Late Morning
I was sitting next to Harold outside our cabins while other boys were moving around and could not help but wonder how the hell did I land myself in this situation?
Yesterday had been a blur. After returning from the dock, I'd gone straight to the food storage I'd been quietly building up from my morning foraging trips. Made a simple meal for everyone. Nothing fancy, just basic sustenance for people too exhausted to care about flavor.
No one had energy for drama after that. No scheming, no plotting, no Chris-induced chaos. Just recovery. People sleeping, eating, existing in that post-challenge fugue state where your body is too tired to do anything except the bare minimum. Even Heather had been quiet, which was unusual. Maybe she was still processing her failure to extract that favor from me. Or maybe she was just tired like everyone else.
This morning I'd done my usual foraging run. Alone this time—none of the Breakfast Club had shown up. Either still recovering or just not feeling social. I'd gathered what I could, stored it away, then gone to check on Katie.
She was still avoiding everyone. Holed up in her cabin, processing. I understood that. Grief required space sometimes.
So I'd come back to the boys' cabin and decided to tackle a project I'd been thinking about since Day One: making a hammock.
The bunk was uncomfortable. Had been since the start. Thin mattress over wooden slats that dug into pressure points and made sleep an exercise in finding the least painful position. I'd been tolerating it, but why tolerate when I could fix?
I'd found good spruce roots during this morning's foraging—flexible but strong, perfect for rope once cleaned and prepared. The plan was simple: boil the sheets clean, clean the roots, attach them to the sheets as support ropes, and voilà—hammock. Hang it from the bunk posts using the existing cabin structure. Better sleep, less back pain, one less thing to complain about.
I was in the process of gathering materials—sheets stripped from my bunk, roots laid out, mentally planning the construction—when Duncan's voice interrupted my thoughts.
"The hell are you doing?"
I looked up. Duncan was standing in the doorway, hair messy from sleep, looking at my setup with genuine confusion.
"Making a hammock," I said simply. "The bunks are torture devices. I'm fixing that."
Duncan walked over, examining the roots and sheets with the kind of attention he usually reserved for potential pranks or escape routes. "Huh. That actually sounds neat."
"It will be. Once it's done."
He was quiet for a moment, then: "Make me one too."
I blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. Make me one. My back's been killing me since we got here."
Before I could respond, Geoff appeared in the doorway, clearly having overheard. "Dude, are you making hammocks? I want one!"
"Me too!" Cody's voice came from his bunk, where he'd apparently been awake and listening. "The bunks are terrible!"
And then it was like opening floodgates.
Owen woke up at the commotion: "Hammocks? Like in cartoons? I want one!"
Tyler stumbled in from outside: "Wait, what's happening?"
Trent looked up from where he was tuning his guitar "Are we getting better beds?"
Justin, examining his reflection in a hand mirror: "If it improves my sleep quality, I'm interested."
Harold pushed his glasses up, looking eager to help.
"YES!" Duncan cut off any potential conversation, then looked around at the assembled boys. "So we all want hammocks?"
Nods. Agreement. Ezekiel even raised his hand from his bunk like we were in class.
Duncan turned back to me with a grin that was somehow both friendly and threatening. "Looks like you've got work to do, genius."
Oh no.
"I was making ONE hammock," I said slowly. "For myself. This was a personal project."
"And now it's a group project," Duncan said cheerfully. "Don't worry, we'll help. Can't expect you to do all the work."
He clapped his hands together, and suddenly Duncan was in full leadership mode—the same energy he brought to pranks, but directed at something actually productive.
"Alright, listen up!" He pointed at Owen and Tyler. "You two are on sheet duty. Get all the sheets from the bunks, boil them clean. There's a big pot by the fire pit outside."
"On it!" Owen saluted.
"Justin, Trent—you're cleaning roots. Noah will show you what needs doing." He looked at me. "You will show them, right?"
"I—yes, fine."
"Harold, you're helping Noah with the actual construction."
Harold brightened considerably, eager to contribute.
"Everyone else—" Duncan gestured to Geoff, Cody, and Ezekiel—"you're with me. We're going into the woods to get more roots. Noah, what do we need?"
I stared at him. This had escalated so far beyond my original plan that I was having trouble processing.
"Spruce roots," I said finally. "Flexible but strong. You'll know them when you see them—they're exposed near the surface, usually near old trees. Pull them up carefully, we need them intact."
"Got it." Duncan started toward the door, then paused.
I looked at the pile of materials, did quick mental math on how many hammocks we'd need, and felt a headache forming. "You'll want to grab enough for the girls too," I said. "Unless you're looking forward to explaining why we all get comfortable sleep and they don't. I'm sure that conversation will go great."
Duncan turned back, eyebrow raised, then grinned. "Good point. Don't want to deal with that." He actually looked pleased with the idea. "Yeah, we'll gather extra. Owen, Ty make sure to boil spare sheets too."
