“Here they come!” Botts yells. “Get ready!”
We are waiting on the side of the dirt road for the arrivals.
Indeed, here they come. At least a dozen gray buses, the fancy kind, are all headed toward us. The first one stops just in front of the camp sign, and the others all line up behind it. The buses kick dust up everywhere and I shield my eyes, wishing I had my sunglasses on.
The doors open and my heart starts to race. I can do this. I can do this!
I hope I can do this.
“Sam! Talia!” Danish calls from the door to one of the buses. “Come get your campers!”
Oh, wow. Here we go. For real. I hurry up to the bus and stand by the door.
She sends our campers out one by one.
“Fancy, meet Sam and Talia!”
Fancy? Oh, right! Fancy! With the Dolce and Gabbana T-shirts. The one whose mom my mom saw at the Fresh Market.
“Hi, Fancy!” Talia says.
“Hi, Francie!” I say.
“It’s Fancy,” she says to me.
Okay, then.
Fancy is a small redhead covered in freckles. She is wearing a Chanel backpack that is bigger than she is. She has designer sunglasses perched on her head.
She seems to live up to her nickname.
“Shira, meet Sam and Talia!”
“Hi, Shira!” we chant.
Shira steps off the bus. She’s tall, thin, pale, and dark-haired. She is missing two of her front teeth. Her hair is in two buns, Princess Leia style.
“Shira! Like She-Ra, Princess of Power! Are you the princess of power?” I ask.
She gives me a fake, toothless smile. “All the teachers at school use that joke.”
Whoops. But yay—I am making the same joke as the teachers! I am clearly a born educator.
“Emma F., meet Sam and Talia!”
Emma F. is almost as tall as Shira. She’s holding a fuzzy stuffed lion and is dressed all in polka dots. She’s African American and is wearing her hair in two braids with pink tips.
“Hi, Emma F.!” we chant.
“Emma C., meet Sam and Talia!”
Other Emma steps off the bus. She has curly blondish hair and light skin that is already a little sunburned. She looks like an athlete. She’s wearing a Mets baseball hat, a Mets T-shirt, and gray sweatpants. A baseball lover!
“Hi, Emma!” we chant.
“Let’s go, Mets!” I add.
“Lily, meet Sam and Talia!”
Lily steps off the bus. A cloud of big, bouncy curly brown hair frames her face, even though she’s Asian. She’s wearing a pink leotard and purple cartwheel shorts.
“Hi, Lily!”
“And the final girl in Bunk Six A is Prague!”
Ah, Prague.
Prague looks exactly like a mini Kim Kardashian, with jet-black hair that she clearly got blown out. She’s wearing a rhinestone headband, jeggings, two layered tops, and heart-shaped sunglasses. She flips her hair. Her nails are painted lavender and covered in rhinestone decals.
Oh, brother. She’s fancier than Fancy!
She takes one step off the bus and trips, falling on her hands.
We all freeze.
“Omigosh, are you okay?” I ask, bending down. Danish, Talia, and I crowd around her.
Her sunglasses fall off, and her big brown eyes fill with tears. “Ouchie,” she says.
I help her up. Her arms are shaking.
“Way to make an entrance,” Talia says.
Prague laughs but then sobs.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” I hand her back her sunglasses.
“I’m okay,” she says. “Really. That was just. Ugh. So embarrassing. Like, seriously.” She brushes off her hands and knees and links her arm through mine.
“You sure you’re not hurt?”
She nods.
I look at the rest of the girls. All six of them are staring at me, waiting for instructions. I’m not sure what to do. I look at Talia. She’s done this before, right? “Do we go back to the bunk?” I ask.
“Sure,” Talia says. “Let’s all go back to the bunk!”
“To the bunk,” I say. “Bunk Six A! You’re going to love it. I was in the same bunk when I was a kid.”
“When’s lunch?” Fancy asks. “I’m hungry.” Her voice is unexpectedly low and gravelly, like a smoker’s. It almost makes me laugh.
“Me too!” says Shira.
“Lunch is in thirty minutes,” I say. “We’re just going to drop your backpacks off at the bunk, and then head to the Dining Hall.”
Fancy wrinkles her nose. “But I’m hungry. Can we get a snack?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” I say. Do we make the call about whether or not they get snacks? I think we do.
“I have cupcakes,” Lily says. “You can have one.” She puts down her backpack and starts searching through it.
Cupcakes! I think about Eli. I miss Eli.
“Let’s just do this back at the bunk,” I say, flustered. Other kids are getting off the buses and we’re kind of in the way.
“I have chips,” says Emma F. “Barbecue chips! Do you like barbecue chips? They’re my favorite!”
“I have salt and vinegar chips!”
“Me too!” says Shira.
“I have candy!” says another one. “So much candy!”
“I have cookies and candy,” Prague says. “Also brownies.”
How much food did these kids bring? “Let’s just go to the bunk,” I repeat. I steal a glance at Talia.
“Come on, girls. Honk!” Talia says. “You’re getting in everyone’s way!”
I motion to the girls and start walking back over the bridge.
“Honk, honk!” I cheer. “Let’s move ’em out!”
Yikes. Stressed already. I wonder if I can have a brownie.
As soon as we get to the bunk, it’s a whirlwind. The girls all squeal as they find their made-up beds and reunite with their belongings. They hug their pillows and stuffed animals and kiss their parents’ pictures on the walls.
Aw. They’re cute. It’s easy to forget how young they really are.
“Let’s have a junk party!” Fancy cries, taking out a piece of licorice.
Now? Oh no.
“Guys?” I say. “We’re going to have lunch really soon. Maybe we shouldn’t have candy right now?”
“I have candy necklaces,” Lily says, talking right over me and jumping on her bed like it’s a trampoline. “One for each of us.”
“That is so adorable,” Prague says. “We’ll all match!”
“Guys?” I try again. “Lunch is in ten minutes. No candy now, okay?”
None of them listen to me. None of them even look at me. It’s like I’m not here. They are pooling their junk in the middle of the floor.
Where is Talia?
Shira has an entire brownie in her mouth. And I can see it all between her missing two front teeth.
“I have M&M’s,” Fancy yells. She takes out the M&M’s. A yellow bag.
The peanut kind.
“STOP IT RIGHT NOW,” I yell.
All their heads swirl to me.
“No peanuts,” I say, taking my voice down a notch. “You guys are not allowed to have peanut M&M’s.” I walk over to Fancy and take the M&M’s out of her hand. “Sorry.”
Fancy glares at me. “But . . . but . . . no one in our bunk has a peanut allergy.”
“You’re right that nobody in the bunk has a peanut allergy,” I say. “But other kids in the camp do and we’re not taking any chances.”
“That’s so unfair,” she whines. “My parents paid for these.”
“Talia?” I call out. “Where are you? Help!”
“Just changing!” I hear. “There in a sec!”
“How do you know that no kids in the bunk have a peanut allergy?” I ask.
“My mom called and asked,” she says, her voice extra low and gravelly. “Obviously. I’m not psychic.”
Psychic, no; a tiny jerk, yes.
Do not call the children tiny jerks. Do not call the children tiny jerks. “Listen, everyone, it’s almost lunch,” I say, trying to remain calm. “We’re leaving here in five minutes. There’ll be lots of food there.”
“But I’m hungry now,” Lily says.
“Can we have the candy after?” Shira asks.
