Page 87 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

It was almost peaceful—if peace came with a side of spinal trauma and existential dread.

I could’ve tried to fall back asleep, but once I was up, I was up. My body had clearly declared war on rest.

I sighed and shifted in my seat—and immediately froze.

Ethan was still asleep.

That shouldn’t have surprised me, and yet… it did. I was used to him being loud. Animated. A human podcast with no pause button. But now? He was completely still, mouth slightly open, his head tipped back just enough to suggest zero neck support. And despite the most unflattering sleeping position imaginable, he somehow didn’t look ridiculous.

In fact—

Okay, no. We’re not doing this.

But apparently my half-asleep brain had other plans, because suddenly I was noticing things I absolutely shouldn’t have. Like how his jaw looked annoyingly sharp in this light, or how his lashes—seriously, who had lashes that long naturally? —cast little shadows against his cheeks. His lips—

I sat up so fast I hit my head on the window.

“Ow—ow, okay, that’s fair. I deserve that,” I muttered, rubbing my scalp. What the hell was I doing? Morning brain. Clearly. A lack of blood flow to my dignity.

Desperate for a distraction, I looked around—and spotted Ethan’s laptop. It was still open—the screen dim but not off.

Of course. Even while unconscious, he was still the golden boy.

I leaned forward a little, curiosity piqued—and maybe, just maybe, trying not to look at his stupid perfect face again.

I got up, dodging his legs on my way—because apparently, this bus wasn’t built for sleep-deprived teenagers lost in the woods.

I tapped the mousepad to bring the screen back to life. The editing software ran. A video timeline lit up, revealing dozens of neatly arranged clips. I frowned, clicking on one of them.

The footage played, and my eyes widened slightly.

It was… good.

Like, really good. The clips were smoothly edited, the transitions clean and professional. It looked like something an experienced filmmaker would put together, not a bunch of high school students scrambling to finish a project on a tight budget.

I stared at the screen, completely baffled.

Ethan did this? Not to mention, he did this in his own time: when we were all asleep.

The same Ethan who spent half his time flirting with anything that breathed and the other half making my life miserable? The Ethan who never seemed to take anything seriously?

I didn’t know how to process it. Frankly, I hated how it made me feel—like maybe I'd been wrong about him all along and now I had to sit with that discomfort as if it was my seatmate.

I frowned, but then for a brief, fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe—just maybe—we had a real shot at winning this competition. That despite all the chaos, we had somehow managed to create something impressive.

Then I played the next clip.

And every ounce of hope crumbled.

The documentary was an absolute disaster.

Not in terms of editing—the editing was great—but in terms of what we had actually captured. Every time we got close to a perfect shot, something ridiculous happened to ruin it.

The peaceful shot of a squirrel gathering food? Ruined when the squirrel suddenly went feral and attacked Max’s shoelaces, making him trip over his own feet.

The breathtaking footage of a waterfall? Interrupted by Mia tripping over a rock and nearly falling into it.

The stunning sunrise over the hills? Completely destroyed by Joy deciding it was the perfect moment to burst into an off-key rendition of some dramatic ballad at full volume.

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