He jerked his head toward the door. "Come on, guys. Let's go root hunting."
Geoff, Cody, and Ezekiel followed him out, Geoff already asking questions about how to identify the right roots.
And I just added myself more work, I thought, watching them go. But I wasn't really angry about it. Part of me was even hopeful—maybe this would help lift Katie's mood when she saw we'd made one for her too.
I looked around at what remained.
Owen and Tyler were gathering sheets with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested they might actually set something on fire. Justin and Trent were examining the roots I'd collected with varying degrees of interest—Justin kept checking his reflection, Trent looked genuinely curious. Harold was hovering nearby, ready to help.
And I was standing in the middle of it all, holding a single root, realizing I'd just committed myself to making hammocks for entire camp.
How did I get here?
The answer, apparently, was: one good idea and Duncan's ability to turn anything into a group activity.
I sighed and started explaining to Justin and Trent how to clean spruce roots.
This was going to be a long day.
The work settled into a rhythm after the initial chaos.
Owen and Tyler had set up the large pot over the fire pit outside and were boiling sheets in batches. I could hear Owen's enthusiastic commentary from inside the cabin: "Dude, this is like making soup but with BEDS!"
Justin and Trent sat near the window with piles of spruce roots, cleaning off dirt and bark. Trent worked methodically, occasionally humming under his breath. Justin worked carefully, clearly concerned about getting his hands dirty but committed nonetheless.
Harold and I were at the main table, beginning the actual construction. I'd sketched out a basic design—nothing fancy, just functional. The sheets would form the main body, roots would be woven through reinforced edges and used as suspension ropes.
"The key is distribution of weight," Harold said, adjusting his glasses as he examined my sketch. "If we don't account for load-bearing capacity, the whole thing could collapse mid-sleep."
"Hence the reinforced edges," I said, showing him how I planned to fold and stitch the sheet edges. "Triple layer here, double-woven roots through these points."
"Smart." Harold nodded approvingly. "You've clearly thought this through."
"I've had several days of back pain to motivate me."
Trent looked up from his root-cleaning. "So how long will each hammock take to make?"
I did quick mental math. "With two of us working? Maybe an hour per hammock. Longer for the first few while we figure out the process."
"And we need..." Trent counted on his fingers. "Ten for us, plus the girls will all want one too."
"Twenty total," I confirmed. "But the process should speed up once the others finish their tasks and can help with construction."
Harold looked thoughtful. "That's still a lot of work."
"Yeah." I threaded a root through the folded edge of a sheet, beginning the weaving pattern. "It is."
The door banged open and Duncan's group returned, arms full of spruce roots. They dumped them in a pile near the table.
"Got enough for everyone and then some," Duncan announced, looking pleased with himself. "Ezekiel's got a good eye—found a whole cluster near the old pine grove."
Ezekiel looked embarrassed but pleased. "Just noticed them, eh?"
Cody was examining his hands. "I've got splinters in places I didn't know could get splinters."
"Builds character," Duncan said unsympathetically. He looked at our progress—Harold and I had finished the first hammock, which was laid out on the table for inspection. "That looks pretty good actually."
"It'll hold weight," Harold said confidently. "We tested the structural integrity."
"By..." Duncan raised an eyebrow.
"Harold hung from it while I held the supports," I said dryly. "Very scientific."
Duncan laughed. "Alright. So we've got one done, need like nineteen more. What can we do to speed this up?"
I looked at the pile of roots, the stack of cleaned sheets Owen and Tyler were bringing in, and the assembled boys all looking at me like I had answers.
This is my life now.
"Justin, Trent, Geoff—you're on root preparation. Get them all cleaned and sorted by length. Owen, Tyler—keep boiling sheets, but also start helping with root prep when you're done. Cody, Ezekiel—you're on quality control. Check each hammock as we finish it, make sure there are no weak points. Harold and I will keep constructing."
Everyone nodded and dispersed to their assigned tasks.
Duncan grabbed a root and sat down across from me. "Show me how to do the weaving. I can help."
I blinked. "You want to help make hammocks?"
"Rather do this than sit around being bored." He gave me a pointed look. "Plus you're gonna be here all day if it's just you and Harold. Might as well speed it up."
Fair enough.
I showed him the weaving pattern, how to thread the roots through the folded edges, how to maintain proper tension. He picked it up quickly—his hands were steady, movements precise. Probably from all the practice with lock-picking and whatever else he did in juvie.
We worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, the cabin filled with the sounds of work—roots being cleaned, sheets being wrung out, Harold humming something under his breath as he stitched reinforcements.
Then Geoff, who was sorting roots near the window, spoke up.
"So Duncan... how'd you actually end up in juvie anyway?"
The cabin went quiet.
Everyone was suddenly very interested in their tasks while clearly listening.
