"So what's your name, again?" one of the twins asks me. I can't even tell if it's Adriana or her sister: they look so alike it's alarming.
"Whitney," I answer her and push my plate away. "Now please tell me if you're Adriana or the girl that looks just like her?"
The girl chuckles a bit, running a hand through her silky hair. "I'm Martina. People used to get us twins mixed up a lot, so that's why I had to distinguish myself in high school." I notice she has a couple piercings in each ear and she's paler than Adriana, with even darker black hair.
"Wait, I can see that now," I says. "She seems to ask a lot of questionsâI mean, Bob didn't seem too pleased, but I get it honestly."
"Oh god, yes. That girl is the living definition of annoying. I was considering putting a picture of her next to that word when the Webster's visual dictionary comes out."
"Wait, there's going to be a visual dictionary?" Natalie asks.
"No, oh my gosh," Martina answers.
From knowing Natalie for only a few hours I have concluded she is a very innocent and gullible person. And basically, the person who'd probably raise her hand in class and ask what a hickey is because she genuinely has no clue.
"But as I was saying, Adriana is not afraid to say anything she wants, even if it just popped in her head. It's annoying."
"But don't you still like her?" Natalie asks. "I mean you guys are twins."
"Yeah, yeah of course, but we're just not much alike aside from looks." As she says this, my eyes turn left, and I can see Adriana engaged in conversation with a tall, model-like brunette and no other person but Willow. "Anyway, why did you guys decide to come to this camp? My mom practically forced me and Adriana to because she thinks we're so weak that we'd have no self-defense skills if someone attacked us. Ridiculous, right?"
"Oh yeah," Natalie and I both mumble. "I signed up because I have zero athletic skills. And Natalie here wants to make varsity tennis."
"Ah, I see," Martina says. She turns around and sees all the girls start to get up. "Oh, I think we have to go back to that big empty room again."
Cindy and Bob greet us again, each holding an iPad and a stack of papers and discussing something. They look up when we file in and Bob puts on his intimidating persona again.
"Hey, girls," Cindy greets us with a big smile. "We've evaluated your current physical standings and have assigned you to a specific trainer. But you'll have to work a bit to find them."
This definitely sounds like some scam just to get us to exercise more.
Cindy calls out different girls' names and hands them a specified sheet of paper. "These are the directions to find where your trainer is. If you follow them, you should have absolutely no problem. So go venture off and later this evening you'll find out more about our team system. Good luck and make sure to work hard!"
Cindy is so excited as she says this that I want to find the nearest ditch to jump into.
I look down at my paper, reading the directions. Before we all leave, we wish each other good luck.
I stand outside the central building, reading I should keep jogging down the same road we ran on earlier, but this time to continue straight until I see a large wooden sign. Other girls are already speeding off in other directions, just as eager to see exactly who is going to be in charge of their physical tortuâI mean exerciseâfor the next five weeks.
I begin jogging down the long road, surrounded by trees, trees and surprisingly more trees. The natural entertainment in Connecticut is so spot on.
I have to admit I'm surprised at the caliber of this camp. I expected a dingy little facility in an old gym with a crazy lady yelling at us to squat. Personal trainers, nicely designed rooms and vast spaces were not what I imagined when I dreaded to sign up, but then again, the price tag should have dropped those hints to me from far before.
I take a break from jogging, bending over to catch my breath. I glance up and see a large sign off in the distance. I break into a sprint, as I've been looking for this sign the past fifteen minutes. Once I draw closer to the sign, I notice the words, "Beach entrance, next left" on it.
I begin jogging in the direction the sign is pointing to, and sure enough a view of the endless gray-white sand and dark ocean water comes into view, a nice breeze blowing in the air.
But who exactly am I looking for? I think, as I trudge up the uneven ground. I get closer up the beach and can make out a person standing a little away from the shoreline, clearly a man.
When I finish trudging up the hill, I get a full view of him. His thick hair is a medium brown and his eyes resemble the color of olives, and they glint in the sunlight above him. He is no stranger to exercise; his arm muscles are defined, and his set of abs are almost visible through his shirt.
He looks at me, as if surveying what exactly he has to deal with for a while.
"I guess I made it to the right place," I say, to break the thick ice.
"Good for you," he says wryly. "I'm Axel. You are?"
"I'm Whitney," I answer. "But is your first name really Axel? Is your middle name Wheel?"
He doesn't seem particularly happy at my attempt at a joke, a frown etched upon his lips. "Wow, I can tell you're hilarious," he says. I still don't regret saying that. "Anyway, we don't have time to waste. Can we begin?"
"I suppose," I reply, placing my hands behind my back and toying with my fingers. He walks a bit closer to me, now a foot away, and I smell his strong cologne.
"You hate any form of exercise, and specifically in the outdoors, right?" he asks. He sounds almost amused, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
"Um...yes?"
"Well, that sucks for you," he answers. "Welcome to my territory: the great outdoors. I don't prefer treadmills and ellipticals or your standard forms of working out, but that doesn't mean we won't ever step foot in a gym. For right now, you better get used to good old-fashioned nature."
Also known as what I have been specifically avoiding the past eighteen years of my life. "Oh. This should be fun."
"You'll learn to like it," he says. "We'll be spending lots of time right here on the beach."
I nod, placing my hands on my hips. "So where do we start?"
"Right here," he answers and begins running, whirring past me. "You better catch up!"
More running? I almost want to cry but begin running at the fastest speed I can manage, trailing behind him quickly. He shows no sign of going any slower and I struggle to reach where he is.
"Could you, like, run any slower?" I yell, huffing and puffing. But he only goes faster.
I decide I either have him think of me as a failure or just get over the fact I want to pass out from exhaustion and run even faster. I go with the second option and eventually I have passed him.
"I'm impressed," he muses after a few minutes. "Now stop."
I slow down and look at him with a puzzled expression. "B-but why?"
"Because you passed me," he answers, not even seeming out of breath. "That was the point."
"The point? Do you believe you are supreme or something and no one can surpass you?"
He shakes his head and places his hands behind his back. His arms are so muscular that I'm trying to not keep staring at them, mostly because he seems to have a bit of an ego. "It was more of a mental challenge than anything. I need to see how far you push yourself."
I don't say anything at first, but then nod. "I see what you mean. Now what?"
"We keep going."
"But I thought you said that was the challenge...?"
"I never said we were done, Whitney. Now take this and keep going. It should be a little harder now." He hands me two neon green dumbbells from the bag he'd been lugging around, and my arms sag as I hold them.
I force my legs to keep moving, but my mind is screaming at me to stop and hitchhike home. It's not that far from here.
He turns to me and notices my flustered state. He slows his pace down a notch and then turns his gaze from me. We reach the end of the beach, after a short eternity, and he finally stops running. I drop the dumbbells on the ground and collapse onto the sand on my back, placing my face in my hands. I sense him crouch next to me, and I take my hands off my face.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he says, purposefully mocking me.
I almost choke out a laugh in his face, but I'm too out of breath to do anything physically taxing.
He stands up and hands me a cold water bottle, which I take gladly. "You know you aren't so terrible at running, Whitney. Far from great, but not terrible."
I look at him, noticing a few drops of sweat running down the side of his face. He's human after all!
"Thank you," I answer and then add as a joke, "And I'm not even tired."
"I'm glad," he says, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. My heart drops to my knees.
"Since you say that, let's run back."