I hear Eric’s muffled announcement in the distance. “Attention, all counselors. I mean, attention, all counselors and . . . and, uh, campers. Yeah. Campers. Attention, all campers and counselors. It is now time for lunch. Please go . . . please proceed to the kitchen. I mean Rec Hall. Dining Hall! Yes, Dining Hall. Thank you.”
“It’s a good thing you’re hungry, then,” I say. “Because it’s lunch! Hooray! Come on, kids, let’s go eat.”
“But what about the candy? We can eat it afterward?” Emma F. asks.
“Do we have to wash our hands?” Emma C. asks.
“Yes, you have to wash your hands,” I say. “It’s lunch washup. So you should absolutely wash your hands.”
“I don’t want to wash my hands,” Fancy says.
“So don’t,” I snap. “Eat your lunch with grimy bus hands. Your call.” Yikes. The kids have been here an hour and I’m already losing it. I take a deep breath. I force a smile. I cannot lose it. I want to be good at this. I need to be good at this. “Everyone meet on the porch in three minutes, ’kay?”
“I’m not washing my hands,” I hear Fancy say as I turn around.
“You can use my sanitizer,” Talia says, stepping out of our counselors’ room. “It smells like cinnamon.”
I keep walking, all the way to the porch. And then I realize I forgot to wash my own hands.
Lunch is soggy grilled cheese and cold french fries.
Not that I have time to eat. I am too busy getting food, finding ketchup, pouring bug juice, and cleaning up bug juice.
Shira spills it all over the table when she tries to pour herself a cup. Then she starts to cry. Which is how I become the Designated Pourer.
As for the meal itself, the kids seem to be divided into two groups. Half of them help themselves to two sandwiches, multiple plates of fries, and piles of ketchup, as though they’ve never seen food before, while the other half barely eat.
“Do you want something from the salad bar instead?” I ask.
Shira shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten that entire brownie. At least she’s not crying anymore.
Fancy goes to take a look at said salad bar and comes back with a scoop of tuna that she then just moves around her plate.
Awesome. I lean over to Talia. “What are we supposed to do? Force-feed them?”
“I guess they’ll eat when they’re hungry,” she says, shrugging. She leans closer to me. “Do you want to call it?”
“Call what?” I ask.
“Freeze,” she whispers, and waggles her eyebrows.
I had forgotten all about freeze. Oh, how I hate-loved freeze as a camper. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll call it. One. Two. EVERYONE FREEZE!”
Prague giggles and freezes. Fancy and Emma C. freeze too.
“Huh?” says Lily.
“You all have to freeze right now,” I say. “First one to move cleans up the table!”
“You move, you stack!” Talia says.
They are all frozen. Prague has her cup up to her mouth. Some of them are holding up forks. Some of them are mid-smile. Some are mid-chew. Shira was about to stand up. She’s kind of crouching there. She does not look steady. She does not look steady at all.
And she moves.
“Shira’s gone!” I call out.
Shira bursts into tears.
“Crybaby,” Fancy says.
“Hey!” I say. “Don’t call people names.”
I promise Shira that the bright side of stacking one meal is that it means she does not have to stack the next one. When the rest of the kids freeze, she can continue eating, she can try to make them laugh, she can pick her nose, she can do whatever she wants.
But she does not stop crying.
“Is everything okay?” Danish asks, walking up just as the snot drips down Shira’s nose.
“Noooooo,” she cries.
“She has to stack,” I explain. “I called freeze.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t call freeze at the very first meal,” Danish says.
Right. Oops. “No freeze. Forget freeze!” I tell the girls. “Counselors stack!”
“I’m not stacking,” Talia grumbles.
“I’ll stack,” I say, but Danish has already moved on to the next table.
I am really nailing it.
Rest Hour: We help the girls get settled.
Swim Tests: Someone pees in the pool. We don’t know who, but we know there are warm spots. So. Someones, plural, peed in the pool. Fantastic.
Milk and Cookies: Twice a day we get snacks in the dining hall. This is called Milk and Cookies even though today they only serve fruit, and no cookies. But I get to see Gavin in a bathing suit and his abs are . . . not terrible to look at.
Softball: Hurrah, something I’m actually good at! And so is Emma C.! She sends the ball flying through camp! “Way to go, Slugger!” I cry out.
“Can that be my nickname?” she asks.
Maybe nicknames are okay if they’re good nicknames? “Okay, if that’s what you want us to call you!”
“Yes, please!”
“Sure thing, Slugger!”
“Then I get to be Emma!” Emma F. calls out. “No more F! Actually, never mind. I want to be Em. Can I be Em?”
“Why not,” I say.
Gymnastics: Lily is a superstar. Like Olympic-level. Okay, maybe not Olympic-level but really, really great. I try to walk on the balance beam but fall off. Talia does a pretty good headstand.
Finally, we have Dinner Washup.
Time for a fifty-five-minute break. I am exhausted. I lie on my bed. My campers are being kind of quiet, which I’m guessing means they are eating candy.
When the fifty-five minutes are done, we gather the kids on the porch and head to the flagpole together.
“Get the kids in bunk lines!” Josh, the head counselor, hollers from beside the flagpole, where all the head staff is huddled.
“Come on, girls, bunk lines!” I call out.
“Bunk lines,” Talia repeats, but with less gusto. She is not that animated a counselor, I think.
I see that Gavin, JJ, and Muffs already have their kids lined up in a row, so I try to get my kids to do the same. But they keep talking to each other and hopping around like little bunnies.
Yup, they were definitely sneaking candy.
It takes a good ten minutes, but finally the whole camp is here and the kids are lined up. Josh calls up Bennett Buckman to lower the flag because it’s his twelfth birthday.
Yes. Bennett Buckman.
He has the same perfect nose and dark hair as his sister.
I try not to give him the evil eye.
“Thank you,” Josh says as “Taps” ends. “Now walk—don’t run—to the Dining Hall!”
The kids all run.
Lis, Talia, Janelle, Muffs, wild-haired JJ, Gavin, and I all trail behind.
“Juniors are exhausting,” Muffs says.
“They so are,” Talia says. “I’m going to nap again at Free Play.”
“I was going to hit some tennis balls,” JJ says. “Anyone want to come?”
“I do!” Janelle squeals. “Hello, Smokin’ Hot Benji!”
“Don’t tell me he’s straight,” JJ says.
“Don’t tell me he’s not,” she says.
“I’ll come and be the line judge,” Muffs says. “Lis? Gav?”
“Sure,” Gavin says.
“I really need to shower,” Lis says.
“I really need a nap,” Talia says.
“I really need Wi-Fi,” I say. Which actually means, I really need to text Eli. My cell phone is hidden in my sweatshirt pocket and I can’t wait to hear how his trip is going.
Immediately after yummy Chinese food for dinner, it’s Free Play.
I sprint over to the office.
I missed two calls and about ten texts from Eli.
What’s up?
I miss you.
Did you lose your phone?
Oops. I was supposed to call him hours ago.
I dial his number.
He answers on the first ring. “Heyyyyyyyy,” he says.
“Hi! Am I waking you?”
“Yes,” he says. “But it’s okay. I want to hear your voice. What happened? You said you would call five hours ago.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I couldn’t get away.”
“Oh,” he says. “Busy there, huh?”
“So busy.”
“Having fun?”
“Kind of?” I say. “I’m exhausted.”
“So tell me what you’re doing.”
