"Whitney, Whitney," someone hisses, nudging my elbow. I glance up and see Martina trying to get my attention.
"What are we supposed to be doing?" I ask, blinking to fix my slightly blurry vision.
"The sun salutation," Martina replies quietly, stretching out her back and raising her hands up in the air. I attempt to emulate what the other girls are doing, hearing my back crack.
"And take a deep breath in and exhale as you bend down to touch your toes," Cheryl says gently, and everyone bends down, most girls tugging at their shorts that had ridden upwards.
"Alright now sit on your mats, girls," Cheryl says, and I inwardly cheer because we have been going at this nonstop for the last thirty minutes. "Today we're going to do something a little different, so gather into a circle on the ground."
Everyone stands up and shuffles past each other to find a spot and attempt to form a somewhat circular pattern. I plop down last minute, right between Willow and a girl trying to get something stuck in her teeth out with her finger.
"I thought it would be fun to play a get-to-know-each-other game since your free time is limited," Cheryl says, picking up a small beach ball. "I'll throw this ball to someone and ask them a question, and then she will answer and throw the ball to someone else, who will ask her own question. If you don't catch the ball, you have to answer the question and state a fact about yourself. Make sense?" We nod, and she smiles, throwing the ball to Joanna.
"Least favorite exercise?" she asks, and Joanna looks to the side, trying to think.
"Jump squats," she answers, and a chorus of yeses erupts through the room. Luckily, Axel doesn't force me to do those, but I imagine they are torturous. Joanna looks around the room, throwing the ball to Willow, who catches it swiftly.
"Favorite food?" she asks.
Willow fiddles with the ball in her hands. After much thinking she replies, "Coffee."
"Coffee isn't food," Adriana remarks, leaning back on her hands. Willow chucks the ball to Martina instead of her.
"Do you like being a twin?" she asks her, seeming genuinely interested in knowing her answer. Martina's eyes widen, and she glances over at me and then at Willow again.
"Didn't have much a choice being one, did I?" she replies, partially evading the question, and throws the ball at her twin. Adriana barely grabs onto the it. Martina asks her the same question.
"It depends," is all Adriana replies, looking around the room to see to whom she'll throw the ball. Her eyes lock with mine, and the edges of her lips curl up in a devious smile. The ball comes flying at me and knocks against my shoulder, bouncing to the right onto the hardwood. I look up, my mouth agape.
"Guess you'll also have to talk about yourself," Natalie says, chortling with Adriana. Cheryl is unamused at their immaturity.
"Did you really come here because you were bullied in gym class throughout high school?" Adriana asks, her arms folded across her chest. Other girls in the room curiously glance my way, and I feel put in the spotlight, my cheeks reddening.
"Iâuh I," I begin to say, unaware of how to answer. Why is she even asking such a personal question?
"Whitney?" Cheryl asks, seeming concerned. I lock eyes with Adriana and let out a deep breath.
"Did you come here thinking that exercise would cure your severe bitch syndrome?" I ask, knowing that I'm answering a question with a question. But boy, do I not care.
Adriana's jaw drops and instead of everyone focusing on me, they all laugh at her. I stand up satisfied.
"Can I be excused from this game?" I ask Cheryl with a wide smile, and before hearing her reply, I chuck the ball at Adriana's head and hurry to the door. Hearing it slam shut behind me as I run down the hall, I make it to the end, right near the entrance of the central building. As I take a breath, making out hurried footsteps coming my way, and my heart skips a beat.
"Whitney!" she calls, and I cringe, knowing it's Willow coming my way. She stops jogging in front of me, quickly pulling up her fallen tank top strap.
"What?" I ask, forcing myself to look at her. She leans against the wall beside me, appearing so innocent and childlike, her big gray eyes wide with guilt. I never saw this side to her in high school.
"I don't know how to say this after so many years," she begins. "But I'm so, so sorry."
I find myself more puzzled than anything. "I don't get it."
"Get what?"
"I don't get how you were so horrible all those years, and not even too long before this camp, and now you're acting so nice to me. I don't get it."
She studies her black slip-on sneakers before returning her gaze to me. "Once high school was over, I realized... I realized how terrible of a person I was. You didn't deserve for me to act that way to you. I was so wrong, Whitney."
I stare at her blankly, swallowing a gulp. Her words seem so genuine, but I have to blink a few times to get rid of the image of her seemingly forever painted into my memory. I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is dry. I clear it and take a step back.
"Please bear with me, but it's just so...weird seeing you act like this with me," I say, running my hands through my hair and then dropping them to my side. "I need time. I hope you get it."
She nods, her smile somber. "I do. I really do."
"Haveâ" I cut my words short, getting another look at her, maybe to test if I'm not dreaming. All of today feels like a daze, but my now pounding headache doesn't seem too characteristic of a sweet daydream. "Have a good night, Willow."
Then, I walk away.
***
I make sure to stay focused on where I'm going outside and not collide into a concrete wall and maim myself. I feel unusually tired from speed walking only after a little while and have to stop. I slide down the wall of the trainers' dorms and sit on the grass, not even bothering myself with the fact I could be squashing a bug underneath me.
The right thing to do was to accept her apology, of course, especially with the evident sincerity behind it. But just because you accept someone's plea for forgiveness doesn't mean you've forgotten all that they've done to you.
