Chapter Six
Oliver
What is in the camp water that makes this many people this chipper before seven in the morning? Because it’s certainly not coffee. I haven’t seen a single person—adult or otherwise—with a mug or insulated cup signaling that anyone here is fueled by caffeine.
Regardless, everyone is smiling at each other, laughing loudly, and singing some of the weirdest songs I’ve ever heard. The youth staff are lined up in a bucket brigade, passing boxes into the lodge kitchen from the small semi truck that made it up that washboard dirt road at an ungodly hour this morning.
I’m glad my phone had enough battery to last through the night and function as my alarm this morning—while my cabin has electric lights, it does not have power outlets—because after hearing Sadie’s “wake up call” this morning, I don’t want to be on the receiving end of it.
I had barely stumbled out of my cabin, dressed in the staff shirt Sadie gave me last night and the one pair of jeans I brought with me, when she started singing at the far end of the line of cabins on the east side of the lake. Groans echoed from most of the cabins, but not loud enough to overpower Sadie singing, “I’m alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic!” to the tune of “If You’re Happy and You Know It.”
I was neither alive, awake, alert, nor enthusiastic when she stopped in front of my cabin with a smile that looked like the sun itself.
She practically bounced away without another word, more spring in her step than last night, and within minutes, most of the boys were out of their cabins, fully dressed, which I had to admit, was very impressive. I remember being a teenage boy, and I’m not sure I would have answered that wake up call. As I wandered up to the lodge after the youth staff, I prayed for a working coffee maker. A prayer which went unanswered.
That same woman is directing the teenagers around me as I struggle to find the will to fully wake up. I lean against the lodge, watching the youth staff go from typical mess-around teenagers to a small colony of worker ants. Their movements aren’t efficient or orderly, but they get the job done. Sadie spots me and comes over, obviously amused at my grouchy morning persona, putting one hand on her hip while looking up at me with those captivating hazel eyes.
“Not a morning person?” she asks, more lively than anyone should be before seven in the morning.
“Not before coffee.”My gaze slides from the youth staff to Sadie. She tips her head back and laughs, making me want to flinch away from its volume at the same time that I draw closer at its musical quality.
“I didn’t realize the coffee maker was broken, or I would have picked up another one when I was in town on Saturday.” She reaches up and pats the top of my shoulder playfully, which is comical because her arm has to go above her head to reach it. “You’ll be okay, buddy. Give it a few days and you’ll be just like us.”
She says it like it’s a good thing, but a small part of me is horrified that I might turn into one of these bubbly morning people, singing about the Titanic and some Austrian yodeler. All. Without. Coffee.
Absolutely terrifying.
“In the event that I don’t want that to happen,” I begin, “is there an alternative to coffee?” I probably sound like a petulant toddler. Me no workie without my go-go juice. But I only made it through college and my master’s program because of more espressos than I can count, and it’s a habit I’m not going to be quick to break.
At least, by my choice.
“I’m sure if you ask around, one of the boys will have Mountain Dew. Actually, I’m pretty sure almost all of them will have it.” Sadie laughs and shakes her head.
I scrunch my nose, my mouth pinching into a tight frown. That makes Sadie laugh even more.
This woman gives away her laughter freely, and it makes my heart squeeze in my chest. If there weren’t a rule against purpling, I’d be finding a way to turn her all sorts of violet.
“You’re honestly telling me that all this,” I wave at her from head to toe, “happens without caffeine?”
She shrugs and looks away, back to the teens running crates of food into the kitchen. “Yep. Au natural.” The side of her mouth quirks up, but the apples of her cheeks darken in a faint blush. After a few more minutes, all of the crates are unloaded, and she turns back to me. “Let’s grab some breakfast, and then we’ll go over what your jobs are going to be today.”
It’s impossible not to smile back at her, even though I’m terrified for what today will have in store. Until yesterday, I had never set foot in a summer camp, and today I’ll be thrown into the deep end with only Sadie as my life preserver.
As I follow her into the lodge, I hope it will be enough.
After breakfast, Sadie steers me out of the lodge toward the parking lot. I help her set up a folding table and two chairs that my parents claim when they’re finished with breakfast. Sadie tells me that normally, the lead counselors handle registration, but that she switched things around so I don’t have to worry about it.
