The Summer Reunion (unedited version)

51| Team Effort

It's times like these when I wish I was smart enough to invent a time machine. If I were an MIT scholar I so would have done that for times such as these. Of course it's not often you're best friend/love interest (?) is carrying your other best friend, who almost just drowned, back to a cabin that was almost ripped from the studs by alcohol induced teenagers mere minutes ago. The location of which contains the lifelike version of a cartoon mouse known as our boss, Mr. Clearwater, who is standing at the threshold of the party aftermath. If I ever thought this situation could have arisen I would have paid more attention in math, (probably).

His face was beat red, his fingers balled at his sides. I half expected smoke to come out of his ears paired with the sound of a high-pitched whistle.

None of us dared to move an inch. You know the expression, give an inch, take a mile? Well giving my feet permission to move an inch would take me one mile down the end of the road, flat on my ass and out of a job.

He threw his hands up. "What on earth do you think you're doing! Throwing a party in my camp!" We let him rattle on, afraid saying something could only make things worse. "You're all lucky camp is done by the end of the week, or you would all be fired on the spot! There are holes in the walls! Glass on the ground! I have never, in all my years here, seen such blatant disrespect for my rules. Your father will be hearing about this Miss Sawyer."

The room fell silent. A jarring contrast to the loud bass that rattled the walls earlier, when the night was young. Now the night is so old it needs a walker with tennis balls attached to the bottom for support. The clock on the stove read 2:15 am.

We do this every year, Drew's words ring in my ears. Enjoy the party for once Andie. What an idiot! No plan of his could ever amount to any good. Following his lead is like walking with a  blindfold on at the edge of a cliff. 

"I want all of you to clean up this mess," he flailed his arms like he was swatting a fly, "until it looks cleaner than it did before."

That shouldn't be hard, I bit back from saying.

"And then I want you all to be at the counsellors meeting tomorrow bright and early at seven. We're announcing the winner of the bonus, but first I think we need to go over the rules of our establishment again. Although that might not necessary, as most of you won't be returning next year."

The bright and early part seemed targeted to those who will be hungover, or still drunk, in less than five hours.

One of the cops stepped into the doorway. She had a hushed conversation with Mr. C, too low for us to hear. 

"Excuse me," I grabbed their attention. "My friend here had an accident and she hit her head. I think we need to take her to the hospital. Would it be possible for you to drop us off at the emergency room?"

"Accident? What accident?" Mr. Clearwater's eyes went wide. "We're not liable for anything that happens after you sign the waver."

Grayson rolled his eyes. "We'd really appreciate it if you could take our friend soon. It's kind of an emergency," he tried to hurry things along.

"Do ambulances run at this time of night?" Tosh's eyes drifted open as she lulled in and out of consciousness.

"It's not a cab service," I said. "They run every hour of the day Tosh, that's like the whole point."

I'd blame this on her concussion, but this isn't out of character for her. My chest swells with gratitude that she still gets to say stupid things like this.

The cop gestured for him to carry her to the front where her car was parked.

"Is Tosh okay?" Izzie asked.