Happy Campers

Do you see that girl, standing in the middle of the mess hall, staring at the corner? The one with the overpacked duffel bag and the tie-dye shirt tucked into the cuffed jean shorts? That's me, and I'm regretting each and every decision I have ever made.

I don't want to remember what happened the last time I was here, all those years ago. In fact, I don't want to think about it at all. That's not what these two weeks are for.

Here I am, returning as a junior counselor at Hart's Summer Camp for Gifted Girls after my brief stint as a camper. I can't back out now. I check the clipboard by the doorframe of the mess hall. They told me I was supposed to watch over Gopher Cabin at check-in-- nevermind what happened there five years ago-- but I'm still holding out a hope that maybe, just maybe, I misheard them. 

I didn't. 

I want to run my hands through my hair, but I braided them specifically to prevent that. Mom always says that it's a habit I need to kick, like biting my nails or the skin around them. Pulling my hair falls into the same category.

I dig my fingers into the back of my hand, leaving little crescent moons that I don't have the heart to look at. I need to be at the front gates in ten minutes to meet my campers, and I still have to drop off my duffel bag at Gopher Cabin. I'm definitely running behind schedule.

*****

I first came to Hart's Summer Camp for Gifted Girls when I was eleven. I was the second-oldest girl in my cabin, excepting the junior counselors. The oldest was Alicia, who was almost twelve. The other girls ranged in age from eight to the ripe old age of ten. It was a tradition for all the girls in my family to attend, and my mother was giving in to it.

I can remember how I first felt when I was stepping off of the bus: perfect, invincible, and bright. Entering Gopher Cabin was one of those pivotal moments in my life. It became warped and twisted later. The memory is tinged with darkness and stained with blood.

I remember the other girls I was put with and how each of them looked at the outset. There were five of us, including me, and the two counselors. One of them was a junior counselor, aged maybe sixteen or seventeen, like I am now. Her name was Eve and I thought she was the coolest because she had purple tips in her hair and she cut off the bottoms of her camp shirts. The other girls were cool too, don't get me wrong. All four of them had this vivacity around them that I don't want to be forgotten.

I don't want anything about them to be forgotten.

*****

I didn't expect Alicia to be here-- I thought she would be just as screwed-up and anxious as I am or that she would have had the good sense to stay away from here-- but there she is, behind the plastic table taken from the mess hall, checking in the campers, giving them high-fives, and pointing them in the right direction. Can't she see that it's not safe here? As long as he's still out there, this place isn't safe for anyone.

I hold my wood-and-cardboard sign higher. I have to mask my fear with a bright smile that stretches the skin of my cheeks painfully. I have to smile for my girls.

The first camper is Renee, a little girl from a few towns over. She's missing a front tooth; her hair clips are shaped like dinosaurs. The second is Bria, who flounces over with long, loose hair. I already know I'm going to have to beg her to put it up. (It's a camp rule.) The third camper is Molly, who shakes my hand awkwardly and asks me to call her Pip.

I don't have a fourth girl, or a fifth. Their parents must have heard about what happened here five years ago and pulled them out. I can't help but feel as though it's somehow my fault.