I Choose You (A Shawn Mendes Fanfiction)

Chapter 2

The three days separating me from my inevitable doom went by much faster than I would have liked.

"Is this it you're bringing?" My dad asks as he eyes the two boxes on my bedroom floor. I nod my head yes.

All I packed was some of my cutest outfits, hygiene products, a few of my all-time favorite books, and my journal. Other than that, I didn't really need anything else. For someone with a rich father, I'm not exactly materialistic.

"Okay, easy enough," my father says putting one box on top of the other. "I'll meet you in the car." And with that, he carries the two boxes aways. I look around my room to make sure I'm not forgetting anything and let out a sigh of relief when I realize I'm not. This is it. It's time to go. I walk as slowly as I possibly can down the stairs. I really don't want to spend my summer at Camp Stride.

Honk. Honk.

Someone's impatient. This makes me walk even slower. I finally reach the car and hop in. I slam the passenger door shut and sit there silently.

"I know you don't want to go El, but I think this will be good for you," my dad says sympathetically.

"My name's Lavender." I tell him. "Only people close to me call me El."

That was harsh. Probably too harsh.

I hear my father sigh before shifting the gear to drive. Before I know it, we are off to Camp Stride. Yay.

***

The car begins to slow down as we reach an extravagant red gate. The left side of the gate has an incursive golden "C" occupying it's surface while the right side has an "S." In the center is Camp Stride's mascot- a golden lion named Leo that seems to always be roaring. Talk about over kill.

My father pulls up to the officer in charge of permitting entrance, and shows him his ID before handing him what appears to be a red slip. The officer nods and opens the gate for us. As the gate opens, my jaw drops. The pictures of Camp Stride that I found online do not do this place justice. Enormous rectangular, white buildings can be found in all directions. Each infrastructure has windows that are sandwiched by golden shutters and a roof that is a shade of crimson red. My father drives to people wearing the tackiest smiles and red shirts that say "staff." The staff members hold up signs with arrows that point the way. He follows the arrows until we reach the parking lot. Once the car is parked and we each have a box in our hands, we follow the signs that are held up by other staff members. These signs, however, read "Check in that way!" and "Almost there!"

"Are you sure I can't come to Italy with you?" I beg as we reach an obnoxiously long line.

"Sorry honey, I thought you would be excited to come here," my father sighs.

"Shows how well you know me," I mumble under my breath.

"What?" my father asks.

I respond with a simple, "Nothing," and I remain silent the rest of our wait

***

"Room 112. Here we are," my father says placing my box down and swiping my key card so we can get into the room.

The second we enter, I plop my box on the floor and scan the room that is referred to as a stride suite. The room isn't huge, but it is definitely not small. It comes with two queen beds, a microwave, a refrigerator, a flat screen t.v., and to my relief, it's own bathroom. Not bad at all.

I hop on the bed farthest from the door and smile as my body sinks into the cushion. I don't think I've ever been this comfortable in my entire life. I look over at the other bed, curious as to who the person is that will be occupying it. Whoever it is, I hope she isn't crazy.