I DECIDED TO PUT THE PHONE away without replying, and ten minutes later we pulled into Camp Jaye’k.
After we gathered our carry-ons, we clamored out of the bus and loitered around until we were told what to do. Across one of the fields, other buses had already arrived, bringing their own loads of kids and Buddies from other districts to have their own educational adventures.
The camp was every camp Charlie and I had seen in all of the movies we’d watched growing up. The buildings were faux Lincoln-log and nestled into lush green woods by a small lake with a tangle of brightly colored canoes on the shore. There were bull’s-eye targets attached to hay bales, and there was a battered old speaker mounted to a flagpole that proudly waved both the American and state of Michigan flag. The only things missing were wood-paneled station wagons and a killer in a hockey mask.
Jeffrey the Travel Guide stood with his hands cupped around his mouth and announced, very officially, where the students were to go and where the Buddies were headed. His Buddy shirt even said TEAM LEADER on it—written, I noticed, by hand. We divided into two groups as per our gleaming leader’s order: Buddies and non-Buddies. The roughly sixty non-Buddies ran screaming and flailing to their assigned cabins, kinetic after three hours of built-up energy and eager to meet with their friends and classmates that had already arrived, while some of the roughly twenty Buddies6—eager to move themselves—called after them half-heartedly not to run. “Remember, Buddies. Head to the den for your assignment! We’ve got young minds to nurture!” Jeffrey said, unironically.
The little girl in an oversized aviator’s hat elbowed past him, not slowing down or looking back. A stern look flashed over Jeffrey’s face like he was going to act like the adult and tell her to apologize, but she was moving with too much purpose; by the time he’d readjusted his hair, she was already halfway to the other kids piling up around the flagpole.
We made our way to a squat log cabin that looked like it went on forever, and looked like something Thomas Kinkade would have painted—warm-toned and sincere, Lincoln-log walls with antlers that adorned the doorway, the word “Nakwatuk” carved deeply into the cedar log above the entrance.
A life-size fiberglass Buddy stood next to the doorway, thumbs up, grinning like an asshole, with a sign shackled around his neck that said, “Be someone’s better half!”
I vividly imagined trying to pull the fiberglass Buddy’s head off.
The roughly twenty of us tri-county high schoolers shuffled into the building, while a middle-aged man standing in the center of the room directed us to the folding chairs stacked against the wall. We arranged the chairs in a loose circle around him.
“Okay. So, welcome, Buddies, to Camp Jaye’k.” He was not a tall man and his face was hidden away behind his glasses and mustache; he was the kind of person that wore shorts in pants weather. “I see some familiar faces and I see some new ones. That’s great.” He paused his speech for effect, but he never really stopped moving—his hands were constantly gesticulating or his feet were tapping back and forth. “For those new faces, I’m Mister Test. You can call me Coach. Or Mister Test.” His eyes were set firmly on the three Buddies who had recognized me—and his gaze told stories. The girl, the one who’d recognized me first, raised her hand. “Matty, yes.”
Faisal and the Sleeping Buddy both went aggressively quiet and straight-faced when their friend was called on. All of a sudden, they were the picture of model student leaders. They operated like they were a single organism—there was a fluid, silent communication between them, even when it just meant fucking with a camp counselor. The Buddy who’d been sleeping was biting both of his lips, forming a tight straight line like he was trying not to laugh. Matty, though—her face was entirely composed.
“Just wanted to say hi, Coach.” There was the slightest beat before she said “Coach” and her face was so entirely void of laughter and so entirely full of “I am the kind of person who calls a random adult ‘Coach’” that the Buddy sitting next to her, the one who’d been sleeping on the bus, immediately fake-yawned in order to hide his smile into his sleeve.
A suspicious pause.
“Hello,” he returned. Faisal, who had sat down late to the circle after using the bathroom, raised his hand next, and Test squinted, even more suspicious. “Yes, Mr. Al-Aziz?”
“Hi, Coach. Just … wanted to say hi too. Coach.”
Sleepy Buddy buried his face in his hands, almost to the point of tears but doubling down on his “I’m just tired and this is how I yawn” act.
Test twitched his mustache before saying, “What about you? You want to just say hi?” He was looking at the Buddy who was struggling to draw out his fake yawn.
“No, sir,” the kid said, clearing any laughter off of his face. “I’m just looking forward to a productive week of camp activities and team building.” Mr. Test—Coach—wasn’t buying it.
Somebody cleared their throat.
“Right. We need to get started. I hope you all brought warm clothes; you should know by now that Lady Nature plays by her own rules up here. For those of you that are new: expect everything from the weather. It’s going to be Halloween in a few days, which, if you’ve been here before, you know doesn’t mean S-H-I-T. It doesn’t mean jeans and sweaters. This is the other side of the lake and we have a little thing called Lake Effect. It can mean winter coats and boots, it can mean T-shirts and jean shorts, it can mean anything in between,” he said, speaking like a man who’s seen some real shit. “We’ve got plenty of work to do this morning, so I need you in groups.” He spoke with his hands out, his arms like ramps leading down to his fingers where the words could launch off, directly to us. “Count off from one to three,” he said, starting with Faisal.
Faisal shot his friends a look that said, “Oh shit, we always forget to sit the appropriate number of seats apart in order to be put in the same group for activities!”
It was a complicated look. It also meant that I was guaranteed to be grouped in with at least one of them—one of the people who was part of the group that recognized me. It meant that I couldn’t just blend in. Couldn’t be just a face in the crowd.