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David had been tapping his fingers on his desk to the beat of a song he was listening to – Copacabana, by Barry Manilow – after he’d found a record player and a stack of old vinyls buried in dust in an old closet in his cabin. It was the music his parents had grown up with, so despite being vaguely aware it was the epitome of ‘cringe,’ he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.
Gwen, on the other hand, was watching some cheap reality show on TLC and lying on her bed, noise cancelling headphones clamped over her ears. She despised David’s music taste and made it known, so he tried to keep it to a minimum, but sometimes he just had to ‘throw on some tunes,’ as he liked to put it.
A very small pile of papers rested on his desk underneath a Camp Campbell pen, ready to be filled out, but he let it slide for now. It’d been a very long day of following the kids around, making sure they didn’t get up to antics, and having endless arguments.
As rain poured down outside, the darkness of the early enveloping the camp in dark fog, David felt the tension drop from his shoulders. Finally, he could relax.
Until there was a knock at the door.
Gwen either didn’t hear or didn’t care. David was sure it was the latter, but as the greatest camp counsellor Camp Campbell had ever seen, he figured he could easily take it up on his own. He thought a bit about who it was as he stood up from his desk – an annoyed camper, looking for his side in the argument? No, they didn’t respect his opinions that much. Plus, it was rather late. The Quartermaster, maybe? He hoped not.
David twisted the rusted brass doorknob, smiling smally. “Howdy there! How can I help… you…”
His voice trailed off as he saw what was in front of him.
Max looked worse than David had ever seen him. His brows were furrowed, one hand digging into his sleeve, the other clamping his forehead. His skin was pasty and sweaty. “Fuck you and your optimism,” Max muttered, before his eyes shut and he slumped forward into David’s lower legs.
David yelped, immediately tensing his legs so his knees wouldn’t buckle. His brows knit together when he realised just how light Max was. “Dam – dang it! Gwen!”
Gwen grunted and took off one side of her headphones. “Shut up, David, I’m busy watching the 90 Day Fiancé reruns.”
“No, really, Gwen, this is important –”
“Nothing is more important than watching Ronald emotionally cheat on Tiffany! I mean, this is absolute shit! She doesn’t even care about the drugs, let alone the felonies! Lady, get it together, god –”
“Gwen.”
David’s firmness righted her from her rant, and she turned around, pausing as she saw Max. “Max – what is he… huh?”
David suppressed a yawn. “He just… knocked on the door, used some unsavoury language, then… collapsed. Saying that out loud, that really doesn’t sound good.”
Gwen grumbled as she threw her headphones and iPad onto her bed and stood up. “If only Campbell didn’t hire some crackhead from Facebook for our second aid training,” she complained and walked over, crouching down. She looked worriedly at Max. “He really doesn’t look good.”
David sighed and scooped him up. “Golly, it’s like he’s nothing but bones,” he muttered. “Say, Gwen, did we still have the medicine textbooks, or were those burnt in the third Wood Scouts invasion?”
“The fourth,” she replied, fishing through her desk’s contents. “But I actually read this fanfiction recently –”
“We’re not using AOL as a source for something this important,” David said as he set Max lightly on his pastel green and yellow striped armchair. He stood back, locking eyes with Gwen. “Do we have any idea what we’re doing?”
“Not at all,” she responded simply. She thought for a moment. “Uh, so, notice anything weird about Max recently? Like, something that could be why he… y’know? The QM slip rat poison into the food again?
“I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary,” David said, racking his brain. His brows knit together as he frowned. “Awe, gosh, Gwen, I don’t know what to do!”
“Let’s just – is he hot?” she asked, growing exasperated, grabbing a glass from her desk. “He look dehydrated?”
David put his large hand to Max’s forehead. “He’s cold and clammy. But he looked like he was overheating when he arrived.”
“Difference in internal and external temperature or some shit. I’m not a doctor,” Gwen said as she filled a glass with water. “Help me help him drink this. I barely see him drink anything but Gatorade and even that’s rare.”
Something clicked in David’s brain. “Say that again?”
“I said, I barely see him drink anything but Ga –”
David snapped. “He probably passed out from dehydration!” he figured out, feeling proud momentarily, before blanching. “Oh-hoh boy, that’s not good.”
“Well, congrats, Sherlock. Let’s get this runt to drink some water, then,” she said as she tilted Max’s head back and let half of the small glass of water run down his throat.
He stirred slightly.
“Okay, uh, he’s not – he doesn’t look injured besides the whole unconscious issue,” David said nervously. “But he might’ve gotten hurt when he fell.”
Gwen set the glass down and moved Max’s bangs to the side. She spotted a bruise for a second before Max jumped slightly, scooting away. “Get your hands off me, assho – oh,” he yelled, with a surprising amount of energy for someone who’d just fainted.
“God, Max! Are you trying to give us grey hairs?” Gwen blurted, running a hand down her face.
“If it means you die quicker, then sure,” he deadpanned, blinking slowly and looking around. “Is this what it’s like for Nerris without her glasses? This blows.”
David crouched down and rubbed Max’s hair. “Are you feeling all right, kiddo?”
Max pulled back. “I’m fine. And don’t call me kiddo, I’m not seven.”
“Do you know why you fainted?” David asked softly. There wasn’t a hint of the anger Max had found himself expecting.
He felt uncomfortable under David and Gwen’s concerned looks. It was an expression that was entirely unfamiliar to him, especially from adults, and he hated it – they were all shitty, self-righteous assholes, anyway. Not like it was a genuine look. “Doesn’t fuckin’ matter, David. I’ll just go to bed.” He tried to stand up from the couch, but his legs wobbled and his vision lightened.
“No, no, no, no,” Gwen said. “Stay on the damn seat, Satan.”
