There's no way Sky would have left this for me. Jane must have been spying on me. The moon was shy tonight, no light peeked from our window. I stayed awake most of the night as the snores of girls snarled away. Come on Jane... Come on...

I figured, if anyone would know about the ugly parts of the camp, it'd be her. This "The devil seeks the blood of the saviour" thing might be connected to it. The same side view of the black cabin stays like a painted picture. Not even insects fly nearby. My eyes fall slightly, then I snap them back open again with every sting I get from my eyes. It feels so long, that a headache joins the game. 

Every time I tell myself to get it together, it only feeds my eye power. The newest window guest was a fly. 

—

As my arms try their best to keep my face up, my palms making a cushion for my jaw, my eyelids fall over like a garage door, but the telekinesis-curse flickers in my eyes, shaking me awake. 

The entire night, I stayed awake. But instead of Jane, I received more wind and a few flying leaves waving by the tainted window screen. My face almost falls on my scrambled eggs, but my fingers curl around my hair holding it back like reins being pulled on a horse. 

Tilting my head up again, I notice Sky trailing through the hall with her tray of food. She shoots me look through a pair of slanted, intense eyes, knocking my orange juice over my eggs, trickling down and spreading across my legs. It wasn't the first time I felt my own food thrown on me, but it was the first time I've felt this guilty. I can add 'accidentally leading a friend to his death' to the list along with 'destroying your neighbour's soccer ball at school', 'asking if your classmate has trauma from a dare', and 'joining the girls sports team' to the list of 'Justice's red flags'. Though I never wanted anything bad to happen. 

I twist my body to get a napkin, popping my rambling bubble, noticing Arthur's back two tables behind mine. The hoodie looked like the same one I picked from the pond, and that shade of caramel hair reaching to his nape was the same I saw yesterday. He lowers his posture to eat while getting nudged by the fat elbow beside him. I can't see his face, but the slow steer of his face turning to the boy nudging him gives me the impression of annoyance. My mom does that all the time if I sit back with my legs spread open or don't keep my back straight.

He steers his body over, shoving his plate away from him casually. A slip of neatly folded paper in six equal parts, escapes from his pocket. He raises a leg, bending it on the bench, using his knee as a clipboard for the paper, writing something. Squinting my eyes, I notice it's something in another language. Spanish. The second official language in Trid. Spanish courses in school don't begin until fourth grade, and then become a mandatory course until ninth grade in high school. Only one more year of conjugating and reading cute Spanish stories for me, then I'm free. Languages were my kryptonite, but my respect for bilingual people is higher than the 15 year olds I pass by smoking pot. 

'E-L-L-A E-S U-N-A D-I-A-B-L-A' Is what he writes. Slowly trying to translate the 'ella' to 'she' and the 'una' to 'a', I'm stuck on 'diabla', a word I've never heard before. I think 'debt' but what sense would that make? 

As I stare into the words harder, as he continues writing more Spanish words that are too complicated to translate, his handwriting reminds me. My eyes widen as I rummage through my pocket, despite my wet, sticky legs from the orange juice. My fingers dig, searching for the slip of paper I got yesterday. 

There's a way to bring Phoenix back. 

It read, clearer than ever, I whip my head to the side again, adjusting my legs and studying Arthur's handwriting as his pen dances on the paper, writing more Spanish words. 

It's the same. 

It's like an identical twin to the Spanish hoodoo he's writing. The pressure of the pen on the paper, the type of pen, the type of paper. It's too exact, that my jaw loosens, opening my mouth. He can help us, or betray us. But which path am I willing to take?

—

I wondered if Arthur was a good guy. He falls asleep randomly, and seems to write and read. In other words, living my dream. I wish I had some way of knowing him better. Lucky for me curiosity lead me farther in trapeze. He sits by the bench, waiting his turn as kids climb up the ladder, flipping and swinging. I stay by the line, only glancing at him from the side. The more I look at him, the more I wonder if this was all a mistake. What if my eyes were of, and he's just someone I run into. Mistakes are normal, yes, but there's only so much mistake guilt I can take. 

"Heads up!"

A voice calls, sending a frisbee flying by me. I duck down, and notice Arthur catching it perfectly. He's only intimidating me more.