Duncan didn't look up from the root he was weaving, but I saw his hands pause for just a fraction of a second.
"You really want to know?" His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it—not threatening, just... guarded.
"Only if you want to share, man," Geoff said quickly. "No pressure."
Duncan was quiet for a moment, then shrugged. "Not like it's a secret. Everyone here knows I've been to juvie. Might as well tell you what for."
He set down the root and leaned back, arms crossed. The posture was defensive, but his expression was more amused than anything else.
"Broke into my school one night," he said. "Me and a... friend. We destroyed every single paper with everyone's grades we could find. File cabinets, teacher's desks, storage rooms—everything. While I was doing that, my friend purged the electronic versions. Hacked into the system, wiped the drives clean."
"Whoa," Tyler said, eyes wide. "You actually did that?"
"Yep." Duncan grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then we went to the teacher's lounge and partied. Raided the vending machines, played music, made a whole night of it. We were having a great time until the cops showed up."
"How'd they know?" Cody asked.
"No idea." Duncan's expression darkened slightly. "Someone must've tipped them off or triggered a silent alarm we missed. But suddenly there were sirens, lights, the whole deal. We tried to bolt, but I..." He paused, and his voice wavered just slightly. "I got caught. Couldn't make it out in time. My friend escaped though."
There was something in the way he said "friend." A catch in his voice, barely perceptible. And when he mentioned them escaping, there was this flicker in his eyes—something soft, almost protective.
Interesting.
Girlfriend? No—that didn't track with what I knew of canon Duncan. His relationship with Courtney didn't develop that way, and he'd never mentioned anyone from before the show.
Family? That seemed more likely. The affection in his voice when he mentioned his "friend" escaping wasn't romantic—it was something deeper. The kind of loyalty you had for someone who mattered beyond dating or friendship.
I filed the observation away and decided to test the theory.
"Do you have any siblings?" I asked, keeping my tone casual as I threaded another root through the hammock.
Duncan glanced at me, and for a moment I thought he might deflect. Then he shrugged.
"Yeah. Older brother." His voice changed when he said it—softened just slightly, the defensive edge dropping. "He's... hardcore. Like, seriously hardcore. Nobody messes with him. He's the kind of guy who walks into a room and people just know not to start shit."
There it was again. That affection. Pride, even. The way someone talks about family they actually care about.
So the "friend" in the story was his brother.
The timeline made sense now. Older brother, probably more experienced with breaking and entering. Duncan gets caught, takes the fall, brother escapes. And Duncan's not bitter about it—if anything, he seems proud his brother got away.
Loyalty. Protection. The kind of bond that meant you'd go to juvie rather than rat out your family.
I filed that away too. Duncan was more complicated than his delinquent persona suggested.
"Your brother sounds cool," Geoff said genuinely.
"He is." Duncan picked up the root again, focusing back on the weaving. "Taught me most of what I know. Lockpicking, how to spot cameras, how to not get caught—" He smirked. "Most of the time, anyway."
"Did he teach you to be such a pain in the ass?" I asked dryly.
Duncan grinned. "Nah, that's all natural talent."
The others laughed, and the tension broke. Duncan clearly didn't want to talk more about his brother or juvie, and no one pushed.
We worked in silence for a few more minutes, another hammock taking shape under our hands. The rhythm of construction was almost meditative—repetitive, predictable, satisfying in its simplicity.
Then Duncan, never one to let silence last too long, spoke up again.
"So." He looked around at the assembled boys with a mischievous grin. "Since we're all sharing and being a big happy bonding moment or whatever—who here's got their eye on someone?"
The reaction was immediate.
Cody fumbled the root he was holding. Trent's hands stilled. Geoff's face went red. Justin just checked his reflection.
"What?" Tyler asked, confused.
"You know," Duncan said, clearly enjoying this. "Girls. Ladies. Members of the female persuasion currently residing on this island. Anyone catching your attention?"
"I don't think—" Trent started.
"Oh come on," Duncan interrupted. "We're all teenagers stuck on an island together. Don't tell me you haven't noticed some of them are actually pretty hot."
"Dude," Geoff said, but he was grinning.
Duncan pointed at Harold. "You already confessed about Courtney during Truth or Dare, so you're exempt from this conversation."
Harold looked relieved.
Then Duncan pointed at me. "And Noah's been sleeping with Katie, so we already know his situation."
"We FELL ASLEEP," I said with as much dignity as I could muster. "During the Awake-a-thon. Together. That's it."
"Sure, man." Duncan's grin was insufferable. "That's why you were cuddling."
"We were EXHAUSTED."
"Uh-huh."
I was about to throw a root at him when Owen spoke up, saving me from further humiliation.
"Trent likes Gwen!"
The cabin went dead silent.
Trent's head snapped up, face shocked. "Owen!"
"What?" Owen looked confused. "It's true!"
Trent opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked around at all of us staring at him. His face was getting progressively redder.
