"...so I told him Jennifer could help," Newt finishes.

My arms stay crossed in the seconds of silence.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Minho asks. "I'll share the pity I have with Lyndon. I don't have to speak."

When the eyes go to me, I raise an eyebrow. "What? I'll talk to Lyndon on my own, too. And I'm not talking until you've apologized to me. Minho is right. I was busy with other shit, and I'm not the one who's constantly with him like a dog."

"No need to attack me— do you hear that? Your girlfriend is calling me a bloody dog!"

"If it helps, you're a golden retriever," Minho shrugs, unbothered.

"More like a Chiwawa," I say.

Minho snorts. "A Komondor."

"Affenpinscher."

"Do I need to be concerned you two know that many dog kinds?" Annoyed, Newt plops down on Minho's bed.

Three seconds later, his face falls, and he jumps off. "I'm not touching that until you've washed your sheets."

"We were literally just kissing." My eyes automatically roll. "Take the example."

"Right?" Minho turns back to Newt. "When are you gonna make a freaking move?"

"Are you insane?" He spits out, eyes wide at the imagination. "If I'd kiss him right now, I think he'll get a heart attack."

Okay, he has a point.

"I don't think there will be any moment with you in which Lyndon won't have a heart attack," Minho says. "Saw how fast he was here when you started screamin' like a baby?"

"Make sure he's calm when you do make a move," I suggest.

"I already made a move. I kissed him on the cheek."

My other eyebrows raises as high as the other one. "And?"

"And nothing."

"What did you say?"

"Something like 'all clean'," he explains. "He had paint on his face and I cleaned it."

"You sucked the paint off his face—"

He yelps. "Ew, no, Minho! I removed the paint with my hand and then kissed his clean face."

"Jeez. Better give me some more context next time," Minho mumbles before he raises his voice again. "And what did he say?"

"He thanked me. In a whisper."

I can feel my expression form into a crazy one. "I have mixed opinions."

"I have mixed opinions on you."

"I'm mixed," Minho whispers.

"No need to bloody attack me," I mimic, trying my best on a British accent. "I have mixed opinions on you, too."

"Can we not—" Minho tries.

"Don't interrupt us."

He leans back, arms crossed again. I try not to stare and keep my eyes on Newt, but it's hard, with his arms buff when he stands like that. The veins and— alright, stop.

"Just mentioning both of you don't have mixed opinions on me," he says triumphantly. "Both find me amazing."

"Even if that's true," Newt says, "Lyndon has mixed opinions on you."

"Exactly. And it's really hard to make Lyndon dislike you."

"Mixed opinions does not mean he dislikes me! My face makes him blush, my arms make him drool, my—"

"Oh my God." I slam my head against the wall of Minho's room. "You guys are ridiculous."

"Us? You are the one who suddenly attacks me and then suddenly agrees to what I say."

"Can we get back to the main subject?"

"Lynn."
"Me."

"No, not you, Minho." Newt grabs something off Minho's desk and starts fidgeting with it. "Hm. Funny thing."

"Would you quit touching my stuff?"

Is this what boy friendships are like?

"I'm going downstairs," I announce.

"No. Lynn's finally open to talk and we can't interrupt that."

"Possessive," I mutter, but do obey and sit down at Minho's desk. Newt, again, has a point. "Hold up, Minho. If Newt and Lyndon are here and you told them to save us from Janson... who's gonna do that now?"

"Oh, shit," Newt curses. "I mean, I told Tommy, but he's either gonna forget or be too busy with Tes."

Waving it off, Minho sits down on his bed, snatching whatever Newt had in his hand away as he does so. "Whatever. Who cares what Janson does?"

"You want to end in the Shack again?"

There's some kind of grin growing on his lips. "I mean, last time wasn't that bad. I got some great cuddles—"

I've thrown a pencil at him before he can finish. "Shut up."

"I mean it," Newt interrupts. "You don't wanna be there for four days, man. You know what Janson is like. The more times you misbehave, the more he thinks he has the right to give crazy punishments. Look at Tommy."

"I haven't misbehaved that much this year."

"You've sneaked out multiple times and he knows it. You think Janson doesn't smell the fire in our clothes or notice that more than forty kids are gone at night? Not even talking about your adventures in the Shack already. Or things that have happened other years."

"Don't worry. There is nothing he can threaten or humiliate me with. Four days in the Shack? I'll either escape or easily make it through. I have my ways and I can exactly predict Janson."

