10. Jack
TEN
Jack
Mating season was finally here. So I was up and dressed at the crack of dawn, which meant a crisp four thirty.
That might scare some people off, but I only slept a few hours a night anyway, and bird-watching was one of my favorite hobbies.
Fellow birders always looked forward to reporting the birds throughout all of the Mount Hood National Forest region, and Camp Starlight’s acreage had some of the best viewing spots to catch some rare little songbirds.
I’d be taking a small group of campers out here later this week as well, and maybe they’d see the same rare birds I hoped to catch in action today.
I planned to share my findings from this week with the Bird Alliance of Oregon.
I had some friends in the coalition, and we were always excited to hear what each other had spotted.
I filled my thermos with my favorite Beans and Beans whole bean blend that I’d ground at home before brewing into the steaming, rich, bold perfection that it was now.
This coffee, paired with my favorite bird-watching shirt, always put me in a good mood.
The shirt was faded, the cotton loose and well-worn, with Hawksome written in bold lettering above a picture of a hawk.
My nephew surprised me with a bird-themed T-shirt every birthday, and I loved all of them, but this one was my favorite.
I walked quietly and found my perch, slowing my breathing as I lifted my binoculars to scan the area. A few long moments of tranquility and peace surrounded me.
There.
I focused my gaze on a small bird, a yellow-rumped warbler, and minutes later spotted a hermit warbler deep in the conifers. I documented their locations, and even though these weren’t rare per se, it was fun to keep track of their behaviors and patterns.
I moved locations, walking deeper into the forest to see what else I could find.
There, in all its glory, was a northern goshawk in hunting formation.
I imagined there was a nest nearby that the hawk was looking to provide food for in an undisturbed part of the forest. I crept and waited in the nooks and crannies of the forest, careful not to spook or frighten it as I lifted my binoculars and focused in on the dive movement of the majestic creature. Something in me settled.
I enjoyed the moment with my coffee and snapped an amateur series of photos on my phone. Not even a certain brunette could ruin this.
I hurried toward the boathouse. Usually, I’d head back to my cabin to change, but I’d foregone those moments to stay longer in the forest, and I had spare Crocs there.
Camp was bustling as I made my way through its winding paths. Laughter greeted me as I passed each pod. That wasn’t too concerning, because most people laughed while at camp, but the stares were… new.
I kept moving in a hurry to the lake. Were those more stares?
Another camper, someone from Sawyer’s pod, seemed to do a double take when our paths crossed. She giggled. “Whoa.”
I turned my head, wondering what that was all about, when another group of campers broke into laughter.
But they upped the ante by pointing directly at me.
Did I have something on my shirt? I looked down at myself, and my shirt looked amazing as usual.
Maybe they just loved puns? No. No one liked puns that much.
I shook off that strange interaction and redirected my thoughts to getting the boat ready for the campers who were already showing up. They had their towels slung over their shoulders, big sunglasses, and a few beers in hand. I grinned at them.
But my grin quickly fell. Even they laughed when they saw me.
They climbed into the boat, and I started it up after my safety check, feeling self-conscious. I tried to push the feeling aside, assuming it would go once we got out on the water and I made the introductions. Unfortunately, the snickers continued, much to my chagrin.
“What is it?” I finally asked, exasperation in my tone.
Best friends Liza and Celeste were librarians in my pod this week. They both mimed a large ring around my eye area.
“You just have a little something here,” Liza clarified.
“What do you mean, something?”
“It’s like black makeup in a heavy ring. Did you lose a bet?” Celeste asked.
“Or take a dare?” Liza added with a wince.
Oh. No.
I pictured my binoculars sitting peacefully with my thermos at the boathouse before I procured them yesterday.
I rubbed at the marks and looked at my fingers, seeing the residue spread all over them. Apparently, that had only made it worse. I went to use my T-shirt to wipe when Liza stopped me.
“That’ll probably stain,” she warned with a pitying look. “You’ll need makeup remover or probably an oil to take it off. I have some back in my cabin.”
Celeste pulled out her phone camera to show me the damage that had been done. Yep, I’d walked around camp with literal black circles rimming my eyes, transforming me into a raccoon that watched birds. And I instantly knew who the culprit was.
