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LINGLING

Twelve Years Ago

"Come on, Ling," groans Bow. "It's our last night. Live a little."

"I think our definitions of 'living a little' are somewhat different," I quip.

Jake snorts. "Seriously, dude. What are they going to do if they catch us? Send us home? We're already going home tomorrow."

"Yeah, it's not like we're doing anything illegal," Zack adds. "We're just going to hang out with the boys and girls down by Cabin B."

I roll my eyes. For whatever reason, Cabin B was abandoned years ago and sits on the very perimeter of Camp Hannefort. The most poorly behaved campers often get caught doing all sorts of stupid things there, like smoking or casual vandalism, but it's not like much can be done to stop them beyond tearing the cabin down. Even then, the rule breakers would just find a new hub to gather in.

I cross my arms. "And don't you think it'll be pretty obvious when a bunch of teenagers are making a ton of noise in the middle of the woods when we should all be sleeping?"

"It's not even going to be that many of us," Bow replies.

"Come on, superstar," Jake complains, using the nickname they made up for me during our second week of camp. For the past six weeks, whenever anyone has called me superstar, I've been forced to face the fact that they all know exactly who my parents are. I haven't bothered to ask them to stop, especially since that would only encourage them to keep doing it.

"Just go without me," I insist.

"Ling!"

"Come on, what's the problem?"

"Bro, seriously!"

Just like that, I know I'm not going to get out of this. For whatever reason, my lackluster social skills haven't prevented these guys from feeling like I'm part of their group. Or maybe it's just that they want to be able to go home tomorrow and brag about how they hung out with Daphne Shay's kid all summer.

Either way, I'm pretty sure resistance is futile. And even though we're definitely not allowed to sneak out past curfew, I have a feeling that Dr. Sans would approve of this, if only because it means I'm behaving like a normal teenager.

"Fine," I sigh. "I'll come."

And that's how I find myself traipsing through the woods with the others by the weak light of Jake's flashlight and the crescent moon two hours later. A few more guys and girls join us on the way to Cabin B, making us ten in total. I keep an ear out for any sign that one of the counselors might be on our trail, but I seem to be the only one who cares about getting caught. I don't even know why I care. Like Jake said, the worst they can do is send us home, which is hardly a punishment at all considering our parents are coming to collect us in the morning.

Or rather, their parents are coming. Mine, on the other hand, have already arranged for a chauffeur to pick me up and bring me to the airport. And when I land at LAX tomorrow evening, another chauffeur will pick me up and bring me to my mother's house in Malibu. She won't be there, but our private chef will be, and I suppose Rosa's company is better than none.

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if both my parents have completely forgotten about me this summer. I imagine they'll stumble upon me in the couple weeks between now and the start of my senior year, purely by accident, and play it off like they meant to cross paths with me.

I'm jolted out of my thoughts as we arrive at Cabin B. Everyone file in through the crooked door, the rusted hinges groaning conspicuously in the otherwise quiet night.

Inside, I count nine—no, ten—more. The dirty, ramshackle cabin is lit with a dozen flashlights propped up like candles around the room. It gives the whole place an oddly spooky atmosphere.

My stomach drops when I immediately recognize Abby and Katrina, because that means their beloved queen is definitely nearby.

And, sure enough, Orm's voice is the first to cut through the hushed whispers and muffled giggles.

"Breaking the rules is so fun!" she exclaims. Too loudly.

I cringe, but everyone else laughs. As usual.

"I have an idea," says Abby, sidling up next to Jake with a mischievous grin.

"Oh?" he replies, looping his arm around her waist.

I fight the urge to gag.

Abby pulls a bottle out from behind her back. Dread pools in my stomach. I seem to remember nothing illegal was one of the promises made to me by the boys.

Except, a moment later, I realize it's just an empty coke bottle. One of the fancy, old glass ones.

"I found it outside," Abby says. "It's probably, like, older than I am. Look how dirty it is. Anyway, we should totally use it to play spin the bottle!"

