Abruptly, the zip tie snaps, and I feel the blade nick the back of the seat. I freeze, hold my breath. But the music continues to blare, and the car keeps moving. I quietly exhale then wriggle my wrists out of the broken plastic and shut the knife.
The sweat is still in my eyes, and I want more than anything to tear the bag from my head, but I can’t give myself away. So I wait, heart thumping, back dripping, fingers twitching on the blade.
After an eternity, the car slows down, and we turn off the road and come to a stop. The radio dies, but the silence is somehow more stifling than the music had been.
“All right, we’re here,” my captor says, his voice not as deep as I remember.
Suddenly, the bag is yanked off my head, and I duck to the side, muscles tense, ready to spring if he attacks me. But nothing happens. As I blink against the bright light, I gradually see the person in the front seat looking back at me, and I blink again. He isn’t big or burly, and he doesn’t have any tattoos. He’s young, maybe early twenties, and tall, judging by how close his head is to the roof of the car.
The man grins and opens his mouth to say something, but I don’t wait to hear what it is. I unbuckle my belt and lunge for the door, dashing outside onto a parking lot. In front of me is a gas station, and I sprint toward it.
I’ve only gone five steps when I feel the man’s hand grab my arm. In desperation, I pop open the switchblade and thrust it at his heart. But the man is fast. He leaps out of the way, and I barely cut his shoulder. Before I can strike again, his arm whips out, and he seizes my wrist, twisting it hard behind my back so that I’m forced to drop the knife. Then he kicks my feet out from under me, and I crash onto the asphalt, bracing myself for another blow.
It doesn’t come. Instead he says, “Holy crap, Aura! Your dad warned me you weren’t excited about going to camp, but this is nuts. What are you trying to do, kill me?” He inspects the nick on his shoulder then bends down to pick up my blade. “A switchblade? Yikes, you really are a piece of work.”
“
I’m
a piece of work?” I shout, scrambling to my feet. “You’re the one who threw a bag over my head and threatened to kill me! Are you out of your mind?”
He takes a step toward me, but I scramble backward. “Don’t touch me!”
“Now just calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
“Get away from me.”
“Aura, listen, I’m sorry. But we have to—”
“Look, I don’t know who you are or what’s going on, but I’m not Aura. You’ve made a mistake. Now leave me alone!”
He frowns, and I notice for the first time that his disheveled brown hair is restrained by a red bandana, that there’s a large mole on his left cheek. “You must have had quite the night,” he says, hitching up his eyebrows as his sharp eyes study the mud on my clothes. “Hope you got it out of your system, because there won’t be that kind of partying where we’re going. Come on, we need to go meet up with the others.”
“I’m sorry, maybe you didn’t hear me,” I snap. “I’m. Not. Aura.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear
me
,” he returns. “Your dad already warned me you would try to pull something. And honestly, I’m not that impressed. If you really didn’t want to come, why were you at the meeting spot at the exact time you were supposed to be? Besides, you look just like your picture—even with all the mud.”
“That’s a coincidence,” I begin then hesitate. How am I going to tell him that Aura was murdered, that I saw it happen?
“Sure it is,” the man says, rolling his eyes. “I bet I know a way to settle this.” All of a sudden, he leaps toward me and thrusts his fingers into my jacket pocket.
I jump back. “What are you doing?” And then I see the wallet in his hand. “Give me that!” I yell, reaching for it.
But it’s too late—he’s already opened it, already seen both licenses. His eyebrows rise even higher as he pulls out the Flor Garcia I.D., and he whistles. “Wow, you’re worse than I thought. So that explains all this.” He waves his hand in my general direction.
I don’t say anything. There’s nothing I
can
say. If I convince him I’m not Aura, he’ll wonder what I’m doing with her license. I swear under my breath.
The man hears me, but he just smiles, probably taking it as my admission. “It’s not going to be that bad,” he says. “Yeah, you have to kayak for a bit, but the rest will be fun. It’s only for a week, and then you can come back and roll around in your pigsty.”
I glare at him. I need to buy time, need to figure this out. “Why did you kidnap me?”