I put my sunglasses on and hoped that time wouldn’t make things worse. Luckily, I had this boat trip around the lake to plot my revenge.
“We could put their staplers in Jell-O?” Celeste suggested.
Camille gently shut that down. “Nat doesn’t seem like she has a pressing need for a stapler. And I don’t think campers bring staplers to camp.”
Darek looked pensive. “We don’t want to go after one person. We have to take out all of Andromeda.” The fervent way he said this made me realize that maybe I wasn’t the only one with a camp vendetta. Maybe this went beyond pod loyalty.
“Okay, how about we cover their picnic table in sticky notes?” Liza mused. “I did it at work to a colleague once.”
“Oh my gosh. That was you?” Celeste looked betrayed and then burst into a loud belly laugh. We all joined in as we drifted along the lake.
Autumn would have a conniption if I stole her sticky notes to prank Nat back.
“How about something that’s not as stationary-focused?” I suggested.
Darek scratched his beard. “Well, if not office supplies, how about food?”
Turned out, there were a lot of different food-related pranks we could choose from. As a group, we considered and debated the best options. We settled on an easy one that we could pull off flawlessly, each with our own parts to play.
The following morning, I stood in front of a beautifully decorated wicker basket of revenge eclairs. Delicious looking, perfect ovals of light pastry, iced with chocolate. If they expected them to be filled with Boston cream, they were in for a surprise.
Instead, they were getting what they deserved… Well, what Nat deserved.
Did I feel bad for Nat’s other campers caught in the crosshairs? No. Being at camp sometimes meant you got pranked, and that was that. They were unlucky enough to be in a venomous snake’s pod.
It hadn’t taken long for the five of us to plot our revenge mission.
Darek found a random basket in the craft room.
Camille snagged the relish and filled the eclair shells, courtesy of Azalea, with Celeste and Liza.
When it was all together, I put the final touch on a perfect ganache topping, after taking my critiques from the bake-off to heart.
I was so proud of us. They were diabolical.
I carried the Trojan Horse over in the early hours of the next morning with utter delight and placed them on Nat’s pod’s picnic table. The basket looked innocent and welcoming, with a note that said,
Happy eating!
Love, Azalea.
She’d forgive me for that later.
My boat conspirators all tucked behind trees in the forest, far from the view of Nat’s pod, with clean binoculars at the ready.
Nat started every morning with a cheery greeting, checking in to see how people in Andromeda slept.
I knew this because I’d witnessed her playing music from her speaker, not so loud it’d wake the couple that might sleep in but loud enough to energize the newly woken campers.
She played the randomest songs, from Hamilton to Huntrix to some indie music I’d never heard of before, and her campers seemed to love it.
From our position in the trees, I saw three of Nat’s newest batch of campers, Russell, Curtis, and Drew, sluggishly emerge from their cabins.
It took a minute for the tired-looking campers to see the trick eclairs, perking up as they each reached for one.
They took their bites in tandem until the moment things went awry.
Russell was the most boisterous in his vehemence, upset after a significant bite. He spat it out and kept spitting while a couple of my podmates snickered at his reaction.
Did I feel a little bad? Yes. Did it make it that much funnier when he started using his fingers to wipe the relish flavor from his tongue? Absolutely.
Curtis spat his out with little flair and mouthed, “What the hell?”
Drew threw his eclair on the ground and stomped on it like it might jump back up without some interference.
As if they were of one mind, Curtis and Russell looked at each other and played right into our hands, going for the cooler at the side of the table. The cooler, which we refilled daily, usually had a variety of beverages, but they’d only find tampered-with Gatorades inside.
Nat was right there in the thick of it with her pod.
She was clearly not expecting the relish either, and her face scrunched up adorably upon first taste.
Only, she didn’t spit it out or complain.
The chaos continued around her, but she didn’t pay attention.
Instead, the feisty counselor lifted her head and looked into the trees, chewing slowly, her eyes narrowed, as if she were searching for us.
She knew we were out here, and she stood her ground.
I nearly revealed myself, just to show I wasn’t backing down either.
Nat broke her stare as Russell turned to her in disbelief. “Why would someone do this?”