Beside me, a boy named Charlie mutters a curse under his breath. I sneak a glance at him. He looks about as thrilled by the prospect as I am and is currently inching backward toward the door.

"Don't worry, Charlie," says Bow, noticing the escape attempt immediately with a hawkish eye. "We know you've got your girlfriend back home. You can sit this out."

I open my mouth to lie about having a boyfriend back home so that I can also be freed from participation, but then I realize that it wouldn't do any good. I can't exactly convince everyone I'm romantically attached to someone if I haven't mentioned them at all for the past eight weeks.

With a sigh of resignation, I allow Bow to drag me to the center of the room, where everyone arranges themselves on the floor in a circle. Everyone is smiling and giggling like fools. Personally, I feel like I might be sick.

Which is stupid. I've kissed someone before. The first time in seventh grade, on a dare. Then again, on a few occasions, when I dated Sarah Park for two months last year. It's not a big deal. I like doing it, if I'm being honest. I am a teenage girl, after all, no matter how often Dr. Sans expresses concerns that I act and think and speak too maturely for my age. As if that's really something to be concerned about. Isn't it a good thing to be mature?

I'm sitting between Bow and Zack, desperately wishing that I could crumble into dust and disappear between the worn floorboards.

Unfortunately, it seems like I'm going to have to endure this game for at least the next hour or so. With any luck, my turn will have the bottle landing on one of the quieter guys like Charlie or Zack. A quick peck, and it can be over with. Then I can lie about being too tired to stay any longer and head back to my bunk. I'm sure my absence will be easily forgotten.

Katrina is the first to spin. For a horrifying moment, it looks like it might land on me, but the mouth of the bottle stills on Bow.

"Let's go, Trina!" Orm cheers with a laugh.

"I don't want to do it in front of everyone!" Katrina protests.

Bow, with admittedly impressive smoothness, replies, "We can go into the closet."

Katrina gapes at him. "Excuse me?"

"There's a storage closet in the back corner," Jake supplies.

"But that's more like seven minutes in heaven than spin the bottle," someone else protests.

"It can be a hybrid game," Bow answers.

I almost snort. How chivalrous.

In the end, Katrina and Bow disappear into the closet, which is probably home to a rat nest or two. Or maybe enough teens come sneaking through Cabin B during the summers that the rats haven't been brave enough to make a home here.

It doesn't take them long to get it over with. I sit with growing anxiety as the game moves around the circle, tensing up whenever the bottle inches in my direction. Luckily, it never lands on me.

Until the unavoidable happens.

"Your turn, superstar," Jake taunts me.

I roll my eyes and lean forward. I spin the glass bottle, stomach churning. I really hope nobody has noticed that my hand is shaking. I can feel everyone's eyes on me as the bottle spins, spins, spins.

I don't want to do this. I really don't want to do this. I'd give just about anything to be able to run out of this room without drawing even more attention to myself.

Just when I'm pretty sure I'm actually going to vomit, the bottle comes to a lazy halt.

And it's pointing directly at Orm.

Everyone erupts in laughter and good-natured jeers.

"Mortal enemies! Ha!" shouts Zack.

"They'll probably bite each other's heads off instead," giggles Lana.

Bow simply laughs and smacks me on the back, causing me to jolt forward and nearly lose my balance.

I meet Orm's eyes across the circle. Her lips are pursed. She doesn't look thrilled by this turn of events at all.

Likewise, princess.

"Come on, superstar!"

"Just do it, Ling!"

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

My stomach churns as I push myself to stand. Orm remains sitting, her sharp gaze locked on me, a challenge glinting in her dark eyes. She doesn't move at first, almost as if she's daring me to back out. But when she realizes I'm actually going to follow through, she raises an eyebrow, sighs dramatically, and stands up with deliberate slowness.

The cheering grows louder, and I feel like every single eye in the cabin is drilling into me, their anticipation practically crackling in the air. My hands are trembling, so I shove them into the pockets of my shorts, clenching them tightly into fists.