"I... she's... I mean..." He struggled for words.
Every single boy was nodding.
Trent looked horrified. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes," I said flatly. "To everyone except Gwen, apparently."
"Oh god." Trent put his head in his hands. "I thought I was being subtle."
"Dude," Geoff said sympathetically. "You stare at her constantly."
"I don't—"
"You literally stop mid-sentence when she walks by," Cody added.
"And you always sit near her at the campfire," Tyler chimed in.
"You tune your guitar and just happen to play whatever she's humming," I observed dryly.
Trent looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him. "Great. That's just... great."
Duncan clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, at least now you know you need to actually make a move instead of pining from a distance like a sad puppy."
"Thanks," Trent said sarcastically. "Very helpful."
"What about you?" Duncan turned to Geoff. "You've been suspiciously quiet."
Geoff's face, which had finally returned to normal color, went red again. "I... might... think Bridgette is really cool."
"Cool how?" Duncan pressed.
"Cool like... she's smart and funny and really good at sports and she's got this smile that just—" Geoff caught himself, realizing he was rambling. "I mean. Yeah. I think she's cool."
"We get it, Romeo," Duncan said, but he was grinning. "You've got it bad."
Geoff didn't deny it.
Duncan pointed at Justin. "What about you, pretty boy?"
Justin examined his reflection critically, turning his face at different angles. "I don't think any of the girls here are really up to my standards, honestly. They're attractive in their own ways, but..." He shrugged elegantly. "I'm waiting for someone who meets my criteria."
"Your criteria being 'as attractive as you'?" I asked dryly.
"Essentially."
Fair enough. At least he was honest about it.
"Ezekiel?" Duncan turned to the farm boy.
Ezekiel looked uncomfortable being put on the spot. "I don't know, eh? I think a lot of the girls here are real pretty. Bridgette seems nice, and Lindsay's real friendly, and Katie seems sweet..." He trailed off. "But I don't really know how this whole... liking girls thing works. Didn't spend much time around them back home."
"That's fair," Geoff said kindly.
Duncan looked at Cody. "And you?"
Cody looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. "I'm trying to take a step back from thinking about dating, you know? Avoid acting like a creep."
"Admirable," I said.
"But..." Duncan's grin turned predatory. "There's a 'but,' isn't there?"
Cody sighed. "I've been hanging around Heather more lately."
Silence.
Then Tyler: "HEATHER?"
"It's not—it's just—" Cody struggled for words. "She's actually interesting when you get past the mean girl thing. She's smart, strategic, knows what she wants. And sometimes when we talk it's like... she's not performing. She's just Heather. Not Queen Bee Heather. Just... her."
"That's surprisingly deep," Geoff said.
"It also feels like navigating a minefield," Cody added. "One wrong move and she'll probably destroy me."
"Probably," I agreed.
Duncan turned to Owen. "Big guy?"
Owen shrugged cheerfully. "I've never had much luck with girls,. So I try not to think about it too much. What happens will happen!"
"That's a healthy attitude," Trent said.
"What about you?" Tyler suddenly looked at me. "I know Duncan said you're exempt but—"
"I'm not exempt," I interrupted. "I genuinely don't know what's happening with Katie. We're friends. I think. Maybe. The cuddling was exhaustion-induced."
"Sure," Duncan said, clearly not believing me.
I decided to ignore him.
Tyler cleared his throat. "Since we're all sharing... I think Lindsay's really pretty. Like, really pretty. And she's nice and funny and..." He looked at me hopefully. "You've been hanging out with her a lot, right? Do you... do you know if she'd be interested in going out or something?"
Oh.
I had to think about that. In canon, Lindsay had developed a crush on Tyler early on. Love at first sight kind of thing. They'd gotten together, split up-kinda, gotten back together—the whole dramatic teenage romance cycle.
But here, now, in this timeline? Lindsay hadn't shown any signs of crushing on Tyler. None of the giggling, blushing, or obvious interest that canon Lindsay had displayed. She'd been friendly with him, sure. But friendly in the same way she was friendly with everyone.
Since I'd started helping her, she'd seemed... different. More confident, maybe. Less focused on boys and more focused on herself.
Why the change?
Was it because I'd been helping her? Because she had support she didn't have in canon? Or was it something else entirely?
I realized Tyler was still waiting for an answer, looking hopeful and nervous.
"I'm honestly not sure if Lindsay's looking to date anyone right now," I said carefully. "She seems pretty focused on the competition and figuring herself out."
Tyler's face fell slightly.
"But," I added, because he looked genuinely disappointed, "I can ask her what she thinks about you. If you want."
Tyler brightened immediately. "Really? You'd do that?"
"Sure." Why am I agreeing to this? "I'll find a time to bring it up naturally."
"Thanks, man!" Tyler looked like I'd just offered him a million dollars.
