Dara exclaimed, “You’re so skinny! How could you possibly eat that much?”
Caroline grinned at her over the chicken bone. “We scientists have to keep up our strength; it’s hard work, y’know!” She put the now-clean chicken bone on the side of her plate and wiped her face and hands on her napkin. “You guys were talking about the way boys eat, but I actually eat more than my brother. He’s really picky, and I like just about everything.”
“Do you eat Brussels sprouts?” a girl seated next to her asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Yeah, I like those, and broccoli, too.”
There was a collective “Eeeuuww!” from those listening. Caroline just smiled and kept eating.
Jake was seated by himself at the unpopulated end of a table that was only about half full. While he tried to be indifferent to the food before him, it smelled too good to ignore. He bit into a slab of cornbread with honey butter, and closed his eyes. Man, that was good, he thought. He chewed quickly and was ready for another bite when Ron plopped down in an empty seat beside him. Jake scowled, concentrating on his plate.
“Jake, I heard something from the boys rooming with you and I’d like to talk to you about it.”
Jake’s eyes darted around to see if anyone else could hear, but he’d positioned himself far enough away from others. He wondered how much trouble he was in. What could they do to him anyway, take away his canoeing privileges?
Ron didn’t say anything else and after a minute, Jake looked up at him. He didn’t want to speak, but found himself asking, “What?” to fill the silence.
Ron gazed back at him, but didn’t look disapproving or angry, as Jake had expected. “I heard that you didn’t want to come to this camp and that you weren’t given a choice; is that true?”
Jake looked back at his plate and cleared his throat. Another minute went by and he thought about what to say. Ron continued to wait for his answer. Finally, Jake said in a low voice, “My mom made me come. She doesn’t think I’m old enough to stay home by myself while she’s at work and I’m out of school.”
Ron nodded. “What do you think?”
“I think I can take care of myself!” Jake burst out in an undervoice.
Ron nodded again. Jake was getting irritated with the nodding.
“Why do you think your mom disagrees?” Ron asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
Ron continued to wait. At least he wasn’t nodding, Jake thought.
The silence lengthened and Jake got uncomfortable. “I got into some trouble last year,” he admitted reluctantly. “Stole some stuff.”
Ron didn’t look shocked. In fact, Jake couldn’t see that his expression changed at all. “What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing much,” Jake replied. He got a sudden flash of the headlights coming at him again, just like the dreams he’d been having for months. He winced and swallowed hard. He dared a glance at Ron and found him looking back, calm gray eyes focused on him. Their eyes met. Jake didn’t turn away this time.
“I...a friend of mine...well, he wasn’t really a friend, but this guy I knew...” He sighed and stopped, frustrated. When Ron didn’t say anything, he went on. “This guy asked me to help him boost...steal from this house down the street, and I thought...well, I...I did it,” he said in a rush. “It was the only time I ever did anything like that.”
He paused, thinking. “After we got out of the house, we were driving away when this car came out of nowhere and smashed into us. I don’t remember much about the accident. I saw these lights coming at us…” The memory flashed again as he described it to Ron, but didn’t make him wince. “I broke my leg and was in the hospital for awhile.”
Ron nodded again. This time, it didn’t bother Jake.
“Is there anything else?” Ron asked.
“The guy I was with, he got taken away in the ambulance, screaming and crying. There was a lot of blood, but I guess he was OK. That’s what I heard, anyway. I never saw him again.” He shifted in his chair, sitting a little taller, feeling as though a bit of weight had been taken off his shoulders. “My mom told me later that he got sent to some jail for kids, and the only reason I didn’t have to go there, too, was because it was the first time I’d done something like that. And because of my age.” He was looking straight at Ron now.
“I’m glad you told me,” Ron said.
Jake was shocked; he’d expected the usual adult lecture on learning his lesson or at least a disapproving glare.
