Chapter Text
The air that rushes in to swaddle her when she steps out of the automatic, sliding doors of the airport is the most relieving thing she has ever felt in her entire life.
The drop-off and collection point is exceptionally busy. Hundreds of people pass by, some shoulder-checking her, which Daisy thinks is fair, as she has just stopped in the middle of it all. But it had been a long flight, and a longer wait to pass through security, and a longerer walk from the arrivals gate to the exit. She digs her hands into her pocket and itches around until her nails scratch against something metallic and rubbery, pulling out her vape and taking a drag of it. She gets in one, single pull, before a security guard is shouting at her, reminding her that all parts of the airport are non-smoking and that if he catches her doing it again she will be fined 100 dollars.
Daisy doesn’t know what the conversion rate from Canadian dollars to sterling is, but she decides not to take her chances, pocketing the device, grasping her suitcase, and following the signs that outline where the shuttle services depart from.
It is a small car-park, occupied mainly by empty buses, but one sits idle by the pavement. White-and-blue, the side of it that Daisy can see is unmarked, but when she hooks around it, she finds it has, ‘MAYDAY: CAMP FOR HEALING’ plastered across it. A driver is sitting on the step up to the bus, smoking a cigarette, balding through the middle and with a patchy, wiry beard. He doesn’t look up even when he must hear the rolling of her suitcase’s wheels, not until Daisy is standing right in front of him. He raises both eyebrows, and holds out a hand wordlessly.
Daisy shoves her hand into her sweater's pocket until she grasps her phone, taking it out and frantically opening it. It is slow to do anything, until she receives what must be twenty text messages at once, as her data finally adjusts and alerts her that she's landed in Canada, just in case she hadn't realised. Her email refuses to open, and the driver snaps his fingers at her impatiently, and she hurries to type ‘CAMP MAYDAY’ into the search-bar. There are, unfortunately, about twenty emails from them—the application process had been unnecessarily long, in her opinion—but she eventually locates the one he must want. She hands her phone over to him, and he stubs his cigarette out against his boot to read it. Sniffing, he hands the phone back to her.
“Wrong one,” He says, in a thick Newfoundlander accent, and Daisy has to grind her teeth to keep from reminding him that he hadn’t even told her what he wanted to see, “Need to see your residency confirmation, and then the bus ticket stub they sent you.”
Daisy does feel brave enough to mutter, “Fuck sake,” before finally producing the two files he needs.
“Great,” The bus driver stands up, pushing the phone back from his face, squinting, “Welcome to Canada, Ms. Daisy Barclosed.”
“Barlow,” Daisy corrects half-heartedly, as he hands the phone back to her. He at least has decent enough customer service skills to take her luggage for her and put it into the storage area of the bus, “Do you mind if I take a quick smoke break? I haven’t been able to since—”
“Nope,” He interrupts, sweeping out an arm as to indicate to her to get onto the bus, “We’re already running late, Miss. Lowbar. The boss will be angry if we’re any later.”
Daisy hopes this guy doesn’t work at the camp permanently, because if he does she is going to ruin her teeth with grinding them. She wants to mention that, actually, her flight had departed and landed early, because the plane ahead of them on the runway had to divert, and that she doesn’t think it’s fair that he got a smoke break and she didn’t, but instead she just smiles stiffly at him and clambers aboard the bus. As she goes, she manages to knock her forehead against the too-low roof, cursing to herself, before she finally falls into what she already feels to be a terribly uncomfortable, plastic blue seat. It reminds her a little of the buses at home. The smell, too.
There is only one other girl on the bus, who has her headphones plugged in, and is staring resolutely out of the window, which Daisy assumes mean she isn’t interested in talking. Taking out her phone, Daisy goes into Google Maps, and looks up how long the drive from the airport to the camp, and she has to rub her forehead to prevent a headache when, ‘THREE HOURS,’ is her answer. The bus rumbles to life, sounding old as it whines when the driver puts it into drive. Then, the sound of rushing air fills the space, and the bus begins to warm, even though it is late May and Toronto is sitting in a slightly uncomfortable high teens, low twenties heat.
“Seriously, man?” Daisy calls up to the driver, who she can see looking at her in the rearview, “You put on the heating?”
“System’s broken, can’t turn it off,” He shouts back at her, and then he starts to laugh, “Hope you didn’t wear too many layers to save space in that suitcase of yours! Open a window!”
Daisy slumps back in her seat and wonders if it is too late to get off the bus, take her luggage, go back into the airport, and wait twelve hours until the next flight back to Glasgow. She does open a window. It does little to cool her in the four layers she is wearing.
The drive is expectedly long. Daisy had forgotten to ask to take stuff out of her suitcase to distract her, and so she was left looking out of the window for three hours, not wanting to kill her phone's battery. She watches as the grey of Toronto melts into the green landscapes of rural Canada. It is not so different from back home, although everything is rather flat for the first hour and a half of the bus. Farmlands roll endlessly out towards the horizon, until they near Lake Huron, at which point the view does begin to change. Some oranges and browns twist themselves into the greenery, and things get slightly hillier. The bus driver begins to whistle to himself as they move into sparse, forested areas, and Daisy hopes and prays that they are near to the camp.
Finally, the bus driver makes a turn, and they roll up a long driveway, at the end of which is a wooden fence that moves into a large wooden arch that has a painted sign saying 'MAYDAY' nailed on it, encircling a slightly denser wood. The other girl on the bus, who had fallen asleep, wakes up as the bus driver’s accent thickens when he shouts to somebody who must be operating the metal security gate, which slides open after the driver laughs heartily at whatever was said. Daisy moves into the aisle seat to peer out of the front-window. The drop-off point is quiet, there is only one other car parked at what is a small round-about, in the centre of which is a wooden statue of a woman—”The Boss,” Daisy imagines. There is a one-story wooden lodge that sprawls outwards on both sides, the wings of it seeming to act as arms that embraced oncoming residents. There is a small group of girls gathered outside already, and Daisy feels her heart quicken in her chest.
The bus-driver pulls up, and the vehicle hisses to a rest, the heating shutting off. The press of cooler air reveals to Daisy that she is damp with sweat, and she hopes she will be able to sneak a quick spray of deodorant before the other girls see her. Daisy lets the other girl on the bus get off first, before following her out.
A breeze catches over them as they step down. The bus driver pulls out their luggage from the storage area, handing it to them both. Daisy cannot help but to notice that her suitcase is comically larger than the other girl’s, who still doesn’t speak to her, even as she pulls out her earphones. When the other girl begins to strut over to where everybody else has gathered, Daisy slides open one of the front-pockets on her suitcase, pulling out her deodorant, and sprays it over her armpits.
“Good idea.” The bus driver says to her, and she shoots him one last glower before she sticks her deodorant back into her suitcase, and starts the terrifying walk over to where the other girls are sitting.
They must be other counsellors, or counsellors-in-training, Daisy suspects. She doesn’t know any of them. They had been added into a groupchat a month before they were due to start, and a handful of texts had been sent. Daisy had sent one that she thought was funny, but nobody had responded, except for one girl who had reacted to the message with a laughing face. It had felt like a pity thing. As she approaches, she catches a couple of the other girls nudging each-other, those primarily being the girls who were her own age. The older girls—four of them, in total—don’t seem to be paying attention to anything except each-other.
There are a group of four girls clustered together who are staring at her rather obviously, but they feel safer to approach than the other girl on the bus and her friends, who are absorbed in some kind of gossip. Daisy rolls up with her suitcase, and is grateful when at least one of the girls she is approaching smiles. She is the tallest amongst them, her skin is faintly tanned, and her curly hair is tied up into braids that Daisy thinks are very cute. She is dressed rather casually too, in just a pair of loose tracksuit bottoms and a baggy jumper, though her outfit still looks significantly more chic than Daisy’s.
“Hi.” She manages to squeak out. One of the other girls, slightly shorter than her friendlier counterpart, and dressed in a pair of patterned linen trousers and a crop-top, snorts slightly. A blond girl dressed in a pink cardigan steps on her toes. Daisy’s confidence deflates a little.
“Hey,” The tall girl says back warmly, “You must be the new girl. Daisy, right?”
