The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 21: Jasper

With a name like "kitchen duty", the bar is set pretty low; but even with my standards at an all-time decline, Lightlake still manages to fail to meet expectations.

The kitchen is a one-room cabin located behind the Mess Hall, outfitted with two industrial sinks. The tap splutters out water that oscillates between three settings: freezing cold, scorching hot, and brown. There's only one window, and only one fan, and the machinery makes an insufferable whirring noise as it spins; clicking and clanking through every rotation like it could be its last. For fun, the counselors have thrown in a few sponges, one bar of soap, and a single rubber glove with a hole in the thumb. There's also a tiny AM/FM radio in the corner of the room, but it only picks up static.

The bare, wooden walls of the kitchen almost make me miss those cheesy inspirational posters. (Of course, the only poster the kitchen would ever have is a sign that reads "abandon hope all ye who enter here" hanging above the door to warn off newcomers.)

Matt Mernan, who has a knack for pointing out the obvious, gazes perfunctorily around the room before declaring, "Well, this sucks."

Sun-Lee, our counselor escort, grimaces at the stacks of dirty dishes. "Welcome to paradise, folks. You'll be spending the next six nights here, so I suggest you start getting comfortable."

"Is there anybody else coming?" Giselle asks hopefully. "A cleaning service, maybe?"

"Nope, it's just you three this week." Sun-Lee tucks a strand of bright-pink hair behind her ears. Out of all the counselors, she's definitely the most hip (with her rainbow-dyed hair, shiny septum piercing, and neon Reebok pumps, she could almost be mistaken for a camper), but I can tell that she also cares the least about her job. When we were walking over here together, I asked her why she decided to become a counselor at Lightlake, to which she replied, "It pays well."

Giselle lets out a loud, dramatic sigh. Her response isn't very soul-stirring— most of the things she does are loud and dramatic, so it fits right in. "This is going to take hours."

"I agree," Sun-Lee replies. (Definitely not the motivational pep-talk I was expecting.) "If you get started right away, you should be done by midnight."

"Midnight? My bedtime is at eleven!" Matt exclaims. I can't tell if he's being serious or not.

"Don't get yourselves too worked up. You still have a week left." With these reassuring words, Sun-Lee wiggles her fingers and us in farewell and heads for the exit. "If you have any questions, please don't ask me. Enjoy!"

The door slams shut behind her.

"Should we do introductions first?" Matt asks. "Like, get to know each other? Team-bonding?"

Giselle rolls her eyes. "God, you're even worse than Owen."

As much as I hate introductory activities, I decide to take up Matt's advice and participate in some team-bonding of my own. "I'm Jasper. Uh, Sostenuto."

"Nice to meet you, Uh Sostenuto," Giselle says. She sticks out her hand. I move forward to shake it, but then— instead of reciprocating the gesture— Giselle brushes past me and reaches for something on the counter. Her sweatshirt. She was reaching for her sweatshirt, not going in for a formal introduction.

A small piece of my soul splits away and flees into the humid air. I resolve never to willingly participate in a team-bonding activity again.

Giselle gives me a weird look but doesn't comment on my slip-up. She shrugs the sweatshirt on over her head, exposing the faintest hint of a butterfly tattoo on her hipbone— a monarch, if I'm remembering my species correctly. Then she jams the sweatshirt down (the front is decorated by the famous Andy Warhol painting of Marilyn Monroe) and the tattoo is gone.