“Running after the kids, mostly.”
“Are they spoiled brats?”
“What? No! I mean, Prague spends her Augusts summering in the Hamptons. Yes, she used summer as a verb. But Emma C. is amazing at softball—I nicknamed her Slugger!—and Em—previously known as Emma F.—carries a stuffed animal everywhere she goes. And Shira is missing her front teeth. And Lily is, like, amazing at gymnastics. You would not believe what she can do on the uneven bars.”
“I wish you were here with me,” he says.
“I wasn’t invited,” I say.
“Wait, what? You could have come!”
“I would have been such a third wheel. And anyway, I need to make money, not spend it.”
We have an awkward silence.
“Maybe we can do something together next summer,” he says.
“Sure,” I say. I like that he assumes we’ll still be together then.
“Hey! Sam!” Eric says. “I gotta call the period, ’kay? So shush.”
“Already?”
“Yessssss,” Eric says.
“Sorry, Eli,” I say. “I have to go.”
“But you just called me!”
I close my eyes. “I know. But I have to get the kids all the way on the other side of camp and take them for Evening Activity.”
He sighs. “Okay. I get it. I just miss you. When can you call again?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “Maybe Rest Hour tomorrow? Or Free Play. That might be too late for you. But I’ll try.”
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too.” Then I take a deep breath and run back to camp.
“Okay, girls, pajamas on, please!” I call out, still out of breath. I am on OD, which means On-Duty, which means, I am responsible for watching the kids from nine until midnight, when all staff have to be back in their bunks. So being on OD means you have to do bedtime. There are also Free Play ODs, but for that only a handful of counselors are scattered at posts throughout camp, so I won’t have that assigned too often. Anyway, tonight I know Lis, Talia, JJ, and Muffs are on their way to Slice, the pizza place down the road. Apparently, that’s where the staff goes to hang out at night when they need a break from camp. Rumor has it they are not that strict with the drinking age. Although the head staff have made it very clear that any staff members who are caught drinking on nights out will be sent home immediately.
Janelle has gone to watch a movie in the CL.
Which leaves me with the girls, aka the wild animals. Apparently, they do give out cookies at night for Milk and Cookies. Fabulous. Just what these kids need before bed, more sugar.
Am I really supposed to get all these girls to go to sleep? How will I do that? And it’s not just my side of the bunk. I’m responsible for both sides. Twice as many kids!
“Just slip Ambiens in their lemonade,” Talia told me as she cheerfully waved from the porch, hair blow-dried straight and lipstick on. She was wearing clean jeans, boots, a cute black top, and her hair down.
“Ha,” I said, hoping she was kidding.
Now the kids are running around both sides of the bunk, music blasting.
“Can we have a candy party?” Em asks me.
“No,” I say. “Come on, everyone! Why don’t you get into bed and we’ll play a game or something!”
“Please can we have a candy party? Pretty, pretty please?” they all say at the same time.
I sigh. “Pajamas on. Then one piece of candy each,” I say. “And then you brush your teeth!”
“Can we keep the candy the whole summer?” Slugger asks.
“I think you get a few more days with it,” I say. “But I’ll ask Danish. We can’t keep it for too long.”
“Why not?” asks Fancy.
“We’d get raccoons!” I say.
They all gasp.
“In the bunk?” Shira asks.
An image comes back to me and I start to laugh. “True story,” I say. “When I was in this cabin, one night I woke up to go to the bathroom and I saw a raccoon eating a bag of . . .” I hold for extra reaction. “Gummy bears!”
Some of them gasp and some of them laugh. “Did you scream?” Prague asks me. “I totally would have screamed.”
“I totally did,” I say, nodding. “And then I woke up some of the other girls and they started screaming and then all of us were screaming and the counselors came into the bunk and they started screaming and then one of them got the broom and chased the raccoon out through the front door.”
“Did he take the bag of gummy bears?” Prague asks.
“He totally did.”
“You really slept in this bunk when you were a kid?” Lily asks.
I nod.
“Is your name on the wall?” Em asks.
“I don’t think so,” I say. I had wanted to erase my name from this place, not engrave it.
“Can we have candy now?” Lily asks.
“Okay, girls, pajamas and then one piece of candy each! Let’s go!” I clap my hands and stand up. “Everyone to the cubby room!”
The girls follow me. I’m not sure how the cubby room has already become a total disaster, but it has. Clothes are everywhere.
“Put your dirty clothes in your laundry bag!” I remind them.
“Where’s my laundry bag?”
“I can’t find my pajamas!”
“Have you seen my slippers?”
I do my best to help all eleven girls find their stuff. By the time we’re done, the cubby room looks about ten times worse than it did before. Awesome.
“Candy time!” Fancy yells at the top of her lungs.
“Just one each!” I holler. I take a few minutes to try to organize and then go back into the bed area.
Danish, Jill, and Josh are standing in the middle of it.
The girls are all stuffing their mouths with candy. What happened to one piece each? This is a disaster.
“How’s it going?” Josh asks me, eyes darting around the room.
“Just getting them ready,” I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.
“Maybe no candy tonight?” Danish says.
“They’re only allowed one piece each,” I say.
“Francie, are those peanut M&M’s?” Jill asks.
What is Jill even doing here? Isn’t she in charge of the CITs? We don’t even get a CIT!
Fancy has about ten in her hand and ten in her mouth. Plus she is giving them out to other girls.
“Are you kidding me?” I say out loud. “Are you trying to kill someone?”
Fancy’s eyes widen.
Everyone stares at me. “Sorry,” I say. “That came out wrong. I thought I got rid of the peanut stuff before.”
Josh confiscates the offending chocolates.
“Sorry,” Fancy says.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Try and get them into bed soon,” Josh says. “Tomorrow’s a big day. And get rid of the candy by end of day tomorrow, okay, Sam?”
I nod, mortified.
“I’ll come back and check in on you in a couple hours, ’kay?” Danish tells me.
Please, I think, please let them be asleep by then.
An hour later, ten o’clock, the candy has been eaten, and almost all the girls have brushed their teeth. All the girls in 6B are in their beds.
Could it be? Are all my kids almost in bed too?
Em, Slugger, Shira, Fancy, Prague, and . . . missing one. Who am I missing?
Lily. Where’s Lily? I check the cubby room. Nope. Sinks. Nope. “Lily?”
“In the bathroom!” she says.
“Okay,” I say. “Lights out in two.”
“Be right there,” she says.
“Does everyone have their flashlights?” I ask. I am almost done. Woot! I am almost done!
I wait two more minutes. I head back to the bathroom.
“Lily?” I say softly. “You okay in there?”
“Just trying to poop,” she tells me.
Excellent. A little TMI, but I guess I should get used to it.
A few minutes later she finally flushes, comes out, and washes her hands.
“Did you already brush your teeth?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Then brush your teeth, ’kay?” Omigod, forget brushing teeth, this is like pulling teeth.
She spends at least five minutes finding her toothbrush and then her toothpaste and then brushes her teeth for what must be a world-record amount of time. At least fifteen minutes.
Finally, finally, she is in bed.
“I’m turning out the lights now,” I say. “Everyone have their flashlights?”
They all turn them on.
“Lights off!” I say, and flip them. Some of them giggle.
“I can’t believe I’m really here,” Em says. She hugs her fuzzy lion.
“Me neither,” Slugger says.
I silently add, Me neither.