“Yeah,” Daisy is transfixed on the shortest of the four, a girl with dark, curly hair, clad in cargo shorts that run to her knees, and a Lucy Dacus t-shirt. She looks sulky and she is glowering at Daisy even though Daisy doesn’t think she’s done anything wrong yet, “And, uh, you guys are?”
“I’m Hannah,” The taller girl puts a hand on the sulky friend’s shoulder, which makes her sulky expression slightly less sulky, Daisy notices, “This is Becka,” Keeping one hand on Becka’s shoulder, Hannah uses the other to gesture to the girl in the linen trousers, “Shunammite,” And then the girl in the pink cardigan, “And Hulda.”
“It's just Shu. And it's nice to meet you.” Shunammite says, with an expression that suggests she doesn’t really find it nice to meet Daisy.
“Really happy to have you here!” Hulda has slightly more enthusiasm in her voice, hands folded together in front of her, “Are you excited for your first year at Mayday?”
The truth is is that Daisy only signed up for this job because she was bored of spending every summer in Glasgow, doing nothing and seeing the same people. There was nothing about Mayday that particularly excited her when she saw it on the jobs website she had found it on, except for the ziplining and lake activities. But it was a summer camp, and they didn’t charge for boarding, and it meant not having to be in Scotland. Although, frankly, the girl in the Lucy Dacus shirt, Becka, still hasn’t spoken and is still glaring at Daisy, the effects of having Hannah touch her shoulder apparently having worn off, so Daisy is starting to wonder if maybe a summer at home mightn’t be so bad.
“Uh, yeah,” She says instead of all of that, “Yeah, really excited. I’ve heard good things.”
“Where’s that accent from?” Hannah asks, head tilting to the side.
“Glasgow.” Daisy offers. Shunammite’s eyebrows move up her forehead, and Hulda’s mouth forms a little, ‘o.’ Next to them all, Becka scoffs a little.
“You sound ridiculous.” Becka says. Daisy has to bite her tongue to keep from asking her who pissed in her cereal this morning.
“Becka.” Hannah chastises, and slides her hand from Becka’s shoulder. Immediately, that miserable look intensifies. Daisy doesn’t feel bad at all for the glee it brings to her.
“Sorry,” Becka whispers, and then she turns back to Daisy, “You sound… interesting.”
Daisy takes a minute to stare at Becka, and considers the possibility that Becka’s comment that she sounded ridiculous was meant as a casual, harmless observation, and not as an insult. Daisy wonders how someone like Becka has managed to land a job at a summer camp whose main marketing gimmick was that they were a place of healing. Becka is weird. It’s actually kind of funny, now that Daisy thinks about it. Strangely endearing. She just smiles.
All three of the other girls, even Shu, throw her a sympathetic smile, but before anybody else can speak the doors to the lodge open up, to reveal a triad of women. They are nearly disturbingly synchronous as they approach the group of them gathered at the foot of the steps going up to the Lodge. Daisy glances around, and finds nobody else seems particularly uneasy, although she does find that Becka is still glowering at her. Daisy pushes her tongue into her chin and bulges her eyes out at Becka, who actually jumps before turning away to look at what Daisy decides she is going to call ‘the Trinity,’ who have come to a stop at the top of the stairs, looking down at them all.
“Welcome back to our returning counsellors—” The woman at the front of the group says.
“—and our returning counsellors-in-training—” The woman standing behind her to the left continues.
“—and those of you who are new—” The woman standing to the right completes.
All at once, their hips kick out to one side. A few of the girls do giggle at that, which makes Daisy feel slightly less crazy, as the Trinity complete, “Whose ready for another exciting year at Mayday?” Daisy finds herself thinking about K-Pop groups.
All of the counsellors, and counsellors-in-training, cheer and clap. Once again, in total synchronisation, the Trinity each pull out something from the pockets of their matching khakis, clearing their throats at the same time.
“First, the news all of our counsellors-in-training have been waiting for! Let us run through who is sharing a room with whom!” The middle of the Trinity says. The mirth that had previously been passing back and forth between the girls disappears. Shu scoffs and mutters something to Hulda who laughs, and Hannah and Becka exchange a sad glance that clues Daisy in on why they’re all miserable. She had been sent a form, asking her if she had a preference for a bunkmate, which Daisy hadn’t filled in because she didn't know any of the other girls and she had assumed they probably weren’t going to consider it anyway even if she did. A piece of paper, rolled up and kept in place by a rubber band, is unfurled, the sound of the material moving against itself cutting through the air. All of the other girls seem to be holding their breath, “Okay! First, in Room One, we have… Hannah and Hulda!”
Though Hulda looks over to Hannah, a relieved look on her face, Hannah takes a moment to return it, her eyes trained elsewhere. Becka gives her a sad but reassuring smile, though it falters when Hannah nudges her and mouths, “Maybe next year.” Becka’s eyelashes flutter a little, before she nods, though she is quick to look away. Daisy’s eyes narrow, as Hannah turns to give Hulda a huge, beaming smile.
“In Room Two… Shunammite and Jehosheba!”
One of the other girls—assumedly Jehosheba—makes a face that reminds Daisy of that image of the dog on the beach with its eyes closed. Shu tilts her head back and says, not quietly, “Oh, for fuck sake,” which makes a few of the other giggles, particularly one of the other blonde counsellors. One of the Triad clears her throat, but Shu pays her no mind.
“In Room Three… Miriam and Gabriella!” The girl from the bus grasps another stranger and they squeal excitedly. Daisy cannot tell who is who.
“And, lastly, in Room Four—” Preoccupied as she had been, Daisy had not taken that previous announcement to realise what it meant for her. Now, as Becka slowly turns to look over her shoulder, Daisy feels the blood in the side of her neck run cold. Shu, previously distraught, is making a great show of restraining her laughter, and Hulda’s shoulders are shaking. Hannah has a hand over her face as Becka and Daisy make eye-contact, “Rebecca and Daisy!”
Becka makes an expression that hides little about how she feels. Daisy is filled with an overwhelming sense of dread that she is probably going to die before camp is over. Though she keeps her eyes fixed on them, she hardly hears anything else the Trinity say, because apparently Rebecca Grove has the power to make all of another person’s senses falter if she glowered at them hard enough.
Great. Really, just great.
When the Trinity have finished their opening speech, they begin the long trek towards the cabin they will spend a month together living in. Camp Mayday is huge, Daisy learns, with a sprawling grounds that Shu claims is over three-hundred square metres, the size of a small town. They pass by some of the activities, a few pergolas under which pottery and woodworking classes take place, a small wooden hut inside of which there is a cinema, a sensory trail, a fancy rock-climbing set up, and Daisy has to stop to admire the ziplining section, which sits at least fifteen feet over their heads. Hulda and Hannah are very kind and catch Daisy up on everything she didn’t hear from the Trinity's speech, including all of the various rules they had to follow, the numbers expected to be in residence that year, the revamped scheduling around dinner and breakfast, as well as the reminder that it was important they all begin brainstorming ideas for the farewell party at the end of the season. Upon the mention of the farewell party, the other girls begin to talk amongst themselves about ideas they had come up with over the last year, but Daisy is distracted by Becka walking far behind them, dragging her heels. The other three girls had brushed this moping aside, insistent Becka did this every year because she was never paired with Hannah like she wanted to be. Daisy watches Hannah’s face closely but she seems uninterested in the implications of that fact.
Hulda explains that, as counsellors-in-training, they live in a separate, larger cabin, whereas the counsellors get their own rooms that are attached to the cabins the campers live in. There were four groups, the Twelves, the Elevens, the Tens, and the Nines, named aptly after the members’ ages, with a counsellor assigned to each, who then had two counsellors-in-training to help them. Each group generally had about ten to fifteen girls, and they rotated the activities they did. The counsellors-in-training rotated which groups they helped and what activities they did, to help them learn how to take care of each group and how to manage each individual activity.
“And who are the counsellors?” Daisy asks, as they come up towards the cabin the counsellors-in-training lived in. Although Hulda had claimed they lived in a larger cabin, it didn’t appear to be very spacious, “I didn’t get to introduce myself before they went to speak with the Trinity.”