“Instead,” she says with a wry smile on her face, “we’re going to be helping the kids with their cabin assignments.”
I almost wish I had stayed at the desk and suffered through the awkwardness of registration. Because what we end up doing is waiting for the participants to show up and check in with Mom and Dad—something that only takes a few minutes—where they’re given a cabin and a group assignment, and Sadie and I introduce ourselves and walk with them, sometimes a small group of them, to their cabins.
This camp isn’t huge. It’s probably less than a mile to walk the loop around the lake, but to walk the kids out to the cabins—boys on the east side of the lake, girls on the west side—wait for them to put away their bags, and then walk them back to the main field by the lodge for ice breaker games? I was dying last night taking only my things to my cabin on the far side of the lake. And this morning, I have to do it again. And again. And again.
After our first few trips, Sadie and I decide to split up so we can take twice the number of groups. Her congeniality has rubbed off on me, and although I’m still caffeine-less, I’m more friendly with the participants than I originally thought I would be. I might not be the ray of sunshine Sadie is—the ray of sunshine that instantly lights up the faces of the participants who are nervous to leave their parents for the first time—but I’m not a total grump either. In fact, I’m finding more commonalities with the teenage boys who had to wake up early to make the drive up to camp.
As I talk to the guys I lead to the cabins and back, I discover that most of them are from relatively close by. An hour’s drive, maybe. But there’s a few who traveled farther—Salt Lake City, Pocatello, even one from Provo. And all I can do is shake my head at them because why would you drive upwards of three hours to come to this little camp?
Pretty soon, all of the participants are checked in, bags in their cabins, and congregated in the field. Parents wave their last goodbyes from the parking lot as it empties slowly.
Sadie does a quick head count of both participants and staff before stepping to what I assume is the “front” of the group. Unsure of whether I should be up there with her, I end up somewhere along the side of the teeming mass of teenagers, closer to Sadie than not.
“HEY CAMP brOWER!” Sadie shouts above the raucous din of the participants. My jaw nearly drops to the dirt right then and there. I have never heard such a loud sound come out of someone so small. But that loud voice silences everyone on the field, drawing all eyes to her small frame.
“I said, HEY CAMP brOWER!” she repeats herself, louder this time, and she gets back a chorus of, “Hey Camp Director!” Some of the participants must be regulars because there’s a few confident voices mingled with the hesitant ones, and they’re all supported by the youth staff.
“Welcome, campers!” Sadie is still shouting, but at a more reasonable level. Even though she’s shorter than more than half the people here, she can easily be heard by all of them. “We are so excited you’re here to spend the week with us at Camp Brower! I’m Sadie Meadows, the camp director. Before we get started with our group breakouts, I want to introduce you to the rest of the staff!”
She calls out Tyler Adams’ name, and he raises his arm high, waving it as all the heads turn to get a glimpse of him. “Tyler is the assistant camp director! He’s my number one guy, so if you need something and can’t find me, find him! Tyler’s wife Danielle is our camp cook. She’s not here right now because she’s working hard to get everything set up for lunch, but she can usually be found up in the lodge.” Sadie points a hand to the large building. “If you can’t find Tyler, find Danielle! She’ll know where he is.”
A round of laughter ripples through the participants. Sadie continues to introduce the adult staff, eventually getting to me, and I obediently wave my hand in the air like all the others. After my introduction, Sadie rapid-fire shouts out the names of the youth staff, and instructs them to come stand at the front with her. Once all twelve of the youth staff are spread out at the front of the group, Sadie pulls a folded piece of paper out of her back pocket and starts reading off participant names, grouping them together, and assigning a pair of youth staff members to each group.
Once all of the names are read, we have four groups of twelve participants, led by two staffers. Sadie calls me and Mia to the front, and assigns each of us two of the groups, putting me in charge of twenty-four participants and four staffers.
Forcing a smile to my face as I look out over the youth I’m assigned, a feeling of unease settles over me. I’ve never had so many people looking to me for direction—a direction I’m not sure I can even give them, since I’m feeling rather directionless myself right now.
“Now we’re going to split up into our Big Groups and disperse for our camp introduction activity! At noon, we’ll gather back at the lodge for lunch! And…GO!”
While Mia leads her half of the participants away to the other end of the field, I have a few seconds to get my crap together and take control of this group. While I’m grateful to have Sadie’s help today, I know I need to set the precedent with these kids.
