My surveillance had a mission—the toolshed beside the arts and crafts cabin, where the counselors had carried the plastic boxes full of technology. It was one thing to be forced to sleep in an unknown location for nearly two months, but taking my phone was another thing altogether. Even if I didn’t have anyone to talk to outside of the camp other than my dad, it was the principle of the matter.
It was broad daylight, the least expected time for someone to break into the locked shed. My strides were long, yet casual enough not to draw attention. I plucked a bobby pin out of my hair and got to work on the padlock, cautiously looking around every once in a while.
A slight breeze brushed a cold wave over my warm skin. The day so far had been calm, the weather betraying my emotions. As soon as the door was unlocked, the shed offered a totally different atmosphere from outside—for one, there was no window, the dust-filled space creepy and prisonlike. My foot edged the door open, revealing a surprisingly fresh scent of roses that caused my senses to go haywire, the base of my neck burning hot. Stepping inside, my instincts screamed that this probably wasn’t a smart idea, considering I could immediately feel a pair of eyes on me.
“Maybe you should have waited until it was dark for this oh-so-surprising break-in,” a velvety voice said. “It happens every year. Aren’t you going to turn around?”
“With my arms where you can see them?” I said.
“No. I’ve changed my mind. Go on, retrieve your phone. I’m curious as to what’s so important that you’d risk getting kicked out camp.”
My eyes finally adjusted to the dark. “I can get kicked out?”
“The idea sounds appealing to you?” she said.
I walked farther into the shed, my fingers brushing against boxes in my search. “You should go fetch your superior. Write a detailed report. I’ll get this and my bags while I’m at it.”
“No,” she responded dryly. “I don’t think I will.”
I whipped open the box labeled L. There were too many phones of the same make as mine, meaning I had to go through them one by one to see if any of the home screens matched.
The girl stood inside by the door. It was too dark to really see her. Her body language was relaxed. She was in complete control of the situation, and for some reason unknown to me, it was infuriating.
“May I ask, why the hell aren’t you reporting me?” I questioned.
There was a low chuckle. “Because you want me to.”
“That is . . .”
“Counterproductive?”
“Evil. You sound young enough,” I noted, refraining from cracking a few phones. “Young enough to be a camper. You could be here to get your phone back too.”
“Or I’m doing my job.”
“What job is that?” I found my phone and held it up to my face. “Camp counselor, are you? Bit young to be management.”
I shone the flashlight of the phone in her direction but her back was to me, as she stood facing the door with her hand on the door frame. “I wonder if you can lock pick so well in the dark.”
“Not something that I want to find out.”
“Maybe you don’t. But I do.”
The door slammed shut and locked itself. Her footsteps crunched against the gravel and grew quieter the farther she traveled from the shed. This mysterious girl clearly reveled in tormenting the campers. I tried to use my phone’s flashlight, holding it toward the door while simultaneously attempting to unlock it, but the mission was futile as my hands were too clumsy, and I kept dropping either my phone or the bobby pin.
I slid down the smooth surface of the door until I landed on the floor. By then, all sounds of outside movement vanished, meaning I was trapped in the shed. Our interaction left me reeling; my body felt warmer than usual, more shaky and clumsy.
Five Years Earlier
It was the night before the last day of camp. I was resting in my bed, breathing in the warm air and listening to the chirping of the crickets. It was the first time that they’d made an audible appearance all summer long. They were cool little insects, able to jump three feet forward, and when they chirped it almost always guaranteed rain was on the horizon. A superstitious belief—Mr. Black had dropped facts about crickets once.
As much fun as summer had been, I missed my parents. It seemed like everyone else was content, too, asleep in their bunks, but a knock came on our door, disrupting the peace. My two cabinmates didn’t budge. The next knock came louder and more insistent, and so, reluctantly, I got up to answer it. Lauren stood on the other side of the door, rocking back and forth on her feet.
“Hey,” Lauren whispered. “Is Jessie in this cabin?”
“She’s asleep.”
“Do you think she’ll be mad if I wake her up?” she asked.
“Probably. But I won’t stop you.”
Lauren poked and prodded her, but it was impossible to wake Jessie. I had tried countless times throughout the summer and all I got in return was Jessie’s loud snores and an occasional flailing of her hands. Lauren gripped Jessie’s wrist before she got a whack to the face. She gave up, but before she stepped out of the cabin, she said, “It’s Emma, right? A bunch of us are hanging out as it’s our last night here. Want to come?”
“Let me grab a jacket.”
“It’s still warm out,” Lauren said.
“Cool. Let’s go, then.”
She was right. Even though the sun had set, my skin felt like it had an extra layer of warm and fuzzy protection, like a woolly coat. Each breath was refreshing and pure, flowing freely in and out of my lungs. It helped that by “a bunch of us,” Lauren actually meant herself and a guy called Mike. It was easy to sneak around when the counselors’ cabins were on the opposite side of the camp. We could do anything and be anywhere, but we tracked along the outskirts of the camp.
My fingers trailed along the smooth and waxy leaves of the nearest trees, pinching and tearing them. No kids screamed, ran, or laughed; it was as if the camp was devoid of humans. Lauren and Mike walked ahead a couple of steps. The evening was my favorite time of day because there was no structure or pressure to do anything but be yourself.
“I wish we could stay here longer,” Lauren said, slowing her pace so that I walked next to them.
“Same,” Mike agreed.
“Summer is time to spend with family. You guys see each other every day at school,” I pointed out.
“Why did you move to Boston anyway?” Lauren asked.
“Dad said it was because they wanted a fresh start . . .” My parents lied. Their fighting didn’t stop when we moved to Boston. It had been six years and they still acted like they were on the verge of divorce. “I don’t think we’ll be living together much longer. I want to spend as much time with them as possible before . . .”