When my appetite returned, sleep left me.

I spent almost the entire night tossing and turning, watching Martina slumber like a baby. After realizing it was a little creepy to stare at her in her sleep, I forced myself to face the wall on the right side of my bed and close my eyes, even if I never ended up dozing off.

I'm wide awake by six a.m. and estimate that I have about two-and-a-half hours of interrupted sleep to get me through this day. I sigh and slip my feet into some flip flops before dragging myself to the bathroom down the hall.

My stomach grumbles like I haven't eaten in a century, the emptiness unbearable. Realizing I can't wait until breakfast, I swiftly make my way from the dorm to the central building in the pure serenity of the early morning. No blueberry muffins are in sight, much to my disappointment, so I settle with a yellow apple—far from my favorite fruit, but it's something to quell my hunger. I take small bites and walk down the hallway, peeking into each room.

Except for one.

I don't need to poke my head into the boxing gym to know Axel is in there, somehow finding the energy to pound and pummel a punching bag at practically sunrise. This time, no heavy beat booms in the background, making me wonder if he's wearing headphones.

A few quiet steps later, I'm close enough to glance through the gap between the two open doors. Sure enough, Axel wears a pair of wireless headphones and continues throwing punch after punch.

Something he isn't wearing: a shirt.

I lose myself in the small beads of sweat dripping down his abdomen, disappearing into the grooves of his muscles. His shorts ride a little lower than normal and reveal a sharp V-line. As my eyes trail downwards, a million thoughts fill my mind, and none are holy. I blink and try to think of anything else, imagining the disappointed glares from my church-loving grandmother.

Axel gives the bag a rest and gazes at the mirror. He spends a good thirty seconds lost in his reflection—a narcissist to any outsider, but I've seen that look so many times before, knowing his mind is in a different world.

Until it meets mine.

I fall back against the wall opposite to the doors and cringe, wishing I left a second before. He pulls out his headphones and grabs a small towel and strides towards the door. He stops and leans against the frame, folding his broad arms over his chest.

I decide to speak first. "I can't even explain myself at this point."

He chuckles and wipes some of the sweat from his brow. "I won't ask, then." He walks back inside and grabs his phone and his shirt lying on a random piece of equipment. He yanks it on and then instructs me to follow him.

I oblige, and we make our way down the hall to a small office. I wonder what purpose it will serve, as we could have just talked inside the gym, until I realize he doesn't actually care about the privacy or the long desk drowning in papers.

"I usually brew myself some coffee before working out," he says, walking over to the maker on a narrow wooden table. He picks up the pot, turning back to me. "Want a cup?"

"Yes, please," I reply, wondering just how visible my sleep deprivation is.

"How do you like yours?"

"Oh, just black is fine."

He quirks a brow. "Really?"

I chuckle. "Well, some almond milk would be good—if you have any."

At my request, he crouches down to the mini fridge under the table and pulls out a carton of almond milk. I take it from him with a thank you and watch him pour one packet of sugar into his cup, skipping the milk.

We'd make an efficient couple, that's for sure.

"Do you genuinely enjoy working out in the morning?" I ask, while we each take small sips from our burning hot cups. I direct the conversation, not wanting to continue the one from yesterday, having already had a whole night to think about it.

"Not at all," he admits, "I just like the quiet." He leans his lower back against the wooden table and glances at my face. "Why are you up so early today?"

"Couldn't sleep," I say, setting my cup down next to me. "Up thinking, I guess."

"About what?" His tone is much softer than usual, soothing to my ears.

"Things," I say vaguely. "People." I look him in the eyes when I give him my true answer: "You."

He smiles against the rim of his cup and lowers it from his lips. "Were they good or bad thoughts?"

I blush, unsure how to interpret the word "bad." If the thoughts that entered my head while watching him work out fell under that category, then I had many, many bad thoughts.

"Neither," I lie, finding it hard to meet his eyes. I turn the tables and ask, "What were you thinking about before I came?"

"About this cup," he replies, holding it up. I frown at the very lame reply. He sighs and adds, "Well, besides dreaming about my coffee, I was wondering why I've never let you take a few swings at that punching bag. Are you interested in learning?"

I open my mouth to utter "no," but then I think about how many frustrations I've encountered at this camp, and how many more are probably waiting for me when I get home. In seconds, the idea of learning becomes more attractive, as my hands itch to release some of my anger.

