Page 1 of Loathing Ryan
1
IZABEL
“Cholera!”
“Nope.”
“Tuberculosis!”.
“Try again.”
“Ebola!!”
“Izabel. Knock it off.”
“I can’t go. They don’t allow students with deadly diseases into the camp,” I urged as I fought against my best friend pushing me toward the bus.
“Well, good thing you don’t have any diseases then.” Juliet rolled her eyes at me as she displayed her athletic strength by giving me a little extra push on the back of my shoulders. When that didn’t work, she maneuvered herself to my side, looping one of her arms through mine and returning to her task.
With a firm grip, Juliet dragged me through the dirt, paying no attention to my feet working against her in an attempt to push my way back. It truly must’ve been an unusual sight for anyone observing from the outside. However, all my classmates didn’t even pay a lick of attention to me. This was an occurrence that took place every year without fail. My reluctance to get on the bus that would take us to camp was not something I grew out of as we all matured over the years.
“Seriously, Jules, I’m going to throw up.” I continued to fight my case, making gagging noises to drive my point home.
An unamused noise rumbled at the back of her throat as Juliet tried to wrestle me onto the coach bus. “Izabel, you say that literally every year. We’re seniors now, which means you’re too old to behave this way. You can’t just push through one more summer?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think I am truly coming down with something deadly.”
By this time, she had managed to maneuver me from our school’s front doors toward the bus waiting for us. White gravel dust now covered my tennis shoes, and my arms felt weak from fighting against the brute force of my friend. Sighing in defeat, I stood straight and glared at Jules. She stood in front of me, her arms crossed over her chest, with an expression that dared me to run.
“I loathe you.”
“You mean, you love me? Aw, I love you too, babes,” Juliet shot back with a wink.
I turned away from her, huffing a breath as I stared at the bus. Almost all my classmates had arrived by now and were loading their luggage into the undercarriage of the school coach bus. It had the logo of our boarding school printed on the side in dark blue letters,Hawthorne Academy.
Everyone was jumping around and screeching to their respective friend groups about which activities they wanted to do first and, more importantly, who would hook up with which boy from Bennett this summer. One name, in particular, was thrown around more than the others. The one name I tried my hardest to keep my brain from thinking.
It was depressing, really. Our county’s two most prestigious private schools were Hawthorne Academy and Bennett College Preparatory. Both schools started enrolling students at the tender age of sixth grade, hoping to achieve excellence with an extended curriculum and an intense schedule.
They were passionate about the belief that young boys and girls would receive a better education if they weren’t distracted by the opposite sex. However, they didn’t want to deprive their students completely of those interactions, which is how I found myself counting down the minutes until I was forced onto the coach bus, which would take us away to camp.
Students of the two schools—Hawthorne Academy and Bennett College Prep—came to Camp Wildwood for as long as anyone could remember. The schools were initially established by husband and wife, who still sat as headmaster and headmistress of their schools to this day. Their vision was to create two elite schools with unmatched curricula. As far as anyone else was concerned, they had succeeded. Students from our two schools routinely landed the most sought-after scholarships and secured spots at the most prestigious universities.
During the summer, both schools brought each class out to Camp Wildwood to spend a few weeks getting the chance to decompress along with the sibling school. The camp was three weeks every year, with each grade level staggering dates, so the camp wasn’t overrun. In exchange, we finished classes a few weeks earlier compared to some surrounding public schools. After camp, we would get a chance to go home with our families for the rest of the summer before returning to school for the following semester.
Even though seniors’ rotation at the camp was two weeks earlier than all the first and second-year students, we could not and would not walk at graduation—or receive our diplomas—until we returned from camp.
As I said, it was depressing.
My heart started skipping beats as I thought about the upcoming days and nights I would have to spend at my least favorite place on earth, and suddenly my feet were moving beneath me. I bolted toward the doors of Hawthorne, trying my damnedest to get there before Jules caught me.
Unfortunately for me, though, my best friend was quicker than I was. She leaped on me before I could even make it two feet and tackled me to the ground. I groaned and moaned as I felt her land on my stomach. She was taller than me and was built from years of intense soccer workouts.
“I think I’m having a heart attack. My chest hurts. I have angina!” I hollered.
“Cut the dramatics, Izzie. You’re behaving like a child,” a nasally voice snarked at me from above. “You do this every year. Can’t you give it a rest?”
Juliet? No. This person was worse. Way worse. Nahla Fenwick was the class Barbie doll. She was the one who would show up from a long weekend off with a brand-new hairdo and a fresh set of acrylics on her nails. For her, Wildwood was the chance to really show off her skills. And I’m not talking about classroom skills. The boys of Bennett all knew Nahla’s name, and they were quick to run to her side if they needed her for any reason.
