Lights Out, Campers

Chapter Two

I was wrong. The day to leave did not come quickly.

My packed suitcase sat in the corner of my room for the next week as I lay in bed glaring at my phone. But for once, I didn't feel lonely. The counsellor's group chat, aptly named 'Camp Bitch Lake', has been an ongoing flurry of messages. Everyone seems so sweet. They ask about life in Australia. They want to know what I'm interested in. They want to be friends with me. I haven't felt that in a very long time. We've even planned to all drive up to camp together. I arrive in Detroit late Saturday night, and we're leaving Sunday morning. Despite all the camp's history, I can already feel like this was the right decision.

So far, Arabella is my favourite. She always responds to me first and now, we've started chatting on DM's. We have the same sense of humour, we watch the same shows and listen to the same music. I'm so excited to meet her. In the back of my mind, I know why I'm so comfortable around her.

It's because she reminds me so much of Amelia.

It's not what you're thinking. I didn't kill kill her. I didn't hold a gun to her face and pull the trigger, no. It was an accident, a tragic accident, and it was her fault just as much as it was mine. Even Will has a part to play in it. I guess that's why I can't even look at him. But when I talk to Arabella, who likes to be called Bella, it feels like I have her back. Someone who will care for me no matter what.

But maybe I should keep the dead best friend to myself, at least for the first few weeks.

I check my phone, surprisingly, it's three in the afternoon. I have had my curtains drawn all day and haven't left my bed. This is such a normal occurrence that Mum hasn't even knocked on my door. If I don't have to go to work at my shitty job at an office supplies store, I barely leave my room. It's become more frequent now, seeing as I quit on the spot when I was employed at the summer camp.

I sit up and kick away the covers, feeling a momentary rush of productivity. I throw open my curtains, take off my pyjamas, and hop in the shower. I do everything. I'm getting on a plane tomorrow, I want to feel fresh. I shampoo and condition my grown-out bleached hair, I shave my legs, arms, and armpits. I moisturise and scrub my face. When I'm out and dried, I pause in front of my mirror. Since Amelia died, I've put on a few kilograms. I hate the way I look and suddenly, I am filled with dread that this is how my new friends are going to see me. I look nothing like my Instagram photos. I'm like a friendship catfish.

I feel a strong urge to slink back under the covers but I force myself to stay up. I need to distract myself. I look back through my suitcase. I've got enough underwear to last a lifetime but I could use some more casual clothes. And maybe a less revealing swimsuit. I pull on a pair of tracksuit pants and a white T-shirt and leave my room. Mum apparently isn't here, so I grab my car keys and head out the front door.

I drive fifteen minutes towards town and park on the main street. My first stop is Target to buy a few plain shorts and shirts. I keep my head down at the counter, terrified the person working has seen me on the news. I know it happened a year ago, but a small town doesn't forget things like that. I tap my card and briskly leave the store without uttering a word. Then, I enter Rebel Sport and grab two random one-piece bathing suits that look to be my size and buy them. I'm about to get in my car. I'm about to be safe from the hypothetical prying eyes when I look up and see June White.

Amelia's mother.

She stops dead in her tracks and so do I. I can't look away and neither can she. Her eyes are wide and her jaw is slightly open. For a second it looks like she's about to faint, but I quickly realise that it's me who's in danger of fainting. This is the mother of the girl who died because of me, and I am the girl who killed her daughter. I wish I could run up to her and explain that it wasn't my fault, that she did that all on her own, but I can't. Because it was me. I'm the reason she died and I wish I could take it back. I wish we could swap places. I've been acting like a zombie for the past year, so I may as well be dead. If only I paid attention to those stupid CPR classes in school. But I didn't, and now I have to face her mother.