Ron paused. “I want you to know that we don’t let anybody stay here if they don’t choose to be here. Even if you and your mother have different opinions about your ability to be at home alone.” He looked at Jake thoughtfully. “Another thing that we require is that a parent or someone who functions in that role for the camper must be here for the last couple days of camp. Your mom has already agreed to come. I don’t know if you knew that or not.”
Jake’s eyes had widened. “No, I...no, I didn’t know that. I don’t know what my mom would do here for 2 days.” His mind had leaped forward, wondering if there was any chance his dad might show up. He kept this thought carefully tucked away where the faint hope it carried wouldn’t do him too much harm.
Ron felt he’d said enough. He snatched a piece of bread from the basket in front of Jake and took a big bite. Then he grinned and took another. “That’s good stuff!” he commented.
Without realizing it, Jake smiled back at him. “You should try it with the honey butter,” he said. “It’s the best I’ve ever tasted.”
Ron picked up a knife and slathered honey butter on his cornbread. He bit into it and sighed happily. “Hmmm,” was all he said, but his expression was enough to draw a laugh out of Jake, a surprisingly free and infectious sound.
Ron licked his fingers. “You have a decision to make, Jake. If you don’t want to be here, I’ll call your mother and explain our policy. If you want to stay, we’d love to have you. Your choice.” He stood up. “Why don’t you think about it until tomorrow, and then tell me what you decide at dinner?”
Jake agreed, and watched Ron stride off to get himself a plate.
Chapter 9
Camp Life
After awhile, the sounds of many voices grew louder than the scrape of utensils on plates. People were getting up here and there and bringing their empty dishes to the passthrough. Caroline debated having one more piece of cornbread, and decided she was too full. She was just sitting down again after taking care of her plate when Noreen came out of the kitchen and walked to the head of the tables. She looked around, smiling, and when things quieted down, asked “Better?”
There was a collective murmur of assent, and someone near the back shouted out a request to take a basket of cornbread back to his cabin. Noreen laughed, saying that food was not allowed in the cabins, but they were welcome to come to the kitchen and graze anytime between 6am and 10pm, except for the hour before and after each meal.
“If you saw our brochure or talked to someone who has been to this Camp before, you may have gotten the impression that we aren’t quite like other summer camps...and you’d be right,” she said with a lifted eyebrow. “We do want you to be able to meet new people and get to know them, and do fun activities, but we also want to give you the opportunity to learn some important things about life, about yourselves, and about other people. Every adult here looks at all of you and sees not a bunch of noisy adolescents (although you do a great impression of that...)”
There were a few grins around the room. “...but instead, or in addition, we see people, each with his or her own thoughts, dreams, and choices about what games you want to play in life. And when I say games, I don’t mean volleyball. Well, I don’t mean only games like volleyball or football or even Monopoly.”
“There are many things you do in life that you probably haven’t thought of as games before. Where’s Dara?” Noreen asked, scanning the tables.
She spotted pale blonde hair and a pa
ir of nervous blue eyes fixed on her. “I talked with Dara earlier today and she gave me permission to tell you this about her.” She smiled encouragingly at Dara and continued. “Dara has a goal to compete in swimming at the Olympics.” There were murmurs of surprise and admiration. “She has chosen to play the GAME of being an Olympic swimmer. In order to play this game, she trains and practices over and over again so she’ll have the skills she needs. If she wants to play the game of watching the Olympics, what skills does she need?”
Drew raised his hand and Noreen nodded at him. “Knowing how to use the TV remote?” he said, smiling at Dara over the heads of the other kids and winning a lopsided grin in return. He’d eavesdropped on part of her conversation with his sister on the way to camp and got the impression she was smart and funny and...well, she just made him smile.
“Right.” Noreen was saying, “She’d be playing the spectator game, a very different game from actually being an Olympic swimmer. There are all kinds of games in life, and the best thing is that you get to choose what you want to play and whom you want to play with. At your ages, there are some things you just don’t have a choice about because you’re under someone else’s care, but there is still a lot that is under your control. I’ll leave it at that, for now, and ask Shelley to come up and tell you about some of the things you can do here.”