Duncan was grinning at me like he knew exactly how uncomfortable this made me. "Noah playing matchmaker. Who would've thought?"
"I'm regretting it already," I muttered.
Harold, who had been quiet this whole time, suddenly spoke up. "Actually, I'm not really into Courtney."
Everyone turned to look at him.
"What?" Geoff said.
"I just used her name during Truth or Dare to avoid answering the question honestly," Harold admitted, pushing his glasses up nervously. "I don't actually have feelings for her. At all."
Duncan looked at him suspiciously. "So who DO you like?"
"I'm not saying."
"Come on!"
"No." Harold crossed his arms stubbornly. "I shared that I don't like Courtney. That's all you're getting."
The boys tried to press him—Geoff wheedling, Duncan threatening, Owen offering food bribes—but Harold refused to budge.
Finally Duncan gave up with a laugh. "Fine, keep your secrets. But I'm glad you're not into Courtney."
"Why?" Harold asked.
Duncan's expression shifted—something genuine breaking through the usual sarcasm. "Because I think I am. Attracted to her, I mean. But I was gonna let it go since I thought you called dibs."
"Dibs?" I repeated. "We're not claiming territory here."
"You know what I mean." Duncan looked uncomfortable, which was rare for him. "Figured Harold was interested, didn't want to step on toes, bro code and all that. But if he's not..." He shrugged. "Guess that changes things."
"Courtney's terrifying," Trent said.
"I know," Duncan said, and he was grinning now. "It's kind of hot."
"You're weird, man," Geoff said.
"Been told that before."
The conversation devolved into good-natured arguing about what qualities made someone attractive—Duncan arguing for "girls who could probably kick my ass," Geoff waxing poetic about Bridgette's surfing skills, Justin listing physical features with clinical precision, Owen just happy to be included.
I focused back on hammock construction, Harold working quietly beside me. We'd finished three now, with four more in various stages of completion. The pile of cleaned roots was dwindling, sheets were boiled and ready, and the system was working efficiently.
Could be worse, I thought, watching the boys banter and work. Could be dealing with Chris instead of making hammocks and listening to teenage relationship drama.
Though honestly, I wasn't sure which was more exhausting.
Hours passed. The sun tracked across the sky. The pile of finished hammocks grew steadily.
By mid-afternoon, we had twenty hammocks completed and quality-checked. ten for the boys' cabin, ten for the girls.
My hands ached from weaving. My back hurt from hunching over. And I was questioning every life choice that had led me to this moment.
"Done!" Owen announced, hanging the last boys' hammock in place. It swung gently from the bunk posts, looking surprisingly professional. "This is so cool!"
"Dibs on testing mine first," Tyler said, immediately climbing into his hammock. He settled in, eyes going wide. "Oh man. This is SO much better than the bunk."
One by one, the boys tested their hammocks. There were sounds of relief, contentment, and in Justin's case, an actual sigh of pleasure.
"This is legitimately comfortable," Trent said, lying in his hammock with his guitar resting on his chest. "Noah, you're a genius."
"I know," I said tiredly. "It's a burden."
Duncan was lying in his own hammock, arms behind his head, looking more relaxed than I'd seen him since we arrived. "Not bad, brainiac. Not bad at all."
"Some of us should probably start on dinner," Geoff said, though he made no move to get up from his hammock. "Using what Noah gathered this morning?"
"I'll help," Harold offered.
"Sure," Duncan said without opening his eyes.
Harold headed toward the door. Owen and Tyler followed, apparently motivated by the promise of food.
That left me, Duncan, Geoff, Cody, Trent, Justin, and Ezekiel to handle the girls' hammocks.
"We should probably deliver these now," I said, eyeing the pile of ten hammocks. "Before it gets too late."
"I'll help carry," Geoff volunteered immediately, probably motivated by the prospect of seeing Bridgette.
"Me too," Cody said.
The three of us gathered the hammocks while the others either headed to help with dinner or stayed in their own hammocks, too comfortable to move.
The walk to the girls' cabin was short. Geoff was bouncing with nervous energy, Cody was tripping on almost every root and rock on the way, and I was just trying not to drop the armful of hammocks I was carrying.
I knocked on the door.
Gwen answered, eyebrow raised. "This should be good."
"We made hammocks," I said simply. "Brought some for you guys."
Her other eyebrow joined the first. "You made hammocks?"
"Long story. Can we come in?"
She stepped aside, and we entered.
The girls' cabin was... neater than ours. Marginally. Katie's bunk area was organized, Bridgette's had surfing magazines, Courtney's area was pretty spartan, while Heather's section like a makeup store exploded, and there were various personal items scattered around that made the space feel more lived-in than our bachelor-pad chaos.
