RYAN

The only familiar thing that surrounded me was the groans of other campers. I mean, who could blame them? The camp smelled like nature mixed with sweat and desperation, and there were no outlets for them to charge their precious little devices. Shoving thirty-eight teenagers from the city into a foreign environment, also known as outside, to “promote positivity and togetherness” was not the best idea this school had ever had—even if it was “tradition.”

It was a horrible prison of dirt, half-falling apart log cabins and annoyingly perky camp counselors.

Alas, our parents had forced us to be there for a variety of reasons. My mom specifically. After The Incident, Mom thought it would be good for me to spend a little bit more time around human persons—loosely quoted. Apparently, I wasn’t good enough at pretending to not be a mutant, which meant I had to spend the entire summer hanging out with a bunch of people who barely acknowledged my existence. Okay, so she wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t my fault the neighbor’s kid was a Nosey Nellie who insisted on peeking through the crack of our fence right as I let my wings out for some air!

Regardless, if I was going to spend the entire summer suffering, they could have at least put me in a cabin with people other than the weird goth kid and that annoying jock. I could maybe deal with Tyrin and his spooky outfits and creepy red contacts—and actually, the contacts were pretty cool, and at his core he was just an outcast, like me. But, Josh? Josh was another story entirely.

“Alright, everyone, listen up! I don’t want any fooling around, got that? Curfew is 10 PM exactly, and I will be checking. Don’t make me regret letting you talk me into giving you extra campfire time.” The gruff voice of the head of Camp Morningstar scraped against my ears like nails on a chalkboard. Mr. Carson, or as I like to call him, “Camp Overlord,” was a burly man in his 40s or something, who towered above all of us.

He ran a dry, cracked hand over his buzzed head and narrowed his eyes at us. They glowed red with a ferocious anger that came from years of trying to make teenagers care about wildlife. Oh, and I mean literally glowed. I’ve heard that it’s called light manipulation, but it really just looked like fireflies on steroids.

“Don’t worry, Sir. I’ve got this under control.”

The second I heard his overly peppy voice, I wanted to scream. Joshua Robinson: Jr. Camp Counselor, star quarterback, Prom King, valedictorian—oh yeah, and my ex-best friend. Emphasis on the ex. Josh had always been the star child, constantly upstaging me. He usually succeeded, too.

Not that I’m bitter.

Satisfied with Josh’s proclamation, Camp Overlord nodded and turned, walking away.

“Man, what a tool. What, does he think a little glowing light show is going to scare us? Muties are so full of themselves. It’s a wonder the government hasn’t dumped them all off somewhere.” Leave it to Matt to say something ignorant.

Just because the powers that be say humans and mutants have to live in peace doesn’t mean they do—by any stretch of the imagination. Mutants only appeared a couple decades ago, and there were many people who were resisting the change. Like with the human-only schools similar to the one I had the absolute joy of attending—I know, I know, a mutant at a school for humans. Let’s just say I have friends in high places. Honestly, it was kind of cool that Camp Overlord got to use his powers so openly.

Not all of us were that lucky.

Josh rolled his deep brown eyes. “Knock it off, Matt. He’s just doing his job.”

“He’s abusing that fancy little power of his. All I’d have to do is call up my mom and file a complaint, and he’d lose his job! Serves him right, too.”

I leaned my head on my hand. “Need Mommy to lick your wounds for you, Matthew? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What was that, Winters?”

Josh clapped his hands together, “Alright, that’s enough. We came here to tell campfire stories, so that’s what we’re going to do.”

Matthew settled back into his place. His eye twitched and he bared his teeth at me, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff.

Ugh. Campfire stories. In the half a week we had been at this camp, this was my least favorite part. The poignant smell of pine slowly suffocating my lungs and the blistering heat of the fire licking at my already sunburned skin was not a particularly pleasant combination. Not to mention, getting up to tell a campfire story was about as humiliating and horrifying as giving a presentation to a classroom full of demons.

“Anyone dying to go first?” Josh glanced around at the other campers, who each in turn avoided his gaze.

Matthew grinned. I could see the revenge plot unfolding in his eyes, but it was too late. “Winters seems talkative tonight. I vote he goes first.”

I didn’t know if it was because no one wanted the misfortune of having to go first, or if it was because being on the football team meant Matt was almost as popular as Josh, but everyone seemed to just love that idea. Plus, Josh left the door wide open for that cretin. I lifted my head from my hand and looked away. “Pass.”

