Camp Erie Lake

5

Leaving the cabin, I mentally rehearse my approach for talking to Poppy Blake. The thought of digging into Lillian's past makes my chest tighten with anxiety. What if Poppy takes offense at my questions about her missing friend? What if she sees me as an intruder poking into painful memories? I need to be sensitive, but with Lillian's case still unsolved after three years and growing more complicated, every clue counts.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the campgrounds, and the air hums with the buzz of insects. Laughter and distant chatter from other campers drift over, but I stay focused on my task. I need to approach Poppy carefully, without appearing intrusive.

"Hey, Reese," Mac's voice pulls me from my thoughts. I look up to see him walking towards me with a smirk. "My Bunkie's are alright, but—that Mason isn't in yet. Probably off chatting with his squirrel cousins about the latest nut harvest," he jokes, swatting at a mosquito on his leg.

"Need some bug spray?" Jenna asks, already rummaging through her shoulder bag. She pulls out a can and starts applying it to Mac's arms. "Does it matter if I wanted it or not?" Mac wisecracks, raising an eyebrow as he looks at Jenna. "Put your arms straight out, please," Jenna orders, positioning Mac's arms with a determined grip.

"Listen," I begin, trying to shake off my nerves. "We're rooming with Poppy Blake," I say, my eyes wide with anticipation.

"Okay... who the hell is Poppy?" Mac asks, shrugging as if it's no big deal.

"Lillian McGhee's best friend," I explain, striving to keep my voice steady. "I didn't know either, but Jenna here knew already." I point to Jenna, who's now maneuvering Mac's legs as if she's conducting a bug spray shakedown. Mac starts flapping his arms theatrically, trying to disperse the cloud of spray enveloping him. "Ah, much better," he says, pretending to breathe more easily.

"Yes, I did some research before coming," Jenna says, securing the top on the bug spray and slipping it back into her bag. She then pulls out a notebook brimming with glued photos and handwritten notes. Flipping through it, she lands on a picture of Poppy Blake. "Poppy Blake," she begins, her tone growing serious. "Lillian's best friend since elementary school. Three years ago, they came to camp together—two peas in a pod. They're all over each other's socials—photos, posts, everything. There's no way Poppy doesn't know something about what happened to Lillian."

Jenna continues, flipping to a page with a screenshot of a social media post. "Poppy's post from that day says, 'Can't wait for tonight,' and Lillian replied with a heart and a comment, 'I can't wait either!' Poppy was questioned but cleared. Whatever she told the police didn't help, and it didn't name her a suspect." Jenna gives us the rundown, her face set with determination.

"Wow, you're really a nut, aren't you?" I ask, impressed and slightly overwhelmed by the extent of Jenna's research.

Jenna's eyes twinkle with a mix of pride and mischief. "What can I say? I like to be thorough."

As I glance back at the cabin, my thoughts turn to Poppy. I hope that by unraveling this mystery, we can uncover more than just answers—we can finally understand what truly happened to Lillian.

As I look back at our cabin, Poppy steps out, illuminated by the afternoon glow, making her stand out with a radiant aura. I can't help but feel a pang of admiration—she's genuinely pretty. She walks over, her presence commanding attention.

"Thanks for helping back there," she says with a light laugh. "I didn't want to stir up anything my first few hours at camp. That would have really gotten my mom going." She adds with a grin. Leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, I whisper, "Oh, I would've gladly jumped at any chance to put Mallory-Dixhead in her place. She's a real piece of work, just like her hot-headed brother. Always has been."  As I finish, Mallory herself walks out of the cabin, her eyes rolling dramatically as she catches our conversation. Without missing a beat, she storms off in the opposite direction, her frustration clear. I can't help but chuckle. "You're welcome," I reply, a bit awkwardly.