* * * *
“What we don’t want is a competitive environment,” Lorraine says. We’ve finished lunch and have moved to the campground’s outdoor classroom, a set of rough-hewn benches set in a circle and an inexpertly carved tree stump serving as a podium. The weather is perfect—warm and sunny, a clear blue sky above and the scent of turning leaves in the air—but it’s not putting me in a better mood. I botched that lunch, could barely string a sentence together the whole time. Zoe floated the conversation, keeping the focus on everyone else with questions and deflections. My only contribution had been to make one of the Dwyer girls cry because of my—as she had put it—“mean face.” That had gotten a big laugh.
Up at the podium, Lorraine and Paul are giving us a rundown of the weekends ahead, the presentations they want us to do, the time they hope we’ll allspend together.
“This camp has been our life’s work,” Lorraine says, “and when we think about leaving it behind, of course what matters most to us is that it stay in our family. And you, of course—our campers—you are our family, and we hope over the next six weeks you’ll treat each other like family.”
“Awww,” says Val, sticky sweet, while one of her kids—the one who didn’t like my face—pokes the other two with a twig. Hammond isn’t paying attention, and I’m pretty sure that’s because he’s ogling Zoe, same as he did through most of lunch, so now I’m at 0 percent positive feelings toward him.
Paul passes around thick packets for each of us, our six-weekend detailed itinerary. Paul and Lorraine run a tight ship—the first day of camp always involved each of us getting special booklets for the summer, brightly colored and tabbed with sections for our chores, our daily schedules, our meal plans. I turn immediately to the second page, feel a strange comfort that they still use the same cartoon map of the campground—trees that look like green clouds, our cabins tiny andsharp cornered.
“We go last,” Zoe whispers to me, already pages ahead.
“What?”
“Our presentation. We’re week five, just before the farewell weekend. That’s good, right?”
I shrug. What does she mean, wego?Igo last. It’s my presentation. She’s flipping through the pages with a new purpose, and I can picture her, all those years of fancy-ass education. Probably a front-row sitter, this one.
“We can see what everyone else does first,” she whispers.
Definitely a front-row sitter.
“Now, Lorraine, we’re going to have to skip the night hike,” Tom says, pointing to tonight’s scheduled activity. “Little Tommy here doesn’tlike the dark.”
“Bet he doesn’t like being called ‘Little Tommy,’ either,” says Hammond under his breath.
“Oh, Tom,” says Sheree, patting her husband’s knee affectionately. “Let’s not blame our son for your fear of the dark. We’ll do the night hike! I’ll put Tommy in the hiking carrier we brought.” Sheree is like I remember her: cheerful, unflappable, always the first volunteer for anything—kitchen duty, babysitting for the youngest campers, spot checks of the cabins for cleanliness. I’ll bet Sheree is my top competition, no matter what Lorraine’s said.
“This brings up a good point, though,” says Paul, returning to Lorraine’s side. “What you see in this packet isn’t mandatory. We’ve designed these events so that we’re spending time together, and so that all of you—even those of you who aren’t familiar with the camp—really get to know it well. But you’re not campers here now, of course, and while we hope you’ll take advantage of this time to be a part of this family, you can certainly make your ownchoices here.”
“Damn,” Zoe whispers, “Paul does a good guilt trip. I should record this for my mother.” I can see what she’s doing with this shit, this running commentary she’s offering me, this sense that we’re somehow a team. What I can’t figure out is how I almost want to lean into it.
“Lorraine,” Hammond says, raising a hand, “How’d Val and I get put on the schedule first for presentations? Becauseit seems like—”
“Quiet, Hammond,” Val snaps, finally rescuing her two younger kids from the sullen one with the weaponized twig. “We don’t mind going first.”
“I think that the people with kids—”
I can almost hear Zoe’s eye roll at Hammond’s obvious slight on us, the only two here without kids in tow or kids left at home.
“We’ll go first, if you want,” Walt says, but Lorraine shakes her head. Hammond must’ve forgotten. When Lorraine makes a schedule, everyone sticks to it.
“Now one thing we do want to draw your attention to, Walt and Rachel,” Paul says. “We’ll have you do your presentation on Sunday morning of the fourth week, instead of Saturday. We’ve closed down the camp’s usual activities for this time we’re here together, but that particular Friday we do have a former counselor’s wedding scheduled here, and so you all can come Saturday morning.”
“Iloveweddings,” says Val. “Hammond and I married at the Crestwood Hotel, in the city? Do you know it?” Val’s obviously the type to ask questions but not care about the answers, because she goes right on. “I wore thisVenetian lace—”
“Baby, I don’t think they want to hear,” says Hammond, and Zoe snorts. “Ofcoursehe calls herbaby,” she whispers to me. She’s got to stop that, the whispering. Her breath on my neck makes me feel ten thousand kinds of confused. I lean forward on the bench, rest my elbows on my knees, so I’m fartheraway from her.
“Oh, maybe Zoe wants to hear!” says Sheree, gesturing toward us, and I pretty much want to dig a hole and hide in it. “Have y’all startedplanning yet?”
“Oh my God, if you haven’t, I havesomany ideas,” says Val.
I feel my neck prickle, the onset of nervous sweat. So far I have not even managed to sit next to Zoe comfortably; with everyone looking at us now, this has to be apparent, and all I want is for the spotlight to go elsewhere.
“I think we’ll do something small,” says Zoe, quickly.“Aiden’s shy.”
“George is shy too,” says Lorraine. “That’s the groom. Well, one of the grooms! His fiancé wanted something big, though, and so he’s done most ofthe planning—”