Those memories can't be immediately erased with the simple phrase "I'm sorry."
I rest my chin on top of my knees and stare straight ahead at the ground, watching an ant climb over the same leaf over and over again. While the sky has clouded over, the air doesn't seem cool enough for me to be shivering in my black short-sleeve top. Goosebumps prick my arms, and I tighten them across my chest, wiggling my toes in my sneakers.
I could go inside at this point, but I'm not sure the highly air-conditioned rooms will do me any more justice.
My eyes are closed when I sense someone in front of me. Despite my curious nature, I don't even look up; I have no desire to talk to anyone. The person walks a little closer, and they lightly tap my forearm.
"Whitney, what's wrong?" I glance up and find Axel crouching down in front of me. His eyes soften with worry over my physical state, and his fingers brush down my arm.
"I've just been feeling a little weird," I softly reply, eyeing his hand. "I'm cold and tired, and I don't know, I just don't...feel right."
"Hey, hey, it's okay," he says gently. He unzips his gray hoodie and hands it to me. I feel awkward taking it, but he pushes it towards me with a sympathetic smile. He darts his eyes between the sky and my face. "It's not very cold out hereâactually, it's kind of hot. How long have you been feeling like this?"
I shrug. "Maybe since this afternoon?"
He presses his lips together and eyes the dark clouds in the sky again. As if on cue, the first few droplets begin to fall, plopping onto our noses. And as if knowing I don't want to return back to my own room, he reaches his hand out and asks, "Do you want to come to my room?"
I stuff my hands into the pockets of his hoodie as we walk inside the building. Even though I haven't smelled it, wafts of his deep-scented cologne on his hoodie meet my nose every few seconds. He unlocks his room, and I stand idly by the wall at the door. I don't want to venture any further, partially because I don't want to have a repeat of last time, and partially because the wall is preventing me from collapsing to the ground.
Axel plugs in his phone by his bed and then opens one of his drawers to grab a shirt. I don't know if he does it on purpose, but he slips off his tight T-shirt in exchange for a white Henley, giving me a perfect view of what's underneath.
I'm suddenly cured.
I really only feel the slightest bit better but walk a few steps forward anyway. Eyeing his desk, I see a small, worn-out book. In the top right corner is a name: Christian Chandler.
Why do I feel like I've heard that name before?
Axel notices my eyes on it. "The Great Gatsby. It was my father's favorite book, mine too."
"I read that book twice in high school," I say, smiling at the memories. I pick it up and look at the back. The copy is rugged, as if it had received too much love over the years.
I take one more look at the name on it and sigh. Axel keeps shuffling around his room, sorting things while I lean back against the wall one more time. The world is becoming pixelated in front of my eyes, and I can only make out the outlines of this room, the pieces of furniture, the windows, Axel. I slide to the ground again, unable to stand for any longer. Axel drops the bag he was busy organizing and runs over to me. He takes my face in his hands, tilting it up so that I can look into his eyes, but they look like blurry spheres to me.
"Whitney, you're scaring me, are you okay?" I open my mouth to answer him, but my head slumps against his hand. My eyelids feel like bricks against my eyes, and I can't force them open anymore. I feel my body edge towards the floor, but he sweeps an arm underneath my back and pulls me up to him.
He carries me to his bed and sets me down on the soft sheets. I blink my eyes open, and the last thing I see is his terrified face before everything fades away.
***
I feel disoriented when I wake up, almost as though this is an extension of my weird hallucination of a dream. I have to force my brain to remember where I am: Axel's room.
I look up at the white ceiling and then trail my eyes slowly downwards, until they meet Axel himself standing by the doorway.
"God, what kind of drugs am I on?" I blurt this out before I can even think of what I want to say. Axel cracks an amused smile but shakes his head as he walks towards to my bedside. He cracks open the tall water bottle in his hands and gives it to me. I down half of it in seconds.
"I can be sure you're not on any narcotics, Whitney," he answers. He sits down on the edge of the bed, a couple inches from my body. He touches the back of his cold hand to my forehead, making me shiver. "You have a fever. Explains your symptoms and why you knocked out."
"Wait, how long have I been out of it?" I ask, eyeing him warily. I try to sit up but slip down the pillows, too weak to even exert a small amount of energy.
"You only passed out for a second, but you've been napping in my bed for over an hour. I really think we should go and get you checked out. I don't want there to be anything else wrong with you."
"But didn't you say I had a fever? Can't you just get me some Tylenol or Advil or some shit like that, and I can crash here for the rest of the night?" I roll to my side in his bed, hugging the pillows that also smell just like him.
I think this sickness has exchanged my energy with an embarrassing level of bluntness.
He releases a slow sigh, dropping his hands to his lap. "I just feel like this is partly my fault, okay? I don't want to be any more liable."
"Why would this be your fault?" It's not like he drugged me. For the love of God, stop thinking about drugs, Whitney.
He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it, doing this twice. Finally, the words find him. "Maybe I've been overworking you too much. And then I threw you into the freezing cold ocean. I think I forgot how to slow things down to your level, even when you told me this was difficult for you. I'm sorry."
I reach my hand out and feeling oddly brave, I cup his cheek. "It's not your fault, Axel. Okay, maybe it might be a tiny bit, but let me tell you, hearing all about your guilt isn't gonna cure me of a virus. So, can I sleep now?"