Chapter Text
“Girls, please stay seated!” the peppy counselor at the front called. “Bottom to bottom, back to back! We’re not quite there yet.”
Amaya leaned her head close to the window, though she didn’t press her temple to the pane itself. The jolting and bumping of the bus over dirt made the glass shudder in a way that would be painful. Instead, she carefully angled herself so she could see beyond the peeling plastic of the seat in front of her. Evergreen trees, oaks and redwoods, upholstered each side of the road. Smaller bushes collected like lint balls along their bases. Up ahead, a wooden arch straddled the road. Carved yellow letters along its crest read Camp Walden.
“Are we close?” asked the girl beside her. She’d looked up from her book for the first time since they left the drop-off site.
“Yeah,” said Amaya. “I can see the bus ahead of us unloading already.”
“Sweet.” The girl dropped her head back down.
The noise level in the bus began to rise as more kids caught sight of the camp’s entrance. By the time they groaned to a stop behind the first bus, it took the counselors three bum-bada-bum-bums to cut through the chatter.
“Once off the bus!” the peppy one instructed. “Grab your duffel bag and find the tree marked with the color wristband you were given during check-in. The counselor there will be in charge of your cabin. Everybody got that?”
A muted chorus of yeahs.
“I can’t hear you. Everybody got that?”
Yeah!
“Awesome! Then what do we have to say to the bus driver?”
Thank you!
“Sure.” A single unenthused thumbs-up floated above the gaggle of heads.
“Awesome!” the counselor said again. “Welcome to Camp Walden, kids.”
Amaya pulled her daypack off the floor in front of her and joined the crush of campers jostling in the aisle. Once off the bus, squinting in the sunlight and slightly dizzy from the smell of the forest and dust, she stood among the yelling, clamoring mass of children and tried to regain her bearings.
“Hey! No shoving!”
“Anyone forget a sock on the bus? How about a water bottle? Sock and a water bottle, going once, going twice…”
“Grab your duffels! Don’t forget to grab your bags!”
Suddenly aware of her empty hands, Amaya turned back to the bus, where counselors in dark green polos dragged luggage out of the open underbelly. She looked for dark purple canvas, to no avail.
“First time at camp, huh?”
Amaya turned. A smaller girl with dark brown hair and choppy bangs stood beside her, eyebrows raised. She held her own duffel in hand.
“Yeah,” Amaya admitted, smiling. “Is it that obvious?”
“You learn to grab your bag quick. Otherwise, the counselors throw it in the pile.”
“The pile?”
The girl pointed to a spot twenty feet away from their bus, where firefighter lines of adults converged to create a small mountain of luggage. With a sinking heart, Amaya recognized a lonely purple corner sticking out of the bottom.
“See yours?” the girl asked.
Amaya nodded.
“Okay,” she said. She glanced Amaya over, making her self-conscious of the polo her mom told her to wear to make a good impression. “Let’s go get it, then.”
She led Amaya over to the pile. Amaya reached for the black strap of her duffel, straining to yank it free from the other bags that crushed it. She was athletic—best in her P.E. class and stopper on her club soccer team—but there must have been hundreds of pounds of campers’ clothes and toiletries stacked on top. It hardly budged.
“Don’t look at me,” the girl said. “I’m more of an e-sports kid.”
As she spoke, a white girl in a sleeveless tie-dye shirt stepped up to the opposite edge of the pile. With a quick, decisive tug, she pulled out her duffel.
Amaya and her tentative-friend shared an impressed look.
“Damn,” said the tentative-friend.
“Excuse me!” Amaya called.
Tie-dye girl turned. On second look, Amaya realized she was the freckliest person that she’d ever seen—there wasn’t a freckle-free square inch on her entire face. She smiled, bright and easy, and at least there weren’t any freckles on her teeth. “Yeah?”
“Would you mind helping me with my bag?”
“Oh, sure.” The girl walked over to them, own duffel slung over her shoulder. When she reached them, she dropped it by their feet and took hold of the strap Amaya was holding. “On three?”
“Oh.” Amaya blinked. “Yes.”
“One…two…three!”
The two of them gave a strong heave. The bag popped free, sending them both staggering back into the first girl, who only managed to keep from falling by grabbing onto Amaya’s backpack. Regaining their balance, they looked at each other. Tie-dye girl and Amaya grinned; Amaya’s tentative-friend snickered.
“Thanks,” said Amaya.
“No problem,” said tie-dye girl. “I’m Sara.”
“Amaya.”
“Zari,” said Amaya’s tentative-friend. She held up her wrist, showing off a papery light blue wristband of the kind lifeguards give out to swim test passers at the city pool. It matched the ones on Sara and Amaya’s wrists. “And I could be wrong, but I think we’re all in the same cabin.”
“Awesome,” said Sara. “Douglas squad.”
“Douglas?” asked Amaya.
“Blue’s always Douglas cabin. Red’s Sequoia, Green’s Saguaro, you know? You guys been to camp before?”
“I have,” said Zari. “My mom makes me come every year.” She affected a maternal, accented voice. “’Zari-jan, it’ll be good for you. Get off that computer of yours, breathe some real air...’”
Amaya smiled. Her mom had sounded similar when she’d handed Amaya the camp magazine, though without the computer complaint. “It’s my first time,” she admitted.
