Anna that anger-running is the best kind of running, except it wasn't really joking, because it's true; you run faster when you're angry, and longer and harder, and when you get tired you just get angrier and then you speed up again. Anna and I called it the positive feedback of running, because when you run when you're angry, you only get angrier and angrier, until you burn out completely. We thought we were so fucking clever- well, at least Anna did.

Anna! If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be here, at Lightlake. I would be at home, running my own trails, training for the running season that now, I'm going to miss. Anna and I would both have a job at the pool, and I would steal money out of dad's wallet to buy us milkshakes when work ended, and the days would be long and hot and summer would feel like it would never end, because that's how my life should be.

But it's not, because Anna couldn't keep one fucking promise.

I might dislike her more than Ronan. At least he says what he means, instead of hiding behind false words. I'll never tell. That's what she said to me. It'll be our secret. But it wasn't just our secret, was it? She had to go and lie and talk, because she couldn't keep her mouth shut, couldn't bear to break the rules—

"Hey!"

For a split second, I think the voice belongs to Anna, shouting at me in my head. And then I run into a tree.

Or, I think that it's a tree until it starts yelling at me in a very human-like voice. "You fucking idiot. Did you not hear me shout?"

There's dirt all over my clothes. I'm lying on the ground, pebbles and roots digging into my back, and my ears are ringing— and there's somebody standing over me, not a tree, not Anna— it's the girl who I saw by the cabin registrar. I can tell because of her eyes— one blue, one brown— both glaring down at me with an equal amount of disgust.

The ringing in my ears subsides a little, but I'm still reeling from the impact. I hit the ground so hard I'm lucky I don't have a concussion. "What are you doing here?" I demand, forcing myself to my feet. My knee aches a little; I must have bent it wrong when I ran into her. Or when she ran into me— I can't tell. I'm still not clear on the details. I'm just so confused— who the hell else goes for a run at five in the morning?

The girl scowls at me and rubs at her shoulder, as if it's bruised. "This is a shared trail, moron, I'm allowed to run on it too. Although maybe next time, I'll run somewhere else."

"Hey," I say, feeling unfairly attacked. "I wasn't trying to run into you. I just didn't see you coming around the bend!"

The girl rolls her eyes at me. "I shouted for you to get out of the way. Are you deaf as well as blind?"

My anger from earlier this morning, which faded away briefly after I fell, returns full force. "Look, it's not my fault you can't stay on your side of the path—"

"I was on my side of the path! You were the one running in the middle of it!"

"— because you were obviously the one who ran into me. Also, I wasn't running in the middle of the trail!"

"Yes you were, why else would we have run into each other? If we were both running on the right side, then this wouldn't have happened!"

"Yeah, well it wouldn't have happened if you were running faster, either, because then I would have seen you sooner and not run into you—"

The girl scoffs. Now she's furious, too. It's satisfying, in a vicious sort of way, to get on her nerves like this. I've been itching for a proper argument since I woke up this morning.

"I was not the slow one— are you stupid? I've seen my abuela run faster than you!" the girl exclaims.

"Bullshit. I was practically sprinting."

She waggles her watch in my face. It's a fancy watch, designed especially for running. I frown at it before she yanks her arm away. "No you weren't, pendejo! I timed myself, I was running seven minute miles—"

"Did you just curse at me in Spanish?"

"— which is faster than whatever lame shit you were just jogging! And yes, that was Spanish, you must be so clever. Do you want to see my watch again? I know you must be jealous of it, what with that cereal box crap on your wrist."

Anger rises in my throat, as hot as lava. "I happen to like that cereal box crap," I say hotly. "It's limited edition!"

"Oh, my. Why don't you stick it up your ass so that six-foot long pole can have some limited edition company?"

"Leave my watch alone!"

She juts her chin out at me. "Bite me," she challenges.

Usually, I don't like getting in fights or arguments with strangers, but today is not a usual day— which is why instead of backing down, I draw myself up to my full height and reply, "You know what? I could beat you back to camp in my sleep."

The girl narrows her mismatched eyes. "I'd like to see you try."

I don't say anything else; I just shove past her and start running, thinking that she'll keep going in the opposite direction— but suddenly, she's jogging easily at my side. She catches my eye and tilts her head sideways, as if to say, and what are you going to do about it?, before pulling ahead of me and powering up the trail.

"Jesus Christ. I didn't mean it literally!"

"What, are you afraid to lose?"

"First of all, I'm not afraid of you, and second of all, I never lose a race."

The girl smiles. "We'll see about that."