Unthinking, Daisy stops by a map, which is worn around the edges, peeling in some places. There’s a lot of graffiti, some skull and cross bones over certain locations, some smiley-faces, a singular penis which looks like somebody did try to scrub it off. The map highlights that “YOU ARE HERE,” with a big red pointer aimed at the ‘main camp’, which is a circle of cabins with a larger one overlooking it. A variety of trails lead out from it, connecting to different activities and areas of importance. The camp seems to own a section of the lake’s shoreline, and also apparently owns a functioning chicken coop. Daisy is so absorbed in learning all of this, that she doesn’t notice everybody else has stopped and is staring at her. Bravely, somebody finally asks what they are all thinking.
“The Trinity?” Becka calls out from behind them, her face twisting into an expression that is both offended and confused. Daisy’s face heats.
“Uh, sorry, that’s what I called, uh… those ladies, back there. In my head. Sorry, it’s weird.” Daisy tries to cover quickly. Shu gives her a funny sort of smile, and Hulda’s expression is similar.
“Oh, the Aunts?” Hannah sweeps in to save her, “Sorry, I forgot we didn’t tell you. The Aunts are, like, the camp supervisors. They mostly just patrol around and check in with us everyday. They do bunk sweeps too. There’s Aunt Vidala, Aunt Estée and Aunt Gabbana.”
Daisy squints, and Shu drawls, “Yes, like the fashion houses. Old tradition, apparently.”
“Oh, cool.” Daisy doesn’t understand how, exactly, a tradition of naming camp supervisors after fashion brands would begin, but she decides not to ask too many questions, lest a reminder that she exists invite them to revisit the fact she thought of calling the Aunts, ‘the Trinity.’
“And the counsellors are Penny, Tabitha, Paula, and Serena!” Hulda answers her earlier question chirpily, “Paula and Serena are final-year counsellors, Tabitha’s a second-year, and Penny only graduated last summer!”
“Graduated?” Daisy had recognised that all of the counsellors were older than them, but none looked close to having completed university.
They begin to walk up the stairs of the cabin. When Hannah begins to pick up her own suitcase, Becka hurries up behind them, and takes it for her, even after Hannah insists that it’s fine. Hulda, and her arms that are the size of toothpicks, sees a bead of sweat blossom at her temple after only the third step, so Daisy takes her suitcase for her.
“The reason… this camp is so competitive… to get a job in,” Shu explains, as she hauls her bag up the stairs behind her, taking deep breaths in between sentences, “Is because… it’s a training… camp,” Daisy had seen that advertised on the website, but she hadn’t looked into it too much, “If you qualify as a counsellor here… you qualify anywhere in Canada and America,” Stopping at maybe the third step from the top, Shu closes her eyes to take in a deep, heaving breath. She does not see when Jehosheba purposefully drops her suitcase, faux-gasping when it topples backwards onto Shu, who curses at her when the luggage strikes itself against her knee hard, and Daisy finds herself hoping she and Becka aren’t next-door to those two, “I hope your hairdryer broke, you bitch!”
“I hope your knees broke, it might stop you getting down onto them!” Jehosheba retaliates, chasing after her suitcase that had fallen all the way back down the stairs. She narrowly avoids Shu’s foot that sticks out to try and catch her.
Hannah, already at the top of the stairs with Becka, gives them a weary look. Hulda throws Daisy an amused one, as they come to stand next to the other two girls. Gabriella has already taken a seat on one of the benches on the porch, filing her nails, while Miriam is trying to unlock the door. Shu and Jehosheba continue to argue on the stairs.
“Is this, like, normal?” Daisy asks, as she watches Jehosheba and Shu bicker. They don’t even really seem to be able to hear one another, just relishing in the fact that they are arguing. It almost seems romantic, in a sense.
“It’s their love language.” Hulda affirms, as Miriam finally pushes open the cabin’s door.
Inside, there is a small living space. A two-seater, burnt orange leather couch, with a pair of matching armchairs. A small stove that Daisy doesn’t imagine they’ll use, an old radio is sitting on an end table that looks like it was carved by a small child. There is a tiny kitchen area, and Daisy can imagine the arguments that will be had over fridge space and the microwave. It is very homey, she has to admit. She wishes there was a winter semester for this camp, envisioning cuddling up near to the stove with blankets and the snow falling heavy outside. Four doors are spaced evenly over the walls, with a fifth to the back.
“Is that the shower?” Daisy asks, pointing to the back-door.
“Nope, just a toilet in there,” Hannah answers, “There’s a shower block that’s about a two minute walk away, but there aren’t any plugs in there so if you need to dry your hair you’ll have to trek back here with it wet. It’s also open to the kids until seven, and there’s never any hot water.”
Daisy sighs, “Amazing.”
“God forbid it feels like camping when you’re working at a summer camp, right?” Becka grumbles, and then winces when Hannah steps on her toe.
The girls divide up and go to their separate rooms, for which they all have a key. Daisy finds that Becka does not follow her over, and so when she opens the room it, briefly, feels like it is entirely her own. There are two beds pressed to either side of the wall, and they are facing out to the front of the cabin, down onto the small campfire that the camper’s cabin’s surround. She can see the actual counsellors all hanging out, one of them is smoking. Daisy remembers her vape is in her pocket and, with nobody else around, she takes it out and takes a long, relieved drag of it, savouring that tight, uncomfortable feeling in her chest.
As she begins to unpack, she continues to puff away. The window is cracked open and there aren’t any smoke alarms in here, so she assumes it is fine. There is a small dresser at the end of the bed that most of her clothes fit into, she keeps some of the outdoors-y options she brought along under the bed, figuring the material will stay cleaner for longer. She finally strips off the four layers she was wearing, tucking them away into the dresser and selecting a fresh white t-shirt that has a black, floral pattern stitched across the chest. On her bedside table she puts the picture of her and her parents that she brought, and the handful of books she chose to bring, probably none of which she will read. When she is done, Daisy kicks back onto her bed, still unmade, opening her phone and texting home that she’s getting settled in.
Just as she hits send on a text and blows out a thin wisp of smoke, Becka finally decides she wants to enter. Daisy, like an idiot, fumbles her vape into her pocket, which Becka absolutely sees.
Becka walks over to her own bed, suitcase chattering against the uneven floorboards as she goes. Daisy almost thinks, for a serene few seconds, that Becka is not going to say anything. Then, as she unzips her luggage, Becka pauses, and takes several dramatically loud sniffs of the air.
“Why does it smell like…” She sniffs again, “Artificial strawberries in here?”
“Because I was vaping.” Daisy answers bluntly, and Becka turns and gives her this thin, murderous smile, “What, you don’t?”
“No, I don’t,” Becka affirms, “Because it’s, like, bad for you.”
“Really?” Daisy puts on her best shocked face, “Fucking hell, I had no idea.”
“Ha-ha.” Becka turns back and resumes her unpacking.
Daisy watches her and, as she does, finds that everything Becka pulls out of her suitcase is strangely endearing and actually makes her habit of glowering more humorous than threatening. First comes a small, pink stuffed unicorn, that she places on her bedside table, followed by a photo of her and Hannah, and then another photo of her, Shu, and Hulda, where Hulda is kissing her forehead and Shu is grasping her by the chin. When she turns it, it becomes visible that Becka is wearing one of those conical birthday hats in it. Becka has a book, that is the same size as all of Daisy’s books stacked on top of one another—War & Peace. On top of it is placed something that Daisy thinks is a much thinner book, but she quickly realises is actually a journal or notebook. Then comes a pair of sage-green Crocs and wellies with rubber-ducks printed onto the side of them. Daisy finds that she has to hold back laughter. How can a girl who spends so much of her time moping around, scuffing her feet and scowling at people own wellies with rubber-ducks on them? And how can she expect anybody to take her sulkiness seriously? When Becka glances quickly over her shoulder, Daisy tries to hide her amusement, but she imagines she fails because something angry glints in Becka’s eye again.
“Don’t you have, like, a boyfriend at home to be texting?” Becka growls at her, “Or a shitty Romantasy book to be reading?”
“Hey, don’t be a snob. Sara Hashem is good,” Daisy retorts, “We can’t all read Tolstoy for fun.”
“I’m not reading Tolstoy for fun,” Becka turns back around again, “I’m reading him to expand my understanding of Russian social history and the life of that nation during the Napoleonic invasion.”
Daisy barks out a laugh at that, though she muffles herself immediately. Becka has gone rigid by her bed, as Daisy says, through bitten-off laughter, “You’re a real dork, aren’t you?”
