The next three days pass slowly. They’re awake from sunrise to sunset, and despite the objectively beautiful tangle of the forest around them, there isn’t a passing moment that Ollie actually wants to be here. The days even out and Ollie imagines this is how it will be from now on. Wake up, eat, talk about feelings, hike, talk about feelings, eat, sleep. Ollie keeps to himself until dinner, where he swaps a rare pouch of Skittles for Devin’s Snickers bar, reaping the rewards of their tentative friendship.
On their fourth day in the woods, Ethan asks about their lives back home. Aidan loves Minecraft, Hannah spends free time cross-stitching, Devin can’t resist Cool Ranch Doritos. Sheridan resists participation, even on harmless questions. When she sees an opportunity to push back, she takes it. And though Ollie’s learned a little bit about all of them in this program, it’s Sheridan he’s sure he knows best. He’s met a thousand Sheridans; he’s been Sheridan.
He’s known the chest-tight need to grasp control. He can’t bring himself to hate Sheridan because he’s been the one in class ignoring assignments, starting fights at home, bursting through boundaries just to assure himself he can. His grandma’s sickness might’ve mellowed him out, but maybe there’s nothing to slow Sheridan’s spiral. She’s a boulder tumbling toward a cliff’s edge, ripping up the terrain on its way down, thinking that’ll be enough to stop the fall.
When she lashes out, Ollie can only feel sad for her. He’s sure she would hate that.
Finally, day six starts differently. It starts with Ethan by the fire, holding tiny stack of envelopes.
Ollie sits on a log, dropping coffee cake crumbs in the dirt. This campsite is different than the first few, wider and more open to the sunlight overhead. The soil is soft and sunbaked, the trees crowded with waxy green leaves. Ollie wouldn’t mind staying here for the rest of the program, but as Ethan loves to remind them, comfort isn’t the point. It’s about the journey. It’s about the hard work of moving from point A to point B.
“Alright,” Ethan says, rallying attention. “We’re almost done with our first week. How are we all feeling?”
“Like shit,” Devin says, mouth half-full of hash browns.
“Appreciate the feedback, Devin.”
There’s an ease to the way Ethan talks to them now, like they’re all good friends. Ollie hates it. As much as he might play along so that he can see the finish line, Ethan is not his friend. Liv is not his friend. They’re the ones keeping them out here in the first place.
“I have something to share with a few of you,” Ethan continues. “Your families are so excited to see you again. They asked that we keep them in the loop on your progress. You might have some complicated feelings about hearing from them, but I suggest you read through these letters and really let them soak in.”
Letters. Ollie eyes the stack in Ethan’s grip and his heart skips. Three letters total, which means two of their families had nothing to say. He isn’t sure which he wants more: a letter from his father or radio silence. Ethan hands Aidan a letter first, which he wastes no time tearing open. He hands one to Sheridan next. She takes it, immediately setting it on the ground.
He moves past Devin, past Hannah, and hands the final envelope to Ollie.
Ollie’s stomach turns, not just because he’ll have to hear his father’s thoughts, but because both Hannah and Devin are watching him. Hannah and Devin, whose families couldn’t care less what’s happening to them out here. Hannah and Devin, his closest friends here, who are going to hurt from this. He swallows, sure he’d rather be in their position just as much as they’d rather be in his.
He opens his envelope:
Oliver,
I want to apologize for how this had to happen. I know this has been scary. It’s been scary for me, too. If there was another way, I would take it. I am always looking for the best way to support you, and I hope you’re always looking for the best way to get better. I know you will grow so much and I hope you’ll remember the boy you used to be. When you come home, I don’t want it to feel like things are you versus me, because I have never felt that way. We are a team, and the demons you’re fighting are mine, too. Every night, I pray that this program heals you and that you’ll be able to feel true joy again when you come home. I’m waiting for you with open arms.
Always,
Dad
Ollie blinks at the paper until the words swim. He tries to feel whatever warmth it was meant to elicit, but it’s all cold. Clinical. It could be about any kid in this circle. He can hear the stiff, program-appointed language in every line of it. A collection of phrases to make your child like you again.
He clutches the collar of his T-shirt and dabs at the corner of his eye.
“Well,” Devin says, bumping Hannah with her shoulder. “Guess we should write letters to each other.”
