Genesis didn’t know precisely what a “those girls” was, but Daina was one of them. Not like Genesis particularly cared. Jazzy was a good acquaintance since it was a little early to be saying “friend.”

“So do you know what the deal is with the Cs and S’s?” Genesis asked her “acquaintance” in the afternoon lunch break.

“Um, I think Ellajay said something about C standing for scholarship and S for senior,” Jazzy explained.

They were in line for the buffet in the lunchroom, and Genesis ladled some beans onto her plate. Jazzy reached for the salami, a choice which Genesis did not begrudge her.

“Do you want any?” she offered.

“No, thanks,” Genesis said with a smile. After not eating pork all her life, this event did not seem out of place.

“Oh, are you a vegetarian as well?” someone asked almost mockingly a couple people down.

Genesis looked and found herself staring into the eyes of her twin. She blinked, then stammered, “Um, no, not exactly.”

Daina eyed her, then turned her eyes back to the food options. Blushing like she’d eaten a dozen fuego Takis, Genesis sat in a back corner with Jazzy and wished that she’d thought to dye her hair blue.

“This is so awkward,” she hissed although no one was around to hear her anyways. “I mean, how uncanny is it that we look so much alike? And, according to Dante, she wears contacts too.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with that,” Jazzy admitted. Then she looked quickly up. “Dante?”

“Yeah, he’s a kid in our group,” Genesis explained. She mumbled the embarrassing details of her introduction, and Jazzy laughed out loud.

“I wouldn’t think twice about it,” she assured Genesis. “If it’s anyone to be embarrassed, I’d think it was Dante. Not like it was really his fault either, but it wasn’t yours.”

Genesis suddenly stiffened as she noticed that the said Dante sat a couple tables away with his friends, making a ruckus and already threatening a food fight. It was then that Genesis realized, as she gazed at them laughing and having fun, that the prestigious writing camp was really only prestigious in skill level, not how she’d once thought of it. Gazing around, she saw that most of the teachers wore friendly smiles and looked like they would at summer camp in the traditional sense. Many other kids, contrary to what she’d at first thought, wore casual clothing and chatted and laughed and joked. She was folding beans and rice and ground beef into a burrito. Some of the tough exterior she’d presumed about the camp melted away as she realized these things, and she relaxed slightly. It really seemed no different than what she heard school was like.

“So,” Jazzy said, breaking her out of her realization, “any other scholarship students in our group?”

“Jazzy, they announced us,” Genesis pointed out. “But we’ve got two seniors in our group including Ellajay, and—”

Suddenly, a paper airplane hit Genesis, and the table of boys near them burst into chuckles.

“Okay, that’s just rude!” Jazzy exclaimed, grabbing her burrito and winding it over her shoulder.

Genesis leapt for it. “Whoa, simmer down, hot tamale!” she cried. “It’s only a paper airplane. Besides, who would you aim for that deserves a face full of burrito?”

“I don’t know, whoever it hits first!” Jazzy exclaimed. “What, have you never been in a food fight before?”

“No,” Genesis shook her head, “I’m homeschooled. Put that poor burrito down now, I think it’s scared of heights.”

“Oh,” crooned Jazzy jokingly, stroking her burrito, “are you scared, wittle pumpkin?”

Genesis laughed and grabbed the paper airplane next to her, toying around with it in her hands. “You know,” she said, “I once won a contest for throwing these things.”

Jazzy’s eyes twinkled. “Throw it.”

“At them?” Genesis demanded, hissing so that the boys couldn’t hear as both girls leaned over their table.

“Yeah!” Jazzy exclaimed quietly.

“Will I get in trouble?” Genesis asked.

“No,” Jazzy shook her head, “it’s just a paper airplane.”

Genesis bit her lip. What could it hurt? “Okay, who do I aim for?”

“Anyone!” Jazzy grinned. “It’s a better fate than a half-eaten burrito.”

Genesis laughed, aimed while the other table was busy laughing and chatting, and threw. The airplane sailed through the air and hit Dante squarely in the neck. He yelped in surprise and leapt back from the sharp-ish point, then turned and gaped at Genesis.

Jazzy clapped a hand over her mouth and said through it, “Flight 566, you have now landed on the table opposite. You may now disembark.”

Then both girls giggled, and Genesis turned back to her burrito with a smile on her face.

“You ever keep a journal?” Jazzy asked.

“No,” Genesis shook her head. “You?”

“Every day,” Jazzy said proudly, “and this event is definitely going in!”

Genesis giggled, then looked up when she saw a shadow. A smiling teacher was standing over her.

“Genesis?” she asked.

“Yeah?” Genesis replied.

“Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to give you this from the head,” she smiled, handing Genesis a letter.

“Okay,” Genesis said slowly. “Um, thank you.”

“What is it?” Jazzy asked as Genesis opened it and began to read.

“Something about wanting more authenticity in my work,” Genesis murmured, her eyes scanning the page. “‘I hope that this camp will give you wonderful experiences that you can use to provide this to your work. Please pay special attention to your teachers, and I have no doubt that we will see improvement.’”

“More authenticity?” Jazzy asked.

“Yeah,” Genesis bit her lip. “And it requests that, if able, I enter in something called the Annual End-of-Summer Writing Competition of the camp. I wonder what that is.”

Jazzy bit her lip, and Genesis looked at her. Then she slapped her playfully with the letter and commanded, “Okay, Mission Impossible, spill.”

Jazzy grinned. “I’ll never tell.”