"You know what, why not?"

***

"There you go. Easy, not so hard. Whitney you're not trying to break concrete, or in this case, your shoulder."

I should have expected that Axel would be overcritical while trying this sport out with me, having given me a line of feedback after every strike. The fierceness I felt as I put on the gloves disappeared with my realization that hitting a punching bag was so much easier when I wasn't the one doing the punching.

"Is-is this better?" I extend my right arm with less force and feel less of a strain on my shoulder. "Or am I still doing it wrong?"

Axel gives up on the useless criticism and stands behind me. His hands hover over my arms, and he gives me instructions over my head. I watch in the mirror as my form changes and starts to mimic his own. With a few more adjustments, he lets me go at it again.

My mind drifts more with each strike, the disassociation somehow helping keep my technique consistent. For whatever reason, it lands in New York, back in my childhood apartment and the city that surrounded it. Many of those years were lost simply due to age, but the ones that I do remember are enveloped in nostalgia and bliss. Poppy walking me to school, running out of my room at midnight to hug my dad, exploring a new bakery each week in the Upper West Side, visiting the same museum any day off from school.

These aspects lost their meaning when we moved, not because I couldn't do them anymore, but because my family was never the same.

At the thought, I send one large blow to the bag and exit my fantasy land.

"Whitney, you okay?" Axel waves a hand in front of my face, and I blink.

"Yeah, of course." I take a moment to steady my breaths and ask, "What's next?"

"A break," he replies and pulls off his own boxing gloves. I do the same and take a seat on the mat on the floor, having been unaware of how tired I actually am. He steadies the still swaying bag and rests a hand on top of it. "What did you think?"

"It was as cathartic as I thought it'd be," I laugh and rub my shoulder. "Thanks for teaching me."

He smiles. "It was a pleasure as always."

After a few moments of silence, I speak again. "Axel." I get his attention. "I know you said yesterday that you might...regret working with me. But I don't feel the same. I don't think anyone else could transform every exercise from impossible to enjoyable like you do during our workout sessions."

"Every exercise?" he asks, focusing on the least important part.

I roll my eyes. "Fine, not every. Definitely not burpees or jump squats. Hill sprints are far from my favorite, too."

"I'm just messing with you." He utters his favorite line and extends both hands to pull me up this time. I place mine in his, not realizing the extra force would land me in his arms. He looks down at me and brushes his thumb over my cheek, smiling. "Forget what I said yesterday, okay? It doesn't mean anything."

"Okay," I murmur and gently rest my head in the middle of his chest. I steal a glance at the mirror to our side and ignore that his smile is now gone.

***

I run into the first bathroom I can find when my workout ends, not realizing how badly I needed to use it. I choose the communal ladies' room at the end of the hall and burst inside, expecting it to be empty as usual.

It takes a second for my brain to register that I am one, not alone, and two, have walked in on a very private moment. With a gasp—either my own or someone else's, I can't even tell—Martina and Aspen let go of each other and realize who just witnessed them sharing a kiss.

I take a couple steps in the other direction, until my back hits the wall next to the door, not sure what either of their reactions will be. Aspen acts first and shoves past me. I blink, and she's gone, having sprinted out of the exit of the building.

Martina's lips part in shock and a small sigh of frustration escapes them. She closes her eyes and washes her hands, refusing to stare at herself in the mirror.

"Martina, I'm sorry, I didn't know you guys were in—"

She whips her head to the right. "Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault we chose a shitty location."

I sigh and decide to wash my own sticky hands, having lost the urge that brought me here in the first place. She stays frozen in front of the sink, her usual lively demeanor gone. I'm stuck between wanting to comfort her or leave her in peace, knowing her romantic life is none of my business.

She pulls out a paper towel from the dispenser with extra force and then turns to me. "Look, Whitney, I don't really care that you saw us. Just don't... Don't go telling anyone, okay?"

I blink. "Why would I?"

She takes a few steps forward and stops a foot away from my body. "I don't know how welcoming your"—She pauses and trails her eyes down my face—"white parents are, but mine don't know their daughter is bisexual, let alone would ever accept that fact. So, naturally, I've become a very, very private person."

"Oh," I say softly, realizing she has something in common with Mina that I don't. "Consider your secret safe with me."

"Thank you," she breathes and walks to the door. Turning around before leaving, she adds, "I'd do the same for you, if you ever needed me to."