I change into my own pajamas—checked flannel ones that are adorable—and then wash my face and brush my teeth. I even floss. I tell the girls they have five more minutes to turn their flashlights off, and then five minutes later, I tell them to turn them off for real. Then I get into my bed. I look at my phone, even though I know I won’t have another message. I scroll through my pictures of Eli and find my favorite, when he was sitting on a bench in Washington Square Park. It’s the look he’s giving me that I love, the one that says I love you and I want to kiss you immediately.
I wish he were here. It would be fun to have him at camp. I’m not sure if he’d be a good counselor or not, though. Everyone likes him, but he’s not exactly an early riser. He kind of does whatever he wants to do whenever he wants to do it.
Today’s conversation wasn’t great. It was rushed; he was obviously annoyed.
Maybe I can sneak away and call him after breakfast, during cleanup.
There’s a knock on the counselors’ doorframe.
“Yes?” I say.
The curtain opens. It’s Fancy. “Sam?”
“Yes, Fancy?”
“Shira is crying again.” She rolls her eyes.
I get out of bed. “She is? How come?”
“Who knows?”
“Okay, I’ll come back,” I say. I follow her into the room and hear that Shira is indeed crying. She’s facedown on her pillow but I can see her little shoulders shaking.
I sit down on the edge of her bed. “Hey, sweetie,” I say. “What’s wrong?”
Her shoulders shake again. “I miss Tamara,” she says.
“Who’s Tamara?” I ask. I look at the family picture taped to the wall. “Your sister?”
“No,” she sobs. “My sister is Maya. Tamara is my dog. And I miss her so much. She sleeps in my bed every night! She’s probably really lonely!”
“I’m sure she misses you too,” I say, but that just makes Shira sob harder. “But maybe . . . maybe . . . maybe she went to sleep with Maya! Because I’m sure Maya misses you too and this way they’re keeping each other company!”
She turns over to look at me. Her eyes are dripping with tears. “You think she’s sleeping in Maya’s bed?”
“Yeah! For sure!” I say.
Her sobs escalate. “Noooo! What if she wants to stay sleeping with Maya even when I get back?”
I open my mouth but no words come out.
“What if when I get back she loves Maya more than me?”
Good Lord.
The next thing I hear is more sniffling. But not from Shira. This time it’s Slugger.
“I miss my mom,” she says.
Oh no.
“So do I,” sniffs Em, hands trembling around her lion.
It’s like dominoes! They’re all going down! How do I stop this? They’re going to dehydrate!
“What’s happening in here?” one of the 6B girls asks, popping her head around the dividing wall. “You guys are being super loud.”
“We’re all homesick,” Em says.
“You’re acting like five-year-olds,” Fancy says. “It’s embarrassing.”
Shira sinks back in her bed.
“Hey,” I tell Fancy. “Don’t be mean. It’s totally normal to feel sad tonight.”
“It is?” Slugger says.
“Of course it is,” I say.
“Were you ever homesick?” Lily asks.
“Are you kidding me? Definitely.” I think back to the first night I spent at camp. I hadn’t wanted to come, but that’s when my dad had his first tumor and my parents thought it would be better to have me away for the summer. “I remember lying in bed and staring at the ceiling and feeling so . . . weird. Do you guys feel weird?”
They all nod.
“Me too. Because it’s not my bed! I love my bed at home! It has clean sheets! And at camp the beds are so small and saggy!”
They giggle.
“And at home you sleep by yourself with the door closed,” I say.
“I sleep with the door open,” Prague says.
“Me too,” two of them answer at the same time.
“I share a room with my sister,” Shira says.
“Lucky,” Prague tells her. “I’m on my own floor and I hate it.”
“Your own floor?” Slugger asks in disbelief.
“But you want to know something?” I ask, plowing ahead.
“What?”
“This is the hardest part. Tonight. Sleeping in this bed for the first night. But if you get through the weirdness of sleeping in this new place tonight on these saggy mattresses—then after this, it’s a breeze.”
Lily wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Really?”
“It’s true,” Fancy says.
“Really,” I say. And then I think about what I used to do when I would lie in bed and hear my parents fighting.
“I’m going to teach you all how to keep the nighttime weirdies away, ’kay?”
“How?” Em asks.
“Like this,” I say. And then I turn around on Shira’s bed and lie flat on my back and put my legs up against the wall. “Everyone copy me! That’s a counselor’s order.”
There’s some giggling, but I see all the girls turn around and place their legs against the wall. Shira is right beside me, and I can see that she’s smiling a perfect toothless smile.
“Is everyone in position?” I ask.
“Yes,” they say.
“Okay, now we’re going to drum our feet against the wall like this—”
I get a good rhythm going. Thump thump thump. They all follow along. “Now we’ll go around the room and everyone has to say one thing they’re excited about for this summer. I’ll start. I’m excited for . . .” What am I excited for? “Sing-Song!” I say.
“What is Sing-Song?” Em asks.
“On Fridays, we all go into the Rec Hall and sing songs. They put the words up on the screen so we can all see them.”
“What songs?” Lily asks.
“Great ones,” Prague says. “Like ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane.’ ‘Summer Nights’ from Grease. Old ones, but they’re fun.”
“I’m excited for the ten-and-under baseball team,” Slugger says. “I play on a traveling team at home.”
“I was on the twelve-and-under team!” I offer her an air high five. I look to the bed next to us. “Okay, Fancy, what are you looking forward to?”
“Visiting Day,” she says.
Everyone laughs.
“Not just to see my parents. It’s ’cause my mother brings snacks on Visiting Day. She brings cupcakes from Magnolia in New York. Have you ever had them? They’re my favorite.”
“I have had Magnolia cupcakes,” I say. That’s where I got Eli’s! “And they are delicious. So now I’m excited about Visiting Day too. Excellent. Something else to look forward to! Lily, you’re next.”
“I’m excited to make new friends. My dad came to this camp when he was a kid. And he’s still friends with the guys from his bunk. Best friends. And they’re really old.”
“Aw,” says Prague.
“That could be us,” Slugger says.
“It really could,” I say, and my throat feels choked up. Maybe I don’t speak to anyone from my bunk, but this bunk, these kids, they could be different. They could be friends for life.
“Okay, ladies,” I say, after everyone has said something they’re excited for. “Time for everyone to get back under the covers. You okay?” I ask Shira.
She nods. “Can you tuck us in?”
“I would love to tuck you in,” I say.
I hear them the next morning. Early. Very, very early. They are laughing and running around, and I distinctly hear the word licorice.
The clock on my phone says it’s only six forty-five. We don’t have to be at flagpole until eight fifteen. I pull the covers over my head and pretend not to hear them for over an hour.
Eventually, I hear the front door open and Priya pops her head into our room. “Morning, ladies! Flagpole in fifteen!”
I sit up. The other counselors are still dead to the world. The room is cold, so I put on an extra sweatshirt, and since the floor is cold too, I step into my slippers. Then I push through the curtain-door and go see what the little monsters are up to.
“Morning, girls,” I say, standing in the doorway. They are in the middle of the room. Their mouths are stuffed with brownies, gummy bears, and of course, licorice. At least I don’t see any peanut M&M’s.
When they see me, they all shriek and laugh and dive back into their beds.
“You’re all getting cavities,” I tell them.
They are giggling uncontrollably.
“Can we save a little room for breakfast?” I ask.
They are still giggling.
