CHAPTER 2
By the time I get to the campground the place is swimming with unfamiliar faces.
I don’t remember other Fourth of July weekends being like this.
Normally it’s all the same people year after year.
The office informed me that this week is special because they’re doing a retreat week with a bunch of classes and activities planned.
I don’t really give a shit about them, but if I get bored, maybe I'll check them out.
My camper is already here, buttoned up just how I left it last year at the end of the season. This is my second camper. I have a smaller one I use when I’m traveling for work. It beats staying in hotels and paying out the ass for them.
My nose is assaulted by the dank smell of must and mildew the very second I open the camper door. The first thing I do is go around and open all the windows and vents, hoping it helps air the small space out.
Before long, I have the camper fully set up with its sides out, the water hooked up, and the sewage. It’s on my third trip to the truck to grab my supplies when I hear a high-pitched squeal that sends a chill down my spine.
Through the thicket of trees, I spot a group of girls huddling around a picnic table. Great, I’m going to be neighbors for a whole week with some prissy little girls who probably don’t even know how to light a fire or pitch a tent. I wonder if the office would move them if I asked.
I try to listen to their conversation, but one of them pulls out a phone and starts blasting country music as they busy themselves doing something at the table. Annoyed, I head back into my camper for the night, wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake coming here for my birthday.
I turn on the TV and pop on a show about house remodeling, hoping it gives me some inspiration for my own home back in Maple Brook Falls.
I’ve been designing it for a couple of years now, slowly gathering supplies on my plot of land Hunter signed over to me a couple of years back, when I helped him build his barn.
I just haven’t had the time to dedicate to just that project and not knowing how big of a home I’ll need has me torn on the design.
Before long, I’m lost in the show and sketching out my dream kitchen, snacking on some beef jerky, and sipping a beer. The thundering sizzle of fireworks catches me off guard, causing me to spill my beer on my lap.
“Fuck.”
I quickly change into a pair of basketball shorts and dart out the door of the camper.
I’m ready to rip into whatever idiot is setting off fireworks at eleven o’clock at night, when I realize it’s coming from the girl’s campsite next to mine.
Of course, it would be them. These little girls have no idea what they are doing, and that it’s way past quiet time per the campground’s rules.
The giggles and low screams bouncing off the trees sound familiar. It can’t be. There’s no way in hell she’s here. I slip on my boots I left next to the step and grab my flashlight off my little outside table next to my door.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I must know if it’s her or not, or if I’m losing my goddamn mind.
I know this campground like the back of my hand, so getting around without being detected is a piece of cake.
My first move is to make my way behind their tents without making too much noise and drawing attention to myself.
The flashlight in my pocket weighs down my shorts as I delicately step around some downed branches.
The glow of their fire and a lantern is the only guiding light.
My heart hammers with each step I make towards their tent line.
A firework shoots into the sky, illuminating the trees and campsite in a red tint.
My gut instinct is to dart behind a tree to conceal my presence, but I realize they’re too distracted looking up into the sky to notice me creeping up on them.
I’m shielded by a little red tent, hardly big enough for one person to lie down in. The top of the tent keeps me covered as I listen to the group chat.
“Are you going to be glued to that thing all week long?” A nasally girl asks.
“She cannot hear you. She has those earbuds in. I think she only has to get that essay done, so hopefully not. Now let’s make some s’mores. I’m starving.”
The group cheers ‘s’mores’ for a solid three minutes, clearly not giving any fucks about the campground quiet time restrictions.
When I finally make my move to peek over the top of the tent, I can’t see who these girls really are.
All their backs are to me as they crowd back around their picnic table, jabbing marshmallows onto sticks.
I could sit here and wait until I can find out what I want like a creep waiting in the night, or I can go back to my site and jerk off to the thought of who might be on the other side of the tree line.
“You have all week,” I whisper, trying to convince myself that I don’t need to know right fucking now.