I’m freezing. My whole body aches. My head is pounding. And my nose feels all stuffed up.

          That’s how I awake the next morning. I turn over on my side, expecting to see Alaska’s limp body still sleeping peacefully beside me, only to see that he’s gone. I promptly sit up, quickly wincing and throwing a hand to my head that only seems to hurt more from the movement, and do a once over in the igloo. The backpack and everything inside is still resting in their respective places against the packed coating of snow that constitutes the walls of our makeshift igloo, but a certain dark haired boy with brown eyes is nowhere to be found.

          I collapse back onto the ground so I’m sprawled out on my back and let out a groan. I don’t have the energy to go on a scavenger hunt for the idiot. Why is he gone, anyway? We never came up with a plan in regards to what we should do if the other person is ever missing. Do we stay put? Go on a search party? Acknowledge that time is of the essence and leave without them? I don’t know.

          I count to five and muster up the energy to push myself up from my spot, put on my snow boots, quickly realizing that his boots are also missing, and push a few tresses of my matted brown hair that fall in my face out of the way. I must look horrific right now.

          “If he’s trying to mess with me, I’m gonna kill him,” I mutter dryly to myself as I lace my boots.

          When I go outside, I look around desperately, hoping to see him hovering over some makeshift fire pit as he rubs two sticks together or something, but there isn’t a single soul in sight. A bird crows overhead in what I assume to be the early morning atmosphere, and a shiver courses its way down my spine. I really, really don’t enjoy being out here alone.

          “Alaska?” I call tentatively. Then, louder: “Alaska?”

          No answer.

          Now I’m getting panicked. I genuinely don’t have any idea what to do. I kind of assumed I’d have Alaska with me the whole time I’d be out here, whether I outwardly admit to appreciating his presence or not. But what if something happened to him?

          “Alaska?!” I’m practically screaming now. “Where are you?”

          I look down and notice a trail of footprints that lead deeper into the woods and stumble after them, ignoring the sharp pain in my head. “You better not be messing with me!” I call again.

          Still, there’s no reply.

          I feel so hopeless, I’m on the verge of tears. I blink rapidly to keep myself from crying over a boy who, twenty-four hours ago, I couldn’t have cared less about. I’m being ridiculous. I know. But right in this moment, I have bigger concerns than whether or not my tears would be justified if I were to start crying.

          My heart knocks madly against my chest. What if something really did happen to him? What if I’m stranded out here alone and I have to rely on myself to find my way back home and survive in the Alaskan wilderness on my own?

          I shake my head and scream louder. “Alaska!” Terror seeps from my shaking voice. Where is he?

          “Alas—“

          “I’m here; I’m here. What’s wrong?” I whirl around and it’s like the air around me deflates and is suddenly ten times lighter than it was before. My shoulders sag as I catch sight of the familiar curly head of brown hair rushing toward me.

          “God, you scared me!” I cry, my voice sounding pathetic and disoriented. I don’t care. I take a step toward him and jab my finger in his chest angrily. “Where were you? I woke up and you were gone. You can’t just disappear without telling me! I thought something might’ve happened to you and didn’t know what to do.”

          “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He peels my finger away and pulls me into him, and it’s only then that I realize that I’m trembling. Trembling. This isn’t me. I never get scared like this. Ever. “I’m sorry. I had to pee and you were still asleep and I wasn’t going to wake you. I guess I assumed you wouldn’t wake up in the two minutes I was gone, but I guess you did. I’m here now though.”

          I take several deep breaths to give my heart rate a chance to return to a more humanly pace. When I finally feel composed enough to get a grip on the situation, I back away from his hold and slap him on the chest as hard as I can. “Next time, tell me where you’re going before I get all panicked, you idiot!”

          “I promise I will,” he assures me. Then, sobering up, he grins at me, the epitome of the boy I know and despise. “You were really worried about me, weren’t you? That’s so cute, Opal. I’m flattered.”

          “Dream on,” I mumble in annoyance, pushing past him to march my way back to the igloo, though I feel color rising to my cheeks.

          Idiot.

          When we finally get back to the igloo, I take a seat on the sleeping bag, bringing my knees up to my chest, a challenging feat with my thick layers of clothing that make me resemble something of a marshmallow. A tan-skinned, dark-haired, gray-eyed marshmallow. Alaska plops down beside me, and I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

          Somehow he looks natural in his winter wear. Maybe even, dare I say it, cute.

