You Have a Match(27)
nine
Before I can decide whether to go rogue and call my parents anyway, I run smack into Cameron, who drags me to the mess hall to eat. I try to duck out by lying about going to the bathroom, but Jemmy braves the line for the giant vat of Nutella and presents us all with our own globs of it, beaming. After we devour them, Izzy just about pins me to a chair to do my hair up in a high ponytail to match theirs, with enough determination that I figured it was either be her personal Barbie or suffer her personal wrath.
I touch it when she’s done, knowing it’s the Savvy ponytail, or at least as close to it as my frizzy hair can get. Same as their Savvy stud earrings and their Savvy sneakers and their Savvy-inspired breakfast bowls—some mix of oatmeal, yogurt, sliced fruit, nuts, and drizzled almond butter they fashioned for themselves, straight out of one of Savvy’s Instagram stories from last week. It’s unnerving, but at least we’re also enjoying Leo and Mickey’s French toast and omelet bakes, even if they aren’t fit for the ’gram.
I ache at the thought of Leo. I haven’t seen him since he ducked out into the fog last night, but one bite of French toast is all I need to know he’s here. Nobody in my whole life has ever come close to getting the ratio of egginess and bread in French toast as well as Leo, and someone definitely snuck some cinnamon into the omelet bake, a Leo power move if there ever was one.
“Okay, one more of them together, and then we eat?” asks Jemmy, pushing all their bowls toward the center as Cameron hovers above it with her phone.
It really does make for a stunning photo, soothing and colorful. I wish my life could be as orderly as their oatmeal aesthetic, but it’s a hell of a lot more like whatever remains of the poor Nutella vat half the camp is abusing in the corner.
“Well, look who’s still here.”
The rest of Phoenix Cabin raise their eyebrows curiously at the newcomer, who props a leg up on the empty chair next to me but doesn’t sit. I don’t bother holding in my sigh, only half looking up to acknowledge Finn.
“I thought you’d be halfway to the mainland,” he says.
Isabelle’s mouth pops open. “Really, Abby? We only just got here!”
“I mean, I know that kinda sucked yesterday, but it was a misunderstanding,” says Jemmy, spooning more almond butter into her oatmeal.
“Besides, you’re probably feeling better about it today, right?” asks Cameron.
I glance around the table at their earnest faces, both embarrassed and pleased at the idea of them caring whether I stay.
“Don’t you worry, ladies,” says Finn, kicking his leg off the chair. “The committee for camp deserters is on the case.”
He offers me his elbow.
“We can’t leave,” I say flatly. “It’s against the rules.”
“Rules only count if you get caught.” He flashes a shit-eating grin. “And with me you won’t get caught.”
“Two hours of kitchen duty last night begs to differ.” I turn away from knockoff Han Solo and back to my plate. “And you still haven’t given me one compelling reason to abandon this French toast.”
“We’ll save it for you,” says Jemmy, nodding at Finn with conspiratorial eyes.
And yeah, it occurs to me that, objectively, Finn is not bad-looking. He’s even cute, in that scruffy, mischievous puppy way.
But he’s not Leo, and right now Leo is taking up about 90 percent of the real estate in my brain.
I glance toward the doors to the kitchen. The lengths he is going to to avoid me are getting absurd. It’s not like I wanted any of this to happen. And yes, ideally I would have told him on the ferry, but can I be blamed for dropping the ball when his I got over it dropped an iceberg?
“Listen, I’ve got a foolproof way to solve all your problems,” says Finn. His gaze has followed mine to the kitchen, making it clear he knows exactly which problem in particular I’m stuck on.
I narrow my eyes, but of all the people in this mess hall, he might actually be the most equipped to help. At least, the most-equipped person whose name I know. He’s clearly in with the kids who have been coming here their whole lives, Savvy and Leo included.
“It’ll take like five minutes,” he says, most definitely fibbing. “Ten tops.”
I look away from the kitchen doors, shoving another bite of omelet bake into my mouth. “Fine.”
ten
Finn’s whole follow me bit might be more charming if he didn’t proceed to lead me directly to the edge of the woods, so thick and muggy they’re basically begging to become the set of a true crime documentary. Which, to be fair, can be said for all the edges of the woods around the camp.
“Oh, great,” I deadpan. “Another rule I can get lectured for breaking.”
I’m not actually sure what the rule is re: sneaking off during breakfast into some murder woods, but Finn’s eye roll seems to confirm it.
“They’re gonna have to loosen up on those. Most of us have been around here since way before those stupid rules and we’re all in one piece, aren’t we? Give or take a few secret sisters popping out of the ether?”
I deflect, not entirely certain we’re out of earshot yet. “Sounds like you don’t really want to be here, either.”