Part 17 (1/2)

”Hey, Ca.s.sie,” he called.

I turned to look at him, his skin white on the gra.s.s.

”You want a rematch, you know where to find me,” he said.

I put my hands on my stomach. I knew our next rematch wouldn't be at basketball. I knew if we had a rematch, I might not be strong enough to win.

10 f.u.c.king Days to Go I woke up this morning trying to scratch my own skin off. I was either allergic to Ben or I had lain in something that had turned my skin to hot needles of itch. Considering the way I was itching, it was possible I'd been cloned with it. I thought back to the night before, Ben and me on the gra.s.s, holding hands, staring at the clouds in the sky and smoking.

I guess there was more underneath us than just gra.s.s. f.u.c.k me for not listening to Eagan when he was geeking out about poisonous plants on our last hike. Not that I could have seen whatever it was in the dark anyway, but craaaap.

Troyer sat up in her bed and looked at me. Her big, empty face asked, what? I itched too badly to answer. My arms and legs were on fire. It felt like oven-baked itch ants were crawling everywhere I had rolled up my uniform.

Stupid Ben.

Stupid me.

This was not worth two more cigarettes. Not worth being close to him.

I was still in my bed scratching, Troyer staring at me, when Rawe came out of her room. She was morning-ready in her uniform, her face rigid, her braid tight.

”Ten minutes until breakfast,” she said, walking into the middle of the cabin. She bent down to tighten her boots. Her braid fell over her shoulder, a black rope.

Nez stretched in her bed and glanced over at me, her eyes moving from my legs to my arms with each attempt of mine to keep ahead of the itch. I'm sure I must have been hopping around like I was having an epileptic fit, like a piece of bacon in a frying pan.

Nez's eyes continued to dance in their sockets as she followed the wild thrash on my cot. She mouthed, Fleas. Sucks to be you, and stuck out her tongue.

I wanted to get up and punch her in the face, but I couldn't stop scratching. I couldn't do anything but S-C-R-A-T-C-H.

Rawe pulled herself back up, taut like a rubber band. She was on me instantly.

”What's the deal, Wick?” Her expression was pinched.

”Nothing,” I said, stopping my itch-fest for as long as I dared to try to prove my point. Little pin p.r.i.c.ks of heat pushed up through my skin. All I wanted to do was douse them in water, flames, cold Greek yogurt, anything to make it stop.

”Doesn't look like nothing,” she said, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

”Looks like fleas,” Nez said, laughing.

Troyer jumped out of her bed and ran to Nez's side of the cabin. I couldn't blame her. Fleas would have made me do that. If I could have peeled my skin off and left it on my bed, I would have run over to the other side of the cabin, too.

”I don't even want to say what you look like, Nez,” I said, tightening my mouth and trying not to scratch, but it was clear I was losing that battle.

”Fleas wouldn't make you itch that much,” Rawe said, shaking her head. ”You are itchy, aren't you, Wick?” She stepped closer to my cot.

”No,” I said, still not scratching, even though I thought I might pa.s.s out from the lack of it.

”Let's see,” Rawe said, holding out her hand.

”I told you I'm fine,” I said, attempting to sit on my arms. ”When's breakfast?” I guess I was even more stubborn than Ben gave me credit for.

”You going to show me?” Rawe asked, ”or are we going to sit here all day watching you try not to turn your skin to confetti?”

I finally held out my arm. There was nothing else I could do. I had lost before our standoff even started.

Rawe held it lightly by the wrist, spun it one way, the other, and dropped it back on my cot.

”Anywhere else?” she asked.

I pulled my legs out of the sleeping bag and showed her. They didn't look as bad as my arms. Just my luck, the body parts I could scratch simultaneously were in better shape than the ones I had to count on one itchy arm for.

”Poison ivy,” she said.

f.u.c.k me.

Now that my secret was out, that she knew, that everyone knew, I started scratching again, my nails going at my skin with the force of a cheese grater.

”How'd you get it?” Rawe asked, looking at me through the slits of her eyes then looking across the cabin at Troyer and Nez.

”We don't have it,” Nez said, her voice louder than it needed to be. ”Well, at least I don't.” She eyed Troyer and moved away from her.

Troyer shook her head hard-hard enough that she probably should have been wearing a helmet.

”I don't know,” I said. My go-to answer for anything I didn't feel like answering. Well, that and f.u.c.k you.

”You must have come in contact with a plant,” Rawe said, using her world-renowned sleuthing skills. ”The question is where, or more accurately, when?” She continued to look at me, waiting for me to tell her more.

Waiting for me to confess to the suspicions she'd been having.

”Maybe I got it while I was up in that tree yesterday,” I said, scratching again. I couldn't stop scratching even with her watching. Even with Nez beaming from her cot.

”Get dressed,” Rawe said. ”We're going to the infirmary.”

”There's an infirmary? Like with a nurse?” I asked.

”No,” Rawe said, sounding tired, ”like with calamine lotion.”

That was all I needed to hear. I got up. It was totally obvious to anyone with eyes that my arms and a portion of my legs were the only part of me covered with the rash.

”Interesting pattern,” Rawe said.

I got dressed quickly, even though the fabric made everything itch even worse. I didn't want Rawe to keep staring at my rash waiting for me to admit something. That had to be what she was waiting for, because she had no proof.

”Okay, you two,” Rawe said, turning to Nez and Troyer. ”Clean the cabin while I'm gone.”

”I want to go to the infirmary. I want medicine,” Nez whined, pleaded.

”Nez,” Rawe said, her warning shot.

”Why do we have to stay here and clean up this s.h.i.+p hole of a cabin while Ca.s.sie gets to lounge around in calamine lotion?” Nez asked. ”It's obvious she got this last night, without us.”