After all the other campers in the cabin left for breakfast, Marty sat on their bunk, opened their backpack, and took out all the items one at a time to double-check they had all the required gear for the day’s hike and would be able to find it when needed. Mentally reviewing the list they’d gotten the day before, Marty put their water bottle in the side pocket, already filled with fresh cold water, their field first-aid kit, snakebite kit, compass, waterproof box with matches, flashlight, and MREs inside, and strapped their heat resistant thermal blanket and individual pup tent—compressed into its own go-bag—onto the back of their twenty-five-liter backpack. The tent wasn’t strictly required, but they’d never set out on a hike without it, so it seemed they should take it along even if this was just an exercise. Since Marty hadn’t backcountry camped since the fall before with their dad, this was a good refresher. They slipped on the pack, adjusted the straps, checked that the load was evenly distributed, and had just swung it off again when the cabin door opened.

Ford and Shannon bounded in on a storm of laughter, accompanied by a strong waft of weed. Marty hadn’t seen either of them earlier and had just assumed they’d gone to breakfast. Maybe not.

Shannon halted abruptly and cocked her head as if discovering something strange in her path. Weirdly, Ford looked chagrined.

“Oh, look who it is,” Shannon said in that tone of voice that could be construed in any number of ways, from mocking to just trying to be friendly, “it’s…oh, who is it today? Would it be Martha? Or Martin?”

“Come on, Shannon,” Ford muttered.

Shannon shot her a look, her red eyebrow perfectly arched as if to say What? Did I say something wrong? She smiled, and it wasn’t a smile Marty could possibly misinterpret. They’d never really known before what the phrase cruel smile referred to, but they recognized it now. Disdainful and angry, for some reason. Which was weird too, because they didn’t even know these girls.

“So?” Shannon said, her gaze swinging hard to Marty. “What are you feeling today? A little bit boy or a bit more girl? Because, you know, I don’t want to misname you, or whatever.”

“Marty’s fine anytime.” Marty headed toward the door, swinging wide of the pair who stood just inside. For just an instant, they thought Shannon might sidestep and block their way. That was new—until now, name-calling and snide remarks were the worst Marty’d had to deal with. But they knew enough to be wary of possible physical encounters. They slowed, their heart racing. Everyone else was probably already down at the lodge, a good quarter of a mile away.