Ronan doesn't speak another word until we're back in the tent and zipped up safely in our sleeping bags. There, he tosses me a roll of gauze tape and says, without any preamble, "I stole this from Owen. Wrap your arm up before that cut gets infected."

I do as he says, even though I hate taking orders from him. So far Ronan has proven that he's way more on top of things than I could've ever imagined. Not only did he manage to trick the boys into a wild goose chase, but he also rigged the tent zipper so that if any of them decide to return for round two, his metal water bottle will topple over, alerting us to their presence. And, in case things get physical again, he has his flashlight hidden underneath his pillow, and I have a stick from the woods stashed away in my sleeping bag (the perfect size for whacking).

I always knew that Ronan was good at planning shit, but I never thought he was this good. He's like some kind of modern Sherlock Holmes. "How'd you know what Clancey was gonna do?" I wrap the bandage slowly around my arm, watching my blood seep through the white gauze. "You seem so... prepared."

"I saw him stealing the knife this morning," he replies simply, reaffirming my theory that he's some kind of evil genius. "After that, I just put the puzzle pieces together." 

"So... you knew that Clancey was going to come at us with the knife, and you didn't try to warn me?"

"It was for the best if you didn't know about what was going to happen. If I told you the truth, you would have just freaked out or tried to tell a counselor, and then Clancey would have resorted to taking you out in a more discreet way. Dude. Don't give me that look. You know I'm right. Filling you in would have only made things worse."

"Thanks for that, Ronan. I love being called a little bitch by my own roommate."

"I never said that you were a little bitch. But hey, if the shoe fits...."

I chuck the roll of tape at his head. He ducks, and it hits the tent flap instead.

He demands indignantly, "Need I remind you that I just saved your life?" 

"Yeah, after Clancey literally had me standing on the edge of a cliff!"

"I wanted to know if he was actually going to make you jump. He might have just been trying to scare you. I needed to hear what he had to say first."

"Wait a minute— scare me? Shit, Ronan, he wanted to kill me. He said so himself!"

"People lie."

"He wasn't lying. I could see the look on his face; he hated my guts with a passion. You wouldn't understand. You weren't there until the very end."

Ronan narrows his eyes at me. "I was there the entire time, you moron. You just couldn't see me. I was hiding in the trees. Stealth mode." 

"Then why didn't you intervene sooner?"

"I already told you why! I knew that Clancey was going to do the whole supervillain monologue thing, and I wanted to hear what he had to say."

"I could have died."

"Well, you didn't. So stop whining about it."

"After everything I've been through tonight— no thanks to you, by the way— I think that I've earned the right to whine about things. Less than thirty minutes ago, Clancey had a knife to my throat and was pressuring me to jump to my death."

"If you were so sure he was going to kill you, then why didn't you try to shout for help? Or were you so convinced that your knight in shining armor, Becca Fisher, was going to save you?"

"I didn't try shouting because I knew that it would just make Clancey angrier," I reply, ignoring his jab. I don't have to explain myself to Ronan; I don't have to explain myself to anybody. "Like you said, all I ever do is make things worse."

"Spare me the self-pity, Fish. You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

He sneers at me. "Whatever."

"'Whatever'? What kind of answer is that?"

"An honest one. Did you want an essay?"

Frustration wells up in my throat, but I force myself to swallow it back down. The bobbing motion of my Adam's Apple makes the fresh cut on my neck flare with pain. "Fine. Keep being a dick. We have more important things to worry about— like how Clancey still has Owen's knife."

Ronan starts laughing like a maniac. "You mean this knife?" He sticks his hand under the pillow, and when he pulls it out, he's holding the same knife Clancey stole from Owen. "Did you really think I'd let him keep it? He'd skewer us both in our sleep."

"Fuck," I breathe. I've done a lot of shit that could get me kicked out of camp, but stealing a knife from a counselor— that's on an entirely different level. We could get slammed with real criminal charges for this. "You've got to get rid of that."

"Hell, no. This is part of the plan."