"Yeah? And what if he does something to Lelia to punish you? Because as well as you know him, he knows you."

Minho jumps straight up. "If he does anything like that, I'll kill him. He's not hurting the ones I care about."

Newt turns to me and my bright red face. They can't see it, but there's dozens of fireworks in my stomach at the moment. "Janson once made my and Tommy's lives difficult only to annoy Minho."

"Thanks for the reassurance."

"I can diss him," Minho starts, pacing around. "You know how many crazy comebacks I can shake out of my pocket? I'm way stronger than that man. Mentally and physically."

"Yeah, sure. You've mentioned that a million times before." Newt rolls his eyes. "He'll find his ways."

"Oh, and we have Jorge," Minho adds.

I cough. "I don't believe he'll keep saving us."

We sit in silence for a while, either staring at the ground or fidgeting with something.

"Hey, Minho, seriously, give me some advice on Lyndon."

"Just because I'm dating her," he points at me, "does not mean I know how I did it. These siblings are confusing."

Offended, I pull a face.

"You can clearly see you two like each other," I tell him dryly. "If it helps. So yeah, he likes you, too."

"He'll freak out if he finds out you like him, though," Minho says.

"In a good or bad way?"

"Bad, man. Bad."

My face lights up. "Batman—"

"Then he must already be freaking out," Newt speaks through me. Unfortunately, none of them seem to have noticed my amazing comment.

"Yeah. What part of you thought kissing him on the cheek wasn't gay?" I jump back into the conversation.

"I mean, I'm not an expert for once, but yeah, that does sound pretty gay," Minho says.

"I'm an expert. And yes, it's pretty gay," Newt says. "Isn't that good? Hinting my indications?" 

"She nearly killed me for hinting, but yeah, sure."

"Stop eyeing me like that and calling me a she in that way."

Minho eyes me another freaking time. "What else do I call you? You don't like nicknames."

"I have an idea."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Lelia."

And then rolls his eyes. "I won't go back to the last name. Newt, what do you think?"

"Love," we say in unison. I'm sorry, but I expected him to say that.

"Love," Minho tries, then he bites his lip, shaking his head. "Nah. I'm not Newt. I like Lils."

"I don't."

"Well, you also don't always like me, so that matches pretty well. Lils. I like it."

"You're not calling me 'Lils', Minho."

"She probably hates that as much as you hate 'Min'."

Instead of agreeing to my statement, his smile gets brighter. "Deal! We can annoy each other. I call her Lils and she can call me Min. We both hate it."

"I'm not calling you 'Min'."

"Come on." Nearly begging at my feet, he stands in front of me, taking ahold of my shoulders so he can shake them. "Quit the grumpiness for once. Can I please call you Lils?"

"We'll see," I say.

"Awesome." He grins. "Anyway— how long is this gonna take?"

"That depends," Newt says.

"On?"

"On how much Lyndon will zone out."

"It depends on how much things can distract him or how deep Jen is going to dig into the past," I correct.

☀︎︎

Newt is driving back to the camp in a rush, all of us hoping we get there in time before Thomas messes everything up. Sorry, Thomas.

"Lyndon." I elbow him softly in the side. Blinking, he takes his eyes off the road and looks at me. "You okay?"

He nods. "That talk just made a remember a whole lot of things."

Young me was too oblivious to notice how badly my brother was being bullied. I once received a Snap from a boy who asked my username a few days before, and it was a picture of Lyndon, pressed against the wall by multiple kids. He was crying and bleeding at once.

I realized then. I gave the Snapchat kid a punch. I protected Lyndon for a few months until I thought it was safe. But I doubt they stopped once I stopped being so close.

"I'm always here for you," I tell him quietly. The quiet talking is mostly in an attempt to hide how unsure I am. I think I can be a good listener once it comes to it, but I can't give advice or comfort for shit.

"Thank you," he whispers back. Whenever Lyndon thanks someone, and he means it, I nearly start crying on the spot. I don't know, his eyes just have a certain gratefulness and twinkle, and his smile is so genuine.

We get out of the car as fast as we can and rush to the cafeteria, where we sit down just a minute before Janson walks in with the list of names. He starts calling all hundreds of kids, one by one. It might just be the worst part of my day.

"Lelia Blake," he calls.

"Here," I say. I cringe at the way my voice echoes through the silent room, mirroring against the wooden walls.

