The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 55: Finn

"Hey, that's not fair!" I exclaimed. "We just want to know where you're taking Clancey— what's so wrong about that?"

"Three more marks!" Owen shouted. "For both of you! Do I need to give you more?"

"You can't do that—" Ronan began furiously. Owen's face darkened dangerously, and I quickly elbowed Ronan in the ribs to get him to shut up. This wasn't a fight we were going to win. At least, not today.

Ronan and I fell into a stiff, angry silence. "That's what I thought," Owen said frostily, and swept away with Karen at his side.

That was five points for Ronan. And since I'd already racked up a few of my own points in the weeks before, three more meant kitchen duty for both of us. Which leaves us here, with a shit ton of dirty dishes and absolutely no answers at all.

At least the radio is finally working. Ronan whacked it with a dishcloth so hard that Axl Rose started belting out the lyrics to Sweet Child O' Mine on the spot.

She's got eyes of the bluest skies

As if they thought of rain

"This is inhumane," Ronan fumes next to me. I glance up at him, a little surprised— we haven't talked much since our argument with Owen. Now that I think about it, we've barely talked at all, choosing to avoid each other instead of discussing what happened to Clancey in the woods. (Clancey's accident is now referred to only as "The Incident", and has become somewhat of a taboo at camp.) "I should sue the camp for abuse and neglect."

I'm not sure if he's talking about our situation or Clancey's— probably both. Either way, I've noticed that Ronan likes to threaten lawsuits when he's really pissed off; it's just another one of his fabulous quirks.

I hate to look into those eyes

And see an ounce of pain

"This is our fault," I say, scrubbing away at a particularly stubborn piece of grime. Ronan shoots me a disgusted look, as if this isn't the first time I claimed the blame for Clancey's accident. I've said the exact same words at least ten times by now. The night we got back from the Hike, I felt so guilty I could barely sleep, but Ronan just ignored me when I tried to talk about what happened. He wouldn't listen to a word I had to say. "We probably deserve this for what we did to Clancey."

He glares at me. Still not listening, then. "It's not our fault. Don't say that."

"But it's true, Ronan. If I hadn't taken credit for Becca's prank, then Clancey wouldn't have tried to push me off a cliff, and if you hadn't beaned him with a walking stick, he never would have been left unconscious in the woods. See? Our faults."

Wearily, I hand him another clean plate to dry. He reaches out to take it, but suddenly his eyes light up and his whole body straightens, and he jerks his hand away from the plate so quickly that I almost drop it. Then he exclaims, in a very alarming and un-Ronan-like way, "Finn, I've solved it!"

I set the plate down on the laminate counter-top and raise an eyebrow at him. "Solved what?"

"Everything!"

When I don't immediately respond to this boastful declaration, Ronan splashes dirty water onto my arm. His face is all flushed and excited now, like he's having some sort of godly revelation.

But I'm in no mood for revelations, godly or otherwise. "Dude, what the hell?" I demand, shaking water off my arm. "That's disgusting."

"Shut up, Finn, seriously. Repeat what you just said."

I stare at him in bewilderment. This is getting more un-Ronan-like by the second. "Uh, I think I said 'Dude, what the hell, that's disgusting—"

"No, no, before that! God, you're thick sometimes."