All the girls were present. Katie was sitting on her bunk reading. Bridgette was stretching near the window. Heather was filing her nails. Izzy was hanging upside-down from her bunk for reasons that probably made sense to her. Lindsay was brushing her hair. Beth was organizing something in a small box. Courtney was writing in what looked like a planner or journal. Leshawna was applying nail polish nearby. Eva was doing push-ups in the corner. They all looked up when we entered.
"Hey!" Bridgette's face lit up. "What's up?"
"We made hammocks," Geoff said, holding up his armful like proof. "For everyone. Thought you might want them since the bunks kind of suck."
"You made hammocks?" Lindsay's eyes went wide. "That's so sweet!"
"Noah's idea," Cody said, nodding toward me. "We just helped."
"Because everyone wanted one once they saw what I was doing," I added dryly. "This was supposed to be a personal project."
Katie looked up from her book, and I tried to catch her eye. She met my gaze and smiled—small, but genuine. The first real smile I'd seen from her since Sadie left.
Is she doing okay? She looks better than yesterday. Still sad, but... managing.
"That's very thoughtful," she said.
"Practical," I corrected, but I held her gaze for a moment longer.
The "decent pillow" comment came back to once again to bounce around in my head. What did that even mean? Focus. She needs support right now, not me overthinking random comments.
I looked away before I could dwell on it further.
"Do we get to pick which ones we want?" Lindsay asked, coming over to examine the hammocks.
"They're all the same," I said. "Functionally identical."
"But this one's prettier!" Lindsay was already holding one up, examining the weaving pattern. "Can I have this one?"
"Sure."
"I'll take that one," Bridgette said, pointing. "If you guys help hang them?"
"That's why we're here," Geoff said, perhaps a bit too eagerly.
We got to work. Geoff immediately gravitated toward helping Bridgette hang her hammock. Cody and Me got to helping others.
Beth and Lindsay were delighted with their hammocks, thanking us profusely. Gwen accepted hers with dry amusement, making a comment about "boys actually being useful for once." Bridgette was genuinely grateful, and I noticed she and Geoff were having a quiet conversation while hanging her hammock that involved a lot of smiling. Eva accepted her with grunt of appreciation. And Leshawna took hers to hang it by herself.
But it was Izzy and Heather whose reactions were most interesting.
Izzy had stopped hanging upside-down and was watching me with this uncertain expression. Not suspicious, exactly. More like... she was trying to figure something out. Every time I glanced her direction, she was staring at me with this analytical look that was very unlike her usual chaotic energy.
What's that about?
And Heather... Heather looked at me, then at the hammock, then back at me. Her expression was complex—surprise, confusion, and something uncertain. Like she couldn't quite believe she was receiving something without strings attached. There was a flicker of something else too—almost like guilt, though it passed quickly before her usual mask slammed back into place.
She was distracted from whatever she was thinking when Cody approached her bunk, hammock in hand.
"I can hang this for you," he offered. "If you want."
Heather looked at him, expression unreadable. Then she huffed, crossing her arms. "Do what you want."
But she didn't leave. She stayed right there, watching as Cody started setting up the hanging points for her hammock.
"You need to secure it higher," she said after a moment. "Otherwise it'll sag."
"Like this?" Cody adjusted.
"Not that high. I'm not a giant. It needs to be at a reasonable height."
"Right, okay." He moved it down slightly. "Better?"
"I guess."
They fell into this rhythm—Cody working, Heather providing critical commentary, both of them falling into what looked like comfortable banter despite Heather's harsh words. There was something almost... friendly about it. In a weird, Heather way.
Huh. Maybe Cody's onto something.
I finished helping hang the last hammock and turned to find Katie standing next to me.
"Can we talk?" she asked quietly. "Later. On the pier?"
My heart did something complicated. "Yeah. Of course."
"This evening? After dinner?"
"I'll be there."
She smiled—small, genuine, a little sad but also hopeful. "Thank you. For the hammock. For everything."
"You're welcome."
We stood there for a moment, the cabin bustling with activity around us—boys helping girls hang hammocks, Geoff and Bridgette still talking quietly, Cody and Heather's banter continuing.
Katie squeezed my hand briefly—so quick I almost missed it—then returned to her bunk.
Geoff, Cody, and I gathered near the door. The girls were all examining their new hammocks with various degrees of excitement.
"These are really great," Bridgette called out. "Tell the other guys thanks!"
"Will do!" Geoff waved, looking ridiculously happy.
We left the cabin and started back toward our own.
"That went well," Geoff said cheerfully.
"Bridgette seems really into you," I observed.
His face went red. "You think?"
"She literally giggled at your jokes, man."
"She did, didn't she?" Geoff looked like he'd won the lottery.
Cody was quiet, thoughtful.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah." He smiled slightly. "Heather's... complicated. But I think I'm starting to get how to talk to her. Sort of."
"That's progress."
"Maybe."
We walked in comfortable silence for a moment.
"Katie asked you to meet her later," Geoff said, grinning. "On the pier. That's romantic."
