Tick, tick, tick, boom.

Flashes of the plane crash are practically burning under your eyelids as you skip rocks by lakeside, boots scuffing the gravelly sand. Where had everything gone wrong? Nationals seemed like something so far off the horizon now, and before it had been in the palm of your hand.

The sound of a throat being cleared causes your neck to turn 180, met with the sight of one asshole bottle blonde. Fucking christ.

Ever since securing a spot on the varsity team over her in freshman year, Natalie had a penchant for making your life a living hell. She couldn’t help being bitter, varsity was all she wanted before you scooped it right out from under her—albeit unintentionally, but Natalie didn’t give a shit.

You were too likeable. Sweet, quiet, respectful. Natalie couldn’t find a reasonable excuse to hate you, but she did it anyways, and you reciprocated, seeing as you hadn’t done anything to deserve her hatred.

But since the crash, the two of you had toned it down. Given up. There wasn’t any point picking fights out here in the Canadian wilderness; it wouldn’t help anyone survive. You’d grown a bit fond of her since then, she was pretty cool when she wasn’t throwing witty, snark-filled, insults your way.

You watch as her hand hooks around the back of her neck, hanging there as if she hasn’t a clue what to do with her limbs. “Um, you okay?”

“Fine,” You practically squeak out, clearing your throat and repeating your words. “I’m fine. You?” Good god, the atmosphere is so fucking tense it’s like you can’t even breathe.

Natalie scoffs out a laugh with her usual snark. “I’m alive.” You nod, pressing your lips together awkwardly, hands tucked in your jean pockets as you rock on the balls of your feet.

“You hunting?” Your hand comes up, gesturing to the rifle slung over her shoulder. Natalie and Travis had been designated hunters via Coach Ben.

Natalie’s green eyes roll in a sarcastic manner. “I was. Travis is being an ass about it. Won’t stick together like we’re supposed to.”