With that, they begin.

Coach Liv guides them out of the parking lot and onto a trailhead laid with soft bark dust. The moment they enter the wall of trees, Devin’s chest gets even tighter. She imagines how quickly she’ll lose her sense of direction out here. Eight miles seems short when she’s spent most of her life walking from place to place, but eight miles into the unknown is something else. It’s eight miles she’ll have to fight back through to make an escape. The tree canopy is bright green, shuffling in a way that almost looks like it breathes. Devin doesn’t speak and no one speaks to her. She inhales the forest’s living silence and does her best to tune out the rest.

They hike in a single- file line, Coach Liv at the front of the pack, followed closely by Aidan, who clutches his backpack straps so tight it’s like he’s parachuting. Devin half expects him to be the first one to call for a break, but he soldiers through, trotting in Liv’s shadow. Behind Aidan, Hannah hikes with the ease of a girl who has spent a chunk of her life outdoors. She’s quieter than the others, and apparently uninterested in the nature part of their hike given the way she stares at her boots the whole way.

Behind Hannah, only a few steps in front of Devin, is Ollie. And behind Devin, punctuating every minute or so with an aggrieved sigh, is Sheridan.

Devin doesn’t look at her because she doesn’t want to feed into whatever tantrum Sheridan is throwing. After the first hour, Sheridan calls for a break. She calls for another not even an hour after that. With each interruption, Devin’s patience withers. She wants to get out, too. She hates this, too. But Sheridan doesn’t just look tired, she looks bored. Devin doesn’t know her well yet— in fact, she doesn’t know her at all— but she imagines Sheridan is like the girls back at school who liked to interrupt class just to prove they had the power to make everyone’s day a little worse. The angrier Devin gets as Sheridan plops down onto a rock to retie her boots again, the happier Sheridan seems.

Finally, as the soil under the tree cover begins to darken and cool, Coach Liv holds up her hand. She turns to face the group with a satisfied smile, wisps of her wheat- blond hair floating at her jaw.

“Awesome job, everyone,” she beams. “Welcome to your first camp.”

Once they’re stopped, Ethan rolls a few logs toward the center of the clearing while Liv shuffles through her backpack, extracting a lighter and kindling. Devin drops her backpack and finally sits. The ache of their hike sets in the moment she’s seated and she isn’t sure she’ll be able to stand again. The others do the same, dropping their bags and sinking onto the logs with relief.

All four of them look different, and Devin imagines she looks different, too. Aidan’s face is red, sweat caked to his brow. Dirt speckles his thick-lensed glasses. Next to him, Hannah sits and grips her kneecaps so hard her knuckles turn white. The sleek line of her bob is disheveled now, exhaustion plain in the bags under her eyes. Ollie has abandoned his beanie, and his sweat- soaked mop of hair sticks to his cheeks. He sits next to Devin but doesn’t say a word. If he feels some sense of friendship with her, he can keep it to himself.

Across from Devin, sitting farthest from everyone else, is Sheridan. Her lavender hair, now pulled into a ponytail, sticks to her neck. Flecks of old black eyeliner give the vague outline of wings at the corners of her eyes. She quickly shifts her legs over the log and lies on her back, uninterested in conversation and apparently determined to prevent anyone else from sitting with her.

“Alright,” Ethan says, standing behind Liv as she makes a fire. “Look at that. You all survived your first hike. I want you each to give yourselves a pat on the back.”

Devin isn’t sure if he means it literally. Aidan is the only one to move, gently tapping his own shoulder. The trees above them rustle and sway as the still afternoon air shifts toward evening.

“You’ve all worked hard today, so Liv and I will take care of most of the nightly chores for you. We’ll make the fire tonight, prepare your dinners, and we’ll even help you set up your tents.”

Tents. Devin narrows her eyes. She hasn’t had a chance to look through her backpack yet, but she’s felt it flapping against her spine all day, light and cushiony. She’s fairly certain there is not a whole tent in there.

“For the next fifty days, this is how we’ll do things,” Ethan continues. “We’ll wake up, eat breakfast, and chat about our goals for the day. We’ll hike most of the afternoon, and in the evening, we’ll eat and make camp. Part of REVIVE’s mission is to help each of you learn about establishing healthy routines that can keep you from drifting back to the behaviors that got you in trouble in the first place. We’ll help you establish that first healthy routine right here in the woods. Starting now.”