          Not that I’d ever tell him that. Guys don’t need girls feeding their egos. Their self-esteem is plenty big enough to begin with without the degrading sight of girls kneeling at their feet in hopes of wooing them. I will never, ever be one of those girls. Either the guy makes the effort to be with me, or he’s kicked to the curb.

          I’m not saying I’ll love him. Love isn’t even a real thing. But hopefully someday I’ll find a guy who I can like and tolerate enough to live with. That’s the goal, anyway.

          I glance over at Alaska and notice him poking at the snow with his finger, his eyes downcast and kind of glazed over, like he’s thinking deeply about something. For a second, I wonder what goes on in his brain. Just a second. Then I realize what a ridiculous question this is. Why should I care what he thinks about?

          “So are we gonna keep moving?” I ask, suddenly aware of how congested my voice sounds. Gross.

          He raises his eyebrows and slowly pulls his eyes away from whatever spot they’re glued to, meeting my own expectant gaze. “I thought we already had this discussion,” he sighs. “The best thing we can do is stay put, remember? Besides, we already built the igloo.”

          I huff in annoyance. “But I’m so cold. At least it’s a bit warmer when we’re moving.”

          “We can lie in the sleeping bag together for body heat if you want,” he volunteers. “Although I know you’ll just object to that idea.”

          Sighing, I shake my head to decline. Although the offer admittedly sounds very tempting, it’s not the kind of thing that Opal Finnegan would agree to in normal circumstances, and I am starting to really branch off from my normal behaviorisms out here. I’m doing and saying things that I would never dream of being caught dead doing or saying in Florida and frankly, it’s getting out of hand.

          Suddenly, the realization that I have a nearly full bladder hits me. “I really have to pee,” I admit shamelessly, digging the toe of my boot into the snow as I do so.

          “Then go pee,” comes his rational response, as if it’s a matter of simply opening the gateways to my bladder and being done with it. He doesn’t seem to realize that the anatomy of my body doesn’t allow for such a task to be quite as simple as it was for him. And besides, there’s no toilet paper. That’s disgusting.

          “No way.” I fold my arms over my chest and my leg begins to bounce up and down to compensate for the sudden need to relieve my bladder.

          He shoots a flat expression my way. “Opal,” he says, “you can’t just hold it in. That’s not good for you. Just go pee. I’ll wait in here.”

          “I am not gonna go pee out there. Besides, I don’t trust you.”

          “God, Opal, how many times do I have to tell you that you can trust me?” He rakes his hands through his hair in frustration and the gesture is borderline sexy. He should do that more often. “We freaking slept in the same sleeping bag and I didn’t lay a finger on you, I saved you from a bear, and I haven’t overstepped any boundaries once. What is it with you and your inability to trust others? Did something happen that made you this skeptical of everyone around you?”

          Yeah, I think to myself, my whole life happened. You can’t live the life I’ve lived and not have a severe trust issue.

          Instead, I mumble, “I don’t know.”

          “Yeah,” he breathes incredulously, “me neither.”

          We both sit in silence for a bit, me shaking my leg and trying not to think about how much better I would feel if I were to just go pee, him sitting quietly, fidgeting with his shoe laces. I think about his words. It’s true; he honestly hasn’t done a single thing so far to make me have any reason not to trust him. And that’s part of why I am so distrustful; people always do something to let you down or lose your trust. Always. And if he hasn’t yet, he will. It’s only a matter of time before the boy from Alaska says or does something to ruin any potential shreds of faith that I have that some people can be trusted.

          Because I live in a world where if you’re not cautious and persistently preparing for the worst, life has a funny way of knocking you off your feet when you least expect it, and the unexpected blows always hurt the most. I learned that the hard way.

          Finally, I can’t take it anymore. Trust or not, I need to pee. I crawl toward the hole that leads to outside, but not before I face him and shoot him my most menacing death glare. “If you leave this igloo before I return, I will chop your head off and hang it on a stick.”

          Chuckling, he nods his head in understanding. “I give you my word, I will stay right here.”

          I purse my lips and crawl outside, walking for a reasonable distance until I’m far away enough that he probably wouldn’t see me even if he did come out of the igloo, but I don’t run the risk of getting lost or anything. I look around and finally settle on a small bush.

          The ordeal is extremely awkward and leaves me feeling a combination of relieved and uncomfortable. As soon as I finish, I jerk my pants back up and look around, just to be sure Alaska stayed true to his word. There’s no sign of him, so I take it as a sign that he did. But you can never be too sure. Boys are perverts.