Becka takes an audible and deep steadying breath, “I am not a dork.” She disagrees, but Daisy sees her glance at her book. A part of her does feel bad then, because she thinks Becka is contemplating hiding it inside of the locker, instead of keeping it at her bedside. Daisy thinks about reassuring her that it’s okay to be a dork, but then she thinks to herself that Becka would actually try to strangle her if she tried to be a comforting presence.
So, they lapse into silence instead. Daisy dares to take her vape back out, and Becka doesn’t say anything else, though she does wordlessly approach her window and throw it wide open. Outside, the birds are singing, and the world is slowly beginning to turn orange and gold. It must be very late. Daisy watches Becka out of the corner of her eye, intrigued by the awkward, stilted way the other girl moves, like she doesn’t quite fit into her own body, like she’s terrified of being unable to control her limbs like how other people do. When Daisy watches her take out another stuffed animal, with shakier, unsteadier hands, and place it on the far side of her pillow so that Daisy can’t see it, Daisy decides that she and Becka have gotten off on the wrong foot, and, also, that she would desperately like to right this error, even if it is that Becka has been the unkind one.
“So… Lucy Dacus?” Daisy broaches into the silence of the room, which continues unshaken after she finishes speaking. She hears the rustling of clothes and the scrape of the toes of runners against the wooden floor, and she turns, wondering if Becka hasn’t heard her. She is on her hands and knees, tucking shoeboxes under her bed, and her face is pinched just slightly. Daisy opens her mouth again, going to repeat herself, when Becka stops and sits up.
“What about her?” Becka turns to ask.
Daisy pulls at her own shirt to reference to the one that Becka’s wearing, “You like her?”
“No, I hate her,” Becka drawls, standing up and rooting through her bag for more decorations, “Can’t stand her music.”
As she says this, she removes a poster with the singer’s face on it as well, sticking it up onto the wall with blue-tac. Daisy watches her do this, amused that Becka has to get up onto her bed to be able to stick the tops of the poster to the wall, “What’s your favourite song? Night Shift?” The most expressive she’s been yet, Becka turns around sharply, lips curling, nose wrinkling, eyes squinting, hands still half-pulling the sheets down.
“Uh, no, I’m not basic,” Becka says sassily, “Is that your favourite song?”
“Yeah, but that’s only because I mostly prefer her stuff with boygenius,” Daisy shrugs, sitting down on her own bed. Becka scoffs and turns back around, getting down off of the bed so that she can begin fixing the sheets onto it instead, “So, if it’s not Night Shift, what is your favourite song?”
Becka sniffs, “Thumbs. You probably haven’t—”
“Jesus, really?” Daisy laughs, “‘I imagine my thumbs on the irises, pressing in until they burst’? That one? Cool,” She scratches at her ankle through her sock, wondering if what she is about to do next is a bad idea. Becka seems tense. Her shoulders have moved up to around her ears, and she moves stiffly, movements only becoming looser when she gets angry at her fitted sheet that won’t fit, which happens often. It probably is a bad idea, Daisy, concludes, before doing it anyway, mostly because she think's it'll be funny to watch Becka squirm, “Does Hannah know that’s your favourite song?”
Becka freezes, hand stuffed down between the wall and the bed, “I don’t know. Why are you asking?”
“If she did she might get nervous about you meeting her parents.” Daisy says, and then laughs proudly at her own joke. Becka retracts her hand and turns fully around to look at her. Daisy is thankful that Becka was made short because, were she to be taller, she could prove to be intimidating. Her eyes are dark and vaguely detached, and her entire body shakes with what must be outrage. But, short as she is, she just looks like a very angry chihuahua.
“You know, I’ve already met her parents. We’ve known each-other for years. I don’t think about her dad when I listen to that song, because her dad is really nice,” Becka hisses at her, “And I’m not gay!”
Daisy purses her lips, and glances her eyes down at Becka’s t-shirt, untucked, and then to her cargo-shorts, and then to her pun-socks (‘Koality time!’ they read, imprinted with pictures of koalas), before she glances back up to Becka’s face, “Right.”
Daisy wonders if asserting it like that has worked for Becka before. Had Becka declared the same thing to Shu, to Hulda, to Hannah? To her parents? How many of them had believed her? How much did Becka believe herself? Daisy sees a glimmer in Becka’s eyes, she judges that Becka isn’t stupid. So many people struggle for years with realising that they have feelings for people of the same gender, but Daisy suspects that Becka is not one of them. And Daisy believes that Becka knows Daisy realises this, judging by the way her jaw is clenching and unclenching rhythmically. Before either of them can say anything further, however, they both turn their heads as they hear squealing from outside. Becka goes to the window first, hands pressed to the interior ledge, and Daisy watches as she shrinks in on herself.
“What is it?” Daisy asks, standing up but not moving towards the other girl. She feels that, even though Becka has shrunk, she could still very much be compelled to strangle Daisy if she wanted to.
“The boys are here.” Becka sighs. In the reflection of the window, Daisy can see the other girl’s face, even sulkier than it had been that morning. Daisy feels something maternal prickle in her chest. Nobody, she thinks, should look as though their features were only ever meant to express misery, as Becka does, with her big round eyes and her lips that have yet to raise themselves into a smile since Daisy met her.
“The boys?” Daisy dares to come closer. Becka does tense a little when they’re near enough that their shoulders brush when Daisy leans to look out of the window, but she doesn’t strangle Daisy.
Outside, there a gang of maybe five boys around their age, carrying large boxes into the centre of the counsellor’s cabins. All of the other counsellors are there with them, and they are all twirling their hair or batting their eyelashes or twisting a foot from side-to-side in the dirt. The first thought that occurs to Daisy is that none of these boys are particularly cute, a second thought then follows which is an understanding that the girls are probably starved for choice out here, and the third thought is that she cannot imagine Becka down there with them, undoubtedly trying to act as though she thought one of the boys was cute too. She turns back and finds Becka looking at her feet.
“Do you want to go out to them?” Daisy asks, sliding her hands into her pockets to suppress the urge to reach out and put a hand on Becka’s shoulder.
“We probably should.” Becka says to her feet. She’s bouncing back and forth from her toes to her heel, self-soothing.
“That’s not what I asked.” Daisy ducks her head a little, trying to get Becka to look at her. Becka refuses to meet her gaze, eyes glancing off to the side, before she sighs, and moves by Daisy, shoulder-checking her as she goes, and leaving the room. Daisy sighs through her nose and follows after her.
Outside, it is cooler than it had been. Becka goes down the steps in twos and threes, and moves quickly towards the group, with Daisy following at a slower pace. Immediately, Becka pushes towards Hannah, seeming to cling to her space as though Hannah were a buoy in the choppiest of seas. Daisy takes a space beside Shu, who is listening to one of the guys talk about how they’re introducing archery into the curriculum for the boys’ camp this year. There is something dishonest in the way Shu is looking at him, but Daisy remembers the understanding she’d reached earlier. What other romantic options did Shu have outside of these boys?
Daisy finds herself a silent part of a five-way conversation between Shu, Hulda, Shu’s guy, and Hulda’s guy. She doesn’t bother learning the guys’ names, preoccupied instead with keeping an eye on Becka at a distance. As always, Becka looks miserable. Tucked in to Hannah’s though she is, Hannah is talking animatedly to a boy with dirty blond hair and a really long neck. Daisy thinks of all these slim-pickings, he’s probably the most handsome. She wonders if Hannah agrees. Unlike the other girls, she is not putting on a pantomime of attraction. Hannah isn’t engaged in any hair-twirling or foot-twisting, instead preoccupied in keeping her hand on the centre of Becka’s back. However, the two are kept apart when one of the guys begins pestering Becka, who gives him a sullen look even as he talks to her animatedly. He leans to whisper something into Becka’s ear, but she probably doesn’t hear him through the swelling jealousy that is making her blood rush, her eyes trained on the ongoing conversation between Hannah and the guy she’s speaking to.
“Who are they?” Daisy nudges Shu to get her attention. Though Shu’s guy pulls a face, Shu doesn’t really seem to care about their conversation being interrupted. In fact, she seems somewhat relieved.
“The taller one is Garth,” Shu answers, relief washing away a little and being replaced with annoyance as she watches the other guy, who she introduces as, “Maddox,” pester a deeply uninterested Becka, “He’s had a thing for her since we were, like, fourteen.”