Devin rolls her eyes. She had a routine back home. Wake up, muddle through school, pretend she was in a club so her fosters didn’t come looking for her, wander down Powell until she got to the convenience store that sold packs of cigarettes without checking ID. On good days, when she managed to get cash from the Pattons’ piggy bank, she and the friends she could scrape together would hit Burgerville and eat shoestring fries until her stomach threatened to burst. She imagines the salt on her lips and closes her eyes. This is bullshit.

“While we get the fire started,” Ethan says, “let’s try an exercise. I asked you to think about the kinds of patterns you followed back home and whether you wanted to keep them when you get back. I want you, in pairs, to chat about what you came up with.”

Ollie turns to face Devin, but before he can ask her to pair up, Coach Ethan holds up a hand. His eyes linger on Sheridan splayed over her log.

“Actually, I’ll pair you,” he says.

Before he says a word, Devin knows in her gut who she’ll be paired with. She looks at the trees that border their campsite and considers running.

“Devin,” Coach Ethan says. “Can you come sit with Sheridan?”

She’s hardly listening when the coaches pair Ollie with Hannah and Ethan guides Aidan to sit across from Liv. All of her attention is on Sheridan, who doesn’t even blink when Ethan speaks. She doesn’t move a muscle from her log.

Maybe it isn’t fair to hate her already, but Devin does. She hates the way she doesn’t seem totally devastated to be here. She hates the way Sheridan doesn’t pay attention to anyone else in camp. Devin likes to think she has relatively good people- reading skills, and the read she’s getting on Sheridan is clear as day. Devin hates the girl she already knows Sheridan is.

Reluctantly, Devin gets up. Sheridan doesn’t move to make room for her, so Devin sits at the edge of the next log. With the fire finally started, the heat soothes her throbbing calf muscles.

After a moment, Sheridan cranes her neck slightly to eye Devin.

“Are we doing this?” Devin asks.

“Why?” Sheridan scoffs.

“I’m fine just sitting here,” Devin says. “Genuinely, I do not care.”

“Cool.”

Sheridan goes back to staring up at the branches. Across the fire, Ollie and Hannah are already deep in conversation. Aidan chatters happily with Liv who, every few seconds, extracts a small pouch from her bag. Some kind of trail food, Devin realizes. The vacuum- sealed plastic gleams next to the fire, making the food inside look particularly unappetizing.

Eventually, Ethan crouches at eye-level between Devin and Sheridan. He puts his hands on his knees and dons a cool smile. “I noticed you two haven’t started talking yet. I don’t want you to fall behind.”

“We won’t,” Sheridan says. “Thanks for checking.”

Devin says nothing.

“Sheridan,” Ethan warns. “Please sit up when we’re having a conversation.”

Reluctantly, Sheridan sits. She flashes Ethan a mocking smile.

“I know this can be difficult, especially when you aren’t used to talking about your feelings,” Ethan says, softer. “I paired you two because I think you have a lot in common, but I also think you two have the most to gain from REVIVE. Will you please give this a try?”

Devin gives a noncommittal shrug. She isn’t usually at a loss for words, but this exercise is her worst nightmare. Devin doesn’t talk about feelings, doesn’t dissect the reasons why she does things. People get it or they don’t, and the people who don’t get it aren’t worth her time. One look at Sheridan tells her the other girl is not going to get it.

“Devin, how about we start with you?” Ethan says. “Tell Sheridan a little bit about your setup back in Portland.”

“Fine,” Devin says.

Sheridan eyes her.

When Ethan stands, Devin eyes Sheridan back. She doesn’t want to do this. She hates it so much it makes her dizzy. She huffs another, “Fine.”

“Are you sharing?” Sheridan asks.

“I guess so,” Devin says. “If it gets this over with.”

Sheridan’s smile is crooked, like she’s lured Devin into a trap. Even the glow of the fire does nothing to warm the paleness of her skin. She leans forward, chin on her knuckles, and waits for Devin to speak.

“I live with fosters,” Devin says finally. “I’ve been with them for, uh, six months, I think. They’re fine. I’ve had worse. Except none of the other ones sent me to evil summer camp, so now I’m rethinking my ranking.”