Even though it terrifies me.
In that moment of decision, I meet Sadie’s eye, and she gives me an encouraging smile and nod.
“Alright everybody,” I start, and while my voice is loud enough to carry over the smaller group, it’s not even close to Sadie’s. “Today is literally my first day ever on a camp staff, so Sadie is going to be helping me out. And by that, I mean that she’s pretty much going to be running this show.” The participants laugh and I wave Sadie over to me.
“So, Miss Camp Director, lead the way.”
My first day is not as bad as it could be.
The day’s not over yet, so there’s still room for it to tank, but I’m choosing to be optimistic.
“Do you remember what song you’re leading?” Sadie says quietly from my right as I await my turn to run onto the fire bowl stage. Throughout today, she taught me the words and actions to the song that Landon was going to lead during tonight’s campfire. It seemed easy enough when we were practicing before dinner, but now that the campfire is blazing high and the campers are expecting a banger of a campfire program, worry is gnawing away at my nerves.
“Moose Juice,” I say. It’s such a silly name for an even sillier song. But if there’s anything I’ve learned in the last twenty-four hours, it’s that camp is full of silly things.
Take the first half of the campfire program, for example.
It began with two youth staffers pretending to be cavemen who discovered fire. Followed by something called “The Enlarging Machine,” which ended with a staffer getting doused by a bucket of water. I thought I had seen the extent of it, but then half the youth staff ran on as “turkeys”, with their arms and legs shoved into the arms of their hoodies. A few of them fell over and had to be rolled off the dirt stage. There have been a few more songs and skits, and my song is one of the last ones. Sadie showed me the program earlier, but the names of the skits, songs, and run-ons hold no meaning for me. The only thing I remember is that I’m after the Stick Up run-on, and they’re next.
“Remember, it’s a repeat-after-me and a do-as-I-do.”
“Right.”
“Don’t forget an action for the do-as-I-do part.”
I turn to Sadie. “That would have been great to mention earlier.” I look at her with panicked eyes. I’ve been running this song and its actions through my head all afternoon, and now she tells me I need an additional action?
She bumps me with her elbow. “Just flex your muscles or something.”
I tip my head down slowly to look at her. Sadie’s face is bright red and she’s trying not to look at me. Seeing her flustered over that remark helps me forget about my nerves.
“If you say so,” I mumble to her as the participants applaud the staffers exiting the dirt stage.
Once that act is clear, the kid in front of me hefts a large stick and runs across, pausing in the middle to raise it into the air. “This is a stick up!” he shouts, waiting a moment for the participants to get the joke, before running off the other side.
“Okay, you’re up!” Sadie says quietly, looking up at me with a small smile. “And don’t worry, I’ll be here if you need me.” She pats me on the arm before pushing me forward.
I’ve been in front of about half of these participants all day today, I can manage another five minutes.
Hyping myself up a little like I would before a big lift in the gym, I run onto the stage with a smile. Turning toward the participants, who are sitting on logs spread upward in an amphitheater surrounded by pines, I take a deep breath and project my voice to the back of the firebowl.
“This is a repeat-after-me song!”
The participants shout back, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, “This is a repeat-after-me-song!”
I flick my eyes toward Sadie as I continue with, “This is a do-as-I-do song!” I flex my arms twice—up and down—like Sadie suggested, and I have to smother a smirk when her eyes widen and she looks away quickly.
Now for the song. Please, please don’t mess up.
“There was a great big moose!” I bring my hands to my head like antlers, and the campers respond by repeating my words and actions.
“Who liked to drink a lot of juice!” We continue the song, bouncing back and forth between me and the campers, through the first verse, the second verse, and the third verse. My worries about messing up the lyrics or forgetting the actions disappears as I immerse myself in the goofiness of the song, and more surprisingly, how fun it is to let loose and sing about a moose and his juice.
With the last WAY-O WAY-Os of the chorus echoing through the trees and the fading light, I wave at the participants and run off the stage. Chest heaving from how much breath it took to sing that song at the top of my lungs, I quietly climb up the slope and behind the log seats, trying not to draw attention away from the next skit.
I finally make my way back to where Sadie is standing, and even though it’s quickly darkening, it’s impossible to miss her beaming smile.
