Page 17

The aftermath of the great moose disaster? Total catastrophe.

We were lost. Like, utterly, completely, no-network, no-GPS, no-idea-where-we-were lost.

I tried not to panic, but considering that I had never been lost in the woods and had watched hundreds of documentaries about murderous creatures, I had every reason to. I’m talking deadly pandas, venomous spiders, lethal flowers—you name it. This was literally a death trap.

“This is great,” Joy muttered, hands on her hips. “First, we see floating bunnies, then we almost get moose-murdered. Now we’re lost. At this point, Clark, I’m starting to think you’re a curse.”

“I’m not a curse,” I groaned. “Just… unlucky.”

Ethan, still grinning from his near-death flirting attempt, slung an arm around my shoulder. I shuddered before worst-case scenarios flooded my head—things touching my shoulder, things that weren’t supposed to touch my shoulder.

“Nah,” he said, “I think Joy’s onto something. Ever since we got here, it’s been floating rabbits, judgmental unicorns, and now a moose with anger issues.”

I shoved his arm off. “You flirted with it.”

“And it was clearly playing hard to get.”

“You ran for your life!”

“Hey, some people like to be chased.”

Joy gagged. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Before we could descend further into stupidity, Mr. Dax—who had barely spoken a word the entire tour—finally stepped in, huffing and puffing like a truck from the run.

“All right,” he said, panting. “That’s enough drama for one day.”

Mr. Dax wasn’t the kind of teacher who yelled all the time to be heard. He had this quiet authority that somehow made you more terrified than if he had been screaming at you. Everyone went silent.

He pulled out something from his bag—an old, yellowing piece of parchment with weird symbols scrawled across it.

“Is that a map?” Shun asked, finally looking up from her phone—which, by the way, was offline.

Mr. Dax nodded. “One of the oldest maps of this region. If we follow it, we should find our way back to the bus before nightfall.”

Max whistled. “Okay, Indiana Jones. Let’s do this.”

And just like that, our merry band of dumb teenagers who almost died to a moose began our long trek back.

At some point, I found myself walking beside Ethan. The others were chatting ahead, but somehow, we fell into our own conversation.

“You know,” I said, stuffing my hands into my hoodie pocket, “you’re not exactly what I expected.”

Ethan arched a brow. “What did you expect?”

I shrugged. “Typical jock. Kind of a dumbass.”

He smirked. “I am a dumbass.”

“Well, yeah, but you’re also… I don’t know. More.”

Ethan gave me a sideways glance, like he wasn’t sure if I was messing with him. “Are you hitting on me, Ghost Boy?”

I choked on my own spit. “No! Oh my—you flirt with one moose and suddenly think everyone’s in love with you?”

He laughed. “Relax. I know I’m irresistible.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was still… curious. “Why do you do that, though?”

“Do what?”

“Flirt with everything?”

Ethan shrugged, his usual cocky grin dimming just a little. “It’s fun.”

“That’s it?”

He hesitated. “And… maybe it’s easier to joke than to actually talk about stuff.”

I blinked, a little surprised at the honesty. “Huh.”

Before I could say more, my eyes flickered down—and that’s when I noticed it.

A fresh bruise, dark and ugly, just by his elbow.

I frowned. “Dude. What happened?”

Ethan immediately pulled his sleeve down. “Nothing. Forget it."

“You literally just said you avoid talking about stuff.”

“Yeah, and I meant deep emotional stuff, not ‘I banged my arm on a rock’ stuff.”

I didn’t buy it. But I also knew pushing wouldn’t help.

Luckily, Fred, one of the quieter wildlife club members, had a first aid kit. Before Ethan could protest, I dragged him over, and Fred's efficiently patched him up.

Ethan sighed, watching as Fred wrapped his elbow. “You know, for someone who hates me, you sure care a lot.”

I scowled. “I don’t hate you.”

“Wow. High praise.”

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

Ethan just grinned.

By the time we made it back to the bus, the sun was setting—-it painted the skies in hues of gold and orange—and we were exhausted.

The bad news? We were now way behind schedule.

The worse news? We were also over the budget.

Apparently, our little adventure had used up extra food supplies and resources. This shitty place charged extra every hour—despite not handing us a tour guide—and we’d overstayed by six.

So, you can guess how screwed we were. It meant we’d have to ration for the next few days and move faster.

The only good news? We had a recording of everything.

Mia had filmed it all—the bunnies, the unicorn, the moose attack, and even Ethan screaming for his life (which wasn’t exactly nature, but definitely something to tease him about in the future).

“This,” she declared proudly, “is the best footage I’ve ever captured.”

I groaned, flopping onto my seat. “Mrs. Catherine is going to murder us.”

Joy smirked, scrolling through the footage. “Yeah, but at least we’re dying cinematically.”

Ethan stretched lazily. “Hey, if we get kicked out of school for this, at least I can say I lived my best life.”

“You almost died.”

“Same thing.”

I buried my face in my hands, groaning in disappointment.

The bus ride back was eerily silent.

Most of the group had completely run out of energy. Even Max—Max, the human embodiment of loud background noise—was slumped against the window, fast asleep. The only sounds were the occasional rustling of snack wrappers and the hum of the engine, minus Mr. Dax engine-like snore, surprisingly.

It felt like the calm before the storm.

And, as if on cue, Mr. Dax suddenly appeared beside my seat, wordlessly handing me his phone.

I frowned. “Uh…?”

He gave me a flat look. “It’s for you.”

I hesitated before pressing the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

A familiar voice, filled with both authority and deeply restrained frustration, answered:

“Clark Alderman.”

I sat up straighter. “Uh—hi, Mrs. Catherine.”

Our esteemed principal sighed dramatically. “Do you want to guess why I’m calling? Or should I just start yelling and save us both some time?”

I swallowed. “Yelling is unnecessary. I—I assume you saw the footage.”

“Oh yes, Clark, I saw the footage. Imagine my surprise when my night time coffee was interrupted by a video of my students getting chased by a moose! A moose, Clark! I’ve had some strange phone calls during my time as principal, but ‘your students were almost yeeted into another dimension by an angry ungulate’ is a first.”

I winced. “Technically, it wasn’t our fault.”

“Oh, really?” she deadpanned. “Then whose fault was it? The moose? Should I put it in detention?”

“That would be ideal, actually.”

Mrs. Catherine let out a slow, deep breath. The kind of breath one takes when they are two seconds away from tracking you down and strangling you through the phone.

“Listen to me, Clark,” she said, her voice dropping into that deadly calm tone that all teachers have mastered.

“I specifically told you to keep an eye on Ethan. I specifically warned you about shenanigans. And what do I see? Shenanigans, Clark! You are swimming in shenanigans! You are drowning in them!”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but she wasn’t done.

“Let me be crystal clear—if one more thing goes wrong, if one more bizarre incident happens, I am calling off this entire trip and personally dragging every single one of you back to school by the ear. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I squeaked.

“Good.”

And then, without another word, she hung up.

I just sat there, phone still pressed to my ear, my soul slowly leaving my body.

Mr. Dax calmly took his phone back. “How’s she doing?”

I blinked at him. “She just threatened to personally teleport here and destroy me.”

He nodded. “Sounds about right.”

Ethan, who had been eavesdropping the entire time, snickered. “You’re so screwed.”

I turned to glare at him. “This is your fault.”

“Excuse you—I did nothing.”

“You flirted with a moose!”

“Allegedly.”

I groaned and let my head fall back against the seat. Eighteen more days and that would be the end of it all. No more Ethan. No more drama.