Sheridan nods.

“I think they want us to, like . . . talk about why people were worried about us? It was probably because of this fight a week ago, but that wasn’t my fault. They also didn’t like me breaking curfew. I don’t know. This feels like an overreaction.”

“Ah,” Sheridan says, probably faking interest. She looks like a talk show host listening, wide-eyed, to a boring guest.

“It’s whatever. If this thing is supposed to last fifty days, I’ll be eighteen when we finish,” Devin says. “I can just tell them to fuck off.”

“Wow,” Sheridan says. “Bold.”

“I guess,” Devin says. “I just feel like everyone treats me like I’m their problem even though I never asked. I’d rather just . . . be my own problem?”

“I totally feel you,” Sheridan says.

“Yeah?”

Sheridan nods. But there’s something off. She’s still wearing that half smile that makes it look like she’s joking. If there’s a punchline, Devin doesn’t get it. She waits for Sheridan to talk, but she just stares at Devin. The sun is fading fast, leaving the wind cold and the shadows deep. The fire lights the space between them, but its crackling isn’t enough to break the quiet.

“I think it’s your turn,” Devin says.

“Guess so. I had a rough year,” Sheridan says, surprisingly earnest. “One of my best friends was killed at a party.”

Devin blinks. “Oh, god. That’s . . .”

“Yeah.” Sheridan wipes at her nose, turning to stare into the fire. “It was really hard. I mean, I was at the party and never even saw what happened to her.”

Devin shakes her head in disbelief. Maybe her read on Sheridan was wrong. Devin gets it, this level of apathy for the world around you after you’ve been through something horrible. If the coaches already knew this about her, their harshness suddenly seems cruel.

“And then,” Sheridan says, eyes wide, “my friends and I started getting harassed by this anonymous person who was texting us threats. Pretending we had something to do with what happened to her.”

“Like blackmail?” Devin asks.

“Yeah. It was crazy. I was constantly watching my back, but then my grades started slipping. Then, one night . . .”

As she explains, Devin narrows her eyes. Even through her multilayered tale of misery, there’s a hint of a smile at Sheridan’s lips, a brightness in her eyes.

“You’re lying,” Devin says.

Sheridan sighs and shakes her head. “Aw, what gave it away?”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“You should watch Pretty Little Liars,” Sheridan muses. “It’s so unhinged. If you ever take a break from fighting twelve-year-olds for lunch money.”

Devin’s jaw tightens and it’s stupid that she’s angry. Sheridan is no different from any other cruel girl back home. The kind who messes with you just to entertain themselves. Sheridan flips her hair over her shoulder, crooked smile widening, and Devin wants to punch her in the mouth.

“We were supposed to be honest,” Devin says. “That was the point.”

“Why do you care? It’s not my fault you decided to do it.” Sheridan laughs. “They have to feed you whether or not you follow the rules. I thought you’d be the tough one in the group. It was really cute of you to talk about your feelings, though.”

Back home, Devin would’ve already walked away. Or, worse, she would’ve earned herself a ticket to the principal’s office. Devin is a joke to her. Her read on Sheridan was exactly right.

“What is this?” Devin spits. “What’s wrong with you?”

Sheridan’s laugh now is genuine. Her nose scrunches, exposing the puncture from what used to hold a septum ring. “Is this how you think we should rebel? By . . . doing everything they ask us to?”

“I’m just trying to go along until I can figure out how to get out of here,” Devin says, and she doesn’t know why she’s justifying herself. “And, I don’t know, I was trying to be nice to you.”

“Your bad.” Sheridan shifts, leans a little closer with that same fake curiosity as before. “Tell me your escape plan. You’re gonna rough it in the woods? Maybe it’s your butchy vibe, but I feel like you could pull it off.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” Sheridan whines, cloyingly fake-offended. “I’m trying to compliment the TV bully look. If we were stuck alone out here, I feel like you’d kill and skin a bear or something.”

Before Devin can say anything else, Coach Liv taps her knee. She hands Devin a small plastic pouch of steaming food, though food is a liberal term for it. Mud-colored liquid drowns strands of shredded chicken and wilted herbs. In the dark, it’s hard to make out what exactly swims in her dinner. Liv hands Sheridan an identical pouch.