“It’s part of the tradition, just some harmless hazing. Though I have to say I’ve never had anyone try to knife me before.”
“Well, it’s a stupid idea.” I say as I back away slowly.
I’ll get him to lower his guard, and then I’ll run.
“Nah,” he grins. “It’s lots of fun. And anyway, you know you’re not allowed to know where the camp is. If you saw which way I left town, you might be able to figure it out.” He looks at a watch on his wrist. “C’mon, lets go meet the others. Your hissy fit has made us late.”
Suddenly, the man jumps forward again and seizes my arm. I struggle to free myself, but his grip is too strong. He pulls me behind him, making me stumble forward. I try punching the shoulder I cut, but he twists my arm again, and the pain forces me to give in.
I need a plan,
I think frantically as he drags me across the parking lot.
I can’t let him take me to some camp in the middle of nowhere!
Or can I?
The thought makes me pause, and I trip again as he wrenches me forward. My mind whirls, but the more I think about it, the more I see its advantages. It’s an easy way to get out of Winnipeg and lie low for a week, I’ll be given food and somewhere to sleep, and it sounds like the camp is in a remote location where no one will think to look for me. Plus, it involves kayaking, something I’m actually good at. Once I’m at the camp, or maybe on the way back, I can figure out a way to go to another city. It’s a perfect solution.
Well, almost perfect.
There is one thing standing in my way: I have to pretend to be somebody else, somebody who’s dead.
By now we’ve reached the gas station—a lone building on the side of the highway. Parked at a pump is a blue fifteen-passenger van, and standing next to it are several teens and two young adults. They wave when they see us.
“There you are!” says one of the adults, a woman with dreadlocks and a stud on her upper lip. “I was just about to call you.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” my captor replies. “We had a little knife fight.” He bounces my switchblade in his hand.
I scowl. Pretending to be Aura also means I’m going to have to put up with
him
the entire time.
I look at the other teens. They’re gaping at me, probably trying to figure out if I really attempted to stab the moron holding my arm. I run my hand through my hair, but my fingers catch on the sweat-drenched tangles. I guess there might be other reasons they’re staring.
“This is Jeremy,” the woman says, introducing my abductor to the group then looking at me. “I’m Aponi, and this is Damon.” She gestures to the dark-haired man standing beside her. “We’re your counselors.”
“And now that everyone’s here, we can start our road trip,” Damon says. “I hope you all ate big breakfasts!” He grins, and suddenly I’m aware of the aching emptiness that’s squeezing my gut. I bite down on my lip.
“We want to go as quickly as possible,” Jeremy adds, “so there will only be one bathroom break. If you need to perform your necessaries, as I suspect many of you do”—the counselors chuckle, making me guess the other teens were hazing victims too—“you should do that now. There’s a washroom in the gas station. Feel free to, you know, freshen up.” He looks pointedly down at me as he says it, and I imagine myself punching him in the nose.
“We’ll meet back here in ten minutes,” Aponi inserts.
Jeremy pinches my arm as he lowers his face toward mine. “No funny business, okay?” he says sternly.
I pull my arm free. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. You win.”
As I approach the gas station, several paces behind the others, I catch my reflection in the glass door and stop walking. I look worse than I thought. Cuts and bruises on my cheeks and arms. Mud in my ratted hair. A split and swollen lip.
How did that happen?
I wonder as I touch my mouth.
When I finally move to open the door, I stumble on the step and, as I catch myself, hear my heartbeat pulsing in my ears. Everything looks unnaturally white, and it’s hard to focus.
I pull open the door and walk toward the snack aisle, glancing dizzily at the mirrors in the corners of the room. It’s a risk, I know, but if I don’t get something in me soon, I’ll pass out. I settle on a granola bar, slip it up my sleeve, and try not to trip again as I walk toward the door.
“You gonna pay for that?”
“What?” I look up. A middle-aged salesclerk is watching me and chewing on a pen.
“That candy bar you lifted,” she says.
“I didn’t take a candy bar.”
“I saw you do it.”