"Lyndon Blake," is a few names later.

I know how much Lyndon hates letting Janson know he's there with a full crowd listening. I can see the anxiety on his face every time his name gets called. But every time, he also manages an even, loud, "Here", and I want to give him the biggest smile for it. Lyndon unfortunately pays a lot of attention to the ground... a lot of times. Because yeah, who doesn't find the ground interesting?"

Minho is named straight after Lyndon. There's a few names before Newt gets called. Then more people from our friend group.

"Teresa Agnes," he calls.

"Here."

A few names, then, "Thomas Edison."

When there's a silence, I know we're very lucky we got here on time. Of course Thomas isn't there, just when he was supposed to tell an excuse for our absence.

But after my happiness we made it, I do get concerned. The others are sharing some looks too, silently asking where he is, but no one seems to know.

That's why once Janson finishes speaking, I eat fast, ready to go find Thomas. I wasn't that hungry when I got my food, so I don't have much in the first place. I'm soon making my way to hut two.

"Thomas?" I knock against the door. I could've opened it immediately, but that's the worse thing one can do, really. "You in there?"

A groan. "Uh— yeah."

Now this is the exact reason. "Don't tell me you're jerking off."

"No, ew. You're free to come in."

"Why are you groaning? Tell me that first. I don't want bad things on my retina."

"Got hurt. Now that you're here, you can help me. Come on."

I open the door, not taking him very serious until I see the damage. I'm crouching in front of him before I know it. "Thomas, what the fuck? What happened?"

"Some dude decided to beat me up."

"Some dude decided to beat you up," I repeat, confused. "You must've done something that pissed him off."

"No. I was half dying because Clint spat water with an unholy amount of chlorine in my eyes. It hurt, so I went to the sink in the bathrooms, when this dude shows up. Well, I couldn't see much, so I'm not sure if it was a dude, but the grunts and body figure explained it."

I stare at him. He indeed has red eyes from chlorine. Other than that, one of his eyes is blue. Some skin is scraped off his cheek and he has a cut in his lip, which is still bleeding.

"I punched back, though," he adds, tone a little more cheerful. "Teresa should've seen it."

Chuckling lowly, I take a bandaid and cover the already cleansed cheek. I deb the blood on his lip away and hand him an ice pack for his eye. "You have no idea who it was?"

I have an idea. And I really hope I'm wrong.

"No. No idea," he says. "He smelled like alcohol and weed, if it helps."

With a sigh, I sit down on my bed. Something crunches below me. My heart sinks at the sound. Eyes wide. Fingers already get clammy as I take the paper. Thomas is too busy with the med-kit to notice.

BY THE END OF THE WEEK, I WANT A QUARTER OF MY MONEY. DELIVER IT ON THE SPORT FIELDS AT NIGHT.

UNABLE TO? I GUESS MORE LOVED ONES WILL PAY.

2500 DOLLARS. SUNDAY. FIVE DAYS LEFT.

Printed, just like the other ones. Even with the handwriting anonymous, I know who it is.

I want to throw up. I think I will throw up if I don't go outside right now.

Outside, where he might still be. Outside, where he might've been the whole time.

"Okay, I'm—"

I jump at Thomas's voice so hard, that my breathing gets stuck in my throat for a few good seconds. He stares at me, silent, then clears his throat. "Uh— I'm done. Wanna go to the cafeteria?"

I nod fast. I don't want to be left alone right now.

It's either gonna be telling someone, or finding a way to somehow make that much money in five days. I know I have maybe a hundred dollars on my bank account, and fifty in cash. That's... a start.

I can tell someone. I'll have to. Jorge seems like a good option.

"I'm going to the toilet," I tell Thomas. The salty taste in my mouth is telling me something. I don't want to throw up in the open. "Wait for me."

He walks over to the small fountain at the side of the toilet building. "I'll wait here."

I rush into a booth. I do my best to calm down, and it helps. The longer I stay focused on my breaths and notice else, the better I start to feel.

But then I flinch. Something moves below me. I watch a hand with dirty, thick fingers slide below my booth. A note comes with the fingertips before they've disappeared, and I'm left with the text staring straight at me.

OH. I WOULDN'T RECOMMEND SHARING THESE ISSUES EITHER, LUV.

With smaller, handwritten letters below it.

My address, Lyndon's phone number, and a picture of Dad doing the groceries.