As Newt's finishing his task of doing the dishes and cleaning some things in the cafeteria up, I've decided to go paint again, all on my own.

The background is full of sunshine and dandelions. I paint a red and white picnic blanket. On there sits a boy. He's drawing. A book lies next to him. A plate with cookies and brownies. I make it clear that he has given the dandelions water before by adding a watering can beside the blanket. The boy has blonde hair and is wearing a beige shirt. You can't see his face.

Got the point?

I swear I didn't mean to paint Newt specifically. But when I started with the sun, it reminded me of him. And then the dandelions reminded me of the time he told me he likes gardening. Cookies and brownies because he loves them. He likes to draw and read, too. And I think beige looks really nice on Newt.

When it's done, I take a step back and squint my eyes at the painting. It's not perfect, but I can't tell what's not right about it.

Exactly. It's simply perfect; Newt is in it. I'm just not able to portray how perfect he is, which makes it less perfect.

I place the canvas somewhere else so it can dry, then decide to paint more. I'm not sure what at first. It takes a while to think of it, though when I do decide what I want to paint, I realize the picture is what I've been thinking about the whole two weeks since it happened.

I start. I sketch, I add the regular colors, then details, shadows, highlights. I blend colors, I get the wrong ones, and I retry. All the way until I got it.

Again, Newt's back. His arms wrapped around Lili. Her eyes squeezed shut, a tear dripping down. The cafeteria is behind them. I paint the exact blue shirt Newt had been wearing and the sage green blouse Lelia wore. It fit her beautifully. I think it's a new piece.

Before I know it, I'm done again. I have no idea how much time has passed, but Newt must be done with the dishes and cleaning by now.

Just then, there's a knock behind me and I spin around, trying my best not to seem startled.

"Hey." Newt smiles. His head tilts to the side as he inspects me. "Sorry, didn't want to scare you."

Slowly, he walks closer. He's wearing black shorts, which are cut just above his knee, and a white T-Shirt. Above that, he wears an open, beige button-up. I recognize the shirt as one I painted; some small black details in the corner. Matches with his shorts.

Then I quickly look back up at him. "Hi. I just finished my painting."

Newt looks past me, his eyes lighting up, though that could also be my imagination. "Oh, wow. That's amazing, Lynn."

I try to stop the heat from rising to my face, but all it does is tangle more knots in my stomach. Warm, comfortable knots, yet it still makes me shrink.

"Thank you." I clear my throat. "I'm sorry I didn't ask permission before painting you."

"Oh, don't worry about that." He laughs. "I really don't mind. You managed to make me look really good, even from the back."

"But I painted you just how you look. It has to be as realistic as possible. Don't think I find you ugly and purposely made you seem good– I just did... what I..." I trail off at the end, realizing I sound ridiculous and that he didn't mean it like that at all. Quickly, I cough again. "I painted you how I see you," I say, a tad steadier.

His smile is glistening at this point. "I'll take it as a compliment, then. Anyway– you got paint all over your face."

"Always happens."

"Here." Luckily, Newt doesn't wet his thumb before he starts (attempting) to remove the paint off my cheeks. I watch his eyes as he does so. For once, he's too busy to notice I'm staring.

I love his eyes.

I love when they squint as he laughs, I love when they get bigger, I love when they twinkle, I love them when they are focused– I always love them.

Then his eyes make contact with mine, yet I'm still not able to rip mine off his. I'm frozen, just like that night in the Shack. Rooted to the floor again, but not uncomfortable. Not exactly.

We stand there for a while. His hand is holding my arm. The touch leaves warmth on my skin. I feel his soft breaths blow against my skin. My brain automatically tells me not to panic, but I am in fact not panicking at all.

He quickly leans in. I feel his lips press against my cheek softly. That might also just be the softness of his lips, though. They linger there for a few seconds. I still don't move. I don't panic. I do nearly close my eyes. No heat rises up my cheek– but I am a bit dazzled. My mouth is half open once he, bit by bit, has pulled away again. But I'm comfortable, surprisingly.

"All clean." He smiles carefully. I can tell by his eyes that he's worried, but I smile back just as easily.

"Thanks, Newt," it's nearly a whisper.

"You're welcome." He takes my hand. "Come on. Dinner time."

At our usual table, Lelia, Thomas, Minho, Harriet, and Sonya already sit. I haven't let go of Newt's hand since he took it. Even with our plates on one hand, we still haven't apart.

