Page 18

We stopped at a diner, which was a dump, but it was our dump for the next hour.

After the complete disaster that was today—being nearly moose-murdered, getting lost in the woods, and receiving the Principal Catherine Verbal Death Threat, we finally had something resembling a win: food.

Not good food. Definitely not. But food.

The diner itself looked like it had been here since the dawn of time. Faded neon sign. Sticky floors. A waitress who looked like she hated her life. But at this point, none of us cared. The moment we were seated in the cracked vinyl booths, we ordered everything our sad budget could afford.

Which, to be clear, wasn’t much.

Joy poked at her soggy fries with mild disappointment.

“Wow. This is actually worse than cafeteria food. I didn’t know that was possible.”

Max, already halfway through his burger, shrugged. “Tastes fine to me.”

Shun, scrolling through her phone, didn’t even look up. “It’s edible. That’s enough.”

Ethan, of course, acted like this was a five-star restaurant. “You guys just don’t appreciate the finer things in life,” he said, gesturing grandly to his questionable-looking grilled cheese. “This? This is art.”

He wasn't in our budget, but that didn't make the food in this messy diner any less shitty.

I sighed, stuffing a handful of fries into my mouth. It was not art. It was cheap, greasy, and absolutely perfect.

For the first time today, nobody was panicking, running, or getting screamed at by an authoritative figure. The group just… ate. Talked. Laughed. Even Mr. Dax loosened up, sipping his coffee in silence, probably still trying to recover from the hell we’d put him through.

Sure, we were still broke. The budget was still wrecked. But at least now, we’d rationalized it. We’d eat lighter for the next few days. No more unnecessary spending. We’d make it work.

That was the plan, anyway.

Dinner went by, and after that we settled the bill. We then started heading back to the bus. The others filed out, one by one, voices blending into the night air. I stayed behind, letting them go ahead, just for a second.

That’s when I saw it.

A bright flash of light—just at the edge of my vision. It blinked. Like it had flared up and vanished in an instant.

I froze.

What was that?

For a moment, I thought maybe I imagined it. But then I heard it—a faint rustling in the bushes nearby.

Every horror movie instinct in my brain screamed at me to leave. To go to the bus, pretend I saw nothing, and live a long, moose-free life.

But I didn’t move.

Instead, I stepped closer.

The diner’s neon sign flickered above me as I inched toward the bush, heart pounding. The night air felt too still. Every sound felt too sharp. I swore I heard something. A breath? A whisper? The faintest shift of movement—

Then—

“What are you doing?”

I nearly had a heart attack.

Ethan appeared behind me like some kind of jock-shaped ghost, completely obliterating my moment of investigation.

I turned, scowling. “Don’t do that.”

He smirked, utterly unbothered. “Do what?”

“Appear out of nowhere like some horror movie villain.”

“I walked over.” He raised an eyebrow. “What’s up? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I hesitated. The bush was still. Silent. Nothing was there. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was just a trick of the light.

“…It’s nothing,” I muttered, stepping away. “Let’s go.”

Ethan gave me a look. The kind that said I know you’re lying, but he didn’t push it.

As we walked back to the bus, I threw one last glance over my shoulder.

The bush didn’t move. The light didn’t return.

Still…

Something felt wrong.

The bus rumbled through the night, headlights cutting through the darkness as we left the greasy diner incident behind.

The others had settled into their usual chaos—Max was loudly debating Ethan about which fantasy sports league was superior, Joy was making sarcastic remarks about our life choices, and Mr. Dax was mentally calculating how soon he could retire.

I just stared out the window, still thinking about that light.

Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe I was just tired.

A few miles down the road, we pulled into a motel. One of those places that looked exactly like you’d expect—a dull sign, flickering lights, and an overworked receptionist who looked two minutes away from quitting.

Mr. Dax and I handled the payment. We were painfully aware of how much money we had left.

“Don’t destroy anything,” he told us as we grabbed our keys.