"The plan?" I repeat, my voice rising an octave. "Ronan, if somebody caught you with that, you could go to jail. This camp is the last chance for us! You know how the counselors are— they assign punishments first and ask questions later."

"Only if they catch me."

I decide to go for the low blow. "Ronan, you can't afford to be this reckless. Think about your mother. Think about what she said to you—"

"Don't you ever bring up my mother. Ever."

"You really think that tough-guy act is gonna work on me? I know what your mother said to you before you left, you told it to me yourself. If you get in trouble at Lightlake, she'll disown you. And, in my opinion, stealing a knife from a counselor is a one-way ticket to getting in trouble."

"Good thing I didn't ask for your opinion, then." Ronan looks angry now, really angry. His eyes are pitch-black. No pupils. "I don't care what I told you. My family is none of your business."

"I'm just trying to protect you."

"I don't need your protection, especially not from my own mother. Just stay out of it."

"Ronan, I—" I can't finish even finish my sentence, I'm so frustrated with him. "I'm worried about you, okay?"

"I know how to handle myself."

"Really? And what are you gonna do if you get kicked out of Lightlake and don't have a home to go back to?"

"I'll figure something out."

"Like what? You're sixteen, Ronan. You don't have an infinite number of options right now. We have to think realistically here. All that money you have in your duffel bag is gonna run out real quick on the street, and then what are you gonna tell your family? Your friends? What about Jesse?"

Ronan turns his face away from me. I think I might hear him sniff, but that's probably just my mind playing tricks on me. "I don't want to see Jesse ever again."

"That's bullshit and you know it. Just because you had one fight doesn't mean that your friendship is over—"

"Finn, please stop talking. Really. I don't want to hear it. I'm sure that you have good intentions telling me all of this, but I'm not in the mood."

"Fine. Go and get yourself arrested; I could care less. Every man for himself, right?"

Ronan lets out a momentous sigh and falls back down into his sleeping bag. He slips the knife under his pillow. "I told you a million times, nobody is getting arrested. I have a plan. For the knife, and for everything else."

"I have a plan," I repeat, in a mocking, Oscar-worthy imitation of his voice. "Great. I feel better already. Your plans are always so successful."

"You can't seriously be criticizing me for making bad decisions when you literally almost got yourself thrown off a cliff less than half an hour ago. You know, we wouldn't even be in this situation if you'd just kept your mouth shut and let Becca take the blame for her stupid prank."

"That's a low blow. Even for you."

"So? It's the truth."

"Yeah, maybe it is. But if I hadn't stood up for Becca during that game of Capture the Flag, then she would have been the one on the cliff and how is that any better? I don't understand why you care at all. It's not like you had to save me. You could have just let Clancey take me out and kept going with your life— it's not like it affects you at all, whether I live or die."

Ronan scoffs at me. "Is that who you think I am? Some unfeeling sadist?"

"I've only known you for a month. I have no idea who you are."

"Well, sorry to break it to you, but I'm not some James Bond villain. I would prefer it if Clancey didn't murder you, because that would mean a lot of extra work and questions for me, and it would also ruin my plan."

"Glad to be of service," I mutter.

He gives me a funny look. "You know that I don't hate you, right?"

"Sure."

"Well, I don't. Hating you would be a waste of my time. I have better things to put my time and energy into. Like the plan."

"The plan?"

I must look confused, because Ronan rolls his eyes and says, disparagingly, "Didn't I mention this earlier? Keep up. There's something funny going on at this camp and I've created a plan to find out what. Clancey was only the first step."

"How?" I demand, slightly offended that my near-death experience was just some part of Ronan's oh-so-wonderful plan. (And he claims not to be a James Bond villain.) "How does Clancey fit into any of this?"

"Owen's knife," he says immediately. "Clancey stole it way too easily."

"So? Maybe he got lucky."

"Nobody gets lucky at this camp, Finn. Like I said, something is going on. Somebody wanted Clancey to find that knife and threaten you with it. Somebody wanted you to get pushed off that cliff; I'm sure of it."

