Chapter Eight
The first few nights at camp were weird.
I couldn’t sleep. As a counselor, I was responsible for one cabin with twelve bunks, but I slept in a private room at the back end.
Knowing that there were twelve people on the other side of my door, and that I wasn’t alone, was simultaneously comforting and freaky.
I didn’t want to spend another night lying awake staring at the ceiling until I finally dozed off, only to rest for a few futile hours before it was time to wake the campers.
So, on the third night, I snuck out my window and started walking toward the lake.
The short path was illuminated by the full moon, and the lake twinkled with the reflection of all the stars.
The hush-aah of the water and the cicadas’ song were hypnotic, drawing me closer.
“Hey,” someone whispered behind me, their voice clearing me out of my stupor.
“Oh my gosh!” I yelped, startled. My heart raced. I turned around to see Hannah trying not to laugh but failing.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, the moisture in her eyes reflecting the milky glow from the moon.
Her hair was down, so I almost didn’t recognize her as the same counselor who walked around with a messy ponytail and endless tendrils outlining her face.
I did recognize her as that sporty girl from my school who always looked in a hurry or like she just finished a jog.
“It’s okay,” I said, regaining my composure.
“I was sitting on the bench back there and I wasn’t sure if you saw me or not; can I join you?”
“Oh,” I said, registering the bench beyond her. I’d walked right past it and hadn’t noticed her at all. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d enjoy the view.”
We walked up the remaining length of the dock until we reached the edge, flinching when one of the planks wailed under our weight.
With the entire camp behind us and the kayaks and water toys ashore, all you could see was the expanse of lake and trees in the distance.
It hit me then, how far away from home I was.
How deep in the middle of nowhere we were.
We sat down, and Hannah admitted that she’d been having trouble sleeping too and came out to sit on the bench last night.
We just sat there and slowly found our footing in conversation, talking about what we’d learned about our campers so far.
Who farted, who picked their nose, who the beauty queen was versus the worm-eating daredevils.
We sat so close together that her hair brushed against my shoulder, tickling my skin.
Her body heat radiated around me, blocking the breeze from the lake.
Only the scents of moss and fresh water reached us.
After that one conversation, I felt like more than a shadow of a person, more tethered to my own life than I’d felt in a long time.
I came out every night after that, chasing that same feeling.