“Hey, you.” Ink had been expecting me, which was ironic, because even after I’d left Cabin 13 and started walking toward the woods, I hadn’t realized I was looking for him.
“Hey,” I replied, all too aware of the difference between the last time we’d had this conversation and now. There were times when it felt like Ink and I were the only two people in the world, when I was a girl and he was a boy and everything else just faded away.
This was not one of those times.
“I’m not sure there’s a way out of this.” I wouldn’t have been able to admit that to anyone but Ink, the same way he wouldn’t have wanted Macbeth to know that this year had been his first real Thanksgiving. “I can stall Othello, but eventually, unless I think of something else …”
The rest of that sentence, the very idea of s