“He sucks at taking the hint.” Shu’s guy says, like it’s a joke, or something.
Shu levels him with a look that could topple a building, but it is Daisy who sneers, “Gross.”
“And who is this?” Hulda’s guy asks, gesturing to Daisy. Daisy dislikes him immediately. Who does he think he is, asking after her as though she isn’t standing right in front of him? And to do it while glowering at her like she’s the asshole for pointing out that Maddox should be socially aware enough at sixteen to take a hint? She slips her hands into her pockets.
“This is Daisy,” Hulda says, expression landing between a faux-glee and an obvious anxiety about the conversation growing hostile, “She’s one of our new kits!”
“Hey.” Daisy greets, watching Hulda’s… friend? glance her up and down, though he halts in his assessments when he hears her talk.
He grins ear-to-ear, “Can you say purple burglar alarm?”
“Piss off.” Daisy retaliates, and he looks genuinely surprised that she hadn’t fallen over howling her head off with laughter. Hulda furrows her eyebrows together, and Daisy decides that she likes Hulda enough that she’ll say purple burglar alarm to her later to make her laugh.
Hulda’s guy sneers at her, “I thought Irish people were meant to be fun. Hope you’re not at the campfire later.”
Daisy’s teeth grind together, but she is distracted by the misplacing of her accent by the mention of ‘the campfire’. She looks to her left and to her right but both Shu and Hulda are pointedly not making eye-contact. Hulda, comically, starts whistling. Hulda’s guy grimaces, like he’s made a mistake, and it hits Daisy.
There is a campfire, tonight. It is probably a party, of some kind. And they had not intended to invite her, not until this idiot had accidentally mentioned it in front of her. Right.
Daisy tries not to be offended. She tries to consider that, if it were her and she was working at home and some random Canadian girl came over to work with her for a month she wouldn’t necessarily invite her to a party. But it feels different, in this setting. They are all sharing one house, everything is rather intimate, it is blatant exclusion. What, exactly, had they been planning to tell her when they all left the cabin tonight? A part of her considers saying she’ll go, mostly just to annoy Shunammite. But then Daisy imagines actually showing up, and all of the looks the girls would throw one another, probably the guys too. And it’s that thought that makes her decide she isn’t going to go. Daisy doesn’t want to deal with sideways glances the entire night, nor does she fancy hanging around with a bunch of drunk, Canadian guys, who think it’s funny that their friend can’t take a hint that a girl doesn’t like him. She shudders to think about what those guys are like when they’re drunk and decide they want to make out with somebody.
Trying to be as detached as she can, Daisy says, “Nah, Irish people don’t really like parties that have assholes in attendance anyway.”
Although it makes Hulda’s guy recoil a little with offence, Daisy thinks the line sounds significantly more cringe than she meant it to be. Judging by the way Shu’s face pinches, it probably does. Still, Daisy puffs her chest out, and stands her ground. Hulda and Shu’s guys both scoff at her, obviously affronted that a girl isn’t drooling all over them, and stalk off, muttering about things they need to move around. Shu, Hulda and Daisy all stand around in an awkward silence, until Hulda quietly says, “They are assholes, to be fair.”
It isn’t an invitation to join later, though. Shu sniffs.
The rest of the guys follow their downtrodden peers soon after, also mumbling the same excuses about needing to go and lift heavy things. As soon as they’re gone, Shu hurries to join Jehosheba and Gabriella, listening them chatter about whatever they talked about with their guys. Hulda and Daisy awkwardly look at each-other, until the rest of the group starts moving back towards the cabin, a few squeals being passed around, as some of the girl anticipate kissing some of those ugly guys later tonight. Daisy decides, then, that it was the right decision to not involve herself. Her eyes dart to Becka and Hannah, who have separated now. Hannah is walking with Miriam, who is fluttering her hands around and talking animatedly, whereas Becka has dropped back, kicking rocks along the ground and looking as sullen as always. Eventually, Becka slows to walk alongside Daisy and Hulda, none of them speaking, but the company feels slightly pleasant. Shu keeps throwing Daisy dirty looks over her shoulder.
“Hey.”
Surprisingly, it is Becka who speaks to Daisy. This stops Daisy dead in her tracks, when they are already at the foot of the steps that go up to their cabin. Hulda carries on up the stairs, and Daisy notices Hannah hesitating by the door before entering. Becka is bouncing between her toes and her heels again.
“Hey,” Daisy leans up against the railing of the stairs, “You all good?”
“Yeah,” Becka is looking at her feet, wincing to herself a little, before she meets Daisy’s gaze, “I just wanted to mention that there's a campfire later tonight. Kind of a party. It’s like an old Mayday tradition, or whatever,” Daisy gets the sense that her ‘dork’ comment earlier may have landed a little bit harder than she intended it to, as she watches Becka try to nonchalantly scratch the back of her neck “The guys get a few beers, some of them smoke, it’s usually an okay time. Gabriella has a pretty good speaker, it’s survived falling into the fire like four times.”
Although Daisy is curious as to how a speaker has survived being set aflame four times—and how, exactly, they fished it out of the fire without grievously injuring themselves—she lets her face speak for itself. Becka takes a while to figure out what her expression is communicating, but eventually it lands, and she grimaces.
“Oh,” She says, “Nobody else said it to you?”
“No, they didn’t,” Daisy crosses her arms, “And I don’t really think your friends and the guys want me going.”
Becka purses her lips, because it must be true, and Becka must know it to be. She looks away awkwardly and wrinkles her nose a little, raises her thumb to her lips and chews on the nail, probably trying to think of something to say. Daisy relents.
“Thank you for trying to include me, though,” Daisy says and, even though it sounds pathetic and feels pathetic-er to say, it does make Becka stop biting her nail, “But I think I’ll give it a miss. Nothing worse than going to a party you weren’t invited to.”
“Yeah,” Becka concedes, “Sorry.”
“All good.” Daisy shrugs, even though it kind of isn’t. She sweeps an arm out to signal to Becka that she should go ahead. Daisy take a minute at the bottom of the stairs to steady herself and to make sure she’ll be able to go into the cabin without crying.
When the sun sinks, and the camp is cast in the darkness, the rest of the girls leave for the campfire.
Most of them have enough courtesy to look guilty as they leave. Hannah throws her an apologetic smile, as does Becka, and Hulda keeps her gaze on her feet as she shuffles out. It is only Shu who throws her a smirk and wiggles her fingers. Jehosheba, Gabriella and Miriam all seem to have forgotten Daisy exists.
By that point in the evening, Daisy hadn’t it in her to care. The exhaustion from nearly twelve hours of travelling has finally struck, and a part of her is delighted with the peace and quiet. When the girls had been getting ready, the cabin had been filled with chattering as people exchanged makeup and tried on different outfits, the sinks in the bathroom and the kitchen ran nearly constantly. In the ten minutes after they leave, Daisy lazily cleans the place. Wipes a few counters and table-tops down, and washing out the bathroom’s sink. It also gives her free rein to puff away on her vape without any judgemental looks thrown her way.
She responds to the texts she received from people back home. A few friends asking how things are going, some from family, an old school-friend she hadn’t spoken to since they moved for a different Highers programme. Daisy, of course, lies through her teeth about her situation, and that is when the FOMO starts to hit. A part of her wishes she had asserted herself when the guys brought the campfire up. She should have said she was game, that although it hadn’t been mentioned to her yet she would happily attend. But, then again, Daisy cannot imagine anything worse than being jet-lagged and stuck hanging out with a bunch of teenaged and slightly older than teenaged boys, drinking. Daisy tries to will the FOMO away by reading, but that actually makes her feel like an even bigger loser, so she stops and goes back to her phone.
As she scrolls through her Tiktok, she finds her mind keeps tracking back onto Becka and Hannah. She supposes she’s bored, mostly, and they’re the first taste of summer camp drama she’s had. Thus far, Daisy has discerned that Becka probably fancies Hannah, and probably fancies her a lot, but she’s unsure about where Hannah stands. She had seemed rather interested in the boy she had been talking to earlier—Garth, Shu had told. But, then again, when Daisy had watched Garth, she could not help but to notice that the way he spoke to the girls reminded her more of an older brother than of a guy trying to impress them, and Hannah hadn’t been fluttering her eyelashes or laughing too hard or playing with her hair either. She’d been leaning into Becka just as much as Becka had been leaning into Hannah.
