“Like? That’s a hard question. Hate on the other hand? The people, for sure,” I offered. “And to add insult to injury, they took my phone away.”
“Everyone’s phones have been taken away,” she said. “It’s so we’re not distracted from talking to each other in person or something. Mr. Black said it a bunch of times last year. It makes sense.”
“I’m beginning to understand why you have my letters.”
“I need something to put me to sleep,” she teased.
Mr. Black was a poster for a middle-aged dad. He had collar-length hair and stood a couple of inches above six feet, with a well-toned medium frame. He flipped through his chart and started calling out names. As he called our names, he gave us one camp hoodie and five camp uniforms, which included orange T-shirts, with cute little pockets on the top right of the chest, and black shorts.
“Emma Lane, Abby Thompson, Lauren Peterson, Gwen Black, Jessie Anderson, Kendra Marshall, Mike Hanley, Mason Erikson, and Bennie Crowley, you’re in cabins thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen, and a counselor will be assigned to your activities as a group, known as the Beavers.”
“Beavers?” My scoff was loud.
“Can you let it go, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” Jessie whispered.
“We’re not even ferocious bears that bite or jellyfish that sting. What does a beaver do? Slaps the water with its tail and chews on some wood? Ohhh, I’m terrified.”
Hearing me speak, Mr. Black said, “I’m afraid those names have already been taken. You can find the full list of groups on the bulletin board later if you want to check those out and apply for a transfer. But keep in mind, beavers are the second largest rodent in the world. They adapt to new environments quickly and defend their territory quite aggressively. You’re quite the predator.”
“Emma,” Jessie said, “we’re at the top of the rodent food chain. That’s something ferocious.”
“Second best to a capybara,” Mr. Black said.
“I’m not even going to ask what that is, but I can assure you, an investigation is in order,” I said.
“I’ll set aside time to discuss the creature with you,” Mr. Black promised, handing over our cabin keys to Jessie. “You can head back to your cabins and settle in. The introduction assembly starts in half an hour in the recreation building. And lunch is late today, two o’clock—starting tomorrow it’ll be at noon. You’ll all get an official time schedule when you are appointed a counselor after lunch. You won’t be lucky and land my wife, Julie—she’s one of our camp cooks. Two other favorites of mine are my kids, Walter and Vivian.” He whisper-shouted, “Don’t tell the other counselors, though.” In a normal tone he continued, “All the information you need to have a successful summer is in your registration packet.”
Jessie dragged me over to join our group, and we headed for the main building to grab some of our luggage before heading to our assigned cabins to set up.
I purposefully dragged my feet. “Calm down.”
“One of the cabins is supposed to have a big hole in the floor,” she stressed, tugging harder. “We don’t want that one. Especially with your fears of creatures and whatnot, you don’t want to end up in the one where they can actually get into the cabin.”
“I don’t think I’m the only one with that particular apprehension. Don’t they do inspections? They used to.”
“They have the counselors do random inspections at least once a week.”
“Maybe the hole has been filled?”
“Still, not a risk I’m willing to take.”
After grabbing only my backpack from the hallway in the main building, I zoned out during the walk to our cabins, and my roommates were decided for me. Jessie was pulled into a small group with two other girls: one short and graceful with spiky black hair, and the other, who laughed excitedly. Their names were Kendra and Gwen, I guessed, but I didn’t know who was who.
Now with the girls in my own cabin, their faces seemed familiar, but I had blocked out so much. The taller girl, Abby, was someone quiet, and Lauren was someone at the top of the social food chain. Well, as far as the fifteen-year-old version of her could get.
Sidestepping, I checked under the single bed, their stares boring into my back—no gaping hole. Clearly the camp was on top of their maintenance.
“Aren’t you going to take that single bed?” Abby asked, taking the lower bunk bed as I put my backpack on the top bunk.
“Not unless I want to shiver to death,” I said.
“Being closer to the ground is warmer,” she said.
“No, heat rises. Plus, creepy crawlies are more likely to attack you than me all the way up here.”
Plus, the single bed sat beneath the window, with a clear view of the forest. At night the light in the cabin would attract moths, and suddenly I could hear the fluttering and could see them butting against the window vividly, waiting for the opportunity to sneak inside and fly up my clothes. From the bunk bed, I could choose to look down to see that horrid sight or not. I changed into one of our assigned orange camp shirts and slipped on a pair of the shorts.
Lauren surged toward the single bed and groaned. Shoulders rigid, I was prepared for a fight for the top bunk—after all, if I was maybe in for nearly a two-month stay, it was sure as hell was going to be a comfortable one. Instead, she slumped onto the bed, roughly shoving her luggage to the end.
“Wait . . . you went to camp before, right? Shared a cabin with Jessie?” she said as I was about to attempt to escape the musty, moldy cabin.
“Lauren, right?” Saying her name out loud? Something didn’t feel right.
“You remember my name?”
“I just said it, didn’t I?”
Lauren stood still, as though in deep thought. “Jessie probably talks about me.” She gestured toward the other girl, quietly sitting on the bed. “And this is Abby, in case you forgot.”
“Nice to see you again, Emma,” Abby said.
“You too,” I said. “Now that the reintroductions are over, I’ll see you all later . . .”
Lauren called after me, “There’s an assembly . . .”
I couldn’t have cared less about the assembly. I was on a mission.
When you’re a kid and you remember places—buildings, structures—they seem big, but when you come back to them, they’re regular sized. The opposite was true of Camp Mapplewood. The forest sprawled out from every angle, huge, looming, and ominous. Beyond the campers’ residences, there were the counselors’ cabins, the lucky ones who weren’t forced to share. The arts building was a greenhouse with tables and shelves overflowing with supplies, from what I could recall. Curiosity drove me to peer inside. It wasn’t brand new anymore, that was for sure. Paintbrushes were jammed in jars, the projects of old campers clung to the walls, and they even had a mural on the ground of handprints. The Blacks had added a garden plot to the grounds a couple of feet away from me, adding the reds, yellows, and purples of vegetables to the ever-same background of the green and brown trees.