Sara nodded. “That’s cool. My sister and I used to go to Camp Deer Lake, but we’ve come here for the last few summers. She’s a CIT this year, so if you meet a really bossy one, that’s her.”
Zari snorted.
“Douglas!” a British-sounding voice shouted. “Douglas Fir cabin! Light blue wristbands, over here!”
The three of them turned. A brunette counselor stood beneath a redwood tree with a rough sky-blue circle painted on its bark.
“Ready?” Zari asked.
Sara nodded, hefting her duffel back over her shoulder. She looked to Amaya expectantly.
Amaya picked up her own bag, feeling something warm sprout in her chest. Maybe camp wouldn’t be as lonely as she’d worried. “Ready,” she agreed.
-
“What are you doing?”
Charlie rolled their eyes. “Fashion design. What’s it look like?”
The girl—Mina, maybe?—stared from where she hung upside down, peering over the edge of her upper bunk. Her eyes bugged out. “You’re ripping up your camp shirts.”
“I’m retrofitting my camp shirts.” They held up their first completed masterpiece—short sleeves shorn off, two inches trimmed off the bottom hem, and the maroon fabric cut into strips and braided along each side seam. “See?”
“Whoa.” Mina—no, Mina didn’t sound right, Mona—gaped. “That’s super cool.”
“Going pink there, mate.”
Mona pushed herself back up on top of her bed, giving her blood an opportunity to flush back out of her face. Seconds later, she clambered down to badger Charlie some more. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get in trouble?”
Charlie shrugged. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t care if I get in trouble. Nobody’s gonna tell me what to wear.”
Mona frowned, perching on the foot of Charlie’s bed. “What if they, like, send you home?”
“Then good.” They thought of Lachesis’s smug face, waving them off from behind the airport security line. “ It’s not like I asked to be here anyhow.”
“Aw, come on! Camp’s supposed to be so fun. I heard there’s a lake, and an arts and crafts house, and a pottery wheel, and a high ropes course, and, and…lots of fun stuff.”
Charlie raised their hands and gave them an unenthused hurrah shake.
“Give up,” said a new voice, artfully scornful. Charlie glanced to the next bunk over to see a girl with perfectly arranged ringlets and a full manicure dump her bag on the covers. “I don’t think even your cloying pep rally cheer can break through her crusty exterior.”
Mona’s face fell.
“Oi,” Charlie said, immediately protective in a way they hadn’t been before. “Don’t call her ‘cloying.’ What’s your problem?”
The girl arched her eyebrow. “It’s just that you seem to have decided already about the kind of summer you’re going to have.”
“And you wanna be here, do you?”
The girl considered, sitting down on her bed. “No, not really.” She looked to Mona. “So don’t waste your energy on me, either.”
Mona looked from one of them to the other. “I feel like you guys could give it a chance.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Charlie’s scissors glided through their second shirt.
“Mm,” the new girl agreed. She looked pointedly at Charlie’s mess of fabric. “And doing a wonderful job of following the rules already.”
Charlie forced up two fingers in an up-yours motion. Americans didn’t know what that meant, right?
The new girl’s eyes flashed. “Excuse me?”
Whoops.
“Peace on Earth,” Charlie attempted.
“Yeah, no. My mum–” and Charlie heard it, the u in mum, before the girl faltered. She looked away.
An awkward pause stretched.
“So…” said Mona. “I’m Mona. It’s nice to meet you?”
Charlie looked at her, incredulous. In what bloody way was it nice to meet this girl?
Mona ignored her. She offered a small, genuine smile in the other girl’s direction.
After a moment, the girl gave in. “I’m Astra,” she said.
Mona looked at Charlie.
“Charlie,” they begrudged.
“Where are you guys from?”
“Hell,” Astra said drily, which surprised an amused huff out of Charlie.
“London,” they said. “So, same thing, really.”
Astra shot them a pleased look, before remembering she was supposed to be disdainful and looking back to Mona.
Huh.
“I’m from D.C.,” Mona said. “I’ve never been to camp before. Have you guys?”
Neither of them had.
"How old are you?”
“Eleven,” they both said simultaneously.
Astra glowered.
Charlie grinned. Riling Astra up? Very easy, actually, and pretty fun.
“Oh,” said Mona. “I’m ten.”
“That’s alright,” said Charlie. They liked Mona more, especially now that it was becoming clear she had some backbone in her and she wasn’t a snitch. “Not your fault.”
A smile tiptoed back onto Mona’s face. “Thanks.”
“So what are you doing to that ugly tee?” asked Astra.
Charlie held up their current experiment—a shirt with a row of small lightning cutouts ringing below the collar.
Astra looked mildly impressed.
“Cool.” Mona reached out to put her finger through one of the bolts. “If you don’t get in super big trouble, would you show me how to do mine?”
“Sure,” said Charlie. “Sequoia cabin can be the cabin of wicked threads.”
“Because being the cabin of obnoxiously tall trees wasn’t enough.”
Charlie grinned at Astra, whose long legs easily reached the floor. “You’d know.”
Astra rolled her eyes, but her lips crooked upwards.
“I heard we have free time after lunch,” Mona said. “Would you guys want to explore with me?”
“Explore what, exactly?” Astra asked.
“I don’t know. Everything?”
Charlie tilted their head. “Beats sitting in this stack of logs, I guess.”
Astra sighed. Unzipping her bag, she drawled, “Why not?”