"It's a conversation," I said firmly. "Between friends."
"Sure it is."
I decided not to dignify that with a response.
We returned to the boys' cabin to find dinner being prepared—Harold and Owen had created something that actually smelled decent using my foraged materials. The other boys were lounging in their hammocks, looking content.
Duncan looked up when we entered. "How'd it go?"
"Good," Geoff said. "They loved them."
"Did Heather throw hers back in your face?" Duncan asked me.
"No. She accepted it." I thought about her expression—that flicker of uncertainty and something else. "Seemed surprised, actually."
"Surprising Heather's probably a good thing." Duncan stretched in his hammock. "Makes her more predictable."
Dinner was served shortly after. We ate together as a cabin—simple food, but satisfying after the day of work. The mood was relaxed, everyone tired but in a good way. The kind of tired that came from accomplishing something rather than being tortured by Chris.
I had time before meeting Katie. Enough time to handle something else I'd been planning.
I got up from log that served as my chair during dinner, and grabbed my jacket.
"Where you going?" Cody asked.
"Just need to take care of something. Be back soon."
I left before anyone could ask more questions.
The cafeteria was quiet this time of evening. Dinner service was over, and most people were back in their cabins. The lights were dim, and I could hear sounds from the kitchen—someone cleaning, putting things away.
I knocked on the kitchen door.
"We're closed!" Chef's voice boomed from inside.
"It's Noah. I need to talk to you."
There was a pause, then heavy footsteps. The door opened to reveal Chef still in his apron, looking tired but surprised.
"What are you doing here, kid?"
I took a breath. "I need a favor."
Chef's eyebrow rose. "A favor? From me?"
I explained what I needed. Chef listened, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
When I finished, there was a moment of silence.
Then Chef looked at the piece of paper he'd been holding—covered in notes and rough diagrams. He gestured to it.
"Fine. I'll help," he said. "Just let me know when. And I'll throw this in—" he gestured to the paper again "—as I go through everything."
Relief washed through me. "Thank you."
Chef nodded once. "Now get out of here before someone sees you."
I left quickly, slipping back out into the evening.
Second part in place.
Confessional - Noah: He's sitting in the outhouse, looking tired but with a slight satisfied smirk. "Got Chef on board. Half the pieces for the Owen plan are ready." He pauses, the smirk becoming more sarcastic. "And I spent my nice, relaxing day off making hammocks. Twenty of them. For everyone. Because apparently 'personal project' translates to 'camp-wide manufacturing operation' when Duncan's involved." He shakes his head, but there's no real annoyance in his expression. "Still. Could've been worse. Could've been an actual challenge."
I returned to the cabin. Trent was watching Cody play his console. Duncan was reading something—a magazine he'd probably stolen from somewhere. Harold was writing in his own notebook. The others were resting in their hammocks, talking quietly or just relaxing.
I grabbed a blank notebook from my belongings and settled into my hammock.
The notebook was new, unused. Clean pages waiting to be filled. I flipped it open and started writing.
A story. That's what I'd call it if anyone asked. Fiction. Just passing time. Truth was different. This was story yes, but special. It's purpose was most important part of my plan for Owen. And most uncertain. If this did not work anything else I have prepared would be for nothing.
I wrote, erased re-wrote and thrown away pages full of attempts that were just not good enough.
Time passed. I kept writing. I do not know for how long. Until finally I was done. It was ready. Time will show if I did good enough job. I closed my notebook and put it away. Then I just rested for a moment. Tried to clear my thoughts. To stop myself from second guessing my decision.
Eventually, Cody's voice broke through my inner turmoil.
"Noah. It's getting close to evening. You said you were meeting Katie?"
I opened my eyes. The light through the windows had that golden quality of early evening.
"Yeah. Thanks."
I got up, splashed some water on my face from the basin near the door, and headed out.
The pier was quiet, water lapping gently against the wooden posts. The sun was setting, painting the sky in oranges and pinks. The lake reflected the colors like liquid fire.
Katie was already there, sitting in the same spot she'd sat after Truth or Dare. Legs dangling over the edge, looking out at the water.
I approached slowly, not wanting to startle her.
She glanced over when she heard my footsteps, smiled slightly. "Hey."
"Hey." I sat down next to her, leaving a respectful distance between us. "Thanks for waiting."
"Thanks for coming."
We sat in silence for a moment. Not uncomfortable—just... present. Two people existing in the same space, listening to water and wind and the distant sounds of the camp settling in for the evening.
Katie broke the silence first, her voice soft.
"I've been thinking," she said. "A lot. About everything that's happened since Sadie and I separated."
I stayed quiet, letting her work through her thoughts.
"I've been putting myself back together," Katie continued, still looking out at the water. "Piece by piece. Figuring out who Katie is when she's just... Katie. Not half of something else." She paused. "It's been hard. Really hard. But I'm doing it."
