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"You do push-ups like a girl," Axel remarks, scrutinizing me through his hypnotizing hazel eyes. I let out a groan and drop onto the yoga mat on my back, the backs of my hands positioned on the ground beside my head. Who invented this exercise, and how can I get a word with them?

"Isn't it surprising that I, Whitney Carmichael, a biological female, do push-ups like wait, what? A girl?" The sarcasm in my voice is as thick as fresh maple syrup.

Axel rolls his eyes. "That's not what I meant," he replies, kneeling down onto the cold, firm sand. "Let me demonstrate again."

After a few seconds he glances back at me with a frown. "Are you even watching?" he asks, waving a hand in my face to get my attention.

"Yes, of course," I lie. He nods and gets on his hands, kicking his feet back into the proper push-up position. He does about seven in a matter of seconds, the muscles in his arms flexing expertly.

"There," he says, standing up and brushing his hands together to remove all the sand. "You try it."

I place my hands firmly onto the mat again and kick my legs back behind me. I shift my feet and move my arms closer together, making sure my hands are directly underneath my shoulders. I hear him let out a breath behind me.

"You're still doing it wrong," he remarks. I drop to my forearms, my body exhausted from holding itself up.

"Then help me," I reply bluntly, staring up at him.

He walks over and gets down on the ground next to me, his arms reaching towards mine. "Well first, Whitney, your arms are too close together." His hands wrap around my forearms, making me widen the distance between them. "And your back needs to be completely straight."

A strange feeling runs through my body as his hand reaches onto my stomach and straightens my back out. It lingers there for longer than necessary, his fingers barely brushing my sides, and I hold my breath in, enjoying the moment.

"There. Pretty sure you're capable of the rest."

I bend my arms down and back up again, feeling the strain on my chest. I look over and Axel gives a rare smile. I lose track of how many push-ups I've done waiting for him to tell me to stop.

"Alright, get up," he orders and then asks, "Do you know what a burpee is?" I stifle a snicker at the name.

"A burpee?" I question. "Who thought of that name?"

"Oh yes, because I totally made it up," he responds. "Look, this is how it's done."

He jumps up and does a complicated series of motions that consist of some half push-up and an awkward jumping squat before landing on his feet again. I just stare at him wide-eyed in the dim light of the evening.

"You expect me to do that?" I question, pointing at myself and then him.

"I'll break it down for you, if you didn't get the hang of it from my fabulous demonstration."

He shows it to me step by step and I attempt to follow along, already not liking this burpee thing. I'll admit he looks incredibly fit doing them, but I'll probably flop over like a seal.

"Now drop on the ground back into the push-up position we covered for ten whole minutes and do an actual push-up. Then crouch down and extend back up again."

I keep a vivid mental image of how he did this "burpee" and attempt it myself. Surprisingly, I maintain fall over on my face. Except only a few in, my thighs are already burning, and I am functioning at a slower pace.

"Finish this set, and you're done for today," he says.

"This might not be too pretty," I say, and boy was I right. I'm dead by the end, unable to even pick myself up.

"I was wrong when I thought this camp would be any fun," I say, staring at the sky as my vision blurs. After a few moments of contemplation, I sit up and stare at him.

"You want fun?" he repeats, resting a few fingers on his chin. "I think I got something." This oddly animate version of Axel walks over to me and throws me over his shoulder, beginning to jog down the sand.

Straight towards the water.

"Put me down!" I yell out, slapping his back. "I swear, Axel, stop! The water is going to be freezing!"

"You said you wanted to do something fun!" he yells back, and soon enough he plunges into the bitterly frigid water, the force of the waves pushing us backwards.

"I didn't say throw me into the ocean!" I yell at him. He floats on his back and grins at me. I shiver and wrap my arms around my torso.

"Where was I supposed to take you? The Moon?" he retorts, rising up from the surface, his hair now soaked and droplets of cool water dotting his face.

"No," I respond quietly. "I've always wanted to go there one day though..."

He picks me up and lets me hop onto his back, his cold hands resting on the backs of my thighs. I wrap my arms around his neck and place my hands on his chest.

"Better?" he asks, staring up at me.

"Much," I whisper into his ear. "You know, I do think you're a great trainer."

"Well sometimes you're a pretty terrible trainee," he responds bluntly. I slap his shoulder lightly.

"Just kidding," he responds, trudging through the force of the water to get back to the shoreline.

***

As I walk back to the dorms, ready to take yet another shower, I see Adriana, Willow and Natalie sitting on some of the chairs by the fire pit, talking and laughing. When they see me, their mouths twist.

"Why are you soaked?" Natalie asks, rather rudely. It's almost comical seeing her speak that way. I know it must be because of Adriana's influence.

"That's none of your business," I state curtly, beginning to walk away.

"She probably fell into that lake my trainer took me to," Adriana remarks, snickering, and Natalie and Willow laugh, although Willow's eyes linger on me. Wow, so fucking hilarious I forgot to laugh.

I remember Mina talking about all the times she spent going to those ostentatious brunches Willow's mother held for her daughter, Adriana and the rest of their friends. Mina never chose to go to them but was forced to by her socialite mother.

She visited my house one Sunday afternoon during the late summer before senior year after spending all morning with Willow and her snobby friends. She threw her bag onto the couch and plopped onto it, punching my mother's expensive pillow.

"That little bitch!" she sneered, groaning out loud. "I can't believe her!"

"Can't believe who?" I asked, leaning forward on the armchair. Anger radiated from her face.

"I am so done with her!" she yelled, sitting up. "No, with all of them! I will never spend another Sunday afternoon with any of them again!"

"Mina, seriously, who are you talking about?" I snapped. "Willow? Her friends? Her mom?"

She stood up and grabbed her bag from the couch. "Never mind, forget it; I have to go. See you tomorrow."

I take a shower, staying under the hot water for longer than necessary. I dry off and change into a comfortable pair of pajamas and brush my wet hair. I head back down the hallway to my room and stop when I see someone walking up towards me. I recognize the bright blonde hair and long, skinny legs.

"What do you want, Willow?" I ask her, leaning against the wall.

"Whitney I..." she says, her hand nervously touching the ends of her hair. "I just wanted to say thank you for earlier. I didn't deserve for you to help me out there and ruin your nice shoes." She laughs a bit to lighten up the mood. Unfortunately, her laugh is contagious, and I find myself smiling too.

"You're welcome," I reply with a small sigh. "I couldn't just leave you and besides, none of your friends seemed to really care."

She folds her thin fingers together. "Well, they're kind of horrible anyway."

"Great friends," I mumble.

"What?" she asks, looking up.

"Nothing," I respond. "Hope you have a good night, I guess?"

"Yeah, I hope you do too."

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