I can't do this. I don't want to do this.

It's not because of Orm. She's pretty—beautiful, actually—and confident in a way that always seems to put her at the center of every group. Kissing her isn't the issue. It's... everything else. The attention, the pressure, the sheer suffocating weight of everyone's expectations.

We start walking toward the closet. Orm holds her head high, her arms crossed over her chest like she's walking to the gallows, but she doesn't look nervous. Me, on the other hand—I feel like I might pass out before we even make it there.

The circle has broken. Some of the campers have gotten up and are blocking any possible escape route. Someone—Jake, I think—gives me a little shove forward, and I stumble slightly. Another set of hands pushes Orm along.

Before I can even process what's happening, we're both shoved into the cramped supply closet.

"You're not coming out until you kiss!" Abby's voice rings out, followed by uproarious laughter.

The door slams shut behind us, and I hear the bolt slide into place.

"Did you just lock us in here?" Orm snaps, her voice sharp and furious. "Are you actually serious right now?"

More laughter follows, fading slightly as the game resumes outside.

I press myself against the far wall, trying to make myself as small as possible in the suffocating space. The closet is tiny—barely big enough for the two of us to stand without our shoulders brushing. The air feels thick and warm, and there's a faint smell of wood polish and stale dust.

Orm lets out an exasperated sigh. "I'm going to murder all of them. Slowly. One by one."

I want to say something—anything—to lighten the mood or reassure her, but my throat feels tight, and the words get stuck somewhere in my chest. The door is locked. The door is locked.

The knowledge claws at me, a sharp and biting panic that I can't quite swallow down.

Orm shifts slightly, her sleeve brushing against my arm. I can smell her shampoo—something fruity, like mango—and the faint scent of sunscreen still lingering on her skin.

"Let's just get it over with, Ling," she mutters.

"No," I blurt out, the word escaping before I can stop it.

"No?" she echoes, her voice sharp. "What do you mean, no?"

I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. "No."

She scoffs. "Am I really that repulsive to you?"

No, I mean to say. You're not repulsive at all. Not really.

Unfortunately, words choose to fail me in that moment.

"Whatever," she grumbles.

I say nothing.

"Guys, come on!" Orm shouts through the door. "Just let us out!"

Nobody responds.

She huffs out a frustrated breath. There's a beat of silence, and then she tries again. "We did it! We just kissed! You can let us out now!"

"We know you're lying!" Katrina's voice rings out, followed by muffled laughter from the others.

Orm grips the doorknob and throws her shoulder against the door. Despite how old and warped Cabin B is, the door holds firm. She lets out a hiss of pain, clutching her shoulder before she tries again, more forcefully this time.

"Don't hurt yourself," I murmur.

"Oh, so you do speak."

I flinch slightly at the sharpness in her voice. "I just..." I trail off, the end of my sentence crumbling into silence.

She stares at me—or at least, I think she does. It's too dark to tell, but I can feel the weight of her gaze on me.

"I know you hate me," she says flatly, "but surely you can close your eyes and think of some pretty girl you like back in LA, can't you?"

I swallow hard. "No."

The word falls out of me like a stone, heavy and final.

Not because I'd need to think of someone else to kiss her. Not because it would be some unbearable nightmare to press my lips to hers for a handful of seconds.

It's because I can't. I can't breathe properly, let alone think about kissing someone right now.

My chest feels tight, my skin prickling with heat even though the air in the closet is clammy and cold. My thoughts are tangled up in knots, impossible to untangle. I'm pretty sure I'm about to either faint or vomit or possibly just fall apart entirely.

An anxiety attack. That's what this is. A quiet, invisible one. No hyperventilating or tears—just a silent implosion happening inside me.

Orm sighs, her frustration fading into something softer. I hear her slide down the wall until she's sitting on the floor.

"I hate this game anyway," she mutters.

I can't bring myself to respond.

And so, we sit there. Trapped in the dark together, not speaking.

