Chapter Fourteen
For a year I worked on a pitch for a TV workplace comedy about people who worked on Christmas-themed romance movies. I thought
it was funny and dark, but I couldn’t sell it. It was a real heartbreak. Even after taking twelve meetings about it, no one
took a bite. For a year after all this rejection, I’d talk about it with anyone I met who was even tangentially connected
to TV production. Still no offers. Sometimes things don’t work out. And if showbiz life has taught me anything, it’s that
you cannot get attached to your projects; you have to always have another one at the ready. It’s a numbers game, and a timing
game. Be an idea machine, Jeff often advised me. I had learned, through trial and error, both to dream big and have outrageous hope, and to move on
if no one else shared those dreams.
I was thinking about all the advice I’d ever received as I drove up the rocky road to Camp Firefly on my first day, excited to be amongst theatre kids again.
What could I say at this low moment in my career that would inspire them?
I hit so many potholes, I thought for sure I’d damaged my car, but Ben’s family winery looked even more resplendent in the early morning.
When you reach the top of the hill—tree branches arcing over the packed-dirt road, their leaves fluttering and sparkling in the sun—you emerge to see one big wooden building: the converted barn sparkling white with a black roof.
It’s both a restaurant and a wine shop, but a summer camp during the day.
I didn’t need to be at camp until ten, when my workshop started, but I was too excited to see the kids arriving, meet the other staff, and make a good impression.
I wanted to make friends this summer as much as the campers likely did.
Campers between the ages of twelve and sixteen got out of their parents’ Hondas and Volvos in the winery parking lot and ran
excitedly toward the restaurant that had been converted into a hall with a ragtag assortment of chairs. There was a makeshift
wooden stage at the front. Every kid looked like they might be the quirky eccentric extrovert in their grade, and they were
coming together to bond with all the other quirky eccentrics. My people! I thought, taking their smiling faces in. I immediately opened my Notes app on my phone and wrote Comedy about a theatre camp?
Some of them hugged, knew each other from the year before. Some small groups started singing in unison songs from Rent and Les Miz and Hamilton. There were four girls, all likely sixteen, who were worryingly thin and clumped together looking cool. They wore baggy skateboard
jeans and tiny shirts, brightly coloured necklaces. Ben greeted them with open arms and said, “Oh, my leading ladies are back!”
And with that, their bodies relaxed and they grinned just like all the other lovable outcasts. The new kids stood back, biting
their lips and looking nervous but thrilled. They were like baby birds in a nest. I loved them all immediately. I wanted them
to have the best summer of their young lives.
It took me a minute to adjust to the fact that the winery’s restaurant, the one I’d wandered through to hide after Ben told
my mother we were fake dates, was also a completely transformed hall for us all to gather in. The bar was closed and the cocktail
tables pushed aside. The floor was covered in soft bouncy material, like a giant yoga mat. Neve was checking campers in with
a clipboard, while Ben was chatting with parents and leading kids into the hall. There were bright banners hung up that read
Lights, Camera, Camp! and Dream your dream!
I could immediately tell the musical theatre kids from the film kids, just as I had been able to when I was younger.
The camp counsellors from the university, Noah and Allegra, according to their name tags, were going around introducing themselves to everyone.
Allegra had an asymmetrical haircut, winged eyeliner, and wore a dress made of layers of black cotton, despite the heat.
Noah was big and burly, with a wavy mop of red hair and a T-shirt that read Theatre Is Life!
When I walked up to introduce myself, he grabbed my hand gently and spoke in a soft, feminine voice opposite to his build,
and I loved him immediately.
Allegra said, very seriously, with a slight Québécois accent and looking directly into my soul, “I am Allegra, and it is great
to meet you. I looked you up on IMDb. Maybe I could show you my short film that won a student prize?”
“Yeah, why not,” I muttered as though it weren’t an off-putting introduction. She was the kind of person I knew would probably be working on
crews in the city in a few years and fitting in really well.
