I wake up at 6 at the normal time as I do every day, it's an hour-long bus ride to school and school starts at 8. I roll out of bed, almost falling off, and walk downstairs to see my mom and two women. I think nothing of it; they're probably just her friends. I grab a pancake my mom made and take a seat at the dining table with the rest of them.

"Good morning," I say.

"Hello, darling. We need to talk to you about something," says my mom.

"Alright, go at it," I reply.

"You're getting sent to a wilderness camp. Me and your dad have been talking; we don't feel comfortable with you in the house anymore."

"What? No, no, no! I'm not going! Have you heard of those places? They're horrible!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, you have no choice."

I wipe my tears and run up to my room. I smack my suitcase down to pack, but before I can do that, the two strangers start yelling at me. "We're leaving now!"

"But I'm not packed!" I protest.

"You don't need to be," they say. I walk to the van and see three other girls who definitely aren't happy either. I try to say hi, but one of the girls just looks away and ignores me.

We get to the camp, and I'm told to strip so they can search me like this is a prison. They give me my outfit; I have a choice of a skirt or ugly black pants. I grab my clothes and try walking to the bathroom, but I get stopped. They tell me to change in front of them.

Finally, it's bedtime. There are no rooms, just hallways and hallways of mattresses. I get placed next to a girl named Susie; she seems sweet. I don't understand how she would be in here; she's so nice. I'm here for 12 months—how will I survive? I lay on my mattress, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything that's happened. I can't believe my parents would send me here. I hear whispers from the other girls, and I feel a mix of fear and anger. I want to scream, to tell them that I don't belong here, but I know it won't change anything.

The next morning, we wake up early, and the counselors are already barking orders. They make us line up for breakfast, and I can feel the tension in the air. Everyone seems on edge, and I can’t shake the feeling that we're all trapped in this nightmare together.

After breakfast, we’re taken outside for what they call "team-building exercises." It feels more like punishment. They make us climb ropes and do trust falls, but I can’t trust anyone here. I glance at Susie, and she gives me a small smile. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.

As the days pass, I start to learn the rules of this place. No talking back, no complaining, and definitely no escape. But I can’t help but think about my life before this—my friends, my freedom, and my family. I miss them so much. I wonder if they even care about me anymore.

The days turn into weeks, and I find myself adjusting to the harsh routine of camp life. The counselors are relentless, pushing us to our limits both physically and mentally. I try to keep my head down and follow the rules, but there's a constant nagging feeling inside me that I can't shake off.

One afternoon, during a rare moment of downtime, I sit with Susie and a girl named Mia. We share stories of our lives before camp, and it feels like a small escape. Susie talks about her love for painting, and Mia shares her dreams of traveling the world. I find myself opening up, telling them about my favorite music and how I used to go to concerts with my friends. It feels good to connect, even in this place where everything feels so bleak.

But as the weeks drag on, the reality of our situation sinks in. The counselors seem to thrive on our struggles, and they often remind us that we’re here because we “need to learn.” I can see the toll it takes on everyone. Some girls have started to break down, crying during group sessions, while others put on a brave face, pretending they’re okay. I want to be strong, but I also want to scream and let out all the frustration and sadness that’s building up inside me.

As I lie on my mattress at night, I think about how I can survive this place. I start to plan small rebellions in my head—little acts of defiance that might help me feel like I still have some control. Maybe I can find a way to escape, or at least make my voice heard. I refuse to let this camp break me. I have to believe that there’s a way out of here, and I won’t give up hope.