I am giggling too.
We get the girls to flagpole on time. I am even wearing regular clothes instead of pajamas, in the hopes that I can make it to some cell service after breakfast. In the Dining Hall, I bring the kids a tray of scrambled eggs, toast, jam, and a pitcher of orange juice. There is a small accident with the ketchup.
I have a large cup of coffee. It tastes terrible but hits the spot in the best way possible.
I call freeze. Slugger and Lily start laughing at the same time, so we decide they will stack together.
There are no tears the entire meal, which I take as a personal win.
I have my phone in my hoodie pocket. “Can you take the girls back to the bunk?” I ask Talia. “I want to check in with Eli.”
“No problem,” she says drowsily. Her coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.
As soon as the kids are released, I make a run for it. I know I don’t have that much time, but I just want to hear his voice. I want him to know that I’m thinking about him.
The Wi-Fi kicks in as soon as I step inside the office. Hurrah! My phone is flooded with texts.
Hello, Beautiful! I’m in Florence! It’s about 100 degrees.
There are a few other texts from him but I can hardly wait to write him. I type:
Hi!
I just ditched the kids to run to the office to try you. I am going to call you!
I dial his number and wait while it rings. Ringing . . . ringing . . .
“Hello?” he says.
“Hiiiiiiiiiiii!”
“It’s you!”
“It’s me! I snuck away to call you early!”
“Hooray! I miss you!”
“I miss you too!”
I laugh and tell him everything, the words gushing from my mouth. He tells me all about what he’s doing there. The museums. His cousin. The pizza. I ask a lot of questions about the pizza. The connection is clear. The connection is perfect. It’s like he’s standing right beside me.
We talk and talk and talk until I have to go again.
“When can we talk next?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I can get back here at seven p.m. But maybe it’s too late.”
“I don’t care! Wake me up! Call me!”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And we hang up.
I gotta go. I sprint back to my cabin, making my calves burn. I glance at my other texts while I run. There’s a number I don’t recognize.
Hi, Sam! I got your number from your mom! I’m Francie’s mother! Mandy! Small world, right?! We are so thrilled you’re her counselor this year! How is she doing?
I can’t write back now anyway, but remind myself to do it later. As I step onto the porch, I hope that all the kids are ready for their activity, which is dance.
But when I step inside, I see that the kids are still half dressed and the bunk is a total mess. Like a disaster mess. Like I can barely see the floor. It is covered with clothes and candy. But there’s no time to clean up because we have to get to dance.
“Girls, we gotta go,” I say. “Talia? Lis? Janelle?”
Both sides of the bunk have dance. It seems like a lot of our activities are both sides of the bunk.
“Coming!” I hear, and Janelle comes out of the counselors’ room. “Girls! Come on!” she says, and steps into her side of the bunk.
“On the porch!” she yells. “Wear your dancing shoes!”
“And by that she means sneakers!” I add.
Lis and Talia step outside too, just as Danish steps on the porch. “Hi, guys!” she says. “How’d you do with your first cleanup? Will you be getting a ten?”
Uh-oh. I forgot that the section heads give all the bunks a cleanup score after cleanup. They write the daily scores on a sheet on the wall. That is not going to make us look good at all.
The girls look stricken. “A ten?” Shira shrieks. “Is it out of a hundred?”
There is a lot of snickering.
“Oh, I’m sure you did a great job,” Danish says. “You guys better hurry to dance, though. The period already started.”
And off we go as Danish steps into our bunk to check out the disaster.
By the time we get to the Rec Hall, dance is almost half over. But the girls get into lines and practice some moves and then what seems like a second later, Eric’s voice comes back on the loudspeaker, telling us it’s time to go to second period.
“What do we have next?” Janelle asks.
“Canoeing,” Talia says, and then mutters in my direction, “Can she not read a schedule?”
“Okay, we’ll go straight to the beach,” I say, ignoring her. “Is that Gavin?”
“No,” Lis says. “He’s sailing.”
“Are they wearing their bathing suits?” I ask.
“Not sure,” Lis says.
“Don’t they have to wear their bathing suits on the beach?” I ask.
“Right,” Talia says. “Forgot about that.”
“Girls? Any of you wearing bathing suits?”
“No!” the girls call back.
“Awesome.” I guess that’s the last time I go make a call during cleanup.
We herd the girls back down the road to the bunk and instruct them to put on bathing suits quickly.
“What else do they need?” I ask.
“Towels,” Lis says. “In case they get wet.”
“Bring towels!” I call out. “And sunscreen! Wear sunscreen!”
I pass the cleanup score on the way to change. Two out of ten. Crap.
We arrive late to canoeing. The sailboats, kayaks, and windsurfers are already in the water. I see Gavin on the other side of the lake with some of the older kids.
“Come on, girls!” calls the canoeing teacher. We have to get each of you in a life jacket.” She has a thick British accent.
After fitting them for life jackets, we start canoeing safety training, which involves learning what to do if the canoe flips over. This involves all of us getting wet. This leads to a lot of eight-year-olds, shrieking. And some counselors shrieking.
“I didn’t want to get this shirt wet,” Lis grumbles, biting her pinkie nail.
“Too bad, so sad,” Fancy says. I try not to laugh.
When the period is called, we run back to the bunk, change out of our wet bathing suits, put on shorts, T-shirts and sneakers, and herd them to basketball, which luckily happens to be on Lower Field, not far from our bunk.
“We made it!” I say. I plop down on the bleachers. I pray Trevor, the basketball specialist, will let me sit for a minute and catch my breath.
“Girls, where are your hats?” Trevor asks.
Argh. Freaking hats.
“Our counselors didn’t tell us to bring them,” Fancy says.
Way to throw us under the bus, Fancy.
“You need hats,” Trevor says. “It’s sunny. Maybe your counselors can run back to the bunk to get them?”
“Not it,” says Talia.
Surprise, surprise. “I’ll go,” I say.
“I’ll come with you,” Janelle says, and the two of us sprint back to the bunk to collect a hat for each of them. I’m lucky enough to find one by each of their beds.
“I have no idea if these belong to the right kids, but they’ll have to do,” Janelle says.
We hurry back to the court and pass out the hats.
“Thanks,” Trevor says. “Next time tell the girls to wear socks and sneakers, too.”
“They are wearing socks and . . .” My voice trails off as I notice that only Slugger is wearing socks and sneakers. The others are either wearing flip-flops, Crocs, or sneakers without socks. Lily is wearing a leotard, no shorts.
“Sorry,” I say, and sit back down on the bench beside Talia. It’s hot. I wish I had grabbed a hat.
While Trevor teaches the girls to dribble, I close my eyes and let the sun warm my cheeks. Ah. That feels good.
“Um, guys?”
I look up to see Danish standing in front of us.
All four of us are on the bench doing nothing.
Crap, crap, crap.
“You really need to be involved in the activities. It encourages the girls to be involved too. You have to lead by example!” She looks at me while she says it.
But I was! I canoed! I swam! I got hats! I just took a one-second break. “Sorry,” I say, and jump up off the bench.
The other counselors do the same.
“And today’s cleanup was a disaster. Have you made a chore wheel? That will help. And from now on you really need to be helping them clean up in the morning. A clean bunk in the morning makes for a better day.” I was supposed to make a chore wheel, wasn’t I?
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Talia says, saluting her.
“Thanks,” Danish says.
“Water break!” Trevor calls out.