"Hi," I greet. As always, Newt and I sit down next to each other, across from the others. It occurs to me that Sonya and Harriet sit between Lili and Minho. Wouldn't be weird had it not been for their awkward expressions.

"Still haven't made things up?" Newt asks. "It's been two weeks, y'all."

"He's not apologizing."
"She's not apologizing."

Yeah, when Lelia is convinced it isn't her fault, she won't apologize, let alone be the first one to do it. I guess Minho has similar ideas.

The thing is, apart from the fight situation, I wouldn't know who is actually right. Minho, who kissed her and doesn't want to forget about it, even though he's confused, or Lelia, who kissed back, then regretted it and is confused and unsure now.

I can always tell it's very difficult when I secretly admit I'm not immediately choosing my sister's side.

But I will, though I'm a bit confused, too.

"By the way, I have been asking this the past two weeks: who is Eli?" I look at Lili. "Why haven't I heard of him before and what did he do that makes Minho dislike him?"

She looks down, almost in shame. "It doesn't matter."

"Now it definitely does. Since when have you known him? I haven't heard you about him since the beginning of the camp, and it's been five weeks since we arrived here, Lils."

Her head snaps up in a second. I expect anger, but she rather seems hurt. That's the exact problem. If I would've made her angry by using a nickname, I would've cared less. But I can't take it back.

"I've known him since three weeks or something," she says, voice slightly raw. I can see she wants to add something about the nickname, but then she seals her mouth shut in a tense line.

"When you were in the Shack?"

"Yes. I sneaked out, if that wasn't clear. And I met him."

Did, or does, she like him and is that why she regrets kissing Minho so much? Is he special?

I stand up from my seat. "Come. We're gonna go somewhere else, Lelia. Let's not discuss this here."

"Let's not discuss this at all."

I look at her, pleading. "Come on. Please."

With a pointed look, she follows me outside. Her head is down and her arms are crossed. I don't think it's just the Minho and Eli thing that's bothering her at this point.

It's definitely not the only thing. I know when one thing bothers her, she's gonna bother every single small thing.

"Who is he?" I ask once we're sitting on a tree trunk. "Do I need to hurt anyone?"

She shakes her head. "He's just a stupid boy. After what he said, at least. I thought he was nice– maybe he is, but I don't know."

Patiently, I wait for her to tell me more.

"I needed distraction that night. We did... stuff together. Then he became a friend. He's very helpful and caring. But then he said something– it makes me feel like an object. It embarrassed me in front of Minho and normally I wouldn't care but I just... I– I don't know."

I wrap an arm around her, pulling her into my side. "Whatever he said, don't be ashamed to feel hurt by it. Indeed, he's just a stupid boy. Next time I see him–"

"As if you would hurt anyone," she says. She tries to add a laugh, but it sounds too fake.

"For you I would," I say. "Not on accident. Now what else is bothering you?"

"The whole Minho thing."

"What else?"

"Mom."

"There's more," I say. "You can tell me. I want to help."

"There isn't more," she replies.

There is. But I don't want to push.

"Okay." I give her hand a squeeze. "Forget about Eli. If you want to, forget about Minho, too. But I think it wouldn't be right to forget and ignore him."

"I know."

"Okay," I say again, wrapping both arms around her. Lelia stays where she are, not hugging back, but she isn't uncomfortable, so I don't stop.

We stay like this for a while, then I kiss her forehead. "You know you'll always be my first choice, right? Nothing will ever change that. I swear."

It takes a long time for her to look up. When she does, her eyes are glossier than ever. "I am?"

"Since I first ever held you."

Now she does hug back. Tight and long, tears and sobs slipping.

I manage a small laugh. "Does it come as such a surprise?"

I'm pretty confident it's very clear that she is my first choice.

But Lelia nods.

Just like that, my heart shatters as I realize.

She thinks she isn't anyone's first choice.

"Lelia, come on. You're my first choice. You're Dad's first–"

"No, I'm not. That's you."

"We're both his first choice," I correct. "I promise you."

She shakes her head, face buried in my shoulder.

I take her head between my hands, too strong for her to pull away. "You're my first choice. We're both Dad's first choice. Don't forget it."

Her eyes avert. I am not sure if she believes me, but at least she's aware now. So I hug her again.