I give her a dirty look and sprint ahead, determined to leave her behind; but seconds later, I hear her footsteps thudding behind me.

"Stop following me!"

The girl sidesteps me neatly, and jumps to the front. She looks over her shoulder and says, "I think you're doing the following."

She wipes a trail of sweat off her forehead and darts down the path. She's running at a crazy fast pace now, but the pumping motion of her legs still looks effortless. I hate to admit it, but she's got the best form I've ever seen, and she's fast— probably even faster than me. Still, I'm too angry to back down and lose our impromptu race, even if it means that I have to kill myself the rest of the trail.

I kick my own legs into higher gear and force myself to catch up with her. "Hey! Why are you always glaring at me? I haven't done anything to you."

"I can glare at whoever I want."

"Can you just give me a reason for why you hate me so much?"

She tosses her braid over her shoulder and gives me a disdainful look. "Don't compliment yourself. I've got way better things to do than waste my time hating some slow, skinny kid from Indiana."

"I don't remember telling you where I was from...."

"You don't have to. I just know." She smiles at me again. "I know a lot of things about you, Finn Murphy. You and everybody else."

She speeds up, leaving my side.

"How the hell do you know my name?" I shout, chasing after her. My lungs are burning, and my bruised knee won't quit throbbing, but there's no way I'm going to lose to this chick now. "Also, what the hell is your problem?"

The girl just keeps speeding up. She's like the fucking Terminator— and I don't even know her name yet.

I shake my head and force my legs to move faster. I have no idea how long this trail goes on for, and I'm not sure the girl does either, but she doesn't look like she'll be tiring out anytime soon. As for me, I'm draining fast. With my knee hurting like this, I don't know if I'm capable of keeping up this pace for even another half mile. God, why does everyone at this camp have to be on my case, 24/7? First, I just wanted a good night's sleep, and then Ronan had to go and wake me up at five in the fucking morning, and now my run has been ruined by a girl with anger issues that clearly hates my guts for reasons I still don't understand. I don't get it! I haven't done anything to these people. I hadn't even met Clancey yet when he shoved me in the dirt. If my summer keeps carrying on like this, I don't think I'm going to survive until August.

"Could you please just answer one of my questions?" I ask. I'm so tired of every camper here acting like they're such a fucking enigma. "Please?"

"Sure," the girl replies. "My name is Becca. Becca Fisher."

The distance between us grows. Whenever I try to speed up, the girl runs faster, and soon there's nothing I can do to bridge the twenty-foot gap between us. If I keep trailing like this, I'll lose her in the trees in minutes.

"Who are you, Becca Fisher?" I call out, as her braid bounces away down the trail and into the distance.

"Nobody you need to concern yourself with, Finn Murphy."

"How do you know my name?"

"I just know!"

A sharp spike of pain flares up in my knee, so overwhelming that I nearly lose control over my legs. I stumble to a stop, cursing like a sailor. When I look down, I see a bruise the size of a baseball spreading across my knee, already blossoming into a beautiful spectrum of purples and blues. Blood drips down my shin from a swelling scrape that I don't remember getting. That girl busted my leg good.

"Fucking hell," I begin, before a wave of nausea hits me so hard that I have to close my mouth. A terrible, aching feeling spreads through my limbs as all the floodgates open, and the lactic acid that was building up in my cells rushes out, taking no hostages. I feel like I just ran a marathon. Or maybe like an entire marathon of runners just ran over me....

In the distance, I can hear the girl laughing like Christmas come early. I used to think it was immoral to punch a girl, but now, I'm really having some doubts....

I sink to my feet and prop my back up against a pine tree, trying to get my breath back. My heart thrashes against my rib-cage as if I just took a shot of pure adrenaline, making my pulse race and my face flush with blood. I close my eyes and groan out some of my pain and frustration. Today is already sucking ass and we haven't even started our activities yet. I wish I'd never left my cabin— dealing with Ronan would have been more pleasant than beating my body to shit on the hardest run of my life and nearly blowing out my knee and lungs along the way.

I check my watch. (Cereal box crap, my ass. One day, this thing is going to sell for mad bank.) The hands point to half past six.

I check out my knee again. It hasn't made any miraculous improvements in the last three minutes that I looked at it. I guess this means that running back to my cabin is out of the question. And as much as I'd love to just keep sitting under this tree forever, the counselors will be stopping by our cabin at seven, which means that if I don't want to get a mark for going missing I'm going to have to book it back down.

Groaning, I drag myself to my feet and begin limping in the same direction down the path.

This is not a promising start to my first full day at Lightlake.