“No one else’s things in the cabin were touched?” I ask.
“No, just mine.”
“My couch makes out into a bed. You’re more than welcome to sleep in here until I get a replacement. That mattress is probably a lost cause now,” I tell him. “Let me go get you some sheets.”
Some of the new counselors are leading the kids in a notably off-key rendition ofDown By The Bayat the fire, when I trudge down the hill to check in on everyone. Other counselors are taking turns making bathroom runs with the campers. I decide to hang around until everyone—campers and counselors alike—are here, so I can make some housekeeping announcements, before turning them loose to their s’mores making and wind-downs.
“Hey, mister!” one of the campers—Jack, I believe—calls out to me. “Did’ya know that there’sanotherraccoon that likes hangin’ out by our cabin? He’s wicked chubby!” he explains, eyes gleaming withexcitement. “I named him Noodles, ‘cuz he had some on his head the other night when he came to visit!”
“Has he beeninyour cabin?” I ask him.
“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head. “Rileysays we shouldn’t go near it,” he says in an accusatory way.
“Well, ‘cuz it’s wild. You don’t wanna go near wild animals and try’ta make them pets,” Riley rebuts. “You gotta hold out your thumb like this”—he sticks out his thumb, arm fully outstretched—“when you can’t see the animal undah yuh thumb, that’s how far back you gotta be. My daddy’s a game warden; that’s how I know that,” he explains proudly.
“Riley’s right,” I explain to Jack, “and if you see him around again, you let one of your counselors know, so that we can try to rehome him. And please, don’t keep any candy or snacks in your bunks.”
“Oh, man!” Jack gripes. “You mean I gotta give you my Jolly Ranchers?!”
I grin. The youngest campers—the six-year-olds, like Jack and Riley—are forever hiding their bounty in their bunks. It’s never my intention to send these kids back home full of cavities, so I usually remind the staff to make them forfeit the goods, but now I’ve got wildlife to contend with as well.
Slipped my mind this year, whoops.
“I mean, you can give them to me if you want to; I’m not going to complain. I love Jolly Ranchers. But if you want to keep them somewhere safe, just make sure they go in the mess hall, please.”
“Oookay,” he drawls. But just as quickly as he grew forlorn, his eyes light back up when he spies Aspyn, Morgan, Nikolas, and Colton coming, arms loaded with s’mores supplies.
“Alright, I’m not going to rain on your parade anymore, you all look like you’re about to have some campfire treats,but I want to address something while I’ve got everyone here,” I begin. “Does anyone know how Mr. Waters’ mattress may have found its way out into the lake?”
I watch as a sea of confused eyes flit back and forth between everyone. A few shrugs and a series of head shakes follow.
“Right, okay. Well then, I just want to point out that, while we like to have a lot of fun here, let’s try not to take that fun too far, okay? Please be mindful to respect camp property, that way it can be enjoyed for many years.”
Nods all around; I like that. “Now can we roast some marshmallows, please?” a little girl—Camille, I think—politely inquires.
“Have at ‘em, and have a good night!” I tell them. “Don’t stay up partying all night; I’m told there’s a sunrise swim tomorrow morning!”
As I walk up the hill, I pull Nikolas and Colton aside. Both of them still have wet hair from their swim out to retrieve the mattress.
“I didn’t do it, I promise,” Colton starts, looking at me with frantic eyes.
“Whoa, hey,” I say in a soothing manner. “I just pulled you aside to say thank you. You guys swam way out to get it, that’s all.”
“Oh,” Colton murmurs, at the same time Nikolas replies cheerfully, “You’re welcome!”
“Hey, you’re not gonna, like, tell my dad what we talked about yesterday, are you?” Colton looks to me for confirmation. “I mean, I know you and Petro both know, and I told Morgan and Aspyn too, but I just don’t want, like, everyone here knowing. Not yet, anyway.” He bites at his lip ring.
“Colton, what you and I discuss is private. You have my word on that.”
He nods, the hunch in his shoulders loosening a little. “Thanks, Mr. Gallagher.”
“Call me Brooks, I insist. I’m thirty-two, not eighty.” I chuckle.
“Look!” one of the campers gasps and points. “Noodles is back!”
“No! Don’t go near him!” Riley shouts, ushering those closest to him away from the waddling animal.
A sea of little humans scatter everywhere. Chaos erupts. S’mores ingredients go flying in all directions.