The more she thinks about it, the more Daisy decides this isn’t any of her business. She is here to work, to experience the North American summer camp life, and all it has to offer, even if all it has had to offer so far is immense amounts of sapphic drama. She came here for the ziplining, she reminds herself. The hours whittle away, but Daisy can’t bring herself to sleep. A part of her is worried that they’ll all perceive her to be a loser if they’ve been off drinking in the woods, just to return home to find her asleep in her bed. Maybe she can lie and say she was on call with a boyfriend back at home. Daisy invents a hundred ways in her head to be perceived as cool upon their return, and finds that the activity makes her eyelids heavier and heavier.
Daisy is just starting to doze off on the couch, when something hammers against the door three times. A moment passes, where still the only sound is the crackling music from her headphones, before whoever is at the door bangs their fist against it again, five times. Daisy gets up onto her feet, and moves over cautiously. Although Mayday seemed to have some tight security, some part of her is thinking about all of those summer-camp horror movies as she opens the door, and a fist makes contact squarely with her nose.
“Ow, fuck!” She curses, grasping at her face, ducking out of the way when the fist flies forward again.
“Fucking finally,” Standing in the doorway is Shu, with a dazed looking Becka leaning hard against her. Becka’s dark eyes are darting around, though they don’t seem to be seeing much of anything. Daisy looks between the two of them, still holding her nose, “What took you so long?”
“Did something happen?” Daisy asks, as Shu takes Becka by her waist and transfers her weight to Daisy, who doesn’t anticipate just how heavily Becka is going to lean against her and nearly stumbles, catching them both on the frame of the door. Becka groans as her head falls forward and her forehead knocks against Daisy’s shoulder.
“She drank too much,” Shu answers, “I need you to watch her for me.”
Daisy’s face colours with outrage, “So, what, your friend is too drunk and you’ve come here to dump her so you can go back t’ party?”
Shu’s face pinches, “No. The guys are fighting back there and I need to make sure nobody fucking dies, Daisy. So, please, get her some water, and get her into bed, before she hurls.”
With great timing, Becka lets out a precarious hiccuping noise that sounds like there is something more solid threatening to spill up her throat as well. Daisy mutters a prayer to herself, as Shu pulls a face as though to ask, ‘well?’ Becka curls a hand over Daisy’s shoulder and somehow finds more weight to push onto Daisy.
“Fine,” Daisy grumbles, “Go.”
With that, Shu turns and hurries back down the stairs and into the dark again, Daisy watching her go. Becka hiccups again and finishes it with a slight burping sound, putting her free hand over her mouth. Daisy puts a guiding hand around her waist, closes the door, and guides her over to one of the armchairs. When she seats Becka, Daisy finds that sweat has blossomed over Becka’s hairline, her skin glistening in the dim lamplight. Lifting the bottom of her shirt, Daisy dabs at it as best that she can, and takes Becka’s jacket off of her shoulders. Becka mumbles complaints the entire time, hands raising up and swatting at the air in front of her chest, even though Daisy is sitting to one side of her.
The tap hisses quietly when Daisy goes to it, the rushing sound of the water filling up one of the glasses echoing through the room. Becka is still on the armchair, head turned to one side, and though her eyelashes are fluttering there is a strange clarity in her gaze, as though she is seeing something Daisy cannot. When Daisy pushes the cold cup against her hand, that clarity dissipates, and Becka’s face pulls itself into a sneer.
“Don’t need ‘nother drink,” Becka tries to push the water away, “’M fine.”
“You’re not,” Daisy deadpans, “Drink the water please, Becka.”
When Becka continues to refuse, Daisy sighs and stands up, putting the glass to Becka’s lips and tilting it for her. Some of it spills onto her shirt, and Becka whines when the material must go cold and damp against her likely too-warm chest, but eventually her mouth opens and she drinks. Daisy thinks she should be encouraging Becka to sip it, but she fears disrupting the other girl will make her stop drinking the water altogether. Becka finishes the entire glass in one go, and some of the colour returns to her face, as Daisy goes and refills the cup before crouching down at Becka’s side again.
“Are you feeling better?” Daisy asks. Becka isn’t sweating as much now, nor she is making those threatening hiccuping noises, but she is still rolling her head around as if it’s too heavy for her neck.
“Fucking bullshit.” Becka mumbles, trying to stand up. Daisy very quickly puts both of her hands onto Becka’s shoulders and push her back down into the seat, “Fucking… bullshit…” Her lips keep moving when she’s done speaking, forming words that go unsaid and that Daisy can’t define.
So, Daisy just sits with her. At some point, she takes Becka’s hand in her own, and she lets Becka squeeze it too tight. Becka is still silently ranting to herself, shaking her head and occasionally cursing aloud, and Daisy says nothing at all to encourage her to speak louder. Minutes pass silently by, as Becka’s eyelashes begin to slow in their fluttering, and eventually the mouthing stops. There is something about her that appears very soft, then. Becka’s features were always so hard and unmoving, they gave so little about her away, but in the warm light of the cabin she appears so incredibly fragile. The lift of her eyebrows, the downwards curl of her lip. Daisy feels something maternal trigger in her chest, followed swiftly by embarrassment because this is a girl her own age so why are those instincts firing at all?
Daisy tries again, “Are you feeling better now, Becka?”
The other girl’s voice is thin and airy when she affirms, “Yes. Thanks.”
“It’s okay,” Daisy reassures, brushing a stray lock of Becka’s hair out of her face, “It’s no problem at all.”
Then, Becka snorts, and repeats, “Es nae problaem at all,” in a terrible Scottish accent, and then she starts giggling. Cautiously, Daisy laughs along, because she knows what is coming next. Becka is still moving as though everything about herself is too heavy, even her laughter sounds weighted as it spills out of her, and she laughs so hard that she lurches forward in her chair. The motion is much too quick and much too violent, and Becka lets out a ‘hrrk’ing noise, before she starts to cry, “I’m so sorry,” Becka wipes at her mouth with the back of her own, free hand, “I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing. This never, ever happens, I—” She hiccups again, “I swear.”
“It’s not embarrassing,” Daisy says, because it is true. She’s been in a similar situation far too many times to think it’s embarrassing that Becka overdid it, “And there’s no reason to be sorry.”
Becka rolls her head to look at Daisy, and her big, sad eyes are filled with tears. Her face crumples completely, and she turns her face away again. A soft, whispery noise is coming from her. It takes Daisy a moment to realise Becka is crying. She reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, shaking it. Becka lets go of Daisy’s hand, turns her body away, and brings her legs up onto the chair, tucking her knees and wrapping her arms around them, burying her face against them. Then she is properly weeping, “I hate feeling this way. I hate it so, so much.”
It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what Becka is probably talking about, and Daisy does think of herself as being pretty smart. Her frown deepens over her face, and she reaches up to put a hand on Becka’s forearm, wishing she could take whatever the other girl is feeling and almost wring it out of her, strangle out the shame and the fear and whatever else, until Becka didn’t look so sad all of the time, “It’s perfectly normal,” Daisy reassures, “You know, so many people are—”
“I don’t care about being gay,” Becka lifts her head to protest, meaner than she probably means to be. Her dark eyes are like storms, “I haven’t ever cared about being gay, I’ve known since I was ten, and… and everybody else knows anyway, it’s just…”
Tears skate down the curve of Becka’s cheek, and Daisy sweeps them away with her thumb. Held in Daisy’s hands, Becka’s face gets rounder, more childish. She looks like something Daisy wants to tuck under her arm and keep safe, she looks small enough to be put into a pocket, “It’s okay, Becka. You can tell me.”
Those brown eyes search over Daisy’s face. For what, Daisy doesn’t know. She’s beginning to suspect the other girls think her a spy of some sort, or that she’s untrustworthy in some other way. Daisy doesn’t know what she’s done to make them think this. She arrived in on the same bus as Gabriella. Becka must decide to trust her, though, because she carries on, “You know, when I was really…” She wipes her mouth against her arm, “really little, I used to really believe in God. Like, really believe. And some nights, when I couldn’t sleep no matter how hard I tried, I would kneel down by my own bedside and pray. And pray, and pray, and pray, and cry, and pray…” Becka trails off, pinches her eyebrows as though she is thinking very hard, “I begged him to take away what I was feeling. I begged him for it to be anybody else. I didn’t… It could have been anybody else.”