“Oh, you mean this
granola
bar?” I ask, dropping the snack into my palm. “I was going to ask my friend for some money, that’s all.”
“Uh huh. Well, you can leave that here while you ask.”
“Um, sure, okay.” I take a step toward the counter, trying to decide if it would be worth it to run.
“Here you go,” someone says behind me. I turn around and see a girl from the group. She’s tiny, with wispy, honey-colored hair floating around her face, and she’s holding a five-dollar bill.
“Er, thanks,” I say after a moment, taking the money.
The girl smiles quickly and ducks outside. I watch her disappear around the corner then turn back to the clerk. “I also want some water and a hot dog,” I say.
The clerk grunts and studies her nails.
I carry the food outside, gobbling the hot dog in three bites, not caring that it’s probably been sitting in the warmer for days. I drain the entire water bottle, but I can still taste acid in my throat, and Aura’s bloodied face pops into my mind. I push her away and look around for the girl who gave me the money. She’s by the van, talking to Aponi.
I sit down on the curb. To distract myself, I look down at my battered hands and try to remove flecks of mud from the damaged skin, but after a few minutes I start shaking and have to fold my arms.
A boy crouches down a few feet away from me. He has a large, pink nose, and as he takes a tissue of his pocket and blows into it, the pink deepens into fire engine red. It stands out against his fair skin and pale eyes, making his face look like a target.
Bullseye
, I name him, and my muscles relax a titch.
I look around at the others. Leaning against the van are two siblings, a brother and sister, twins probably. The girl has long black hair that hangs in a straight ponytail down her back, and the boy’s glossy locks, which swoop across his forehead, slide back and forth as he struggles to open a packet of gummy bears.
Dee and Dum.
Dee for the girl. Dum for the boy.
A boy with reddish-blond hair sits on the van’s back bumper. He catches me looking and turns to sneer at me, his long neck curving unpleasantly, fat lips squished together.
Gander
, I decide
.
I look away from him as another boy joins the group. He’s big, with arms three or four times the size of mine. He has light brown hair, deep brown eyes, and wide shoulders. He’s also eating four hot dogs.
Titan.
Then there’s the girl next to him, the one who gave me the money. Her wrists are like the legs of a sparrow, and as her feathery hair falls into her eyes, she brushes it away with quick swipes of her tiny hand. I think about naming her after a bird, but I can’t forget the five dollars.
Charity
.
The last person to join the group is a girl with glaringly blonde hair and thickly applied mascara. Before I’ve had a chance to name her, Jeremy whistles to get our attention.
“Okay, initiates, it’s time to get in the van,” he announces. “This is when your period of silence begins—you will not be allowed to speak again until you arrive at the camp. Use this time to prepare mentally. Damon, Aponi, and I will instruct you as needed. Otherwise, we too will uphold the silence. Ready? Let’s do this!”
Period of silence?
I can’t believe my luck. My benign god must still be looking out for me.
I jump when something prods me in the arm. Looking up, I see Jeremy pushing a finger into my flesh. “You first,” he smiles. I glare at him. Taking my time, I stand up and walk over to the van.
He’s probably putting me in the back so I don’t try to escape.
But when Gander, who’s assigned to sit next to me, makes a face and scoots as far away as possible, I realize Jeremy may have other reasons for confining me to the back seat: I might, well, smell bad … just a little. I catch the other initiates wrinkling their noses, but I don’t really care. Making friends was never my forte anyway.
As we pull out of the gas station, I lean against the window and immediately feel a hard object press into my side. Aura’s wallet. I grimace and pull it out. But as I’m moving it to the other pocket, a piece of beige paper falls onto my lap. I pick it up. It’s small, about half the size of an index card, and on its otherwise blank surface is printed a place and a time.
Symington Yards. 7:00 am.
So Aura
was
at the tracks to meet Jeremy.
I flip the paper over. There’s a design on the back, so faint it’s only visible when I hold it up to the sunlight. An eagle, traced in glittering red, clutching an axe. It must be the symbol for this camp we’re going to. Hopefully, it will be a high adventure camp, somewhere I can blend in. Because if I can’t …