Dara saw a stocky woman with curly blonde hair stand up across the room and walk purposefully over to take Noreen’s place. Dara took in her appearance and her rather beaky nose and thought this had to be Ms. Hindall’s sister, though she didn’t remember what Ms. Hindall said her sister’s name was. When the woman spoke in a marked southern accent, Dara was sure of it. Ms. Hindall grew up in North Carolina, and Dara had always loved her soft drawl.
“We don’t have a set schedule that you’re required to follow here. There are usually a couple of supervised activities going on at any one time, and if you don’t want to participate, you’re free to watch a movie, read, play volleyball, or whatever. The pool is open from 9:30am to 8:00pm, and you can swim all day long, if that’s what you want to do. Every day at 10:00am, 1:30pm, and 4:00pm there is one of the following activities going on: hiking, canoeing, horseback riding, arts and crafts, and whatever else we can come up with. Ron will probably pass on his rap-appreciation class this summer, although it’s been a big hit in the past,” she teased.
Ron rolled his eyes, stood up and pointed to himself, and everyone could see that he’d changed from Mr. Peanut to a shirt from a Tim McGraw concert, and a black baseball cap that read “I love country!”
“OK, so those of you who love rap, you might have to get together amongst yourselves,” smiled Shelley. “We have some other options during those same time periods, too... those classes mentioned in the brochure, the ones that sound a little strange.”
She looked around and saw a few heads nodding, a few pairs of arms crossing, and faces showing bewilderment, curiosity, or skepticism. Shelley smiled inwardly. “Oh, and for any of the activities that occur at a set time, you just need to sign up on the morning of the day you plan on participating. If you change your mind later and don’t want to participate, you need to let us know. If you don’t sign up in the morning and then decide you want to join in, just show up and if there’s room, you can still do it.”
“Anyway, the classes I’m talking about are called “Get Real”, “Dream Working”, and “ Real World Magic”. If you like to act, you’ll like “Get Real”. You get to play different roles and have fun pretending with each other, and near the end of camp, whoever participated in this group will put on some little skits for the rest of us. I have to tell you that if someone told me about this class when I was your age, I would have run for the hills. I was really shy and this would have sounded more like torture than fun to me, then.” She stopped for a moment and glanced around the room, thinking.
“What’s interesting is that I’ve seen kids who are like I used to be out there playacting along side people who are really outgoing, and everybody seems to have a great time. If you have even a fleeting thought that you might be interested, I’d encourage you to try it; if you don’t like it, you don’t have to continue.”
“Another class is called “Dream Working”. You may or may not know what you want to do when you become adults or even what you want to do next year; either way, this class is great for looking at what things you like, what you’re good at, what you’re drawn to. You’ll be working with each other to get ideas about what makes you happy and what you might want to do now or in the future. It does involve drawing, painting, or other creative art, and coming from someone who is challenged by making stick figures, you don’t need any particular artistic talent to do this. You can finger paint if you want.”
Several people laughed, and Caroline looked at Drew and made a face. Drew smiled complacently, annoying Caroline.
“The third one is my favorite,” Shelley continued, “called “Real World Magic”. If you’re interested in learning how to escape from a locked box or how to saw a woman in half, this isn’t the class for you. Personally, I’d love to believe that Harry Potter is real, that a pair of ruby slippers can transport you home, or that twitching your nose can conjure up whatever you want.” She noticed Toby staring at her intently. Dara was also sitting up straighter, listening closely.
Shelley shrugged and sighed. “Unfortunately, there is no Hogwarts, except in J.K. Rowling’s wonderful mind, bless her, and we are left to see what magic we can make for ourselves. We might look closely at the definition of the word “magic”. Funk and Wagnall’s defines magic as any supernatural art, sleight of hand (a deception or trick), or any agency that works with wonderful effect. This class will not teach you how to wave a wand and cast spells, but through looking at things a little differently, you might see how you can create “wonderful effects” for yourselves.”
