𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

𝟎𝟐. 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞-𝐮𝐩

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟐𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖

It felt like smoke and fire were pouring out of your ears, but you still took the time to smile and wave as the younger campers trotted by, shouting scattered variants of 'Hi Counselor (Y/N)!' which made your heart melt ten times over. It wasn't enough to quell the magma streaming through your veins, but the kids had always been your weakness.

Besides; whether you liked it or not, you had a reputation to uphold.

You couldn't afford to be a pothead like Alice or a priss like Cindy (although you loved them both equally). Not with your past. Unless you could play the role of the smiley, helpful, responsible counselor from Sunnyvale, there was no place for you at Camp Nightwing. Kurt made that abundantly clear on your first day.

You made it all the way to the med-shed before you found him swinging his lanyard like a total douchebag on his way to the waterfront. It was his day to play lifeguard. Tomorrow it would be you sitting up on that hot bench, blowing your whistle and convincing kids to stop eating sand.

Well, okay, in all fairness Kurt could do just about anything and it would look douchey. That was just his superpower.

"Kurt!" You shouted, flagging him down with your smiley-est, most helpful, and responsible counselor voice. He knew you hated him, and he loved that he had the power to fire you if you so much as suggested it out loud. He watched you storm up to him with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

"How's it hanging, Sunnyside-up?" He asked once you were close enough to hear him, smacking his gum with a shit-eating grin. You tightened your fists so hard that your knuckles cracked. You hated that nickname. Sunnyside-up. But that was a whole 'nother story.

"Did you seriously let Sheila Martin get away with setting a camper on fire?" You demanded.

He snickered, towering over you with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You hated that he knew all the ways to make you see red.  "Ziggy Berman is a thief. She deserved what she got if you ask me."

Thank God no one asked you.

You were livid. If this had been any other summer camp, Sheila would be halfway to a juvenile detention facility and Kurt Abrey would be facing jail time for child endangerment. But this wasn't any other summer camp. This was Nightwing. And at Nightwing, whatever he said was law.

Total bullshit.

While you were debating whether or not it would be worth it to sock him right in his perfectly square jaw, you heard the telltale signs of an approaching peacemaker; rubber sneakers slapping against wet grass.

"What's going on, guys?" The newcomer—Nick Goode—panted. He was a little out of breath and if you hadn't known any better, you would have thought that he saw you from the other side of the field and came running. Nick was a bloodhound for trouble. It was like he had this freaky sixth sense that told him just when you were reaching your boiling point.

You refused to turn around, still glaring up at Kurt as if the other boy weren't even there. You found yourself avoiding Nick's eye at all costs since the beginning of the summer. He always looked at you like he knew something that you didn't. It was starting to drive you insane.

"Sunnyside-up here has a problem with my authority," Kurt said, cocking his head to the side. "Isn't that right, babe?"

Oh, barf.

"Hey, knock it off, man." Nick shook his head. You weren't his biggest fan, but there was something about having his support that made you feel slightly better. More confident. All-powerful. "Did something happen?" He asked. "I heard some kids talking."