"But Clancey said he wanted me dead—"

"Oh, I bet he did; you do have a habit of getting on everybody's nerves. But somebody else wanted you dead, too, and they tried to use Clancey to finish the job. I don't know who yet. I'm still figuring it out."

"Why would someone want me dead so badly?" I exclaim. "I haven't done anything to offend anybody. I mean, anybody other than Clancey, Eric, and Sean, and maybe Giselle and Matt...." I trail off into awkward silence. I've pissed off more campers than I realized. "Do you think it's a—"

But Ronan answers my question for me. "No, it wasn't a camper. What happened between you and Clancey required too much cleverness and patience to orchestrate. It had to be someone else, like a counselor, or—"

"A Director?"

Ronan shakes his head. "I don't think so."

"She seems kind of sketchy to me," I muse. "Although I can't think of a reason she would want me pushed off a cliff. Wouldn't that mean less business for her and the camp?"

"Exactly." Then Ronan's expression turns thoughtful, and he chews on his lower lip for a moment before continuing. "Anyway... back to what you said at the cliff earlier. Why'd you think I was Becca?"

"What?"

"Are you deaf?" he demands. He doesn't wait for a response to keep going. "Never mind. That was a rhetorical question. Moving on. After I saved your life on the cliff, you said you thought I was Becca. Why?"

"I don't see how this is relevant. I thought we were talking about your plan."

"Everything is relevant, Finn. And we're not talking about my plan anymore, we're talking about you. Why'd you think I was Becca?"

"I thought you were Becca because I thought she would be the one to save me."

Ronan doesn't say anything for a long time. He looks like he's thinking. Or maybe it's just too dark to tell. "Okay," he says abruptly, breaking the silence. "Goodnight."

"That's it? That's all you have to say to me?"

"Clearly. Did I stutter?"

"Fine. Goodnight, I guess. Please don't stab me in my sleep."

"I make no promises," Ronan says. He doesn't offer up anything else; just turns around and goes back to sleep. Or whatever the hell he actually does at night; I don't think he ever really closes his eyes. "Night, Fish."

He's definitely a strange guy, but he did save my life. And that means I owe him one. Whether I like it or not, I'm in Ronan Lockwood's debt.

***

"Clancey is missing," Owen declares at the campfire the next day.

It's a cold, rainy morning. I huddle next to Becca for warmth, watching the other campers feign concern over the disappearance of Clancey. Eric and Sean are the only ones who actually look worried. They keep shooting me venomous looks, but I know they won't do anything— they can't tell Owen what happened last night, not without putting their own skin on the line.

I do have to admit that this is weird. Clancey doesn't usually separate from his gang, so it doesn't make sense for Eric and Sean to be here without him. They should've reunited last night. It just doesn't make sense...

"We aren't leaving until we find him," Owen continues.

I try to catch Ronan's eye. He steadfastly ignores me, choosing to etch designs into his precious walking stick with the tip of his fingernail instead.

"We'll split up into parties of four each. And no," Owen adds, as the camper cast furtive glances at each other, "You will not be able to choose your own groups. All privileges are suspended until we find Clancey. And when we do, if there are any signs of foul play—" Guilt trickles down my spine. "All of you will face the consequences."

I stare more meaningfully at Ronan. Finally, he looks up, his black eyes cold and unfeeling. A pit opens up in my stomach.

This is bad. Clancey should have come back last night— unless he's too concussed to stand. But he couldn't be. I heard him groan, so he has to be somewhat alive and functioning. (Unless Ronan knocked out his last few remaining brain cells with that stick...) Maybe he's planning something; some evil scheme for revenge. But that doesn't make sense— because Clancey isn't the kind of person to act alone, and Eric and Sean are still at the campsite.

The morning turns colder. I lean closer to Becca.

"What happened to your arm?" she whispers to me as Owen continues his lecture. "It wasn't bandaged like that yesterday."