Before she can move on to Ollie and Hannah, Devin takes Liv’s shoulder. Face hot, fists clenched, she says, “I wanna switch partners.”

“Oh, come on,” Sheridan scoffs.

“If I don’t switch partners, I think I’m going to fall into one of those, uh, bad routines.”

Liv looks at Devin, then at Sheridan, and sighs. She waves down Coach Ethan, who’s busy shoveling pouch-food into his mouth. He raises

his brow.

“Devin wants to switch partners,” Liv says.

“Devin— ”

Devin shakes her head. “I don’t like her. I’ll take, uh . . .”

She motions to Aidan, whose name briefly escapes her. He looks at her with wide eyes made even wider with the thickness of his lenses. Devin doesn’t want to talk to him, either— doesn’t want to talk to anyone if she can help it— but an annoying suck- up would be better than whatever Sheridan is.

The coaches hold each other’s gaze for a long moment, then Ethan nods. “Fine. Aidan, come sit with Devin. Sheridan, you’re with Liv.”

“Lucky me,” Sheridan drawls. “I’m more into blondes anyway.”

They switch places, Aidan neatly plopping onto the log where Sheridan sat moments ago. He takes another bite of his dinner and beams at Devin. The dark is thicker in the clearing now. For the first time since she left Portland, Devin wishes she had a jacket.

“You should try the soup,” Aidan says. “It’s actually really good.”

“You’re calling it soup?”

“I think it’s tortilla soup,” Aidan says pleasantly. “It’s definitely better than what my mom makes.”

“Huh,” Devin says. “Not a very high opinion of your mom.”

Devin smells the pouch. She scoops out a plastic spoonful and takes a bite. Shockingly, Aidan is right. The soup isn’t the best thing she’s ever eaten, but it’s good enough, the night’s cold enough, and she’s hungry enough. She takes a few tentative bites, tearing the chicken apart with her teeth, before abandoning the spoon and dumping the whole pouch into her mouth. The warmth slides all the way down her throat, settling in her stomach.

“I’m Aidan,” Aidan says. “In case you forgot.”

“Aidan,” Devin says, feeling the name out. “Do you remember my name?”

“Devin, I think. I remember because it’s a boy’s name.”

“I don’t think it has a gender. It’s just a name.”

Aidan shrugs. Devin watches him and tries to imagine what he possibly could’ve done to be sent here. He looks like the kids she used to cheat off in math. He’s a welcome change after Sheridan, even if he’s only slightly better. He verges on too earnest, but at least he’s not mocking her.

“Listen, I already said my part with her,” Devin says. “We can just chill, I think.”

“I already said my part, too,” Aidan says. “I didn’t really get to talk about my patterns, though.”

Devin knows she’ll regret it, but she says it anyway. “Do you want to tell me about your patterns?”

Aidan nods. “Well, when I woke up, I took my vitamins, packed my lunch, and said bye to my mom. Then my friend Landon drove me to school. I’ve been thinking about Landon a lot. I’m scared him and my other friends are worried about me.”

Devin nods along with Aidan, but there’s a squeeze in her chest. She doesn’t know how old the others are, but they seem to be about her age. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Aidan seems younger, though, not just in the roundness of his cheeks and the way he stands a full head shorter than Ollie. There’s a bright, unrelenting optimism to the way he speaks. Devin softens just a little and offers a smile.

“It sounds like they’ll be happy when you’re back.”

In a flash, a shadow passes over Aidan’s expression. He brightens and says, “They won’t believe I spent fifty days in the woods. I don’t even go camping.”

Maybe he’s exaggerating about his friends, or maybe he really does have a group of people that will miss him desperately. When Devin thinks about her friends in Portland, she can’t imagine a reaction like that. They’ll text her and ask to hang out twice, maybe three times. Then they’ll give up, assume she’s probably been rehomed or gotten herself locked up. Maybe they’ll ask the Pattons about her, but in a week or so, they’ll forget completely. Fifty days away from home and she’ll be a ghost to every person she met there.

“You still there?” Aidan asks.

“Still here, unfortunately,” Devin muses.

“It’ll be okay,” Aidan says, unprompted. He puts his hand on the log beside Devin’s knee. “We’ll be okay. It’s only fifty days, then you can go home.”