Hannah chuckles, but it’s clear she isn’t taking it as easily as Devin. The accident that sent Hannah here has haunted her since they arrived. Ollie is sure she was waiting for some kind of forgiveness from her father. A promise that he’ll love her on the other side of these fifty days. Ollie may resent his father, but it’s clear from the handful of conversations he’s had with Hannah that her father’s approval is the only thing that keeps her going.
“Solidarity,” Sheridan says from across the fire.
She plucks her letter from the ground, still in its envelope, and flips it into the fire.
All at once, everyone sucks in a breath. The letter quickly flakes apart in the flames, whatever platitudes Sheridan’s parents wrote withering away unread. It takes Ollie too long to feel the shock of it.
“Sheridan,” Ethan hisses. It’s the first time Ollie’s heard real anger in his voice. “I asked you to read and reflect on that letter.”
“I didn’t want to,” Sheridan says.
“Your parents took the time to write you a letter so that you can understand how they feel,” Ethan says. “They care about you. This was a privilege that you had over some members of the group who didn’t get anything. How do you think it makes them feel to see you throw it away?”
Sheridan looks at Hannah, then her eyes land on Devin. She shrugs. “I don’t really care how they feel.”
“Incredible,” Devin scoffs.
“They didn’t ask if I wanted to come here.” Sheridan runs a hand through her hair. “I get to decide whether or not they talk to me.”
The campsite falls quiet. For the first time, Ethan is at a loss for words. Ollie wonders what kind of world Ethan comes from, if he’s more accustomed to kids that cooperate without putting up a fight. He’s hardly older than them—maybe twenty-two or twenty-three. He’s like a substitute teacher in an unruly classroom, and when he looks at Sheridan, it’s clear he’s out of his depth.
“Well,” Ethan says finally. “It’s a disappointing morning, Sheridan. Your family will be waiting to hear what you thought of their letter and we’ll have to tell them you wouldn’t read it.”
“Sounds good,” Sheridan says. “I wouldn’t want you to lie.”
Devin cups her hand at her sweaty forehead to block out the light. The trees along today’s hike are spread farther apart, terrain split into steep cliffs and dense valleys. It’s easier to see the sky, but that says nothing about where they are. She scans the mountains that make up the horizon, looking for anything out of the ordinary. A ski lodge, a plume of smoke on the horizon, something to say they’re close to civilization.
Sheridan follows at the back of the group as she usually does. The additional exercise every day doesn’t seem to strengthen her the way it does everyone else. In fact, it seems to wear her down more and more. She starts each day already exhausted and, as they hike, she only gets worse.
“What did you think of your letter from home, Aidan?” Ethan asks, an hour into their hike. “Was it nice to hear from your mom?”
“Yeah,” Aidan says. “She’s been pretty worried.”
“I’m sure she has,” Ethan says. “She was worried about you before you left, too. But when you read your letter you saw that she wasn’t angry, right?”
“Yeah,” Aidan says again. “That was nice.”
Devin’s eyes narrow. She glances at Hannah, who’s stopped talking to Ollie. The silence from her family this morning is still getting to her, clearly. It’s been obvious from the start that Hannah’s situation is slightly different than everyone else’s. Aidan and Ollie might’ve felt guilty about whatever trouble they got into, but since day one, Hannah’s been crushed by her mistakes. Devin wonders what that might feel like, having someone she loved so much she was afraid to disappoint them.
Silence from the Pattons isn’t surprising. They’ve probably been waiting to ship Devin off since the first day she landed in their care. The incident with Danielle just gave them an excuse. If they have nothing to say to her, so be it. She won’t be hurt by people who never looked out for her in the first place. She won’t.
“Hannah,” Ethan says. “I know this was a rough morning for you. I’m very sorry your family wasn’t able to write. If they had, what would you want the letter to say?”
Hannah looks at the group, then at Ethan with a timid frown. “Do you think we could have a one-on-one hike?”
“We could,” Ethan says, “but I think you’ll find some real value in having a community of people to lift you up when you’re feeling down. We’re all here together, and we want to hear how you feel.”
Cautiously, Hannah nods.