Daisy feels something twist in her own chest.
“But he never answered,” Becka turns her face, and shadows cast over it. The hard angles of her features are outlined again, but also that softness, that roundness, a girl caught between two places, “And those stupid feelings never went away, and have never went away. It could have been anybody else. Anybody else but her, but…” Becka glances at Daisy quickly. Daisy tries to make the most supportive expression she can, “…but Hannah.”
Becka starts weeping again. This time, it’s her who reaches out, her arms bob up and down in the air until Daisy meets her halfway, sitting up on her knees and bringing Becka in, tucking Becka’s head under her own chin. Daisy doesn’t know what to do except to tell Becka that everything will be okay. She doesn’t know what else to say, and Daisy thinks that if she says it enough it will manifest into being true. Becka clings to her, tears dampening Daisy’s shirt—Daisy’s good shirt—and she’s whispering incoherently. Daisy can’t make out what she’s saying but it sounds like a series of apologies, curses, and pleads. She realises it may be more personal than a sober Becka would want it to be, so Daisy decides not to listen.
Eventually, Becka stills. The weeping slows into these deep breaths that catch at the back of her throat. It feels as though Becka is thinking, mulling something over. Daisy has seen it before, when she’s been out with other friends back at home. Alcohol can make people switch so quickly. One moment, they are as devastated as Becka had been, another they are something else. Daisy just strokes the back of Becka’s head awkwardly, occasionally repeating the idea that things will work out. Becka rubs her nose against Daisy’s good shirt, and then settles her forehead against her collarbone a little bit harder. Something in the air gets heavier.
Becka pulls back and levels Daisy with that assessing look again. Her face is pressed into something harsh, something that borders on being cruel. Angry, above all else. Her voice is cold and vindictive when she whispers, “This is my last summer,” though what is moving in her eyes suggests that beneath that bitterness is an incredibly insecure creature.
Daisy puts one hand on Becka’s face, and cradles it, hoping the touch will pull that shadowy, underlying feeling further out, but Becka’s expression remains stormy when she asks, disbelieving, “What do you mean?”
“I’m not coming back next year,” Becka drawls through the words, spelling it out. Daisy’s ears start ringing and she wishes she had gotten on that plane back home to Scotland this morning—this morning. How has she found herself in the eye of this shitstorm in less than twenty-four hours? “I haven’t put in my reapplication and I’m not going to either.”
“Okay…” Daisy tries to sound reassuring, but she can’t. Do any of the other girls even know? Do they even suspect that their friend won’t be returning the following summer? “…why?”
Momentarily, the anger dissipates. It is replaced with something else that sees Becka’s eyes dart onto the floor, and her cheeks go red. She pushes Daisy’s touch away, and shakes her head, staggering onto her feet. She tries to hide her face in a jacket she’s no longer wearing. When no material touches the side of her face, the outrage seems to return to Becka. She makes this low, pained noise, something animal, and her hands ball into fists in front of her.
“I can’t do this,” Becka tips to one side, though she catches herself on the back of the sofa. Daisy follows her, but doesn’t dare to reach out and touch her, as though Becka were a live wire, “I can’t fucking stand it any more. Watching her all of the time, watching her with him, I can’t—” Becka puts a hand over her own sternum and rubs, as though the pain is something actual she can soothe away, “I can’t stand feeling this dirty all the time.”
Daisy’s heart shatters into a million tiny pieces for Becka. She wants to reach out and tell her that she thinks this isn’t all as impossible as Becka believes it is. Daisy wants to highlight everything that she has seen, from the moment she came to Mayday, and mention that she had been there for less than an entire day. But, for some reason, it did not feel right to say aloud. It would have felt, Daisy thought, as though she were intruding into and stealing what should have been a very precious moment. Becka hiccups again and makes a face as though she is in agony.
“There’s nothing dirty about how you feel, Becka,” Daisy whispers, in the quiet of the room, “You’re not hurting anybody.”
Becka looks up at her, with her red-rimmed eyes. Her breathing is loud again, and she opens her mouth as though she is going to say something, when the door to the cabin opens, and in steps two figures.
Hulda and Shu come in the door, wiping their feet on the doormat as they go. They both go about settling in, sliding off jackets and undoing the straps of their shoes, without even taking notice of either of them. Daisy cannot help but to notice that they are strangely silent. When Daisy looks over to Becka, her agonised expression is now rather alarmed, eyebrows shooting up her forehead. Daisy moves over to her and takes her by the wrist, and the motion catches Hulda’s attention first. Leaning down to slide off her shoes, Hulda pauses, looking between them both. Shu carries on smoothing down her hair, unaware until Hulda speaks.
“Um,” Hulda says, “Is everything okay?”
Becka makes a struggling noise, floundering, so Daisy answers, “Yeah, everything’s okay. Becka’s just about to go to bed.”
“It’s been a long night.” Becka manages to say, but her voice is crackly. She sounds like a little kid. Neither of the other two girls say anything, though Hulda’s face softens whilst Shu’s pinches as though the experience of sympathy is painful for her. Daisy tugs on Becka’s hand, pulling her towards their room. Hulda utters a meek goodnight, Shu says nothing at all.
Becka falls onto her bed, turned outwards, back hitting the wall. If it hurts, she doesn’t say anything. Daisy kneels down and slides off her shoes for her, “Do you want to get into your pyjamas?”
“Just a top, please,” Becka whispers. Daisy imagines she is experiencing a crash in all of her emotions right now, that crash after intensity that is somehow worse than the lived storm, “They’re in the top drawer.”
Becka’s ‘pyjamas’ are mostly just oversized band t-shirts. Daisy extracts a Radiohead one, and brings it over to Becka, who has already slid the top she was wearing off. She sniffles quietly as she pulls the new one on, shaking out her arms once she’s through, fixing it over her shoulders. Daisy asks, “Do you want me to tie up your hair, or anything?” but Becka shakes her head, lying back onto the bed, over the covers, refusing to move when Daisy reminds her she needs to sleep under the duvet. So, Daisy takes one of the blankets at the end of the bed, and covers Becka with that instead. She thinks about maybe sitting there until she’s sure Becka is asleep, but Becka has the face of somebody who looks like they want to be alone, so Daisy makes to leave.
Her wrist is caught.
Looking back, Becka is half-sitting up. That alarmed look has returned. She seems to have realised something.
“How did you know?” Becka asks, and, once again, it is not hard to figure out what she may mean. Daisy imagines Becka must feel exposed, and she feels guilty for that earlier question—does Hannah know that’s your favourite song? A part of her had said it to be cruel, to watch the way Becka squirmed when attention was drawn to her very apparent feelings. Becka looks alarmed now. Worried. If Daisy had seen, how many others had?
It is a deeply unserious answer but it is the only one Daisy can think of, “I have great gaydar.”
They stare at each-other for a prolonged amount of time. Becka looks almost half-disappointed by her answer, letting of her wrist and narrowing her eyes at Daisy suspiciously, scanning her up and down as though the actual answer may lay elsewhere. Daisy just smiles awkwardly back at her, until finally Becka turns to face the wall and lies down, pulling the blanket Daisy had given to her up over her shoulder. Daisy scurries out of the room.
Back in the living-room, Shu and Hulda are sitting in silence, Shu playing with the ties of her trousers absent-mindedly as she stares blankly ahead of herself, whilst Hulda is pulling at a loose piece of material on the arm of one of the chairs. Neither of them say anything as Daisy fills up a glass of water for herself and downs it, her head fuzzy from all the stress of having to manage that entire situation. She braces her hands on both sides of the sink and takes these deep, steadying breaths, before she reaches into her pocket.
“Are you seriously vaping inside?”
Wordlessly, Daisy raises a middle-finger over her shoulder. Shu scoffs.
“Are you feeling okay?” Hulda squeaks from the armchair. Shu throws her a look.
“Yeah, yeah,” Daisy waves away their concern. Taking another drag, she walks over to join them, slouching onto the couch next to a disgruntled Shunammite, who doesn’t tuck her feet away, letting them rest near to Daisy’s hip, “It was just… yeah, she was way too drunk.”
