Camp Runaway

Chapter One

"When the hand goes up..."

"The mouth goes shut!"

Outside the dining hall, one hundred small voices echoed across the group, with all the expected enthusiasm of kids who'd been told it was not only allowed, but encouraged, for them to yell this at the top of their voices. Enclosed on all sides by miles of dense forest, a group of eight-to-ten year olds like those here were not about to pass up any opportunity to be loud and get away with it, which was probably one of the reasons camp held so much appeal for them.

In theory, the routine seemed like a genius way to get such a large group of campers falling quiet upon command; give them an excuse to shout for a moment, and maybe they'd get it out of their system. And yet it appeared the inventor had not designed as such with the kids of Camp Raukawee in mind; surveying the group, I noted no more than three mouths that had actually shut.

One that remained very much open, and in fact only to have been spurred on by the chorus to yell louder, belonged to the kid stood at the front of my line. Incidentally, it was also the one I would've paid the most to close for a couple of hours.

Upon first glance, Tasha seemed like a sweet enough kid, but she also happened to be the living embodiment of looks being deceiving. Rosy cheeks and big blue eyes were a lot less cute when twisted into the look of sour irritation I was so often faced with: one that was less associated with a general bad temper, and more a personal vendetta against me.

In fact, from the moment she'd been ushered into my care, Natasha Lee had deemed her counselor responsible for everything at camp that didn't go her way. When she had to climb down the rock wall to give somebody else a turn, it was my fault. When refused a second cookie at snack time, that was my doing. And when her incessant talking made us last into the dining hall for meals, I was definitely to blame.

"When are we going in?"

I'd listened to her whine for almost a week straight now, and the immediate urge was to scream, but I forced myself to smile. "Soon. The quicker you guys be quiet, the quicker you'll get to eat!"

"It doesn't work like that," she protested, though she'd hardly stopped to try it out. "They always let our cabin in last. It's not fair."

Part of me considered explaining how that was entirely her doing, but I had learned that arguing with Tasha came at the expense of a lot of mental strength, and I didn't have a whole lot to spare. So, instead, I put a finger to my lips and turned back around.

Besides, she had it all wrong; if anybody was receiving unfair treatment at Camp Raukawee, it was certainly not any of the kids. Amongst everything, nobody spared a thought for the staff, who got the short end of the stick at every opportunity. We were the ones who had to watch the kids chow down on their fourth hot dog at cookouts, leaving us to go hungry. We had to wake up at the crack of dawn and drag ten uncooperative kids from their bunks, only to be greeted with a collection of sour moods.

And, after everything, it was us that stayed after the campers had been ushered into the back of their parents' cars, trying to feel content with our mere hour of peace before the next busload arrived.

I only hoped one day Tasha would end up as a camp counselor, forced to endure the mood of the brattiest kid of them all without punching anybody in the face. Then, maybe, she'd feel a little bit sorry for me.

"Beavers, come on in!" Shany, the bubbly director at the front of the dining hall, beckoned over the neighbouring cabin. "And who's going to be next? Which cabin's standing in the straightest line?"