“Okay. I just … I know my dad is really mad at me. I apologized a million times, but he didn’t wanna talk. I guess a part of me thought, if he told me what to do, I would do it and then we could talk. I thought him sending me here was what he wanted me to do. And I thought, now that I was doing it, he’d talk to me.”
Ethan is prepared. He straightens, puffing his chest out like he’s going to deliver a sermon they just can’t miss. “Don’t you think this is him talking to you? By sending you on this journey, your father is telling you the kinds of changes he wants you to make in your life. He’ll need to make changes, too, but what a bold and loving statement you’re making by changing first.”
“I didn’t think about that before,” Hannah says. “I—”
“Jesus Christ,” Sheridan scoffs from the back of the group.
Hannah turns. “What?”
“Why are you so worried about what your dad thinks?” Sheridan clarifies. The group slows to eye her, but she doesn’t stop. “He must be real bad if you’re more worried about making him happy than the person you hit.”
Hannah freezes.
Even Devin stiffens. Suddenly, the sun overhead feels cold against her skin. She expects virtually nothing from Sheridan, but even so, the cruelty of it takes her by surprise.
“Sheridan,” Ethan hisses.
“I didn’t hit anyone,” Hannah says, but she can barely get it out. “I … I crashed into a ditch. I didn’t—”
“Sorry. I was only half-listening when you told us.” Sheridan puts a hand on her hip. “That’s worse, though, isn’t it? You’re being punished for hurting the car.”
“I—”
“I’m just saying, why get all worried about how to make things up to him or how to make him like you again? It’s pretty clear what he thinks about you. He didn’t even send you a letter.”
“Sheridan,” Ethan warns. “That’s … miles out of line.”
Sheridan sidles up to Hannah, pushing past Ollie and Devin with ease. It’s the fastest Devin has seen her move thus far, and she has half a mind to grab her by the shirt and yank her to the back again. Of course, it makes sense that inflicting psychic damage on someone already in pain would be the only real thing to motivate Sheridan into giving a shit.
“I’m trying to be helpful,” Sheridan says, lavender ponytail bouncing at her shoulders. “You’re so stuck on this.”
“Sheridan,” Ethan says again. “This conversation is not about you.”
Sheridan looks at the rest of the group, indignant. Maybe it’s because Devin already hates her, but something about the way Sheridan acts like she, the girl who got a letter from home and threw it away without a second thought, has any right to talk to Hannah about family crawls under Devin’s skin. She clenches her fists. She’s already gotten in trouble for speaking her mind, but calling Sheridan out is the least she wants to do. If she were back at school, this would already be over.
“I’m not making it about me,” Sheridan protests. “I’m trying to—”
“She doesn’t want your shitty advice,” Devin cuts in. “Do you, Hannah?”
“Devin,” Ethan warns.
It’s all Devin can do not to turn on Ethan with the same anger. This is supposed to be a behavior program. It’s supposed to be about making them into good kids. Devin may not know much about being a good kid, but she knows that whatever Sheridan’s doing now is the opposite. A good kid would stand up to this particular brand of evil. The coaches are willing to let Sheridan trample all over Hannah’s already-fragile ego just to avoid conflict.
Sheridan rolls her eyes and it’s almost enough to push Devin to violence.
“Calm down,” Sheridan says to Devin. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“You need to stop talking completely,” Ethan says.
But Sheridan isn’t even vaguely paying attention to him. Her watery eyes are stuck on Devin, lips curled in a taunt. That pale, breathless, exhausted version of her was just an act, Devin realizes. The Sheridan she sees now is very much awake and alive.
“Hannah?” Devin says. “Do you want her to leave you alone?”
Hannah looks smaller now. Her arms are close to her sides, eyes pointed at the ground. She’s shriveling under the weight of Sheridan’s pestering. Ollie stands close to her and doesn’t say a word. But in the quiet, Hannah leans on him. She leans away from Sheridan.
“I just want to hike,” Hannah says quietly.
Devin motions to Hannah, eyes on Sheridan. “See? Back off.”
She didn’t actually expect Sheridan to back off, but there’s a shift in Sheridan’s expression that makes Devin’s blood run cold. She isn’t scared of Devin or anyone else in this forest. It’s like she wants someone to do something about her. She looks at Devin like she’s praying for a fight.
