I fidget with my skirt, but Hannah won’t stop staring at me, one eyebrow raised as she waits for my response. “Okay, Miss Sasaki,” I say, mimicking her tone. “It was because of Camp Hero.” I circle my finger in the air, pointing to the trees above our heads. “I heard they were throwing the party here, and I felt like I had to come.”
“But you hate Camp Hero.”
“I don’t hate it, I just have a complicated relationship with it. My grandfather has been bringing me here for years, feeding me his conspiracy theories. I guess I wanted to prove this place doesn’t have any power over me. That I can come here for something normal, like a party in the woods.”
“As long as you don’t start drinking the Kool-Aid …”
“Don’t worry. I will never believe in the Montauk Project.”
“Hey!” Grant exclaims as he joins us again, a beer clutched between his hands. “Who says the Montauk Project isn’t true?”
I sigh under my breath.
“Please. Like there’s some big, secret conspiracy happening out there.” Hannah gestures to the dark forest behind us. “It’s ridiculous. Montauk is too small a town to hide an underground government lab at one of the state parks. People would notice creepy army guys skulking around out here. There’s no way they could get away with it.”
“Secret. Government. Project,” Grant enunciates. “As in, it’s a secret. And this is the government we’re talking about. The people behind this are like the CIA, only more elite and more dangerous. They’re the most highly trained military personnel imaginable, partnered with the smartest scientists in the world, and they’ll do anything to keep this a secret. The president probably doesn’t even know what happens here.”
Wanting a distraction, I grab Grant’s drink from his hands and take a sip of beer. “Thanks.” I shove it back at him. He looks surprised as he takes it from me.
“How could you possibly know that?” Hannah is clearly unwilling to let the subject go. “You have no idea if the Montauk Project even exists.”
“Oh, it exists.” Grant takes a long drink of his beer, his thin face stark in the dim light. “Trust me. Too many weird things happen around here for it to be a coincidence.”
“Like what?”
“How about electronics suddenly not working for no apparent reason? Or fishermen seeing strange lights late at night?”
“That’s easy,” Hannah replies. “Everyone knows that the radar tower they built during the Cold War messes with communications sometimes. And those fishermen are drunk.”
“That’s what they want you to believe about the radar tower.” Grant shakes his head, his messy hair flying from side to side. “But it’s all part of the cover-up. To pretend that this place was just a harmless military base.”
“But Camp Hero hasn’t been used by the military in years. And it’s a state park now. Why would the government open it up to the public if there’s a secret research base out here?” Hannah steps closer to Grant. They’re so focused on their argument, they’ve forgotten I’m here.
I look around the clearing impatiently. We’ve all had this conversation a million times before. I’m usually willing to get into it, but not tonight. Not when we’re standing in the middle of Camp Hero, and I can practically feel my grandfather’s presence around me.
“What better way to hide something than by trying to erase public suspicions? Face it. The Montauk Project is the East Coast Area Fifty-one.” Grant’s face is lit up, his brown eyes wide, almost feverish.
“Area Fifty-one?” Hannah rolls her eyes. “There are no aliens here. And please don’t tell me you believe in those ‘reptoids.’ Alien creatures that look like giant lizards from another dimension are really coming down onto the beach to terrorize the surfers? Please.”
“Why not? It’s possible. The scientists study all kinds of stuff … like time tunnels. Which are really wormholes. Those holes could connect to anywhere. Even other planets.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Hannah scoffs.
“Let’s just drop it,” I cut in, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s like I’m hanging out with my grandpa or something.”
The joke falls flat. “You shouldn’t discount him.” Grant reaches his arm out toward me, as if he can physically press his words, his belief, into me. “There are whole online message forums of people with evidence that the Montauk Project exists.”
“Oh right”—Hannah laughs mockingly—“because conspiracy theorists on the internet are always trustworthy.”
“Laugh all you want, Hannah. But this could be real. There are even reports that they kidnap people to use in their experiments. They especially like to snatch children. Easier to brainwash.”
“If you believe that, then why are you even here right now?” I snap, starting to get fed up with both of them. “Aren’t you afraid that men in lab coats are going to drag you down into their secret lair?”
“The government wouldn’t risk that kind of exposure.” Grant seems unaware of my growing annoyance. “That’s why they usually kidnap orphans, or people with no family ties. Can you imagine what would happen if people knew about what went on here? People would protest; it could even topple the government. Only a select few can know, and they’re under the ground right now.”
I stare down at my feet. The grass in the clearing has been worn away, and there’s mud clinging to my sandals. I try not to think about people down there, in tunnels or tubes or hallways or whatever it is secret government projects are made out of.
I look back at Grant. “You know, I’m really sick of talking about the Montauk Project. I get enough of this conspiracy garbage at home.” Grant opens his mouth, but I put my hand out to stop him from saying anything. “It’s getting cold, and I left my sweater in the car. I’ll be back in a while.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you,” Grant says. Hannah is finally quiet, her gaze shifting between the two of us.
“No, don’t. I just need some air.”
Hannah’s car is parked on one of the roads that winds through Camp