“Well, that should give you a brief idea of some of the things you can get started on tomorrow. For now, we’re going to start this camp session off by pretending to be a regular camp in the best way we know how... in other words, there’s a large fire pit down by the volleyball court and in about an hour, Ron should have a pyromaniac’s dream blazing away and we’ll do s’mores.”
A cheer rose up from the benches, followed by laughter, tapering off as Shelley continued.
“Now, Noreen is a traditionalist...or maybe I mean a purist. She likes her s’mores strictly by the book - graham cracker, Hershey’s, and one marshmallow, toasted golden brown. I like to mix it up a little - graham cracker, peanut butter (chunky), Perugina dark chocolate bar, and then the marshmallow, heated, but without any brown.”
“What about Ron?” someone called out. Shelley laughed. “Anybody have a guess?” she asked, looking around the room.
“Double chocolate, double marshmallow!” yelled a boy.
“White chocolate with coconut!” another voice called out.
Ron crossed his arms and shook his head sadly. Her eyes dancing, Shelley said, “Ron here likes fried-to-a-crisp marshmallows, no chocolate, no graham cracker. Everyone usually gives him their burnt mistakes.” People groaned and Ron smiled, acknowledging them with a slight bow.
“There are a few rules we ask you to follow while you are here,” Shelley continued. “The first will probably be the hardest for you…since part of our job is to support you in meeting new people and having new experiences, we ask that you leave your cell phones in your cabins at all times.”
There was a general outcry, which quieted down quickly as Shelley continued. “You are welcome to use your cell phones in your cabins as much as you like, but please don’t carry them around with you. Next, boys are not allowed in girls’ cabins and girls are not allowed in boys’ cabins.”
A few people sniggered. “Finally, if you leave the lodge area to go on a hike, please check in at the front office first and let us know who is going and where. We also have trail maps and we can let you know where to find the best o
nes. Any questions?”
There were none. “Meet you out by the fire pit!” Shelley waved, turned, and walked through the kitchen door. She grinned as the door swung back for an instant, bringing to her the cheerful noise of benches scraping and excited chatter, before it closed with a muffling whoosh.
Chapter 10
Bedtime
“Ooohhh,” groaned Sean. “I ate too many s’mores!” He flopped back on his bunk, legs dangling over the side. His brother walked passed, lifting up Sean’s legs and tossing them up on the bed as he continued on to his own bunk.
Toby was sitting on his bed with his back to the wall. “I only ate two, so I don’t feel so bad.”
“I just ate chocolate and marshmallows,” Patrick said. “Perfectly toasted, golden brown-on-all-sides-AND-the-ends marshmallows.” He reached over his shoulder, grabbed a fistful of t-shirt and pulled it over his head.
Toby burst out laughing as Patrick dragged on his pajama top and turned around to face him.
“What?” he said, carefully smoothing down the front of his shirt.
“Dude, I cannot believe you wore that here!” commented Sean, shaking his head. “You do know this reflects badly on me, as your brother?”
Patrick looked down his nose. “People will probably be jealous because you have a brother with such good taste...”
Jake walked in at that moment. He hadn’t gone with them to the campfire, but Toby noticed when he showed up later, accepting a hanger from Ron and making his own s’more (double chocolate, single marshmallow, barely toasted. People around the fire had started to make predictions about personality based on s’mores preference. Strangely enough, Jake’s choice put him in the sweet-tempered, funny guy category. So much for that theory, Toby thought).
Jake shut the door firmly. He intended to keep his head down and go to his bunk without getting into any conversation with his cabinmates. Before he got further into the room, his eye was caught by Patrick’s pajama top. He frowned, lips contorting weirdly; he struggled mightily and then lost it, his pealing laughter startling the other boys. “I would have expected Spiderman or Batman or even Vote For Pedro,” Jake said when he got his breath back. “But that, that is classic.”