“Mm,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. He looked anywhere but their faces.
“Can you be honest with me, Max?” David asked, tilting his head slightly.
“Eh. Depends.”
“How much did you eat and drink today?” he questioned. Gwen nodded, eyes filled with worry failed to be hidden by a thin mask of faux annoyance.
A weak shrug. “Like, half of breakfast, half of Neil’s Java Monster Energy or whatever that battery acid shit is called, and some mashed potatoes.”
Somehow, more concern spilled onto David’s face. If Max hadn’t been so weak, he would’ve socked the man and ran. It felt unhuman, how much emotion David showed, even in comparison to Gwen, who typically cried at least twice by ten in the morning.
“Do you normally eat that little every day?” he asked.
Max scoffed. “Yeah. What does it matter?”
David drew in a breath, but tried not to look disappointed. “Could you do me a favour and try to remember how much you weigh?”
"Like, sixty pounds or some bullshit, I don't pay attention to what the school nurses say,” Max recalled. He twirled a strand of his hair as he felt his vision getting clearer.
David exchanged a glance with Gwen. For a moment, the room fell into a tense silence.
“Okay, fuck this. Just tell me you’re disappointed in me, that I need to drink more water or whatever, and let me go to my tent,” Max said, his brows furrowing.
“Max, we’re not disappointed, we’re worried,” Gwen said.
Max’s breathing caught for a split second. Gwen. Worried. About him ? What kind of fucked-up dream was this? It wasn’t even like his habits were that bad. He was used to it, and he’d survived this long, so it couldn’t have been deadly. He resorted to his tried and true: dry humour. “That’s greaaaaaat. But I really could not care less, so I’m goin’ back to bed.”
It felt weird to not hear an annoyed “Jesus, Max!” or the sound of facepalming. God, did he hate this whole “caring for the campers thing.
“Can’t you guys just be like my parents and not care about me? It’d be so much easier for all of us. You don’t have to worry about me and can watch your shitty romcoms, and I don’t have to listen to your lectures.”
“Will you take this seriously?” David asked in foreign firmness. “It’s not something you should just brush off!”
Max hopped off the armchair, confident enough in his ability to walk back to his tent, though shaking a bit as he did so. “I can deal. Just forget this happened.”
“Max, we can’t just –” Gwen sighed, exasperated. “At least let one of us walk you back to your tent so you don’t get hurt again on the way.”
He grumbled in what he hoped sounded like capitulation. Gwen opened the door and he slammed it shut as he walked out.
David stared at Gwen. His lower lip trembled, and she walked over with a sigh, sitting next to him on her bed. “It’s not your fault. Little shit just doesn’t know what’s good for him sometimes. But I think occasionally, we gotta let it slide, or he’s gonna think we’re being weird, which’ll just make him draw away more.”
He laughed lightly. “Maybe that major in psychology was useful after all.”
She scoffed, softly punching David in the shoulder. “Tomorrow, we’ll start making sure he gets enough to eat and drink. We’re gonna look back at today at the end of the summer and see how far he’s come. Promise.”
“Look at you,” David said through a yawn. “Stealing all my optimism.”
“Well, Max just draws it out of you,” she said with a smile. “Anyway, I’m gonna finish my show. You should head to bed early, Davey. You look like a zombie.”
“I feel like one too,” he muttered as he walked a few metres over to his bed and flopped down. He pulled the metal string on his lamp, enveloping the room in darkness. “Good night, Gwen.”
“‘Night, David.”
He’d been eaten at by a lot of things before – platypuses, wolves, the occasional bear, and nearly by the Wood Scouts during his first year as a counsellor.
But never by guilt, and never so strongly.
He wasn’t a stranger to sometimes tossing and turning, but never like this. Gwen had gone to bed hours ago. His internal clock told him it couldn’t have been later than three in the morning, but if someone showed him a sign that said it had been a full twelve hours since Max left, he would’ve believed them.
How couldn’t he have noticed?
It was laid out in front of him. Max had always been tired, relying on coffee to make it through the day. He was rarely spotted drinking anything besides stuff he’d stolen, and that was certainly only to spite who he’d taken it from. He always picked at his food and gave it to other campers or shovelled it into the trash. There was never a time he took off that viking-blue hoodie, even when the temperature clawed into the hundreds.
Of course he was dehydrated. It was as obvious as two plus two equals four.
And he missed it.
How?
Could he even consider himself a good counsellor anymore? A counsellor at all ?
Camp Campbell was his life, his passion. But he couldn’t spare enough attention to his, admittedly, favourite camper to realise that he wasn’t okay?
He’d never felt so much like a failure. An involuntary sigh left his mouth and Gwen stirred.
“David?” she asked groggily.
“No worries,” he said tensely. “Just go back to sleep.”
“I can hear in your voice that something’s wrong. What’s up?” She was firm and to the point, staring at David’s silhouette in the dark.
“How didn’t I notice?” he asked softly, though more to himself than to her.
“What do you mean?”
“Max! It was so obvious,” he muttered. “I just ignored it.”
“Y’know, with all the campers telling you and how often they do, you think you’d realise that you’re not perfect, David,” Gwen said simply. Her aptitude at being unapologetically honest was only amplified at night. “So, maybe you made a mistake. We all do.”
“But – but this one could’ve gotten Max hurt,” he mumbled. “Or worse.”
“For fuck’s sake, David.” Gwen sighed. “We’re gonna make it better. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Get some sleep, and we’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“Are you sure –”
“ Sleep .”
He didn’t respond as he exhaled and turned around, facing the cabin wall. Within a minute, Gwen’s breathing had levelled out, obviously asleep. It took him another half hour, but David eventually followed suit.