Black Iris

The Foothills.

Rose

I didn't go to the park again after that night. I was convinced that a kind of illusion had been shattered, and that the story Charlene told me was actually just some kind of elaborate ruse to let me down easy.

The rejection stung, but I tried not to think about it. More than once I thought about going to back, trying to find her again. I wondered if maybe she was waiting in the park for me each night, hoping I might come again. It almost ate me up to not sneak out and check, but I knew that I couldn't. I wouldn't allow someone else into my mess of a life, especially not so soon after Jordan. If I did, I'd only just screw them up more with collateral damage of my problems.

So I didn't sneak out, and I tried not to think about what had transpired in that park.

Mum kept me fairly busy. I'd settled on a summer school, a camp-type situation in the mountains somewhere that promised to fix my grades. My mother, however, had suddenly taken an interest in my education, and was very concerned I wouldn't be prepared for the camp because of how much I'd missed. I tried to point out that the summer school was because of how much I missed, and that it was designed to help me pick my grades back up, but she wouldn't hear a word of it.

So, at my mothers discretion, I spent much of the remaining time leading to summer studying and revising, until finally, the day came that I was supposed to be leaving for camp.

I was nervous yet excited for camp. On the one hand, I was worried about the case, and the media, and what might happen while I was away. But, on the other hand, I couldn't help feeling relieved by the notion that I would be free of it all, at least for a few weeks.

I packed my bag at the last minute, an activity that would have once roused an argument between my parents and I, but now just raised a disapproving look from the two of them.

When I had finally lugged my things out to the car and climbed in, we were already running a little behind time. Mum muttered about this but when dad gave her a look, she dropped it.

The camp was called Foothills Summer Camp, and true to its name, it was a small school camp nestled in the foothills of the mountains, about 45 minutes out of town. It was small, unassuming, and its brochure had looked the least try hard of all of them, so I decided it would do.

When I'd first showed my mother she was hesitant, asking if I realised that it was a stay-in camp, and if I would be ready for that?

I had told her I was. What I didn't tell her that the whole boarding-school thing was the reason I'd chosen it. I had been starting to get sick of her antics.

She'd shrugged and said that the fresh air would do me some good.

It was a seven-week program, with a long weekend break at the four-week mark for Independence Day, and final assessments in the seventh week.

They had a few pictures on the program but they looked like stock-photos, and I wasn't sure how much I could trust them.

So, when we rolled through the gates of Foothills, I found myself pleasantly surprised.

Clean wooden cabins stretched out across the base of one of the hills, and large modern blocks were built into the opposite hill, with a wide winding river going between them through the valley. A sturdy iron bridge hung over the river connecting the two halves of camp. On the side of the blocks was the carpark, along with a large clear green space, in which I could see some football posts, a basketball court, and a large amphitheatre with a campfire pit in the middle. I could see a large group of parents and kids laden with luggage sitting and standing around here, listening to a lady standing in the middle