I’m stuck in the first aid tent, drowning in humidity and other people’s questionable life choices. My scrubs are practically a wet towel at this point. The industrial fans feel like a cruel joke, and if one more guy staggers in asking if I have anything for ‘just being too high,’ I’m faking a seizure and medevacking myself out of here.

This isn’t how I envisioned my life, but here I am—trying to figure out when I can jump out of this town—again. There’s a small cut along my forearm I didn’t notice until just now—probably from the boy who stormed into the first-aid tent like he was on fire. Spoiler: he wasn’t. Just took a dramatic tumble off the inflatable slide. Left a trail of candy and tears behind him.

A band plays near the lake. The music drifts through the fabric walls of the tent, both upbeat and vaguely nostalgic. The fireworks haven’t started yet, but the air feels ready to split wide open.

I press a cold pack to a teenage girl’s ankle. She winces. Her boyfriend stands nearby, watching me like I might spontaneously unravel in front of him.

I won’t.

I’ve already done that years ago, quietly, when no one was looking.

“Keep this on until the swelling goes down,” I say, softer than I mean to.

She nods, biting the inside of her cheek, trying not to cry. He murmurs a thank you—but doesn’t quite meet my eyes. He probably knows about me or thinks he does. People around here always swear they know.

Maybe he heard something at the coffee shop. That’s where everyone learned I was back—after almost a year of being here. As long as you stay away in a remote cabin by the lake, no one will ever give two shits about who you are or even try to figure out why you’re here.

Here’s a tip for anyone who comes to Birchwood Springs: if you want to hear the latest gossip in town, drop by The Honey Drop for excellent pastries and all the information you can swallow. By now, many believe that I used to sleep around like my mother—a total lie. That my grandfather ran me out because I was just like her—I left of my own will. That I came back smaller somehow, like a shrunken version of the girl I used to be, all because I’m a medical failure.

If I were a terrible doctor, I wouldn’t be here. It’s because of my credentials that they shoved me in this forsaken town. But I can’t say anything because it’s part of my contract. I just smile and avoid everyone outside office hours.

They love a good cautionary tale in Birchwood Springs.