The girls all look at us.
“Where’s our water?” Em asks.
Danish sighs. “Did they not bring their water bottles?”
Oops. I want to be good at this, but there is too much to remember!
“They have to carry them with them at all times,” Danish says. “Their water bottles and their sun hats. It’s hot out here. We don’t want them dehydrating.”
“Got it,” I say. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s just the second day,” she says. “We’re all learning.”
“I’m thirsty!” Fancy says.
“Me too!”
“Me too!”
“So am I!”
“Okay, why don’t you all run back and get your water bottles,” Danish says. “And maybe one of you should go with them.”
“I’ll go!” I say in my best I-can-handle-this voice, and I run.
It’s seven p.m. and I am back at the office. Today kicked my ass, and it’s not over. There is still Evening Activity and bedtime. I’m not on OD, but I am so wiped out I think I’ll just go to sleep early. But first I get to speak to Eli again!
I dial his number. It rings. And rings.
I get his voice mail.
He told me to wake him up, didn’t he?
I try again. Voice mail again.
My heart sinks. I guess his ringer is off. Or he’s just sleeping through it. I text instead.
Me: Hiiiii! Are you still up? Call me if you’re still up! I’ll hang out in the office for another five mins or so.
The door swings open and it’s Gavin. He’s wearing his sunglasses but no shirt. Once again I am not complaining.
“Hey,” he says. “How’s it going?”
“Great,” I say.
“How’s Eli?”
“Eli?” Oh. Right. My boyfriend. Look away from his abs. Away from his abs! “He’s asleep. But I spoke to him earlier today. So we’re good. How’s Kat?”
“I don’t know. But I am hopefully about to find out.”
Gavin’s phone rings and he answers the call.
I guess his girlfriend waited up to talk to him. He’s facing the other way, but I can see from the side of his face that he’s smiling.
I can also see how smooth his back is. I wonder if he ever needs help putting on suntan lotion? I am very good at applying suntan lotion. Not on children, perhaps, but definitely on hot shirtless guys.
I look back down at my phone, text Eli good night, send quick hellos to my friends, wave goodbye to Eric and Gavin, who is still deep in conversation, and head back the bunk, just in time to see a raccoon run right out of it.
Shit.
I walk into a bunk of eleven screaming girls and three screaming counselors.
“We’re getting rid of the candy!” I call out. “We’re getting rid of it RIGHT NOW!”
“Okay, girls,” I say after breakfast the next day. “We are getting a perfect ten at cleanup today, do you understand? A perfect ten! Not one sheet out of place.”
“It’s impossible,” Talia says. “These girls are disasters.”
“They just need our help,” I say.
“I don’t know how to make my bed,” Slugger tells us.
“I don’t know how to fold,” Fancy says.
“Talia and I know how to do both!” I say. “We will teach you! And we are going to be ready for everything today!” I study our schedule. “Here’s the deal. We have wrestling first, and then sailing, and then tennis. So we’re going to put our bathing suits on under our clothes, with sandals. So we won’t have to come back.” Planning for the win!
“My mother told me not to wear a bathing suit all day,” Lily says. “It makes my vajayjay angry.”
Everyone starts laughing.
“You definitely shouldn’t wear a wet bathing suit all day, Lily. But a dry one is totally fine. Your vajayjay will be a-okay-ay!”
They all laugh.
“I really wish they’d moved me to inters,” Talia grumbles.
I’m starting to wish they had moved her, too.
Talia steps up and helps make their beds and fold their clothes, while I get them dressed. And we make it to wrestling on time wearing bathing suits under our shorts and T-shirts, and carrying towels. With sunscreen!
The wrestling specialist doesn’t even mind about the bathing suits since they are apparently good to wrestle in. Yes! Winning!
Also, the wrestling teacher introduces himself as the Tank. Mystery solved.
When we get to the beach, Gavin ushers us into the boating house to fit us with life jackets.
His is bright yellow and nicer than all of ours—I’m guessing he brought it from home. I would too if I had to wear one all day. The one I’m wearing is red and soggy.
There are two other sailing counselors, and one sailing CIT, but since Gavin is the head of the activity, he talks to all of us about sailing safety. Then he divides us up into four groups, or four boats.
“Sam, your group is in my boat,” he says.
I have Slugger, Prague, and Shira. I buckle my life jacket and make sure theirs are buckled too.
“I’ve never been in a sailboat,” Slugger says, climbing on.
“It’s the best,” Prague tells her. “Can we suntan on the edge?”
“This isn’t that kind of sailing,” Gavin says.
He adjusts the straps and the wind catches our sail and we start to glide across the lake.
He jumps back and forth between the sides, holding on to all the strings, in command of the boat. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses that are attached by a rope around the back of his head. I guess sailing instructors lose a lot of sunglasses to the water.
He’s not wearing a shirt under the life jacket, and his arms are thick and already tanned. He’s wearing red bathing trunks. I feel nakedish that I’m just wearing a one-piece under my life jacket, but all the girls are only wearing their suits and jackets—more clothes would have been weird. And probably would have gotten wet.
He explains a few things about the boat until he tells the girls that they can sit on the stern for a bit if they want to stretch.
I let my head fall back as we glide across the lake. “This is great!”
“Glad you like it. You can put your feet in the water if you want,” he says.
“I’m not going to fall in?”
“You will not fall in,” he says. He raises an eyebrow. “Unless you want to fall in.”
I stick one foot in the water. It’s nice. But still, cold. “I do not want to fall in,” I say. I put my other foot in, too. The part of the lake we’re in is calm, although we can hear the other kids on the other boats across the lake.
“So how’s Kat doing?” I ask.
“Seems good. She’s living the life, that’s for sure. She’s going to all these fancy French parties. And then she’s running off to the Mediterranean for the weekend.”
“Sounds glamorous,” I say.
“She is definitely glamorous,” he says. “She’ll probably trade me in for a French billionaire or something.”
“I doubt it,” I say.
“Can we jump in?” Prague asks.
“If you want to,” Gavin says.
“I kind of want to,” Prague says. “Who’s coming with me?”
No one answers.
“Okay, scaredy-pants—I will jump in on my own!”
And she does.
“Sammy!” she squeals to me. “You have to come in!”
Sammy? I don’t hate it. “Well . . .” I hesitate. It is hot out. “Why not? Can I take off my life jacket?”
“Can you swim?” he asks.
“I can,” I say. “I promise I won’t drown. You won’t have to give me mouth-to-mouth.” Oh wow, did I really say that?
He raises an eyebrow.
I snap off my jacket. Now I really feel kind of naked. I jump in. If his girlfriend is flirting with French billionaires, then it’s only fair that I flirt with him.
The water is a shock of cold, but feels amazing. “Gavin?” I say. “Coming in?”
“Me?”
“I know it’s not the Mediterranean, but . . .”
He laughs. “Does anyone else want to swim?” he asks the kids.
They shake their heads.
“Okay. Coming in.” He snaps off his life jacket—abs—takes off his sunglasses, and dives off the boat and into the water in a perfect arc.
He pops up beside me, his hair dripping. “You okay?”
“Perfect,” I say.
“And you’re sure you don’t need mouth-to-mouth?” he asks, smiling.
“Pretty sure,” I say.
It’s a little naughty, but totally harmless.
And I’m kind of liking it.