          I’m just about to walk back toward the igloo when an unidentified but definitely not natural noise that comes from several feet away makes me stiffen. If it’s Alaska, I’ll kill him. But if it’s not Alaska . . .

          Oh God. What if it’s another bear? After the first bear encounter, I don’t think I have it in me to handle another one. I think it’s pretty safe to say that I have a permanent fear of large and furry forest creatures with sharp teeth.

          There’s a clicking noise and then BOOM! The unmistakable sound of a gunshot resounds, disturbing the serenity that had previously kept the surrounding forest resembling some sort of a placid haven. As soon as I hear it, my body goes rigid with fear and any color is quickly drained from my face. I’m only thinking one thing: Alaska.

          “Alaska!” I shriek automatically on impulse as goose bumps pop up all over my skin and my heart returns to the same pulsating fast-paced thrum-thrum-thrumming that it was moving to earlier this morning when I thought he might be gone. I’m frozen to my spot, far too afraid to go investigate. Could he have been . . . shot? It suddenly occurs to me that if this is true, that means that another being would have had to have pulled the trigger, and I just ratted myself out to whoever that person may be. There’s no hiding now.

          “Alaska! Alaska please!”

          Tears make my vision watery as I crane my neck in every direction. I’m fully anticipating the moment that someone comes out of hiding from the shadows with a gun pointed between my eyes, and I mentally prepare myself for if that moment comes. Well, I try to mentally prepare myself. But there are only two things I can currently focus on: getting to Alaska and the fact that right now, I am not strong, I am not fearless, and I am most definitely not powerful.

          I’m nothing. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel in control. I’m terrified and God, where is Alaska?

          “Alaska!” I cry helplessly, my voice breaking a bit at the end. I feel a tear roll down my cheeks and I scrunch my face up to try to refrain from allowing more to take its place as I quickly wipe the single tear track away, fully aware that at any moment I could be faced with a bullet hurtling at my face at a high velocity. And I am promptly reminded of how much I just want to go home.

          A hand touches my shoulder and I let out a high-pitched yelp. I abruptly whirl around and release a breath of relief when I see that it’s Alaska. Without thinking, I hug him. He stands there in shock for a second before his arms wrap around me as well.

          “What was that noise?” he asks. “It sounded like—“

          “A gunshot?” I finish for him. “I heard a noise over there and then that happened and I panicked and thought maybe—oh God, thank God you’re okay.”

          “I’m right here, you’re safe. I’m gonna go investigate, okay? Make sure it was nothing.”

          “I’m going with you,” I say firmly, latching onto his arm.

          He frowns but doesn’t put up an argument. So we walk together in silence, and this time he doesn’t tease me about needing him. Something about this situation isn’t quite as innocent and carefree as what happened this morning, and there’s a heavy cloud of uncertainty lingering in the air. I’m not sure where it came from, but I would bet my life on one thing: that noise originated from the barrel of a gun.

          We walk several yards in the opposite direction when I finally see it at the exact same time that Alaska sees it. I draw in a sharp intake of air and feel like I’m going to be sick. Alaska takes my hand in his and squeezes it comfortingly, though there is absolutely nothing comforting about the display that sits before us.

          Sprawled out on the snow-laden ground is a scraggly-looking man, probably about in his forties or fifties, with a pool of thick, red blood oozing from a wound in his temple. His eyes are closed and his body is unmoving.

          He’s dead. Or murdered, to be more precise. I look around wildly in search of someone lingering nearby, but there appears to be no one. An unsettling shudder reverberates through my body and I tense up.

          “Let’s go,” Alaska whispers in my ear as we both drink up the petrifying sight before us with our eyes, the snapshot of this moment permanently ingrained into the both of our minds, whether we want to remember it or not.

          “What if someone is still out there?” I whisper back, biting down the urge to cry.

          “All right, how about we go get our stuff and keep moving like you’ve been wanting to do?” he offers.

          I nod my head in agreement wordlessly, trying not to think about the fact that the scene of a murder happened about thirty yards away from me and thinking of nothing else. It’s strange; you see this kind of thing on TV all the time and think to yourself: I can’t even imagine what I would do if I were ever in that situation. But the thing is, we think that way because we genuinely believe that we never will be caught in that situation. And then it happens and it has your head reeling and you get to experience a whole new level of fear that you never before believed could be reached.

