Musically Gifted? Well, I Used to Play the Recorder...

Eighteen: Insert Some Kind of Witty Name Here

            “Come on Bailey, keep up!”

            Ugh... and when I thought this trip couldn’t get any worse, Jenny also happens to mention that it’s an hour’s hike before we even get to the camp site.

            And I’m freaking tired.

            “I’m trying!” I call back, making a conscious effort not to give Cindy the satisfaction of me sounding out of breath. I’m not having her thinking I can’t even cope with the strain of a simple hike. Well, I can’t, but that’s not the point.

            Of course, Cindy happens to be some kind of fitness guru, who’s in such good shape she probably spends her weekends in a gym with a Caribbean personal trainer called Fernando. I can also imagine her waking up at the crack of dawn to witness the sunrise and practice her therapeutic and calming yoga positions.

            I, on the other hand, don’t emerge from my bed until the very last moment, and am more likely to spend my school free days on the sofa, demolishing a family size bag of Cheetos and watching repeats of America’s Next Top Model.

            Just a snapshot of my action-packed life.

            “Don’t worry, she’s just not used to exercise,” Savannah pipes up from my right.

            “Uh, yes I am!” I say, shooting her a pointed look. “What are you talking about? I do loads of exercise.”

            Just because I don’t have a perfectly toned butt like Cindy’s (not that I was checking it out or anything... okay, I was kind of looking at it, but in a completely non-lesbian way), does not mean that I am completely unfit.

            Cindy pauses, turning round to face me. She is all kitted out in her sensible trousers (which, I will add, are way too tight too be classed as sensible) and walking boots, with a huge backpack slung on her shoulders. It’s so huge; I swear she must have packed her entire cabin into it. Knowing her, she’s probably packed all of her electrical hair styling products in the hope of locating a stray woodland socket.

            Okay, so I did have a fleeting thought about whether I should pack my blow dryer, but I soon came to my senses.

            “We can slow down a bit if you’re finding it a struggle, Bailey.”

            “No!” I say, a little too quickly. I take a deep breath and force a smile onto my face. “It’s fine. I’m managing. Like I said, I go camping all the time.”

            “Whatever you say.”

            Ugh, she is such a bitch. If I wasn’t such a wimp, I would probably punch her. But you know, it’d be my luck that if I tried to start on her, I’d find out that she’s actually a black belt in karate... therefore giving her the ability to seriously kick my ass.

            Which, you know, would be kind of embarrassing.

            How long have we been walking for? I’m pretty sure it’s been at least an hour, although in reality it’s probably more like fifteen minutes. Maybe not even that. Cindy’s presence is making it even worse – she’s been practically attached at the hip to Blake, hanging off his arm and doing that stupid simpering thing. How can she think laughing hysterically at anything he says and touching his biceps every two seconds will actually get him to like her?

            Although... judging by Blake’s flirtatious returning gaze, it looks like it might be working.

            This day just gets better and better, doesn’t it?

            Suddenly, a casual looking Tom appears by my side. “Enjoying the hike?” he asks in an amused tone, catching a look at my flushed face and rapid pace of breathing.

            “Loving it,” I mutter sarcastically, although a part of my attention has been diverted to the two blondes in front of us. Cindy is laughing exaggeratedly at something Blake has said, throwing her head back so her blonde waves tumble over her shoulders.

            It’s times like these when I curse myself for not bringing an electric razor. I think rushing forward and chopping off half her hair would be quite a satisfying feeling.

            I’ve imagined it a couple of times. Not many. No more than... ten?

            “You know, I never had you down as the ‘outdoorsy type’,” Tom says, smirking as he makes air quotations. “But after what you said at dinner... wow, you must be quite the camper.”

            “Sure, I am. Love it. I’m never happier than when I’m... camping.”

            Well, I’d be happier if I was at home in bed with a cup of hot chocolate, but I’ll leave that part out.

            “I’m going to have fun watching you try to pitch your tent.”

            “How do you know I won’t be able to do it?” I say, slightly offended. I may be completely weird and the slightest bit ditzy... okay, very ditzy, but how hard can putting up a tent be?

            I’ll show Tom. When we get there, I’ll impress him with my tent constructing skills. Heck, I may even win the world record for the fastest time to put up a tent. You never know.

            “No reason.”

            “I don’t like you.”

            “Love you too.”

            I turn to scowl at him, but it’s hard when his features are curled into an adorable smile that stretches across his entire face. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of returning it, I shift my attention to the floor.

            Which, I’ll add, is getting muddier and boggier with every step.

            “Are we camping in the middle of a swamp or something?” I mutter, loud enough only for Tom to hear me. Or so I thought.

            “Don’t worry; it’s only a damp patch.” Cindy’s voice rings through my ears. Is it really that high pitched, or is it something she puts on? Whatever the reason, I swear it could cause damage to your ear drum if you spent too long with her.

            “Oh, right...” I mumble. As well as an inhumanly squeaky voice, she must have enhanced hearing powers too. Just another thing to add to the ‘reasons why Cindy is perfect’ list.

            Not that I have one.

            My legs are killing me. How can anyone possibly find this fun? It’s so tedious, not to mention downright painful, especially when your limbs aren’t used to such strenuous exercise (if you can define walking as strenuous, which I do).

            “Do you know how much further–”

            Splat.

            Hmm... you might be wondering what that ‘splat’ indicates.

            Well, here’s a little clue: it’s a result of my own clumsiness, completely mortifying and involves a great deal of sticky mud. Have you guessed it yet?

            Ten points for you. Because I just tripped over my own feet and fell flat on my face. But, as you know, Bailey Cunningham’s not one to do half a job. Don’t worry; I made sure to land right in the deepest pile of mud I could find.

            Nice one.

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Woo, new chapter! I loved reading the comments on the last one about how much you all hate Blake, aha. You guys are so opinionated... and I love it! :D At the minute I'm waiting for a Biology past exam paper to print, so I'm trying to make this author's note as long as possible just to avoid doing it :P I probably shouldn't be as the exam's on Tuesday, ahaaa.

Anyway, I'm off to revise homeostasis... whatever that is :D Bye, and remember to vote and comment :D