Back in the bunk, as the kids change quickly, I sneak a peek at our cleanup score. Eight! We got an eight! That is so much better than a two! We do not have to clean with the campers during Rest Hour with an eight. We can nap! I can nap!
“Don’t forget sneakers!” I yell. “And socks! And sun block! And hats and water bottles!”
We make it to tennis, which is all the way across camp near Upper Field, and we’re only five minutes late. I am impressed with myself.
I am also impressed with Benji, the smokin’ hot tennis teacher. He is indeed smokin’.
Are camp guys always so attractive, or am I just finding them all attractive because I am not allowed to have any of them?
The girls do drills, which mostly involve them lining up and Smokin’ Hot Benji lobbing balls at them, which the girls try to hit with their rackets. They take water breaks every four minutes.
It’s at least a hundred degrees out. Everyone misses most of the balls, except Shira, who is actually pretty good.
“He’s straight, by the way,” Janelle whispers to us, doing the eyebrow waggle again. Then she turns back to him. “Benji? Can you help me with my backhand?”
“Sure,” he says.
She runs toward him and he stands behind her, showing her the moves, his hands on her shoulders.
Now his hands are on her waist.
Now her hands are on his waist. She is making a move on Smokin’ Hot Benji!
“I feel like we’re watching something we shouldn’t be,” Lis says under her breath. “Maybe they want to get a room?”
Eric’s voice echoes over the loudspeaker, calling an end to the period.
“Come on, girls,” I say, leading them back to the bunk.
Benji and Janelle stay in their positions.
“We’ll see you at lunch!” I call out.
“She’s after your nickname, Porny,” Lis says to me. “Gross.”
“At least someone’s getting some action,” I say.
The girls are whiny as we head back to the bunk. They’re hot and hungry.
“Can we never have tennis again?” Fancy asks.
“I like tennis!” Shira says.
“’Cause it’s the only thing you’re good at,” Fancy barks back.
Shira turns bright red.
“That’s not true,” I say. “Shira is great at a lot of things.”
“Like what?” Fancy asks.
“Like folding.”
“And crying,” Fancy says.
I stop walking and crouch next to her. “Fancy, stop it. I am not going to stand by while you hurt Shira’s feelings. Do you understand? Enough is enough. Think about how you would feel if someone said something like that to you. Would you like it?”
She bites her lower lip and she shakes her head.
“Then stop. And it would be nice if you apologized.”
“Sorry,” she mutters to Shira, her face flaming.
“It’s okay,” Shira says.
“Thank you, Fancy,” I say, and take Shira’s hand. “Let’s sing a song.”
“That’s a good idea,” Prague says. “What song?”
I think back to cheers and songs I sang in camp. “Okay, girls, repeat after me. We’re going on a bear hunt!”
“We’re going on a bear hunt,” Prague and Shira say.
“I meant everyone!” I call.
“We’re going on a bear hunt!” they all sing.
“We’re gonna catch a big one!” I say.
“We’re gonna catch a big one!” they repeat.
“A big grizzly bear!”
“A big grizzly bear!”
“Well, I’m not scared!”
“Well, I’m not scared!”
We go through the rest of the song all the way to the bunk. They get louder and louder with each line. Other campers stop to stare but our kids keep going.
They’re smiling and singing and swinging their hands. Even Fancy.
I realize I’ve lost Talia and Lis along the way. Not that I’m surprised.
“You’re a really good counselor,” Em tells me.
Maybe I am.
I plan on calling Eli at Rest Hour, but it turns out all the kids have to write letters home, and it’s my job to supervise them.
Prague has preprinted fill-in-the-blank camp stationery and is finished in a minute.
The stationery says:
Dear _______ , Hello from Camp ________. My favorite activity is ________. My least favorite activity is __________. My favorite meal is _______. My least favorite meal is ________. The counselors are ________.
I read over her shoulder and am pleased to see that she filled in great for the counselor one.
Look at me! I am great!
I help the rest of them write return addresses, explain where the stamp has to go, and help them spell canoeing.
I never make it to the office.
But I do make it to archery.
“Look at me, I’m Katniss!” says Slugger. Considering she couldn’t spell canoeing, I can’t believe she’s reading The Hunger Games, but then I realize she probably just saw the movies.
“Want to try?” the archery teacher asks me.
“I do want to try!” I say. After all, I did read the books! I get into position, pull the bow back, and aim for the target.
I miss. Spectacularly.
“Try again,” the teacher says.
This time I get it on the target. Woot!
“You’re a natural,” she says. “Want to go for the bull’s-eye?”
“Let’s let the kids have another go,” I say.
Slugger actually gets a bull’s-eye, putting me to shame.
And then so does Talia.
“I am also shockingly good at bowling,” she says.
I don’t make it the office for the rest of the day. Prague skins her knee at Dinner Washup, and since I am somehow covered in lake water from GS (General Swim), I decide I need to shower at Free Play.
It starts to pour during Evening Activity, and it’s too wet and dark to venture to the office.
I miss Eli. I miss his voice.
I don’t care if I have to take a boat to get there, tomorrow I’m getting to the office.
The next day, I finally, finally make it to the office at Dinner Washup.
There are many texts from Eli.
UGH I can’t believe I missed your call! I fell asleep! The phone was right by my head! I don’t know how I didn’t hear! SORRY!
OK, will make sure to have the phone nearby tomorrow at 1 your time! I miss you!
Hi! It’s one! Waiting!
1:10.
It’s 1:30 now. Maybe you’re stuck somewhere. Going to a bar in a few. Not sure if I should wait or not.
I gotta go. Busy day, I guess.
You have not called in a while. Everything OK?
Then nothing today.
I call him.
He answers on the first ring.
“Hi! You’re alive!”
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s so busy here!”
“I’m busy too,” he says. “But I still have time to text you.”
“Ah, but you have Wi-Fi access,” I say, suddenly annoyed. “I don’t.”
“I know,” he says.
“And you’re on vacation,” I snap. “And I’m working.”
“I know,” he says again. “I just miss you.”
I sigh. “I miss you, too. I’m sorry. I’m trying to get to the office as often as I can.”
“I’m sure you are,” he says, and there’s a pause.
“So how were your last two days?” I say.
“Good,” he says. “We went to some museums. How were yours?”
“I did not go to a museum. I schlepped children from one end of camp to the other.” I decide to give him a little bit. “But I also went in a canoe.”
“You did? I love canoes!”
“Me too.” I don’t tell him about swimming with Gavin or sailing with Gavin or Gavin splashing me when I was in the water.
We talk for another twenty minutes until I hear him yawn. “Can you call me tomorrow?” he asks.
“I can try for Rest Hour or Dinner Washup. But sometimes something comes up and then I feel terrible. Like letter-writing day.”
“Just do your best, I guess,” he says. His voice sounds a little bit condescending, but I decide to let it go.
“Will do,” I say instead. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
The next two days are busy, but I manage to make it to the office every day. We get more eights at cleanup. I make a chore wheel. I get people into the right clothes, wearing the right shoes. Talia French braids their hair and we try to teach her how to make Princess Leia buns.
I play soccer. We sing more camp songs. I put sun block on everybody.
I catch the raccoon making a run for it from our bunk with a package of SweeTarts, so we spend our Rest Hour searching for all the candy that the campers have taken pains to hide from us in their underwear bags and under their beds.
Finally, it’s Friday night, and we all change into white shirts for Friday Night Dinner. That is part of our not-Shabbat but kind-of-Shabbat tradition.