The muffled sounds of the game continue outside—laughter, teasing voices, the occasional clink of glass against wood. But here, inside this tiny closet, time feels frozen. The world outside seems impossibly distant, and every passing second stretches into eternity.

Orm doesn't try to speak to me again, and I'm grateful for it. She doesn't push or pry or demand anything more from me.

For twenty agonizing minutes, we exist in silence.

Eventually, the lock rattles. The door creaks open, and light spills into the cramped space, nearly blinding me. A chorus of faces appear, crowded around the doorway—Abby, Katrina, Jake, and a handful of others, their faces alight with mischief.

"Well?" Abby prompts, leaning into the doorway with a devilish grin.

Orm rises smoothly to her feet, brushing off her shorts and flashing them a confident smile.

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell," she says breezily, stepping out of the closet with her head held high.

It's such a perfect response, so effortlessly charming, that the group practically melts in her wake. They fall into step behind her, caught in her gravitational pull like planets orbiting the sun.

Nobody even seems to notice me.

I follow Orm out of the closet, but instead of walking back into the chaotic circle of campers, I slip past the group and out into the cool night air.

The forest feels quiet and still compared to the overheated, claustrophobic space I've just escaped from. My chest heaves as I suck in long, calming breaths, trying to piece myself back together.

Orm doesn't look back at me as she's swallowed by the crowd, and honestly, I'm relieved.

I can't handle her eyes on me right now. I can't handle anyone's eyes on me.

For a long time, I stay out there in the shadows, listening to the faint sounds of laughter drifting through the trees, letting the crisp night air soothe the lingering weight in my chest.

I don't know why it feels like something just shattered inside me, but it does.

Present

I wake up with a sharp inhale, the kind where your chest feels too tight and your lungs don't fill right. My head spins as I sit up, my hair sticking to the back of my neck. The gauzy curtains of my cottage sway with the breeze, letting streaks of soft morning light paint the wooden floor.

For a moment, I forget where I am.

But then it comes back—the barbecue, Orm's sharp glare, the stuffy basement, the suffocating silence between us.

I let out a shaky breath, running my hands through my hair. My phone sits on the nightstand, face down, but I know if I check it, the group chat will be overflowing with updates and plans for the day. But I don't want to see them. I don't want to face the flood of good moods and excitement when my head feels so foggy.

The fact that Orm is still on my mind—so persistently, so annoyingly—makes me angry.

I'm not seventeen anymore. I'm not that awkward, silent kid hiding behind my bangs and counting the days until camp was over. I'm an adult. A grown woman with a stable career, independence, and the ability to handle my emotions with a maturity that would probably make Dr. Sans proud.

But last night... Last night felt like a relapse.

Her words—Whatever, Ling. It was twelve years ago.—ring in my ears again. Defensive, sure. But there was something else under the surface. A flicker of hurt. And I know it's my fault. I know I did that to her.

I shouldn't care, but I do.

I groan, flopping back down onto the mattress, throwing an arm over my eyes.

This is ridiculous. She's Orm Thanomchai—queen of whatever room she's in, effortlessly charming, undeniably beautiful. She's fine. She's probably been fine since the day we left camp. I'm the one stuck in this endless spiral, trying to figure out why I still feel like I owe her something.

But no amount of self-reassurance changes the fact that when I saw her talking to that guy—the one with the perfectly styled hair and the confident smile—I felt... something.

Something sharp and ugly.

I shake my head, sitting up again. This isn't helping. I need to clear my head.

I throw on a pair of running shorts and an old Caltech T-shirt, lace up my sneakers, and step outside. The crisp morning air helps a little, cutting through the haze in my head. The beach is practically empty this early, the sky still tinged with the soft oranges and pinks of sunrise.

I start running the second my feet hit the sand.

One foot in front of the other. Steady breaths. Focus on the rhythm.

But no matter how fast I run, how hard I try to let the sound of the crashing waves drown out my thoughts, they keep circling back to her.