The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 50: Finn

We're walking through the woods and it's completely silent.

Other than the rustling fir trees and lichen-covered rocks, it's just Becca Fisher and me. I've been alone with Becca before, but now it feels... different. Like we're breaking some kind of unspoken rule. (We're breaking a lot of real camp rules, too, but I'd prefer not to think about that. We'd probably get kitchen duty for life if one of the counselors caught us now.) There's a funny feeling in my stomach too; something light and fluttery, like I've swallowed a jar of moths. Maybe it's the anxiety about being outside after lights out, or exhaustion from staying up too late. It could even be a side effect of the gross salad I had at dinner tonight.

Or something else entirely.

"Finn?"

I look up and see Becca staring at me.

"I asked if you wanted to go to the lake," she says.

"Sure," I reply, partially because I don't think she'd let me say no, and also because walking to the lake at night sounds exciting, in a rebellious way. It reminds me of something Sarah used to say to tick off mom and dad— rules exist to be broken. She definitely took those words to heart.

Becca strikes up a conversation while we walk. It's a refreshing talk, loose and irreverent, and completely un-camp related. There's nothing else to compare it to, really. All my conversations with Ronan usually end in death threats, and I haven't spoken with any of my family members— or Anna— in a month. And it's not like I can exchange pleasantries with the counselors.

I glance over at her, suddenly overwhelmed with gratefulness for her presence. I'm so happy that we can do this together— and by this, I mean walk through the woods and talk about our lives like we're regular kids, not campers stuck in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness. We can finally just be teenagers, going for a casual midnight stroll.

We only have to be ourselves.

Becca, of course, notices me staring, and a sort of half-smiles twitches across her mouth as she asks, "Is there something on my face?"

"What? Uh, no. Your face is nice. I mean, it's fine. Your face is fine. You're fine."

(I am a miserable, miserable wreck of a human being.)

The half-smile curls into a full one. "Finn Murphy, were you checking me out?"

Thankfully, I'm spared from having to answer her question, because seconds later we burst through the treeline and pop out on the rocky beach of the lake. Momentarily distracted, Becca beckons me towards the water, where an endless series of waves lap gently against the shore.

"It's so pretty here, isn't it?" she says, a little breathlessly. The breeze sticks strands of chestnut hair against her lips. "Sometimes I forget how beautiful this camp is. Alaska isn't all that bad when you're not being crammed in with a bunch of angry teenagers."

"Leave it to angry teenagers to ruin all that's good in the world."

Becca's laughter cleaves the cool night air in half. "Here, sit down with me. We can put our feet in the water."

We sit down on a chunk of washed-up driftwood, the log big enough to fit two people side-by-side, if those two people were squeezed tightly together. (I'm not complaining.) Becca kicks off her shoes and dumps them in the sand. I do the same. When I've pulled off my socks and rolled up my pajama pants, I dig my toes into the slick rocks sand and let the waves wash over my feet; sweet, freezing relief.

"So, Fish," Becca says. She smiles when I make a face at the nickname. "You never answered my question."

"What question?"