The Art of Being Alone (Together)

04 | The Butt of a Thousand Jokes

The assembly thankfully doesn't allow for much conversation between me and Lizzie, since everyone is listening to Miss Rodriguez. She's standing on the large, outdoor stage and explaining what the summer will hold. The microphone in her hand amplifies her voice over the crowd of campers and counselors. We're all sitting on the wooden bleachers, many of us using our hands or hats to block our eyes from the slowly descending sun. I pretend to listen to all the information about the different programs and activities (I don't really need to, since all those hours looking over the website and brochures with Mei mean I pretty much know everything she's saying already) while the word friend still pings around my brain, taunting me.

How is it that in less than an hour, I already managed to screw up one of the major parts of my plan? I should've known better-- having acquaintances is fine at first glance, until you realize that a lot of the time, acquaintances become friends. Lizzie seems really nice and all, but I'd hate to let her think we're about to get all buddy-buddy when at most, I just thought we'd have the occasional conversation so I wouldn't go totally crazy from lack of socialization.

This is why, after Miss Rodriguez wraps up her presentation with a cheesy yet endearing, "So welcome to Camp Create It-- let's make some art!" and Lizzie gets distracted by a pair of girls who come up to her as everyone is heading down the bleachers, I take the opportunity to slink away.

I hide myself in the sea of campers and head back to the girls' cabins by myself. I'll admit, I don't feel that great about it. It feels rude to leave her like that, but I try to tell my conscience that most likely, those two girls were her friends-- she probably hasn't even realized I'm gone yet.

I pass groups of chatting campers, many hiding in the spots of shade provided by the trees. A few counselors walk around, joking with each other or talking to confused-looking campers. I wipe my forehead, sweaty from sitting under the sun for so long. 

I head to the bathroom area to wash up for dinner, which my growling stomach is glad to know is in about fifteen minutes. The bathrooms offer a little respite from the heat, but not much. I spend a few minutes in front of the mirror, tying up my long brown hair, hoping it'll help me cool down. 

After I use the bathroom, as I'm washing my hands, two girls enter the restroom-- the same ones who approached Lizzie on the bleachers.

Why isn't she with them?

"I can't believe she actually showed up," the shorter one says, heading into one of the green stalls. "I mean, after what happened last year, I probably would've forced my parents to let me move states."

I stiffen, continuing to scrub my hands. Is she talking about Lizzie? Probably not, but they were just with her.

"It wasn't that bad," the other girl replies, walking up to a sink and fixing her hair in the mirror.

"Are you kidding?" There's a pause, sounds of rummaging, and then a flush. I stop washing my hands, knowing it'll look suspicious if I stand here scrubbing my skin raw for their entire conversation. I grab a paper towel from the dispenser as the girl exits her stall, continuing. "Rising out of the water with my boobs on display for half the camp is like, my worst nightmare."

"I feel sort of mean that we asked her about it. I mean, she looked pretty upset."

The other girl shrugs, hardly looking sympathetic as she washes her hands. "I guess. But she has to know people aren't just gonna forget something like that. Lizzie's Titties is like, the biggest incident this camp has ever had."

I have to stop my eyes from widening at the blunt confirmation as I pretend to fix my shirt in the mirror, tucking it into my shorts with what probably looks like slow-motion. Lucky for me, they're too engrossed in their conversation to pay me any attention.