The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 24: Ronan

James' jaw tightens. "I get it, Ronan. I really do. Sharing personal stuff around strangers isn't easy. Frankly, it's exhausting. But I still think it will all be worth it in the long run. I know that I already told you this at the campfire, I really do want to—"

"Change for the better," I finish. "Yeah, I know. I'd probably want the same thing too, if I wasn't already confident that this is about as good as I'm ever going to get."

"Don't say that. Everyone is capable of self-improvement— even you."

"Now you just sound like the counselors," I mutter.

"The counselors aren't always trying to make our lives miserable, you know. Sometimes they really are being helpful."

I glare at him. "Sure. And maybe Godzilla was just misunderstood." The air is starting to feel stifling, and I have to yank my sweatshirt off to keep from over-heating. "I just don't get it. How is filling out some cheesy questionnaire going to fix us? Heal us? This is a waste of our time. The counselors aren't trying to help us— they're just trying to do their job without revealing how totally clueless they are. How are we supposed to change for the better if they don't even give us the choice?"

"Of course we have a choice," James protests. "We're at summer camp, not prison."

"Really? 'Cause this is starting to feel a lot like a jail to me. If we don't share, we get a mark. If we don't fill out this paper, we get a mark. There's no choice here. Only the illusion of one."

James bites down on his lip, looking conflicted. His crystal earring twinkles in the sunlight. "This is my last chance, Ronan," he says quietly. "You know that I can't waste another summer."

"Who says that Lightlake has to be a waste of time? If we're smart about it, we can make this camp as exciting as we want it to be."

"Now you're just asking for trouble," James says.

I pick up my pencil and twirl it between my fingers like a tiny baton. "I know I talk a lot of shit, but the truth is that I can't afford any more trouble than you can. My mother told me she would disown me if I got kicked out of camp." I flick the pencil into the air, then catch it between my middle and index finger— a trick I learned from Jesse in junior-high. "If there's anything I learned in the days before I got sent to this camp, it's that one small change can transform your entire life. You don't need the help of some cheesy questions to change into a better person. You can do that all by yourself."

James picks up his own pencil and lets it dangle loosely from his fingers, like he can't exactly figure out what to do with it. "You have a way with words, Ronan," he says. "Meaning, you don't talk shit."

I can't tell if he means this as a compliment or not. I decide to take it as one. "Thanks."

James sighs. "Has anybody ever said no to you?"

"Not that I can remember."

"You're going to be the death of me, Ronan Lockwood." James sighs again, but I can see the hint of a smile playing on his lips— and a hint of mischief, too. "So, if you're the master bullshitter around here, what's the plan? We fill out our sheets with the most ridiculous lies we can think of?"

I nod. "The more ridiculous the better, just as long as they're still believable."

"I am so going to regret this later...." mutters James, but he aims his pencil at the paper anyways. Without looking up, he adds, "Your bruise is looking better, by the way. If I didn't know what I was looking for, I'd never figure out that you got decked by a hot-pink suitcase."

It's been a long time since I thought about my black-eye, and when I brush a finger across my brow-bone I barely feel any pain at all. "You're the only one that noticied," I say, a little rattled. James has been full of surprises lately. First the ear piercing, and now the questions.... And don't let me forget that I told him another one of my secrets today. Not even Finn knows about what Sabrina told me the day I left for camp. Not even Jesse....