Camp Young

_Chapter One_

Mrs. Carmon looked down the end of her pointed bird-beak nose at me, through glasses that were too small for her face, and flared her nostrils.
“We’re waiting Ms. Fog. There will be no more procrastinating.”

Her expression was one of pure exhaustion, as if teaching was draining all of the life out of her.

“For the last time teach Carmon, it’s just Fog. But fine! I’ll do the dumb problem.”

“You are testing my patience today, Ms. Fog.”

I hate Mrs. Carmon. She looks like a vulture with human skin. A frail frame with sharp cheek bones. The glasses don’t help her look any more human. If she only would grow wings and fly off to live her birdie life, I’d have it so easy here. Sadly, though, Ms. Carmon and her bird-beak nose don’t have wings, or even a sense of humor for that matter.

Nobody at school knows how old she is, but all of us wager the number to be somewhere between fifty and two-hundred. It’s kind of an inside joke. Going to school is hard enough, dealing with stupid kids, bullies and the like. Not to mention the incredibly apathetic teachers that roam the halls more than the kids. It’s like no one in this place has any care for any of us. Likewise, none of us really have any care for them.

I did the stupid problem on the dry erase board, first taking a nice five extra seconds to pick the perfect marker for the job. I chose purple. Second, making sure to show my work so I wouldn’t have to start over from scratch. I have a special distaste for math. Geometry, doubly so.

As I sat back down at my desk, Mrs. Carmon turned to address the rest of the twenty-one students in my class what I did wrong. The smart girl, Lina, answers smugly, and don’t ask me what she said because I wasn’t listening. I have a special distaste for smarty-pants-know-it-alls too. All I could pay attention too was the nagging tone of her voice, like a teacher or parent from Peanuts.

“Do you ever say anything interesting, Li-Na?!”
I drew out her name with extra emphasis on the second syllable. Childish, I know. But, what are grown-ups doing that makes them so much better? They refuse to say what they mean, and they get mad when you don’t understand what they mean by their words. They are just as childish as I am, if you ask me.

I have a problem controlling my mouth when I feel disrespected. Lina has always been the champion of making me feel that way. It is partly due to the fact that I have ADHD as well. I am highly irritable when I’m in stressful situations, like when Lina makes me look like a simpleton in front of the entire class. There were only about seventy students in my entire grade, so the word of my embarrassment spread like syphilis in a nineteenth century whore house.

“That’s it! To the office with you, young lady!”
I had done it now. The best thing I could do was go to the office before I get into real trouble. Mrs. Carmon looked as if she might explode.

“Fine! I’m going then!”

I placed calmly to the door, making a wildly ridiculous face at Lina on my way out. On my way down the hall, I had a little bit of fun by ripping Lina’s posters advertising for the school’s Spanish club. I have nothing against Spanish as a language but I do have a problem with that perky twat advertising for the Spanish club. I also strolled leisurely on my way towards the front office. I read every single poster on the wall. One was a poster describing the benefits of drinking milk. The next, an advertisement posted by one of the students' parents, aimed at kids who had trouble behaving in class.

Thank God I don’t have to do that. Probably just a bunch of jerks and sluts doing stupid activities and cleaning up a big lake. Not for me!

“Hey, Foggy, what are you in trouble for today?”

One goody-two-shoes I did happen to get along with, was smarty-pants Jamari Hatel Freeman. He was a small kid with big hair and bigger brains but never mean to a single soul, even the idiot kids that bullied everyone, including Jamari. I got along with him easily, either because of his willingness to be friends with anyone and everyone, or because of my knowledge of what it was like to be singled out by our peers.

“Well see,” I said breathlessly, “sometimes you just have to stand up for yourself.”

“Fog, they are going to end up doing more than just suspending you eventually. I already heard them say something about it today. You have got to stop getting so angry.”

He sharply whispered the words to me like the last warning words of a dying man. He raised his brows at me and turned to pretend he was doing his job stapling papers and what not. He was often the student that went around passing out little schedules or printing out take-home notes for various teachers, some of which he hadn’t even had as teachers himself. We’re only in grade ten. And they want us to act grown-up. Ha! I think not.

I took his words seriously, but I had no idea how to hold my tongue or how to stay out of trouble in class in general. ADHD is not considered a real condition in my school, so there are no luxuries or special classes. Just a strict authoritative hand to keep the hyper focused and the unfocused alike, in check.

The principal simply walked into the waiting area in the front office and handed me a stack of papers, after which, he told me,
“This is your fault, Ms. Fog. I’ve contacted your aunt since your parents are apparently on a plane headed to London. You are to stay a week at her house, and then you will be attending this summer camp.” He gestured toward the papers in my hand. “You have been suspended for the rest of the year. You will repeat the tenth grade if you do not attend the camp.”

Jamari had turned around with his mouth agape and put his hand to his face extending his thumb and pinky finger and mouthed the words, “call me.”

As I waited for my aunt, Jamari was heading out the door and slipped a piece of paper into the back of my gray pull-over hoodie. I quickly grabbed it and read the writing.

Let me know what happens. Here’s my number. Maybe I can make it to that camp when the school year ends. It’s only a month. You’ll be fine. It’s like an early summer!
Jamari # 832-479-0504

My aunt finally pulled up in front of the school doors and walked in with her six inch heels click-clacking on the tile flooring and echoing through the halls. I was slightly mesmerized with her, not really thinking about what she would look like before she got there. She was the least of my worries until that moment. Her honey-blonde hair seemed to flow perfectly in the air as she walked confidently into the waiting area and right up to me, and without saying a word to the principal, the secretary, or myself, grabbed my wrist and lead me to her car. She seemed to be quite frustrated.

I had never met this woman. Before that day I didn’t know I even had an aunt, and now I was in a strange woman’s car heading out of my hometown with no clue where I was going. My parents also failed to mention that they were going back to London. I hate it here, not that London is any better. Both countries are crumby places to live.

I might have waited a whole ten minutes in the car before finally speaking.
“So, you’re my aunt huh? Aren’t you supposed to be vaguely familiar to me? I’ve never met you in my life.”

“You talk too much. Just know I am your father’s sister Kat, and that you have to stay with me for a while. Indefinitely.”

“Hold the damn phone, what do you mean indefinitely? Where are my parents?”

She handed me her flip phone and I dialed my mother’s cell phone number. It rang three times, and then she answered.
“Hello?”

“Mom! Where are you? What’s happening?”

“Sweetheart, we just can’t handle your behavior problems anymore. Your aunt can do better for you. I’ll call you when I can. I love you honeybun.”

As soon as my mother finished her words, she hung up the phone. I lost all hope of going home in that moment.

“What about all of my stuff?”

My aunt simply shrugged and said, “I collected your things earlier today. You will be fine with me. Life is not all about possessions anyway.”

I dropped the conversation there, and began to read the stack of papers, skimming through until I got to the pamphlet describing the camp I was to be attending.