I love the intensity of theatre people. How you can see their hearts beating through the polycotton blend of their slightly
awkward shirts and brightly coloured dresses. These were kids with so much emotion, so much to express. It had been a long
time since I’d been in a room buzzing with optimism and the thrill of creation. I didn’t regret my impulsive decision at all.
Next I met Alan, the musical theatre teacher, who was standing behind the bar with T-shirts for the campers. He had silver
hair and a serious stance, but broke into a smile when he handed me a bright blue staff T-shirt and said, “Welcome to Firefly!
I’m Alan, I teach dance and movement, and singing in the afternoons.”
“Hi, I’m the new writing teacher, Elise,” I said.
“You’re our last-minute saviour!” He pumped his arms in the air, delighted.
For some reason, I curtsied. I picked up the camp brochure that held all of the biographies of the workshop leaders.
I learned that Neve had gone to the National Theatre School in Montreal and played some small roles in Mirvish Theatre productions in Toronto, and that Alan had been on Broadway in the early nineties, and then had a few roles in Stratford once he moved up here.
He ran a local community theatre in Prince Edward County.
I felt silly for thinking that Ben and I would be the only workshop leaders with vibrant careers. Ugh, my ego.
Ben’s voice bellowed through the hall: “Hello, everyone! I am so happy to meet all the new kids and see all the returning
stars.” He looked to a group of older kids clustered together who were clearly very bonded. Some of them did pirouettes and
poses as a response. “So, as you know, we start every morning with an hour of improv games with Neve to warm us up and have
some fun. And then we split into two groups for musical theatre and dance with Alan, or screenwriting with our new teacher,
Elise! In the afternoon, everyone does acting with me, and then some lucky seniors get to do a directing workshop at four,
while everyone else gets to go for a swim at the lake. Pick up is between five ten and five thirty. So everyone who wants
to do writing, go stand next to Elise on the left side here, and those who want to do musical theatre and dance, go to the
right. And, yes, if you don’t like swimming, you are welcome to bring a book to the beach.”
I knew it would be comical to see the crowd divide up like this, but it was like all the colourful extroverts danced over
to Alan, and a few quiet campers walked slowly, as though they wished not to be perceived at all, over to me. Now, I thought
I would be a hotshot counsellor here, I’m not going to lie. But standing before me were five kids: four girls and a boy, three
of whom were crossing their arms and regarding me with slight suspicion.
“Everyone, did you know that Elise was a writer on Degrassi?” Ben said. “And she wrote the movie that I just finished wrapping this week!”
A few eyes turned toward me with excitement, but only one other kid joined.
A tall girl broke off from what I’d assumed was the popular clique of girls who knew each other; most had shiny long hair and the coolest of the generally uncool outfits.
Her hair was deep brown, long with a neat row of bangs.
After she stepped apart from her friends, I realized she wasn’t wearing any designer clothes; in fact, her shirt was one I’d been considering at Giant Tiger earlier in the week.
“Hi, I’m Hailey,” she said, offering me her hand to shake. “I’ve starred in two camp musicals, I might as well do some writing.
I already wrote a novel this year in English class.”
“Wow, that’s so exciting. I can’t wait to hear about it,” I said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically because she gave me
a skeptical look. I forgot that teenagers can always tell when you’re not being a real person.
I had approached this gig in such a cocky way, but from where I stood on the unpopular side of the room, it looked like I
was probably going to learn some things as well. That’s the best you can ask from life, right?
I watched Ben out of the corner of my eye. The annoyance I felt at him for going MIA and then being weird about Dave was starting
to melt away the more I watched him interact with the campers. They loved him, sure. But he clearly loved them back. It reminded me of how he was on set—kind, present, enthusiastic, willing to go
above and beyond for everyone in the room, and oddly, despite his reputation and his Instagram presence, authentic. Solid.
No one is one thing all the time. My personality at work was far more “take charge” than my regular life or vacation vibe.