Page 84 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

Max was trying to roast a marshmallow over a flashlight beam. Ethan was still recovering from his near-eagle assassination by fanning himself. Mia had begun documenting our descent into madness with her phone, zooming in every time someone made a dramatic complaint.

“You know,” Ethan said, staring at the sky, “this might be romantic under different circumstances.”

“Like if we weren’t slowly being hunted by a dark forest?” I asked.

“Exactly.”

Shun shrugged. “Could be worse.”

“How?” I asked.

She paused. “Okay, I got nothing.”

At that moment, Mr. Dax stirred in his sleep, muttered something about “survival builds character,” and rolled over. I briefly entertained the idea of replacing him with a tree stump.

“We camp here,” I said finally.

The words felt heavier than they should’ve. Still, someone had to take charge, and apparently, that someone was me.

First, we had to fetch firewood in the dark—wasn’t exactly on my high school bucket list. But when you're stranded in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of overenthusiastic classmatesand a teacher who’s currently unconscious, you end up doing things you never signed up for.

Like walking into a creepy forest where every branch sounds like it’s whispering your GPA’s imminent doom.

“Split up?” Joy suggested brightly.

“No,” I said, a little too quickly. “That’s how horror movies start. And we’re already a dark-forest sighting away from becoming a cautionary tale.”

If you're wondering when or how I ever watched a horror movie—same way I got tangled up in all this mess: peer pressure, bad snacks, and my best friends who apparently think "survival horror" is a bonding activity.

FYI, I spent the next week sleeping with the lights on, jumping at every creak, and giving my closet the side-eye like it owed me money.

“We’ll stay within yelling distance,” Shun offered. “Unless someone starts getting dragged into the underbrush. Then we’re running.”

“Solid plan,” I muttered.

We collected firewood—dead branches, twigs, and, in Max’s case, what was very clearly a snake.

“Dude,” Ethan said. “That’s hissing at you.”

Max blinked at it. “Oh. I thought it was a curly stick.”

He dropped it. It slithered off, offended.

Back at our makeshift base (a clearing with a tilted log and mild existential dread), we stacked the wood.

Secondly: start a fire.

Ethan claimed he’d once lit a fire using just friction and determination.

He used a lighter.

Eventually, the fire crackled to life, casting flickering shadows across our tired faces. The flames glowed warm and comforting—until you remembered we were surrounded by woods and potentially being watched by forest cryptids.

Joy stretched her legs and clapped once. “Alright. Campfire choir, anyone?”

I groaned.Here goes my ears.

“I’ll start,” she said, before launching into a song that sounded suspiciously like a love ballad being strangled by a raccoon.

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