It happened so fast we’re stunned into silence. What can you say when the world turns upside down? We had a chance to survive by working together, by supporting each other, and Deke changed everything when he snatched the backpack and split us up.

Three against two. We outnumber them, but Deke and Tony together are stronger than we are, as he just proved.

Mia fumbles around and recovers the flashlight. “At least they didn’t take the flashlight or the tarp.”

“This is so messed up,” I say. “What can we do?”

“If you want to change your vote, that’s allowed.”

I shake my head. Realizing that they can’t see me, I say, “No way. I chose the right side. Deke’s out of control, and that makes him dangerous. They’ll get themselves killed.”

Imani goes, “At least they’ll die with full bellies. Assuming they can make a fire.”

Mia says fiercely, “We have three choices. One: We do nothing. Stay where we are and hope to be rescued. Two: We follow the river like we planned, but without food or fire. Three: We wait until dawn, find the enemy, and take back what is ours.”

“The enemy?” I ask.

“What else would you call them?”

I open my mouth, but can’t think of what to say. She’s right. If you shove a girl to the ground and steal from her, you are an enemy. If you leave her without food or fire, you are an enemy.

“So, what do you choose?” she wants to know.

Imani and I both say, “Three!”

We take back what is ours. If we can figure out how to do it.

The night seems to last a thousand years. Mia and Imani sound like they’re sleeping. No way can I nod off. I’m too charged up, too worried. What if they come back to steal the tarp or the flashlight? What if the mountain lion is hunting for a midnight snack?

Weapon. I need a weapon. And I have one, sort of. My jackknife. Okay, it’s a tool with a short blade for cutting and carving. But maybe it can be a weapon, too.

In the darkness, my imagination runs wild. I imagine confronting Deke and Tony with the jackknife, demanding they hand over the backpack. And then I imagine Deke yanking the knife out of my hands and stabbing me with my own weapon.

Ouch. Gross.

What I can’t seem to imagine is me stabbing anyone. Not for food. Not for anything. That kind of violence makes me feel sick. Sorry, but you already know I’m a wuss. I’m bad at sports, I’d be even worse at war.

Forget the jackknife.