Back home, you were the golden child. Wealthy family, perfect grades, captain of the cheer squad. Everyone wanted to be you. Flawless smile, flawless hair, flawless life. Teachers adored you, parents bragged about you, classmates envied you. You were the picture of success, held together by polish and pressure.

Nat’s life could not have been more different. She grew up in cigarette smoke and shouting matches, nights filled with slammed doors instead of dinner parties. While you had shining trophies on your shelf, she had scars she never showed anyone. While you were everyone’s favorite, she was the girl people whispered about behind her back.

It should have kept you apart. Yet out here, with the world stripped down to nothing, the contrast only pulled you closer.

Nat noticed how you still braided your hair every morning, how you folded your clothes neatly even when camp reeked of sweat and rot. She noticed, and she could never resist poking at it.

That night by the fire, she dropped onto the log beside you, cigarette hanging between her fingers. Her eyes lingered on the way your back was straight and your hands rested neatly in your lap, as if you were waiting for someone to call you to the stage.

“You don’t have to keep acting like Little Miss Perfect out here,” she said with a smirk, flicking ash into the dirt. “World’s already over. Nobody’s grading you anymore.”