She turned to look at me then, and there was something stronger in her eyes than I'd seen before. Still sad, but determined too.
"Then Sadie was eliminated from the island and that shocked me. My friend was gone—I couldn't talk to her, couldn't see her. It was painful."
"But I realized something," she said quietly. "I'm not alone in this. Even without Sadie here, I'm not alone." Her voice became softer. "You've been here. Supporting me. Giving me space when I needed it, being there when I needed to talk. Just... being there."
She looked back at the water, but reached out and took my hand. "I'm really glad you're here, Noah. That you're part of this with me."
My chest felt tight. I squeezed her hand gently. "I'm glad I'm here too."
We sat like that for a moment, hands linked, watching the sunset colors deepen.
Then I asked quietly, "Do you... need to be strong right now? Or do you need to be sad?"
Katie's face crumpled slightly. Just for a moment, her composure wavered.
Then she was crying. She threw her arms around me and sobbed into my shoulder and I held her while she cried—awkward at first because I never knew what to do with physical comfort, but gradually more certain as I realized she just needed someone to be present.
We sat like that for a while. Katie crying quietly, me holding her, both of us watching the sunset colors fade into twilight.
Eventually her breathing evened out. The tears slowed. She pulled back slightly, wiping her face with her sleeve.
"Sorry," she said, voice a bit watery. "I didn't mean to fall apart on you."
"Don't apologize." I meant it. "You're allowed to be sad. Being separated from your best friend for the first time in years—that's hard. Being strong all the time is exhausting."
"It really is." She laughed slightly, though it sounded tired. "Thank you. For being here. For giving me space when I asked for it. For coming when I needed someone to talk to. You're..." She paused, searching for words. "You're a really good friend, Noah."
Friend. The word settled between us, defining something while leaving other things ambiguous.
"You are too," I said, meaning it completely.
We sat together for a while longer, not talking much, just existing. The pier was peaceful. The evening was quiet. And for this moment, everything felt manageable.
Katie told me about Sadie—stories from their childhood I hadn't heard before, inside jokes that made her laugh and cry in equal measure. I listened, occasionally offering comments or questions, but mostly just being present.
I told her a bit about Julia—not the heavy stuff, but lighter stories. Times Julia had been ridiculous, or funny, or fiercely protective in ways that were more amusing than intimidating in retrospect. Katie laughed at the right moments, asked thoughtful questions, and seemed genuinely interested.
Hours passed. The stars came out. The camp was silent except for us.
Finally, Katie yawned. "I should probably get back. Try to sleep."
"Yeah. Me too."
We stood up, both of us stretching. The walk back toward the cabins was quiet, comfortable.
"Thank you again," Katie said as we reached the point where we'd split off toward our respective cabins. "For tonight. For everything."
"Anytime."
She squeezed my hand—longer this time, more deliberate—and smiled at me. Then she headed toward the girls' cabin.
I watched her go, feeling that same complex tangle of emotions I'd been trying to avoid acknowledging.
I'm in trouble, I thought. Complete, total trouble.
But before I could process that further, I heard footsteps behind me.
I turned to find an intern approaching—one of the production crew I'd seen around but never talked to.
"Noah?" he asked.
"Yeah?"
"Chris wants to see you. Now."
I felt a flash of annoyance. Of course. Can't even have one evening without Chris inserting himself into everything.
"Why?"
"Didn't say. Just told me to get you."
"Fine." I kept my voice neutral, though the irritation was definitely there. "Lead the way."
The intern led me through camp. Instead of heading toward the production area, we stayed within the camp boundaries. Chris was waiting near the campfire circle with another intern holding lighting equipment.
And standing next to him, arms crossed and expression unreadable, was Heather.
What is this?
"Okay," Chris said, voice tight with irritation. "So the producers called me. Which they don't usually do. And they gave me this—" He waved a piece of paper. "—to read to you. Both of you. As a message."
My mind was racing. Producers called? That's not normal. Campers are supposed to have zero contact with the outside world. No communication, no messages, complete isolation except for what Chris allows. That's fundamental to the show's premise.
So why are producers breaking their own rules?
Is this message actually FROM the producers? Or did someone have enough influence to force them to deliver it?
I looked at Heather. She was staring at Chris with the same confusion I felt, though her expression was more guarded.
"I'm as confused as you are," Chris said, catching our expressions. "But apparently I'm a messenger boy now, which is just fantastic for my job satisfaction." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "So here we go."
He held up the paper, clearly unhappy about being used this way, and began to read.
His voice was flat, professional, completely unlike his usual showman delivery:
"From hive she fled — the restless bee,
To rule her own, to wander free.
But behind her hums a binding rhyme:
You are, you'll be, forever mine.
She found a worm in shadowed loam,
Whose voice sought truth, whose mind would roam.
Yet crowns are cruel, and fate's design —
The ruler comes to take what's mine.
Forever mine."