Shit. I didn't expect her to be so observant. "Um, well, I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and I scratched my arm on a thorn bush coming back."

Becca raises an eyebrow, and I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "You can tell me the full story later if you're going to lie now," she says calmly.

I bite down on my lip and don't try to say anything else.

Owen splits us up into teams of four, handing each group a compass like we're on a real Lewis and Clark expedition. I get stuck with the sisters, Tima and Selena, and Sean, which isn't too terrible— Eric and Sean aren't particularly malicious unless they're together, and Tima and Selena are both alright. Becca and Ronan get put into a group together, which makes me slightly uneasy— what if Becca asks about last night and Ronan tells her the truth? I have a feeling that she'd just get mad at me for standing up for her again. And we were finally getting along...

"You guys go north," Owen tells our group. He sends Becca's group south, Jasper's group east, and the rest of the campers west. "Make sure that you're using the compasses to stay on track. If you don't find Clancey, return to the campsite by noon. And remember— if I catch anybody wandering off, or breaking the rules, that's an automatic ten marks."

With those happy words, Owen shoos us away. "Stay safe, everyone. If you find Clancey, or run into danger, don't hesitate to blow your safety whistles!"

The groups split up, each trudging away in their assigned direction. "You're going down for this," Sean hisses at me as our group marches north through the forest. "If Clancey is hurt—"

"Then he would have deserved it," I reply nastily. Tima glances up from the compass and gives me a look, probably warning me to lay off. I choose to ignore her. Last night, Clancey almost killed me— I think I've earned the right to be annoyed about it. "It's not like he was a stellar guy to begin with."

Sean glares furiously at me. "We'll get your friend, too, you know. Just wait."

"Ronan isn't my friend." The grass is wet with morning dew, and it's seeping into my tennis shoes. I make a face. "He's never been my friend."

"I was talking about the girl. Bella, or something stupid like that."

"Her name's Becca. And it's not stupid."

"Does it look like I care? We'll get her too. And then we'll get your other friend. The angry black-haired one."

"He's not my friend."

"No, you're right." Sean stomps angrily down on a stick, snapping it in half. The resounding crack makes Selena jump. "You aren't the kind of person to have friends."

"I have friends," I fire back. "And they don't try to push people off cliffs, either."

Sean scowls. "Asshole," he mutters. And then, scathingly, "I wish you'd actually fallen. Then Clancey would be okay and you would be dead."

Needless to say, we don't talk much after that.

We've been walking for approximately an hour and a half when we hear people start shouting. Tima and I exchange worried glances, and a second later, the shrill sound of a safety whistle being blown ricochets through the cool morning air.

"We should go check that out," I say. The shouts sound like they're coming from the south, the direction that Becca's group went in, which is troubling. "Like, now."

"Owen told us not to wander," Selena says apprehensively. "We could get in trouble. I really don't want to get kitchen duty again."

I'm afraid that her twin will agree with her, but instead, Tima shakes her head and reasons, "The whistle means danger. Either they found Clancey, or there's some sort of emergency. I'm sure Owen will be okay with us going to help them."

Selena still looks uncertain. "He said that we would face the full consequences."

"Whatever the hell that even means," Sean mutters viciously under her breath. Then, much louder, "I don't care what any of you think. I'm going to find Clancey."

He takes off in the direction of the shouting. Tima throws her hands up in the air and shoots her sister an exasperated look.

"What?" Selena demands.

"Well, we can't just let him go off on his own, can we?" Tima starts to jog after Sean, gesturing for us to follow. "Wandering off course is one thing, but abandoning a group member is another. Even if Sean isn't the most pleasant person in the world, we can't just lose him in the forest."

So, spurred by Tima's words, we begin to run after Sean, awkwardly jumping over fallen trees, rock outcroppings, and icy, snaking streams; the shouting and whistle-blowing growing ominously closer with every step. It makes me worry about what we'll find when we get there. Part of me is dying to know, but the rest of me is filled with dread— because what if something terrible has happened, and it's all my fault?