Dinner is roasted chicken and veggies, and we all get grape juice, which seems like a bad idea with white shirts. But! Tradition! Not-Shabbat!
After Free Play is Sing-Song, my favorite camp activity. We all cram into the Rec Hall and the screen comes down, and while the camp owner plays the piano and Priya plays the guitar, we follow along with the lyrics and sing all the regular camp songs.
Then we go into “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” “House at Pooh Corner,” “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh,” “Hey There Delilah,” “Closer to Fine,” “One Tin Soldier,” “Summer Nights,” “Breaking Up Is Hard to Do,” and “Wonderful Tonight.” Finally, we sing “Stay (at Camp),” the final song. Everyone sings their parts.
“Why can’t we stay at camp,
Just a little bit longer.
We want to make our friendships,
Just a little bit stronger . . .”
It’s like time hasn’t passed at all. I feel like I’m eleven all over again. Except this time, I am sitting next to Janelle, I have Lily on my lap, and they are both singing as loud as I am.
Botts is sitting on the edge of the stage singing his heart out, too.
Where’s Gavin? I spot him in the back of the room, chatting to the Tank. He spots me looking at him and winks.
I wink back.
It’s okay, it doesn’t mean anything. Right?
After Milk and Cookies, I’m on OD again. I change into sweats and a cozy shirt, and then tuck the girls into bed one by one.
“Good night, Prague,” I say, patting her on the head.
“Good night,” she says, closing her eyes.
“Good night, Em,” I say.
“Good night.”
“Good night, Shira,” I whisper.
“Good night, Mommy,” she says.
Everyone laughs, including me.
“Oops,” she says, blushing.
“I don’t mind,” I say.
“You’re kind of like our mom here.”
“More like a big sister,” I say, and kiss her head.
The next day is a whirlwind. Tommy, one of the junior boys, has an unfortunate run-in with a canoe paddle and has to go see an emergency dentist.
His family lives in Miami, so Danish has to take him.
She grabs my arm at lunch. “Sam? I need a favor,” she says.
“Of course, what’s up?”
“I’m not sure I’ll be back for Evening Activity. Priya will cover me at GS but can you take over tonight, running the activity?”
“Sure,” I say, suddenly nervous. “What is it?”
“It’s Family Feud,” she says. “Have you seen it?”
“Of course,” I say. In the real Family Feud they ask a hundred people a question, like name the best dessert. Then the top five answers are put up on a board. Contestants have to guess the top five answers.
“You’ll have to finish putting together the surveys. It’s pretty easy. I have the questions, I just need you to ask twenty kids for answers. Hopefully I’ll be back for the activity, but if not, just run it. Make sure to do a bunk check and see that the kids all leave to get to Milk and Cookies on time. Sound okay?”
“Um . . .” I hesitate. Running an activity? That sounds scary. But I can do it. Teachers plan activities all the time.
“Sure,” I say eventually. “No problem.”
She squeezes my shoulder. “Awesome. You’re the best. Thank you!”
Now what?
During Rest Hour I head to Bunk 4 in search of non-junior campers to interview. I ask them questions like name a Disney princess. Name a magical power. Name a camp dessert.
The answers range from Moana and Tiana to flying and invisibility to s’mores and chocolate pudding. I spend Free Play writing all the answers out on poster boards and then carrying them across camp to the Rec Hall.
I stand onstage.
“Hi, guys!” I say. “I’m running the activity tonight!”
“Who are you?” asks one of the junior boys.
“I’m Sam!”
“Sammy!!!!” my whole bunk cheers. I wave.
“Danish can’t be here tonight, because she’s with a camper—”
“Toothless Tommy!” one of the Bunk 5 boys yells, and the kids laugh.
“Is he really toothless?” one of the nine-year-old girls calls out.
“Is the tooth fairy coming?”
“There’s no such thing as the tooth fairy!” a boy yells.
“Shhhhhhhhh,” I say, giving the stink-eye to his counselor. I do not want to shatter anyone’s innocence at my first nighttime activity. “Tommy is going to be fine! But first let’s do a bunk check. Bunk One—”
“Is there a mic? We can’t hear you!” someone yells from the back.
“Oh, um, I don’t know. I can talk louder?” I raise my voice.
“There’s a mic on the piano!” Janelle calls out.
“Oh. Okay. One sec.” I hurry off the stage. It doesn’t look too far from the ground, so I decide to jump off, but I land weirdly on my foot, which kills.
I wince.
I hobble to the piano, pick up the mic, and try to figure out a way to turn it on. Omigod. I am totally messing this up.
“There’s a button on the side,” one of the counselors says.
Ah. Got it. I turn it on. “Testing?”
There is a ton of interference. Great. Um. I turn it off.
“You’re too close to the speaker!” someone else calls out.
Omigod. I’m like one minute away from people throwing tomatoes at me.
I try to calm myself down and carefully climb up the stairs. I kind of feel like all my camp nightmares are coming true. I’m not wearing a bathrobe, am I? Or am I bleeding through my pants?
I take another deep breath and try the mic again. “Hello?”
It works. Yes! Small miracle.
“Let’s start over,” I say. “Bunk One!”
“Check!”
So far so good. “Bunk Two!”
“Check!”
I go through them all.
“Bunk Five!”
“Check,” say JJ and Muffs.
“Six A!”
“Check!” says Talia.
“Six B!”
“CHHHHHHHECK!” says Janelle. “Go, Sammy!”
“Awesome,” I say. “We’re all here. And tonight we’re playing Family Feud!”
The room is quiet.
“Can I get some excitement, please? Tonight we’re playing Family Feud!”
The counselors clap.
“Tonight we’re playing FAMILY FEUD!”
This time everyone claps.
“That’s better! We’re going to start with Bunk One versus Bunk Five! Counselors, you can help organize but no giving answers, ’kay?”
A little girl from Bunk 1 and a boy from Bunk 5 come up.
And here we go.
Bunk 2 wins, but everyone seems to have had a great time.
“Nice work,” Gavin says to me as I send the kids off to Milk and Cookies.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Heading for a Wi-Fi run?” he asks.
Oh crap. I haven’t had a chance to call Eli today. I guess I could go now. But I really need a shower.
“I am going to try and squeeze in a shower,” I say. “I’ve been interviewing kids and making posters all day. And it’s not like he’s awake anyway. . . .”
“Good point. You going for pizza tonight?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Great,” he says. “See you there.”
Huh. I smile. I guess I’ll see him there.
“Thank you so much,” Danish says, back in the bunk later that night. “I heard you did a good job.”
“Thanks,” I say. “How is Tommy?”
“Not actually toothless,” Danish says. “Although I suspect the nickname will stick.”
“Yikes.” I wince. “It’s a bad one.”
“Keep up the good work, Sam.”
It’s completely uncool, but I know I am beaming. “Will do.”
Janelle is OD, but I tuck all the girls in and say good night before leaving.
“Are you coming for pizza?” Lis asks me. “We’re getting a ride.”
“Yup, coming!”
I think about school. Eli is usually the one everyone invites to parties. I am the one who goes along. He’s the one everyone likes, and I’m the plus-one.
So who am I? Porny or Plus-One or Pizza Party Girl?
Here at camp, I’m feeling more and more like the last one.
It’s nice to be the one everyone likes.
It’s nice to be me. Known for who I am.
It’s nice to be here.