My fellow trainees stand around in an uneven circle, some laughing and others looking disgruntled, like they'd rather be in a six-hour math class than here. I open my mouth in a wide yawn, wanting to curl under a tree and take a long nap. It's mid-afternoon on Saturday, and it's the day of the team challenge. Our hard work should be paying off right now, but I feel more tired than ever.
I look up from the small mound of dirt I was staring at to see Axel off in the corner, leaning against the back of the central building and staring straight ahead. He turns his head and sees me looking at him. He stares at me for a few seconds and gives me a nod of assurance before leaving.
Martina comes up to me and taps my shoulder, a wide smile on her face.
"Why are you so smiley?" I ask with a laugh.
"Because we get to compete in groups now, and I won't have to be stuck with all the people I already hate. Plus, you're in my group, which makes it better."
"I'm happy too," I respond. I look up and see Cheryl jogging towards us, clad in bright yellow workout clothes that could probably glow in the dark.
"Hello everyone, and welcome to your first team challenge," she begins. "I know you may not all know each other fully, but through these challenges you'll learn how to work together and compete for yourself." A wave of chatter runs through the girls, and a couple race to the front, as if that will earn them more points.
"Alright, for the first part of the challenge we'll start with a basic one-mile run. By now you should all be comfortable with running, so this shouldn't be mission impossible. We'll follow the same route as last time, only now we've divided the road into four lanes. Stay in the lanes with your teammates or else you will be asked to sit out. Let's go!"
Grumbles and groans sound through the group, but I remain quiet. I have no qualms about running, considering the marathon I ran this week with Axel. I am worried about the rest of this competition.
"On your marks, get set, run!" Cheryl calls, clicking the button on her stopwatch.
We dash from the starting point. I cruise in front of the other three girls in my team, but then I notice someone steadily creeping up to me.
Willow.
She strides ahead of me with her long, lean legs. Gritting my teeth, I press forward, finding the strength to close the gap and bolt past her. She whips her head to the side in shock.
Martina and Aspen are much farther back, panting and struggling to continue.
My lead is cut short when Willow darts in front of me. She turns briefly, with an almost pitying gaze before crossing the finish line. I'm there seconds later, my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath.
Our eyes lock when I look up. "You're good at this," she says quietly before walking away to get water.
A compliment from her?
By now most of the girls have crossed the finish line, apart from a few stragglers who walked the last quarter.
I imagined before that would be me, only I would have forfeited running all together and took a nonchalant amble down the pathway.
Or back home. Either one.
"Is everyone here?" Cheryl asks and a chorus of yeses ensues. "Great. Now for the other half of the group challenge, you will need a partner."
She walks around and begins pairing us with other girls from our team. I pray Martina and I will be together, but instead she points to Willow and me with a disgustingly enthusiastic smile. I mutter to myself and walk over to her.
"Let's get this over with," I tell Willow, crossing my arms. Her small pink lips purse together, but she says nothing. I don't want people to step on me anymore, and if I have to do something about that, I will.
"For this challenge, you will be given this," Cheryl says, holding up a thick, coiled gray rope in her hand about six feet long. "You will hold one end and your partner will hold the other while you climb up a hill. If you let go of the rope, or have only one teammate carry it, you will be disqualified. Now, who will go first?"
Expressions of dread laced with fear mark the faces of the other girls. I notice the hill: it's the same one Axel forced me to run up a few days ago.
"We will," I say solidly, raising my hand and Willow's for her. Willow's mouth drops with an are-you-crazy expression.
"Very well then, take this." I step up to Cheryl and grab the rope, my arm dipping lower with the weight.
"Your end," I tell Willow, and she grabs it from me. We venture to the bottom of the hill, the muscles in our arms straining from the rope, which is heavy as a small child.
"Why would you ever suggest going first?" Willow grumbles, more to herself, as we take the first step up the hill.
Climbing a hill alone is one thing, but with a burdensome rope and someone you would prefer not to be in a six-foot radius of makes it a whole other story.
"I don't think," Willow says, pausing to take a breath. "I don't think this was what I signed up for."
"That's what we've all said before," I grumble, waiting on her to continue. She looks tired, her face paling and wisps of her blonde hair sweeping out from her ponytail.
"Wait, are you okay?" I ask, walking closer to her and keeping the rope looped in my hand. Willow looks up, rubbing her forehead and nods.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, let's just finish." With that we clench the rope in our hands and run to the top, our eyes in opposite directions.
***
I wake up the next morning with a surge of soreness in my left arm. I lean back in my bed and stare at the ceiling, my face scrunching up in disappointment as I semi-recall last night.
It was around eight and we had gathered in Room 100, the large screen on the wall in front of us. Our teams appeared there, and I felt a rush of nerves. I had been praying for the top spot for days, but I suddenly felt like it wasn't going to happen.
My eyes flitted up to the screen as our placings appeared team by team. The last of my hopes were easily crushed.
Number Two: Whitney.
I already knew who had that top spot. It was Willow. She glanced at me and then gave me a halfhearted smile before cheering with Joanna, who had also claimed the top spot on her team.
Willow had once again found a way to rank higher than me, but I got over itâafter a few miserable hours. I crammed it into the back of my mind, on the shelf with Willow's taunts, and told myself to focus on my sessions with Axel.
"I just want to hide under here until dinner," Martina complains, rolling over in bed to see me at the dresser brushing my hair.
"I wish that was possible." I look down and notice another mysterious note there. I pick it up and read it.
You may think you're great, but I still hate you. - X.
"Martina, did you leave a note here?" I ask, leaning against the dresser with the note crumpled in my hand. She looks up, bewildered.