“Fucking Maddox,” Shu mutters, and Daisy looks over at her, face twisted, “He brought whiskey, and Becka’s a fucking light-weight.”
Daisy slides a hand over her face and Hulda weakly says, “Yeah,” to affirm everything Daisy is feeling, “Was she really upset about it?”
“She actually didn’t mention him at all,” Daisy shrugs. When she puts her vape down on her leg, Shu wordlessly reaches over and takes it without asking, “She was just embarrassed, I think, that she was that drunk. And she was upset about…” She falters.
Shu and Hulda give her a moment to finish her sentence and, when she doesn’t, the former prompts, “About…?”
It doesn’t feel like Daisy’s place to say, nor does she feel inclined to give away such precious information to these two girls who had jointly excluded her from going to the party that has sparked all of this drama. But, then again, Daisy thinks one of these issues is beyond her being able to solve it. Sighing, Daisy puts an elbow on the arm of her couch and leans her temple onto her fist, “She said she isn’t coming back next summer.”
Immediately, both girls sit up. Wispy smoke blows from between Shu’s lips when her jaw drops, and Hulda’s mouth is similarly agape, as they both gasp, “What?”
Daisy doesn’t really know what to say—she’s said all there is to be said. Becka’s elaboration as to why she wasn’t coming back didn’t feel fair to share with them. So, she just looks between them both, and shrugs her shoulders again by way of answering their unsaid question. Hulda looks down at her lap and looks distraught, Shu puts her head in her hands. Daisy purses her lips.
Then, very quietly, Shu says, with authority, “No, she has to come back next summer," It is said as though the statement will simply make it so that Becka will stay. Lifting her head, she carries on, “If she doesn’t come back, Hannah won’t come back.”
Daisy raises an eyebrow, “Why wouldn’t Hannah come back?”
Daisy is learning that, apparently, Shu and Hulda are one soul operating between two bodies. They both look at her as if she is stupid, Hulda’s head shaking slightly in a way that suggests she almost feels bad for how naive Daisy is, clarifying, “Because Hannah is in love with Becka. Duh.”
Which—Daisy immediately sits up, has several of her own questions, but Shu is pushing onwards as though Hulda had not just made a world-upending statement, “So, if Becka leaves, so will Hannah. And if Hannah leaves, then we lose our connection to June. And if we lose our connection to June, there’ll be no more campfires, and our phones will get taken at night, and no more after-farewell-parties!”
Both girls flop back against the couch, faces hidden in their hands. Daisy feels like making a snide remark about the fact that she hasn’t actually gotten to experience a campfire, but decides to act upon her curiosity instead, “Who is June?”
“Hannah’s mom,” Hulda explains, “She was a counsellor here years ago, back when she was our age, and she was and always will be Aunt Lydia’s favourite counsellor. Our first year here, when we were actual attendees, Aunt Lydia tried to tell us off for breaking curfew, and June was on the phone to her the next day. Ever since, we’ve been able to do whatever we want.”
Daisy says it as politely as she possibly can, “...you know, it is kind of shallow to only care because you’ll lose your get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“That’s a totally fair point,” Shu takes a last, prolonged drag of Daisy’s vape before handing it back to her. Daisy becomes acutely aware of the fact that she hadn't brought a spare coil when she takes a hit and tastes something burnt, “But, it is unfortunately priority number one. Priority number two, of course, is stopping Hannah’s heart from breaking.”
This adds an entirely new dimension to this insane sapphic drama that Daisy is, frankly, too tired to fully comprehend, other than she thinks it’s hilarious that apparently everybody is on the edge of their seats waiting for Hannah and Becka to get together. She rubs her forehead sorely, “Okay, so, like, what are we going to do?”
“Is there anything we can even do?” Hulda poses, “I mean, how convinced was she that she was going to leave?”
“She seemed pretty convinced.” Daisy admits, and both Shu and Hulda make noises like they’ve been punched in the stomach.
“I cannot be a counsellor if I’m not able to start and finish the season with a party.” Shu says in this high, whiny voice. Once again, Daisy bites her tongue about the fact that she wasn’t allowed to start her first ever season with a party.
They lapse into a contemplative silence. Shu keeps her face covered by her hands, breathing deeply, whereas Hulda picks at her nails, her expression twisted into something thoughtful. Daisy doesn’t know these people, doesn’t know how to keep Becka and Hannah together, considering she’s only known them a day, even less than that. Thinking back through everything that had happened, Daisy tries to discern some kind of solution, until her mind returns to one particular conversation that had been had on the way to the counsellor-in-training’s cabin, when Hannah and Hulda had been reminding her of everything the Aunts had said. The farewell party, for which they were tasked to invent a theme, a theme that could be anything, so long as it had roles all of the counsellors and counsellors-in-training could fulfil, and the kids could learn. Though previously she’d drawn a blank when trying to think of concepts, one springs to Daisy’s mind. An event, with several roles, that required two important people to swear oaths to one another, vows to remain together.
“Till death do us part…” Daisy whispers aloud, mostly to herself, though, of course, there are two other people present who turn and look at her.
“What?” Shu presses her foot to Daisy’s leg to ground her back in the present.
“What if they got married?” Daisy says, shaking her head, “Like, what if the theme of the farewell party was a wedding? And Hannah and Becka were the bride and bridegroom and the rest of us were the groomsmen and bridesmaids, and the kids are all the guests?”
“How is that going to stop Becka from leaving?” Hulda asks, though she doesn’t look completely repulsed by the idea.
“Well, it might make them… you know, maybe it’ll make,” Daisy stutters, almost saying ‘Becka’ but correcting, swiftly, “Hannah confess her feelings! And then they’ll vow to never be apart and to have each-other in sickness and in health, or whatever, and maybe Becka will want to stay.”
“That is so dumb,” Shu deadpans, and Daisy crumples a little bit under the disapproving look she’s receiving, sinking into the couch. But then she watches the corners of Shu’s lips curl up, “So dumb that it might just work. I mean, I think we’re going to have to all play matchmaker in between now and the wedding, but I can so see Becka sticking around because it’s her, like, wifely duty.”
“We’ll need to convince the other kits too, and the counsellors,” Hulda says, but she’s smiling as well, “I don’t know how well the idea of a gay wedding will go down with Paula and Serena, but maybe if we can convince Aunt Lydia to let the guys be groomsmen, or something, they might agree to it.”
Another possible obstacle enters Daisy’s mind, “Will Becka and Hannah even agree to be the couple, though?” Daisy asks, and that gives them all pause, but then Shu lights up again.
Her solution is very simple, “We can have the kids vote for it, and we’ll make everyone agree to play the part if they’re voted in.”
Daisy lifts an eyebrow, “Will the kids even—?”
“Yes,” Shu asserts immediately, “They will. They definitely will.”
And that is how it begins. Their planning goes no further than that on the night as, about a minute after they had concluded their plotting, the door opens and the rest of the girls pile in. Hannah, of course, is amongst them. They all look weary, worn, and they discuss in hushed, unexcited voices the fight that had occurred between the boys. Daisy learns that, apparently, Garth had punched Maddox when he heard he’d gotten Becka too drunk, and it had started a brawl when Maddox swung at and struck one of the guys trying to pull Garth back. The girls all decide amongst themselves that they’ll be limiting their contact with the guys that year, except for Garth, and one of the others who also agreed Maddox was a dick.
Hannah, however, does not engage in this discussion. Instead, she sits next to Daisy and pesters her about Becka, and how she was when she got back to the cabin. When she hears Becka is sleeping, Hannah looks over at the door to their room, and Daisy thinks about encouraging her to go in and check on Becka, but decides against it. What would there be for Hannah to see, but for Becka asleep with a tear-stained face? Eventually, Hannah satiates her concern, and sits silently, playing with the sleeve of her own top. Daisy thinks back to her earlier assessment of the situation, and begins to wonder if she may have been wrong about one particular conclusion, especially when she makes eye-contact with Shu who has a knowing look in her eye.
Shu and Daisy are the last people awake, after everybody else has gone to sleep. Daisy, because she is getting another glass of water to put at Becka’s bedside. Shu, because she is tidying up everybody’s shoes and tucking them neatly by the door.
As Daisy walks by her on the way to her room, she finds that Shu is singing, quietly, “Going to the chapel, and we’re gonna get married.”