Ethan, grinning, clapped him on the shoulder. “No promises, Mr. Dax.”

Mr. Dax looked so done.

I snatched some clean clothes from my suitcase and shoved them in my bag, taking the stairs for our room.

For once, the universe had mercy. The motel room had two beds.

A miracle.

I dumped my bag on the nearest one, exhaling in relief. At least I wouldn’t have to suffer another night of Ethan’s ridiculously large personal space invasion.

But another problem loomed.

I knew Ethan. He was going to sneak out again.

And I’d have no choice but to follow him because, as Principal Catherine had oh-so-wonderfully reminded me, I was responsible for making sure he didn't do anything out of line let alone getting himself killed.

I sat on the bed, mentally preparing myself for yet another long night of babysitting.

Then, something unexpected happened.

Ethan took a shower.

He came out, ruffling his damp hair—golden superstar-like damp hair—with a towel, and instead of vaulting out the window like a lunatic, he pulled a laptop from his bag and opened it.

I blinked.

“…What are you doing?”

He leaned back against the headboard, typing something. “Someone’s gotta edit.”

That surprised me. “Editing what?”

He smirked. “The documentary, obviously.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You edit?”

“Duh.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’m great at it. Best in class, actually.”

I gave him a look. “You literally never turn in assignments.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t edit.” He tapped the screen. “Look, someone’s gotta make all this shaky, half-baked footage actually enticing—otherwise, we’re just submitting ’Wildlife Club: The Boring Field Trip.’”

He had a point.

I sighed, pulling out my own laptop. “Fine. You edit. I’ll work on the writing the report. Also, I have some freelance work to do.”

He glanced at me. “Freelance?”

“I write reports. Small gigs. Extra cash.”

Ethan snorted. “Damn, Clark. I thought I was the overachiever.”

I ignored that, already typing.

For the first time since this trip started, Ethan wasn’t causing problems.

And that?

That was suspicious.

The room settled into an unusual silence, broken only by the rhythmic clicking of my keyboard and Ethan’s quiet muttering as he edited.

It was almost peaceful. Almost.

Then his phone vibrated.

Ethan glanced at the screen, and his whole posture changed.

The easygoing smirk faded. His shoulders tensed.

New number.

He didn’t pick up.

I watched him tilt the phone face down and keep working, acting like it hadn’t happened.

I frowned. “Your father?”

His jaw twitched. “None of your business.”

I hesitated.

Ethan was loud, obnoxious, and had the emotional depth of a toaster oven. He never talked about serious things. Ever.

And yet, here was something he obviously didn’t want to talk about.

Which meant it was important.

I sighed, shutting my laptop halfway. “Look, I know I’m probably the last person you’d take advice from, but whatever’s going on with you… avoiding it won’t make it go away.”

Ethan didn’t respond.

Didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t snap back.

He just sat there, staring at his laptop screen, fingers unmoving over the keys.

I had no idea if he was actually listening, but I kept going anyway.

“I get it. Some things are… complicated. But if you keep running from them, they just—” I gestured vaguely. “—keep chasing you.”

A long silence stretched between us.

Then, to my surprise, Ethan exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, rubbing his face tiredly.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”

That was it.

That was all he said.

I didn’t push further.

Ethan wasn’t the kind of person you could pry open. If he wanted to talk, he would. And if he didn’t… well.

I went back to my laptop.

A few minutes later, Ethan suddenly said, “hey.”

I looked up.

He didn’t meet my gaze, still focused on his screen, but his voice was a little softer than usual.

“…Thanks, by the way.”

I blinked. “For what?”

“For the car thing.” He snorted. “I mean, yeah, you were part of the reason it got wrecked, but you are also helping me get the money to fix it. So… yeah.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Ethan? Expressing gratitude? What timeline was this?

So, I just nodded and went back to typing, letting the moment settle.

Ethan never brought up his father again.