The students of Mr. McCoy's science class love his camping field trips, barring the occasional disaster. They are more than eager to bring along the new school counselor, in hopes that a little nature will get her to unwind a bit...just a bit. What...
Artwork by MistiQarts: https://www.deviantart.com/mistiqarts/art/X-MEN-Naughty-beast-171669961 Made for this story; used with permission.
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Camille shifted restlessly in her sleeping bag, staring blankly up at the top of the tent. She hated enclosed spaces, hated feeling stuck in one spot. Trying desperately to focus on something, anything
else, she turned her face in the direction of the girls nestled to her right. Nothing bothered them, it seemed. They were all snuggled happily into their sleeping bag cocoons, breathing a little symphony of snores.
She squeezed her eyes shut again, willing herself to drop to sleep before she started hyperventilating. Maybe if she........no, absolutely not, she'd never had to resort to that childish trick to get to sleep before, and she sure as heck wasn't about to start now. Besides, she hated sheep. Stupid creatures, never willing to think for themselves, always following whoever just happened to be in front of them, regardless of the potential for danger. No more stupid sheep.
Casting mentally about, she seized upon reflecting on the events of the day. The hike hadn't been as bad as she'd expected. It had actually been quite beautiful, and so far she had sustained only three bug bites. Two on her legs and one onher....well never mind that one, she'd much rather not think about it. Served her right for wearing such tight shorts, what had she been thinking when she picked them out this morning? The quick memory of slate-blue eyes twinkling and a crooked, fanged grin remindedher...oh, yes...that was why. Cue another uncomfortable wriggle.
A sense of warm pride crept in to keep her company as she remembered her victorious first campfire. How many rookie campers could say they got a campfire started on the first try? 'Not many, I'll bet!', she thought smugly. Now the tent....that was entirely another matter. Just how she had managed to get herself wrapped into the mess of tent fabric, with all the tent pegs scattered to the four winds, she would never understand. Thank goodness for the girls and their merciful hearts, stepping in to get her unwound, berating her quietly for being a showoff, and telling her jokingly to give the rest of them a turn. The tent was up in three minutes after that. No one seemed to see the frustrated tears, or at least they were all tactful enough to pretend they didn't.
On to the events of the evening. Camille relaxed a little bit, drifting further into the memory, reliving it.
The food was strangely tasty, despite the excess of charcoal (also known as "character", according to Bobby) clinging to everything. She wasn't able to contribute to the jokes and ghost stories that followed, but Kitty successfully guilted her into singing a simple spiritual, with the peppy brunette ghostling cheerfully claiming all the off-key high notes. She had always loved singing, had never really been bothered by an audience, no matter what the size. Yet for some reason, she just couldn't bring herself to even glance over at one particular corner of the fire, where the owner of the slate-blue eyes and crooked grin joined in with a black-velvet baritone.
