The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 24: Ronan

Today's sharing circle is a different form of cruel and unusual punishment. Instead of being picked off one by one and painfully interrogated by Owen, we get to pair up with partners and do the exact same thing to each other. There's a worksheet involved, but I already know that I'm not going to do it. I don't want to participate in this exercise at all— if the counselors really think that I'm going to sit down and willingly spill my guts to some random stranger, they're crazier than Michael Myers.

Owen counts us off into pairs. By some act of mercy, my partner ends up being James, the camper I met last Sunday night. We haven't spoken to each other since the campfire, but its better than being paired off with somebody who I've never seen before. James waves me over to where he's sitting. Even after two hellish weeks of camp, he still looks more or less the same— bold eyebrows, healthy skin, lips that haven't yet cracked from the cold. The only noticeable change about him is the tiny silver stud glittering in his ear. I don't remember him having an ear piercing— I don't think he was wearing it at the campfire.

"Thank God it's you," James tells me. His eyes, the color of solid bronze, are wide with relief. "Can you imagine having to fill out this worksheet with someone like Emily? I think I'd rather go take a dunk in the lake."

I glance over to where Emily is lounging, her Timberland boots propped up on an adjacent chair. Every now and then, she blows a bubble the size of her face and then pops it with her tongue, making her partner, Levi, scowl in disgust.

"She seems eager to share," I remark.

James cracks a grin at my joke. For some reason, knowing that I've made James smile makes me feel vaguely accomplished, like I just beat my high score at pin-ball at the arcade. Weird. Maybe I should start calling him Pretty Boy again, just to piss him off.

Owen walks around the room and hands out the worksheets. I glance down at my paper, a dissatisfied taste rising up in the back of my throat as I skim over the questions. They're exactly the kind of touchy-feely, manipulative shit you'd expect from a typical Sharing Circle.

James groans at his paper. "Please just kill me now."

"If I murdered you, who would be my partner?"

"Fair point. Now, let's get to work on these questions— I want to get them over with as quickly as possible."

"What if you didn't?"

"Huh?"

"What if you didn't have to work on the questions?"

James gives me a quizzical look. "You know that Owen will give us both a mark if we don't fill out our papers by the end of Circle, right? I'd much rather spend thirty minutes finishing this sheet than an entire week doing Kitchen Duty."

"Duh, me too. I'm not saying that we shouldn't do the questions, I'm just saying that we shouldn't do them honestly."

"I think the counselors will notice if we're lying about ourselves on the questionnaire...."

"We'll just make our lies more realistic, then. What are they going to do— claim that they know us better than we know ourselves?"

"I don't know about this. Isn't psychoanalyzing us basically their entire job?"

"Never-mind. Just forget about it." I shake my head at him, frustrated by his wariness. "I should've known that you wouldn't go along with it. I was just trying to make this activity tolerable, but if you really want to answer the questions honestly then be my guess. I guess I'm just a little fed up with constantly having to vomit my secrets up so the counselors can get off on our spiritual healing."