Chapter Text
SIMON
I’ve been sweating since I woke up. Actually, before that— I’m pretty sure there was a line of sweat on my forehead when I opened my eyes this morning, too. It’s been such a stupidly hot summer, and every day I just roast like a fucking pig.
Camp Watford is great, though. I used to come here every summer when I was a kid, and now that I’m in uni I decided to apply to be a camp counselor. Needed a summer job, and it seemed like it’d be good to go back. Walk around the grounds, get some ice cream at the mess hall, play darts in the rec room. Find the shy kids and get them to participate in sing-a-longs too, and all that stuff.
Yeah, it’s been awesome being back here. The only downside really is the weather from hell. Oh, and Baz.
Baz. Smarmy bastard. I’ve known him since we were eleven years old, when he showed up posh and polished and ready to play croquet or some shit in his fancy jumper, and I was always covered in dirt and just wanted to jump in the lake.
Not much has changed on that front, I guess. Anyway, we hated each other when we were kids. And I hate him now, too. When I walked into the camp counselor office on my first day here last week and saw his smug face, I almost ran right out. Well, ran right into him and punched him in the face, more like. (I didn't. I'm not trying to lose my job).
I was up early this morning, as it was my turn to do the wake up call. I made the rounds to all the different cabins, with the kids groaning and giggling in turn while I blasted “Can’t Stop the Feeling” outside of their rooms.
Counselor on duty gets to pick the wake up song. I figure it’s impossible to be in a bad mood when you listen to any song from the Trolls movie. (When it’s Baz’s turn he probably plays some emo shit and ruins everyone’s morning.)
At the final cabin, I had to sort out some drama with two of the ten-year-old campers, one of whom insisted that the other had stolen her tie-dye shirt. I ended up sending everyone else on ahead for breakfast while I talked with those two and got them to sign up for another tie-dye time later today, together. The more tie-dye the better, right? No harm, no foul.
We’re finally making our way to breakfast together. The girls are skipping together, their fight long forgotten, and I’m absolutely starving. The thought of Cook Pritchard’s pancakes right now is making me salivate, and it’s all I can do to keep from sprinting up ahead.
When we walk through the door, I make a beeline straight for the food. Everyone else is already seated, clusters of kids laughing at each other’s tan lines or shouting jokes across the room.
The other counselors are dotted throughout the room, and I spot Baz in the corner with the rest of his cabin. He looks up as I walk in the room, and I see him smirk before turning back to his tea. Despite the heat, he still looks totally unruffled, as usual.
I’m sure my camp shirt is sporting some serious sweat stains right now, but I don’t think I’ve ever even seen Baz sweat. Even when he runs around and plays football with the kids, he looks completely unruffled.
As I pile food onto my plate, I see the campers from Baz’s cabin are staring at him, enraptured, as he tells some apparently fascinating story. How they can stand being in his cabin, I have no idea. But I have to admit they adore him. He must hide his evil from the kids.
The kids don’t have to sit with their cabins at meals— they can sit wherever they want. But by this time of the summer, a few weeks in, the cabin groups usually get so close they’re practically inseparable.
My cabin group is the best, obviously. We named ourselves the Dragons, which has to be the dopest name ever. Margaret, one of the older kids in the cabin, made up this cool fire-blowing dance thing whenever we win something (which is often).
Baz’s camp is called the Vampires— which mostly started because enough kids overheard me saying (loudly, I admit) that I think he looks like a vampire. But he does! He’s tall, with long, dark hair, a serious widow’s peak, and pinched-looking cheeks.
Anyway, he laughed outright when he heard what his camp wanted to name themselves. Baz laughs when I’m around sometimes, but it always seems like a humorless laugh. Like I’m the joke, and I wouldn’t understand it. I hate it. We have to put on a good face for the kids, can’t let our animosity seem too real. Play it all off for laughs. But it’s bloody hard.
When I finish making up my plate and take my seat with my own cabin, the two girls are already with the rest of the group. I join a conversation in full force.
“—absolutely perfect. There’s no way we won’t win,” Philippa is saying to the table, a look of complete intensity on her face as she brandishes her fork around for emphasis.
The lake challenge tournament is tonight. The campers have been talking of nothing else for the whole week. Winning camp gets an ice cream party every night for the rest of the summer. (And eternal glory, of course.)
“But the fricking vampires are going to cheat! Aren’t they, Simon?” Gareth pipes up, looking at me worriedly.
I swallow a mouthful of fruit. “Hey. They’re not going to cheat. It’s all in good fun.”
The kids are looking at me skeptically now.
“Okay, so it’s a serious competition that will determine our legacy at this camp,” I amend. “But there are rules. And referees. They won’t be able to cheat.”
“Can vampires even go in the water?” Trixie giggles.
“That’s holy water, idiot,” Phillipa rolls her eyes. “Unless you’ve got a priest handy, I think they’ll be okay.”
I shovel the rest of the food from my plate to my mouth. When I’m done, I look around, a semicircle of concerned preteen faces staring up at me. “DRAGONS. We’ve got this. Have we or have we not been training day and night for this?”
“Not really day and night,” Gareth mumbles. “Just like, a couple of times.”
“And do we or do we not have the best cabin in the whole camp?”
“We do!” comes the chorus.
“Well, then.” I lean back in my chair. My plate now looks pitifully empty. I think about going back for seconds, but just then the camp director Miss Possibelf stands up and clears her throat.
“Campers!” she calls, and the previous din of the room quiets. “As you know, we have our lake challenge tournament this evening! You’ll walk over with your cabin counselor to the main platform at 7:00 sharp, right after dinner. In the meantime, proceed with your regularly scheduled activities. As always, see your counselor for any small or medium issues and me for any big issues.”
There’s a clatter of loud scraping noises as everyone gets up at the same time, grabs their plates, and files toward the dish drop. I walk by the food line to grab one last scone to go and then join the line. Unfortunately, Baz walks up at the same time as me.
“Alright, Snow?” he asks with a mock-polite smile, one thick eyebrow cocked up. There are campers all around us, so no hostilities allowed.
“Just peachy, Pitch,” I shoot back. I attempt a civil smile, but I know it probably comes out as more of a grimace. I’m lousy at this. I’m impatient with our back-and-forth already, and we’ve barely even started talking.
There are still a bunch of people waiting to drop off their dishes, so we haven’t moved at all yet. We’re just stuck here together in the back of this clump of people, like bugs caught in a web.
Baz’s eyes are narrowed on me now. His eyes are a funny grey color— not quite blue, not quite brown. Just grey. Today, they look like stormclouds. I turn away.
“Ready for the competition?” he asks.
I open my mouth, but he speaks up again: “You were born ready, I suppose.”
He’s smiling slightly. I roll my eyes. He knows that used to be my favorite thing to shout before competitions and matches when we were at camp as kids.
“Meanwhile, you lot’ll never be ready,” I say, trying to inject some derision in my voice. I’m bouncing on my feet now. When will the line move?
“Perhaps.” He sounds calm. I hate that.
I have nothing to say to this. I feel stupid, and I’m sweating again now. (I should say sweating still . I never really stopped.)
Finally, the line clears and we start moving quickly up to the front. After we relieve ourselves of our dishes but right before I make a mad dash for the exit, Baz smirks at me again.
“Until later, Snow,” and he strides out first. Always one step ahead of me.