“You did it, Oliver!” she says quietly, but with exorbitant amounts of enthusiasm. Hopping from foot to foot, she looks like she’s about to launch toward me for a hug, but she stops herself and raises a hand for a high five instead. That dang purple rule. I smack her palm with mine, taking what contact I can get. “And you didn’t even need my help.”
Sadie’s approval burns bright in my chest as I tuck it away to save for later. Last night, I was certain that I was going to fail today, having never been to summer camp myself, but with Sadie’s guidance, I might just make it the few weeks Mom and Dad are expecting me to stay.
I watch the rest of the campfire program standing next to Sadie, who gently ushers each act on at the right time. The energy of the campers rises and falls with the flames of the fire, building to a bright crescendo, and then simmering down to a pile of smoldering embers. As the flames begin to flicker out, Sadie takes the stage. There’s just enough light to see by, as Sadie draws the attention of the entire camp.
“Thank you all for your participation tonight! We’re going to dismiss you row by row to keep things orderly. Please pay attention to where you’re walking as you exit to make sure you keep your footing. Please head back to your cabins for the night—staffers will be coming around to make sure everyone makes it to the right place.
She extends one arm, indicating the first row to begin filing out of the firebowl. The participants file down the trail, which is lined with the youth staff, who pass out high fives as everyone exits. I stand back and watch as Austin and Mia, the two activity directors, properly douse the remnants of the fire, and as the last campers leave, the youth staff file out after them.
When only the adult staff remain, Sadie turns back to me and motions for me to follow her down the trail. As we walk down the narrow path toward the main trail that circles the lake, she tells me about the evening routine—my evening routine.
“Curfew is at ten, and it”s your job as the lead counselor to make sure all the boys are in their cabins. Hailey does the same thing for the girls. Either Tyler or I will come around at about 10:15 to do the final check for the night.”
She flicks her wrist to look at her plain, analog watch.
“Campfire nights are usually later than the others. It’s almost ten now, so we can do a loop through the boys’ cabins on our way up to the lodge.”
Sadie moves in front of me for a particularly narrow part of the trail, and I ask, “What’s at the lodge?”
She throws a smile I can barely see over her shoulder. Mountain grasses hit me in the shins as I veer too close to the edge of the trail in the wan light.
“My phone.”
We finally come to the intersection of the main trail, and Sadie leads me to the right, toward the boys cabins.
“Since there’s no service up here, there’s no point in keeping it on me. So I leave it in the camp office to charge during the day.”
I take two quick steps to catch up to her. She may be small, but she walks fast, and even with my long legs, I struggle to keep up. By the time we reach the outermost cabin, I’m breathing deeply, trying to catch my breath. When she turns to check on me, I’m not quick enough to force my lungs into taking even, shallow breaths, and she chuffs a quiet laugh.
“It’s the altitude,” she says, propping a hand on her hip. “You’ll get used to it in a few days.”
Waking up early without coffee, the altitude, the camp songs. For Sadie, it seems like there’s nothing a few days won’t fix. I’m sure in her mind, I’ll be a pro at all this by the end of the week. While I admit, today wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, it wasn’t a walk in the park, either.
“I’ll be alright,” I say through my heaving breaths.
“Good.” Sadie’s smile is the easiest thing to pick out in the fading light, whether because her white teeth are a stark contrast to her tan skin or because she radiates her own sort of light, I can’t say. “Well, you should do your curfew check. I’ll run up to the lodge and be back for final checks before you know it.”
Sadie raises her hand like she’s going to pat me on the arm, but then changes her mind and drops it to her side. The darkening night hides a lot of the expression on her face, but I can still see the way she blinks away the awkwardness of whether or not to touch me in a completely platonic way. She throws up a hand in a wave and turns to walk down the path, through the cabin area, and up toward the lodge.
I stand, watching her retreating figure in the dim light longer than I probably should. I shouldn’t stare, knowing I can’t act on any of my thoughts about how beautiful and capable Sadie is, but I can’t help myself. Luckily, there aren’t any boys—participants or staffers—still in the open area around the cabins.
While Sadie didn’t give me explicit instructions on what to do for my curfew check, I crack open each door and count the number of boys in each cabin—six. Some cabins still have lights on, and I remind them to turn them off. When I stop at the end of the row, all male staffers and participants are accounted for, and I can finally breathe a sigh of relief that I’ve made it through my first day.