Lights Out, Campers

Chapter Eight

NOW

I wish I could say that I wake up with the sun or that the first thing I hear is the birds chirping. Instead, I wake up to Mr Foster's nasal voice yelling at us to get up and clapping his hands loudly.

"Come on, sleepyheads," he calls. "The sun's up. This isn't a holiday; we've got things to do."

Groggily, I roll over and grab my phone from my bedside table. It's six in the morning, and he's acting like we should have been ready for the day two hours ago. He's one of those insufferable people who wake up before sunrise and then scoff at you for being lazy. I'm sure he would be slightly understanding if he knew what kind of night we had. When we returned from the campfire last night, dodging the sprinklers still soaking the lawn, Arabella revealed a bottle of vodka from her bag. We took turns taking quick, grimacing sips. Vodka, as it turns out, is not our first choice of drink. I don't think it's anyone's really. But it's cheap, especially in America.

It took the three of us surprisingly long to drain half the bottle. We were drinking just to get drunk. The campfire turned out to be a letdown, especially with Mr Foster interrupting us, so we had to seek it in some other way. And we settled on vodka. Robyn was impressed at Arabella bringing it. I suppose she didn't take Arabella as the type to have a fake ID.

We tried to force fun by playing truth or dare, but it quickly died. It was like playing cards against humanity for the first time. The unhinged answers make you laugh for a while until it all at once loses its shock value. We couldn't think of any questions to ask, and the dares stayed within the confines of the cabin. The sprinklers were still on, constantly pattering against the cabin door, and nobody wanted to go outside and get wet. Eventually, we called it a night. But the straight vodka still sitting in my stomach, mixing with the s'mores and the jetlag, made for a restless night.

When I finally did doze off, I dreamt of Amelia. The soothing sound of her voice sending me into a deep slumber.

Now, we have to get up and prepare for the job we came here for––looking after children. I was so eager to escape the confines of Australia, an island floating far away from the rest of the world, that I accepted this job, not remembering that I hate kids. I don't know how to talk to them. It would be okay if they were babies, but they're teenagers. Actually, no they're not. They're worse. They're ten to twelve-year-olds. They judge you, not subtly like a normal person, but directly to your face. They point out your pimples, call you fat, and ask why you "don't look like a girl."

Pushing my disgust aside, I climb out of bed and beat Robyn to the shower. The barely warm water trickles down my body, somehow making me feel worse than I already had. I can't keep my eyes open for more than ten seconds at a time. I let the water stream down my face and force myself to stay awake and alert. I don't want to come off as a whiny, annoying bitch. 'We're all tired', I think, 'what makes you so special?'.

Afterward, I wrap the towel around me and brush my teeth before throwing on a pair of jean shorts and a red T-shirt. The three of us leave the cabin, meeting up with the boys. My heart flutters at the sight of Levi, his bed hair making him one hundred times cuter. We all walk together towards the dining room, itching for some food. Verna is already prepping an afternoon snack for the kids, so we don't bother her. We each fill a bowl with cereal, except for Robyn, who only eats a banana and a few grapes.

We eat in silence. Judging by the looks of Wyatt, Dean, and Levi, they had a night similar to ours. Levi seems to be handling it better than the rest of them. Dean and Wyatt can't even keep their eyes open. Arabella and I hide our giggles. We finish up, place our bowls on the trolley for Verna, and walk outside to meet Mr Foster. He is standing expectantly by the admin building. He may as well be checking his watch and tapping his feet.