"No, why?" She walks over to me and looks down at my clenched fist. "Did you find something?"
"It's nothing," I respond, taking my makeup bag and placing my hair brush back in it, slipping the note inside.
"If you say so," she responds, holding her hands up in front of her.
"Let's just go have breakfast."
***
My muscles are screaming as I step outside, but I try to ignore them. As I search for Axel, my mind wanders to the notes. I study them again after breakfast, trying to make out any clues from the handwriting. The notes seem rapidly written and awkwardly slanted, making it difficult to determine the writer. Most girls my age have neat, bubbly handwriting, but the scrawl on the notes appears the opposite.
I try to forget about that once I see Axel in his signature spot underneath the tree. I don't know what to expect.
"Morning," he says monotonously. Wow, an actual greeting.
"Yeah, morning to you too," I say quietly. He leans his side onto the tree trunk, staring me down nonchalantly, while I observe an ant climb up and down a little rock.
"So, you saw the ranks yesterday," he begins coolly. "Tell me how you feel."
I sigh. "Happy but disappointed."
"Why?"
"Happy because I didn't come in last; that my work did pay off. But disappointed because...well, it's hard to explain."
"Take your time," he responds, reclining against the tree further. I'm staring down at the ant again, studying its miniature movements, unable to meet his hazel gaze.
"The girl who placed first on my teamâyou could say we have shitty history. As dumb as it may sound without the backstory, I wanted to prove something to her." I feel stupid saying this and cover my face with my hands, groaning into my palms.
"Whitney, take your hands off your face," he orders. I slowly move them and look up at him. "You have a lot of time left to get stronger. Don't let this distract you."
"But I'm not even strong," I say, looking at my arms and seeing the slightest bit of muscle peeking out. He gives me an amused grin and comes closer.
"Oh, we can work on that," he responds, "follow me."
Skeptical, I follow him to the Central Building where he holds open one of the back entrances for me. "I thought you liked exercising outdoors?" I ask, as we make our way down the empty hall together.
"Nature can't do everything for us, right?" We take a right and enter the same gym I saw Axel working out a few days before. Only now I discover there's a whole back section full of equipment and vast mirrors that line the walls.
Axel picks up a pair of boxing gloves. "Today, Whitney," he says, standing in front of me, "we're going to try my favorite sport: boxing. We'll start with the basics."
I nod, and he comes over and holds my arm. "To assume the proper stance move this hand closer to your face," he says, bringing my right arm level with my jawline. "Hold the other outwards in front of you and keep your chin towards your chest. Make sure your feet are around shoulder width apart."
"Okay," I answer and shuffle my feet around. I accidentally bump back into his chest, and he holds an arm around me. I bite the inside of my cheek at the close contact between us.
"Now pretend like the person you hate the most is standing in front of you and extend your right arm forward in a punching position, level to your face."
I smirk as I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them, and let out a forceful punch in the air.
"Fuck, ow," I grumble in pain, feeling like I just tore my trapezius.
"Not quite," he says and demonstrates step by step. I do exactly what he says, but my punches don't come out right. They feel like I'm breaking my shoulder or dislocating my elbowâor, honestly, both.
"Come on, try it again."
I do, my shoulder aching again, and I wince.
"Whitney you're not trying to break through concreteâor in this case, your shoulder," he says, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Clench your fingers once you reach this hypothetical point of impact and then retract your hand. This time, aim at this punching bag."
Gathering my strength, I step over, assume the correct position, and send two blows into the black punching bag. I look up for his reaction. To my surprise, there's a hint of a smile on his lips.
I continue punching, channeling my inner anger in every movement. Soon my heart is drumming in my chest to the rhythm created by the pounding of my fists. I decide to take a break and sit down on the ground, crossing my legs.
"When did you learn how to fight?" I ask, playing with the edge of my black shirt.
He looks up. "When I was around twelve."
"That's pretty cool. Why'd you want to learn?"
He stops moving and looks ahead, his lips forming a straight line. "I don't know. Maybe... Maybe I wanted to get stronger too."
"I think I'd like to get better at this sport. It's kind of fun." As I say that, I see Axel grab two strike pads and put them on, summoning me to my feet.
"We'll try something else," he tells me. He holds up his hands, and I assume the proper stance.
"Left first, and then right two times," he says. I do so, but my punches barely make his rigid hand move.
He shows me some more techniques, and after a few minutes I get the hang of it, feeling a surge of energy flow through my body. My punches become stronger, and I don't feel like my shoulder is about to fall off every time I extend forward. We continue like this, alternating punches until my mind is spinning left and right. I breathe heavier, and he takes off the strike pads.
"The key to getting stronger is learning how to defend yourself," he says.
"And how may I do that?"
"A little imagination and some boxing gloves," he responds. "Now lean against that wall back there." I do and keep my gloved hands up in front of my face. "If someone were to say, attempt to attack you, what would you do?" He comes closer as he says this until there are only inches between us, and my breath hitches in my throat before I stare him down confidently.
"This," I respond, kicking my foot upwards and hitting in the place I know it will hurt. He doubles over and groans, biting the edge of his lip before looking back at me.
"What do I do with you, Whitney?" he asks with a wince, staring at the ceiling and letting out another guttural groan.
I smile widely. "Maybe we should try that again."
He glares at me. "No kicking."
"Got it."
I am worried at first, but then I send a jab forward. He quickly ducks my punch and gets up again. I turn around and see him behind me. I extend my arm forward into a punch and while my hand is still in the air, I feel an iron-like grip on my wrist.
He's got fast reflexes.
"You didn't think I'd let you hit me again, did you?" he says, a smirk spreading on his lips.