“Hannah, you don’t have to listen to me,” Sheridan clarifies, but Devin already feels the twist in her words. She doesn’t look at Hannah when she speaks; she looks at Devin. “But I think it’d be pretty fucking stupid to believe the family that sent you here and didn’t even write to see how you’re doing still loves you.”
Before she can stop herself, Devin reaches out and grabs a handful of Sheridan’s T-shirt in each fist, shoving her away from Hannah. There’s a fire scorching in her veins now, hotter than the sun overhead. This isn’t about Hannah, and Devin is sure they both know it. The suddenness of the push catches Sheridan off guard. She scrambles back, eyes wide.
She looks scared.
Devin doesn’t linger on how satisfying that feels.
“Okay, okay,” Ethan says frantically. He grabs Devin by her shoulders, hauling her away from Sheridan. “Liv, can you please…?”
Liv grabs Sheridan and holds her on the other side of the group. The expression on Sheridan’s face makes Devin sick. Her cheeks burn red, wisps of her hair loose from her ponytail, but she’s smiling again. This is all amusing to her. She doesn’t take her eyes off Devin. You’ll have to do better than that, she seems to say.
“Is this because no one wrote you a letter, either?” Sheridan asks.
“Sheridan, stop,” Liv snaps.
“Or what?” Sheridan laughs. “I won’t get dinner?”
Devin’s jaw clenches. There was a way to deal with girls like Sheridan back at school. Girls who felt like they were on top of the world because no one would knock them down a peg. Maybe fighting was against the rules and maybe it got her expelled from two different schools, but not one of the kids Devin fought ever messed with her again. She made herself into a primal, untethered thing. Something to be feared. If the kids back home were scared of her, they knew to leave her alone.
She wants to give Sheridan a reason to be afraid.
“I’m so sorry for telling people I think they’re whiny and annoying,” Sheridan says, pressing against Liv’s grip. She’s baiting now, acting out like she always does, lighting fires to see if anyone will come running.
“Shut up or I’ll shut you up,” Devin says.
She feels the burn of all eyes on her. They watch Sheridan, they watch Devin, and they wait for something to blow.
If Sheridan knows she’s in danger, she doesn’t seem to care.
“I bet your fosters just sent you here so they could get a fucking break,” Sheridan says. “I’ve known you a week and I already need one.”
It doesn’t even hurt Devin’s feelings. She hardly hears what Sheridan says because all she can see is that smug smile. Just like every girl at school who looked down on her. Just like Danielle in the parking lot and Rachel at her locker and Tasha at the bus stop. If she doesn’t do something to make them shut up, they never will.
“In fact,” Sheridan says. “I bet—”
Devin tears herself from Ethan’s grip and punches Sheridan in her stupid, cruel mouth.
They make it to camp at dusk, later than they were supposed to. Before Devin can find a log to claim, Ethan motions her over to the trees. It’s no secret that everyone is mad at her for the delay, but she shouldn’t be the enemy. This isn’t like the delays Sheridan causes. Maybe she hit Sheridan first physically, but it was only to stop her from hitting everyone else emotionally.
Devin rubs her water bladder over her sore knuckles. The others dig through their bags, deciding which dinner they’ll eat tonight, and though Devin certainly doesn’t crave chicken stew, it isn’t fair that she has to do more therapy while everyone else gets to eat. She shouldn’t be the one carted away for a talk while Sheridan sits at the fire playing victim.
“You know it wasn’t okay to hit Sheridan, right?” Ethan says, directing Devin to an alcove away from the others. “You have a lot more common sense than most kids, so I know you know it was wrong.”
Devin looks away.
“You two have squabbled in the past, but this is getting out of hand. We need to get this resolved tonight. You, me, and Sheridan are going to have a little chat.”
“What happened to one-on-ones?” Devin muses.
Ethan shrugs. “I’m adaptable.”
He walks to the fire and taps Sheridan on the shoulder. Sheridan’s gaze follows Ethan’s hand and lands on Devin, expression souring immediately. Ethan takes her by the arm and guides her away from the fire to stand across from Devin. She doesn’t make eye contact, arms folded over her chest. Between them, Ethan sighs.
“It’s colder over here, huh? I know we all wanna get back to the fire, so let’s try to figure this out quickly.”
Sheridan shakes her head.