There was no way I was going to jump up and make a fool of myself in front of a bunch of people who weren’t even going to listen to me anyway. The judgment I got for being trans was more than enough to last a lifetime.

Josh took the last available seat on the logs surrounding the campfire which, unfortunately, was right next to me. He nudged my shoulder in that way he used to do when we were kids—and my heart lurched for only a moment. “Come on, dude, what’s so awful about telling a little story?”

“If you love campfire stories so much, why don’t you go, Josh.” I pushed myself away from him on the log. Same old Josh, no concept of personal space.

“It’s okay, Ryan, just tell a quick story.” A sweet, velvety voice danced into my ears, and I didn’t even have to look to know who it was. Gigi O’Connor. She was the girl of everyone’s dreams—well, at least, she was the girl of mine. She ran her fingers through her unruly fiery red curls and smiled at me in that way of hers. The campfire danced just enough to show off those little freckles that dotted her face with her vibrant green eyes that glimmered from across the fire pit.

Maybe it was me being sappy—but there really wasn’t a girl out there quite like Gigi. After watching her stand up for herself on that stage, loudly proclaiming that she deserved the part of Juliet—and she would not be playing Romeo—well, I fell hard. Something about her bravery, probably.

It was something I would never have, but she made me feel stronger.

The rest of the campfire crew nodded and made other various sounds of agreement. Josh turned to me, failing to hide the shit-eating grin on his face. God, three years since the destruction of our friendship and he still got a kick out of watching me suffer. What a stand-up guy. Truly, a hero.

“The camp has spoken.” Josh threw in a little shrug, like he had absolutely nothing to do with the situation.

I looked back over at Gigi, and sighed. Even though I knew what was happening, I couldn’t say no to her.

“Fine, fine. I have a story.” I straightened up in an attempt to look cool, or at least like I wasn’t crumbling slowly under their judgmental eyes. Matt, along with most humans, may see themselves as superior to mutants in literally every possible way, but there was one giant upside to mutant-hood that humans rarely considered:

Using your powers for personal gain.

After all, what kind of story could I tell to simultaneously annoy Josh, and appeal to the hodge-podge of high school cliques that were expecting something truly awful to come out of my mouth? Ghost stories.

What could be a better way to bring together a camp of cliques and one lonely misfit than a nice, calming tale about dead people? I mean, that’s basically what campfire stories are for, right? And no one could tell a better ghost story than me, if I do say so myself. Remember the part about powers, and using them for personal gain? “Well, I was doing some research on this camp, and—”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be serious. Lame!” Josh scoffed and crossed his arms, clearly disappointed in the 10 whole words I had managed to say.

“Lay off! I am serious! This is a true story, and you are the one who insisted I do this, so sit back and let me do my thing.” The planets must have aligned, because for once, the campfire crew was on my side. Victory: Ryan.

“As I was saying, this camp has a secret. Like any good campsite, it has its fair share of ghost stories and mysteries—but only one of them is true…” I paused for dramatic effect—although, in reality, I was scanning the woods for a subject. I mean, for Christ’s sake, it’s the woods. Don’t people go missing and die around these parts all the time? I mean, where’s the Hollywood flare? The mystery, the suspense, the murder?

It was then that I saw her, barely a little flicker of light poking out of the trees. Her eyes were pure white—like they had rolled back into her head—and she wore a dirty, tattered nightgown that had traces of blood. Her hair was clumped on the side, her head dented where she probably sustained some sort of serious blow. And she was staring right at me. It sent chills down my spine, and I grinned. Perfect. I didn’t know how, but they always knew I could see them. Maybe because I was literally the only one who could.

Cue me whispering in a creepy voice I see dead people. Yup, that was my mutation. Quite the letdown, right? It wasn’t like I could do much with it, but it had its advantages when it came to storytelling. And its disadvantages.

I tensed as my mind ignited, flashing with foreign images. It was night. A family camp. Warm in bed. A man. Screaming. Dragging. Surrounded by trees. A sharp pain…And then, nothing. The memories stopped. Her whole life had flashed before my eyes. No wonder she was attached to the campsite. Who could move on after that?

Playing with the memories of the dead was always a dangerous game. That, and it hurt more than I could put into words. I guess you could say my “power” wasn’t one I could control, so I felt everything. Every moment they felt—all the good, all the bad, and also their death. But I didn’t dive into her memories so I could throw myself into some existential crisis over the realities of life and death—I had a story to tell.

And it was a story I got.