          Alaska, sensing my fright, wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to him protectively. “I’m sure whoever it was fled the scene,” he says encouragingly. I know that this explanation is logical, but the tingling in my back makes me think otherwise. I strongly suspect that the culprit of this unforeseen crime is fully aware of our presence, perhaps even at this precise moment.

          The thought makes me move closer to Alaska, and I am suddenly thankful for his tall stature and amicable personality, both of which are sort of quelling my nerves.

          “What if it’s someone bad and they try to follow us?” I ask frantically, sounding irksomely like a small child.

          “I’m right here, I’ll protect you.” The strange thing is that I believe him. I know he’ll protect me, or at least do the best he can up against someone with a gun. I’ve known this boy for far less as long as I’ve known all of my friends, and I seem to have warmed up to him and put my trust in him far easier that I have for my friends in Florida. It’s scary, almost.

          After what feels like an eternity, we complete our trek and reach the igloo at last. Alaska goes inside to gather up the stuff and I wait outside, wrapping my arms around myself and scanning the woods warily. I know Alaska thinks there’s a good chance that whoever killed the man is gone, but I’m not as convinced. Call it intuition, but something inside of me knows that we aren’t the only two people out here any longer.

          And the thought that we aren’t alone is suddenly more terrifying than the thought that we are alone.

          “Almost done!” Alaska shouts from inside our little igloo, and I study the thing in all its lopsided glory one final time before we leave it behind for good. I might possibly miss it. Probably not, but there’s a slim possibility.

          I slump back and look up at a tree in the distance when something catches my eye. A dark human-shaped shadow stands beside the tree, and it’s undoubtedly looking at me. My heart goes into overdrive and I look away and then back in the direction of the shadow, but it’s disappeared into the vast expanse of forest.

          “Alaska.” I try to say his name coolly, keeping my voice neutral, but there’s a slight waver in it. “Do you think you could maybe hurry?”

          “Coming!” he yells cheerfully and then a few seconds later, he’s crawling out of the opening of the igloo with that ridiculous backpack strapped to his shoulders and a grin plastered to his face. “All set?”

          “Someone was just watching me,” I say bluntly, not one to dance around the truth. The grin slowly fades into a frown and his eyebrows scrunch together.

          “You mean—?”

          “The person who killed that guy,” I verify. “I know it was him. He was watching me. I dunno what his deal is, but it’s freaking me out.”

          “Don’t worry about it, Opal. Whoever it is obviously has no intention of killing us, otherwise he would have done so already. I’m not trying to freak you out more, but Alaska is a common place for convicted criminals to flee to as a way to escape their punishment. Maybe that guy was a criminal or something and the other guy was going to turn him in and that’s why he killed him. Or maybe you thought you saw a shadow but it was actually nothing. I don’t know, but whatever the case, the killer clearly has no intention of hurting us. Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

          “Yeah, okay.” I shoot one last tentative look at the tree where the shadow was and there’s a movement and then nothing. I know what I saw, but if Alaska isn’t concerned then I won’t be, either.

          He studies me with a worried expression before slowly extending a hand to me. I stare at it blankly for a moment, debating whether or not holding it is the kind of thing I would normally do, even though it’s really tempting and the feeling of another human hand in my own sounds too delightful to pass up. Eventually, I give up on my internal debate and grip his hand with my own. Who cares what I would normally do under normal circumstances, anyway? These circumstances are the opposite of normal.

          “It’s okay to be scared, Opal,” he says after we walk in a different direction together, hands latched firmly onto each other. “Nobody is expected to be perfect, and you’re no exception.”

          “Yeah,” I breathe sarcastically. There might have been a day when that was true, but I am in way too deep to be anything but what everyone knows me to be now: strong, fearless, and powerful. The kind of person who cannot be brought down. If the people from Florida would have been here to have seen me today, they would be in shock. I had acted nothing but weak and helpless.

          I try to clear my head, which still hurts from the headache that I have. I was maybe acting a bit out of character today, but all that that means is that I should work on controlling myself better. Not letting myself slip up. Which can’t be that hard after nearly getting eaten by a bear and witnessing the aftermaths of a homicide. Surely I’ve seen it all by now, anyway.

          As we continue walking in the frigid Alaskan woods, I repeat the same four lines that I always tell myself over and over and over until I can almost start to believe them again.

          I am strong. I am fearless. I am powerful.

          Nothing can bring me down.

          Nothing.