“Devin, why don’t you explain to Sheridan in words why you had a problem with her behavior today?”
Devin rolls her eyes. “Because she was being a bitch.”
Sheridan laughs.
“Not those words,” Ethan says, exasperated. “Why didn’t you like the things she was saying to Hannah?”
“Because they were rude?” Devin says. “Hannah was clearly upset and didn’t need someone being evil to her.”
“Okay,” Ethan says. He turns to Sheridan. “Sheridan, did you realize Hannah was already feeling down about her letter from home?”
“Yes.”
Both Ethan and Devin stare at her. Ethan chews the inside of his cheek before, cautiously, adding, “And you thought it was a good idea to continue bothering her?”
“I was trying to make her feel better.”
“Good job,” Devin says.
Sheridan smiles sweetly at Ethan. “Coach, I don’t feel like this is a very productive conversation. I’d like to go back to my dinner.”
“You will,” Ethan says. “Once we’re done.”
“Why am I the only one apologizing?” Devin asks. “She was being an … an emotional terrorist. I got her to stop.”
“You haven’t apologized,” Sheridan mutters.
“Devin.” Ethan runs a hand through his increasingly greasy crop of hair. “I don’t think you’re understanding the seriousness of you being violent toward another person. It’s not about why you did what you did, it’s about the fact that you felt okay resorting to that.”
“But I—”
“There are so many ways you could have told Sheridan you didn’t appreciate what she was saying.”
“I did.”
“And I’m sure you saw that Liv and I were handling it.”
Devin shakes her head in disbelief. She doesn’t like the way Sheridan watches her like she’s expecting a fireworks show. She doesn’t like the way the kids at the fire have fallen quiet to listen. She doesn’t like the way Ethan turns to her like he and Sheridan are staging a joint intervention.
“Devin, I’m going to be very frank with you,” Ethan says. “And it’s going to feel very uncomfortable, but I need you to sit with those feelings. I need you to let the things I say sink in, and I need you to spend tonight reflecting.”
“I—”
Ethan holds up a hand, silencing her. For the second time today, she considers throwing a punch.
“Let’s not beat around the bush, Devin,” Ethan says, folding his arms over his chest. “You believe you stood up to a bully today. But you’ve spent a lot of time ‘standing up to bullies,’ haven’t you?”
Devin pauses. There’s a knowing sparkle of joy in Ethan’s eyes. His point is obvious, but Sheridan is different from the others. Maybe Devin didn’t always have the facts right before, but everyone saw Sheridan being horrible this time. It was the right thing to do. This conversation should not be about her.
“We know about Danielle and the others,” Ethan says calmly. “I know you’ve reacted violently when it wasn’t necessary before. You want to talk to me about that?”
Sheridan’s eyes bore into the side of her face. Devin’s blood is on fire. She wants to hit something, no matter how counterintuitive that might be. This conversation shouldn’t be about Danielle. It shouldn’t even be about Devin. It isn’t fair, and the deeper Ethan digs into her, the harder it gets to breathe.
“No,” Devin manages. “I don’t.”
“Because you don’t agree?” Ethan asks. “Or because you already know what I’m talking about?”
“Because it’s not your business,” Devin spits. She casts a sidelong glance at Sheridan. “And it’s definitely not hers.”
“I get that you’re angry, but you have got to start thinking about what that anger can do to others.”
Devin rolls her eyes.
Something changes in the way Ethan looks at her now. His gaze flits quickly to Sheridan, then back to Devin with newfound determination. “This is not a joke, Devin. Do you think your foster parents sent you here on their own? They don’t have the authority to do something that drastic. They felt like they were out of options. You were causing so many problems at your school, parents were threatening to press charges. You couldn’t even make it a few months without terrorizing your classmates. Devin, your foster parents were forced to appeal to the state.”
Devin blinks. The reality of what he’s saying sinks in too slowly. Next to her, Sheridan fidgets with the ends of her hair, but her eyes are laser-trained on Devin.
“The state looked at your history of violence and they decided it would be safer for everyone to send you here where you can’t hurt your classmates,” Ethan says. “Devin, the people in your life are worried that they don’t have the tools to help you anymore. Do you know how scary that is?”
Devin opens her mouth but nothing comes out. It isn’t fair, not just because of the fights or the rehoming or any of it. It isn’t fair because she never asked people to panic over her like this. She knows she’s a problem the way she knows her hair is brown and the sky is blue. She knows that she’s a problem, but for once in her life, she wants to be her own problem. No more school, no more fosters, no more suffocating situations she can’t claw her way out of. She just wants to take a single breath without someone else weighing in on it.
“I don’t want you to apologize if you don’t mean it,” Ethan says, “and I can tell if you apologized to Sheridan tonight, you wouldn’t mean it. So I want you to spend the next few days reflecting on how the two of you can improve your relationship. The first milestone is coming soon and you’ll need to be team players to pass it. Do you understand that?”
Devin nods. The earth tilts under her.
“Question,” Sheridan says, too calm. “Are you allowed to disclose that information to me?”
Ethan looks at her. “What?”
“All her history and foster stuff. Are you allowed to tell me?”
Briefly, Ethan is rendered speechless. Devin can hardly process what she’s saying—it’s like her head’s been shoved in cold water—but it almost sounds like Sheridan is defending her. Devin sucks in a sharp breath.
“Sheridan,” Ethan says, “we need to talk about your part in this, too.”
Devin should feel satisfied that Sheridan isn’t getting off easy, but her chest feels numb. She imagines Diane and Henry in her case manager’s office, declaring that they’re officially out of options. She imagines them leaving, sighing with relief that she’ll be out of their hair.
“You cannot keep antagonizing the others,” Ethan says to Sheridan. When he continues, his voice is soft. Almost tender. “I know your situation, Sheridan, so I’ve tried giving you space to recover. But when you’re destructive to others, I can’t keep giving you passes. You understand that? I don’t want to be a harsh person, but I can be.”
“Are you a licensed therapist?” Sheridan asks. “I’ve been wondering.”
“Sheridan,” Ethan warns. “I don’t like to compare you kids, but I believe you need this program more than anyone else here. You need to heal, and the longer you lash out at us and drag the others down, the more this program is going to feel like a punishment. It’s not. It’s an opportunity.”
Sheridan raises a brow at Devin, but she says nothing.
“Alright girls, I’m going to leave you two to talk amongst yourselves for a second. And when you’re ready to rejoin the group with level heads, you can do that. But we are not going to tolerate any more fighting. If this keeps up, you’ll be separated for the rest of the program. Do you understand?”
“Tempting,” Sheridan muses.
Devin laughs. “Same.”
It’s the first time they’ve agreed. Devin doesn’t like it.
“The things you’re dealing with…” Ethan warns. “If you two don’t start confronting some of this head-on, it’ll eat you alive.”
Coach Ethan makes his way back to the fire. With just the two of them left, the air is colder. Livelier. When Devin eyes Sheridan, she notices the slight swell of her lower lip, a purple cloud of a bruise forming on her pale skin. And, for a second, Devin feels a squeeze of guilt. She shouldn’t have hit Sheridan, but she’s not saying sorry. She’s not giving her that satisfaction.
“Well,” Sheridan says, checking her nails. “He didn’t answer the license thing, did he?”
“Stay away from me from now on,” Devin says, ignoring whatever weird attempt Sheridan is making at small talk. “Don’t talk to me, don’t talk about me, don’t be rude to people. We’re all just trying to get through this shit and I’m getting tired of you.”
“Ouch.” Sheridan runs her fingers through her hair. “Sorry I said you weren’t that tough earlier. You proved me wrong. You’re so tough.”
Devin narrows her eyes. “I don’t know if you were listening to what he said, but I don’t have a lot to lose. If you keep messing with me, I’ll hit you again. I don’t care if I get in trouble. Leave me alone.”
With that, Devin stands and rejoins the group. She feels Sheridan’s eyes on her the whole way and she hopes that, finally, the threat sinks in. That Sheridan understands Devin is not someone to mess with. But she’s known a thousand girls like Sheridan and the truly awful ones never stop. Everything is a challenge to them, and they can always get worse.
Once Devin takes her seat at the fire, any other conversation falls silent. Wordlessly, Sheridan stands and walks past the fire, past her backpack, past the food, and crawls into her tent.
Devin knows she should feel bad, but she doesn’t.
One way or another, tonight, she won.