3: You feed me. Context: Does there need to be one?
4: You push me to be a better version of myself. Context: I am a shut-in. I know that. I know that if there were an option to watch and do, I’d watch. If someone handed me a million dollars and said that if I took the money, I’d be famous, and if I didn’t, I’d stay the same, I’d stay the same. But since you, you’ve pushed me further than I thought possible. I’ve conquered one of my many fears because of you.
5: I like that you’re considerate. Context: When you smoke, you blow the smoke away from me. When I don’t want to talk, you don’t press.
6: The way you talk about your family. I can tell you’re all close and loving, and that’s… a big deal with me–more than I lead on, honestly.
7: When you sing and our taste in music (no, I’m not recycling your answer). Sometimes, when you sing, it seems like you’re singing to me. And I know that’s inconsiderate of me to think, and I might be reading too much into it because of my maladaptive daydreaming… but yeah… I might delete this reason later.
8: You bring me back to reality and send me off to my daydreams. I must confess that I’ve daydreamed about kissing you; they frequently come now. It’s a little frustrating, but I think it’s positive, considering I’ve never daydreamed about kissing anyone–I don’t include any members of Imagine Dragons.
9: You get my art. You get me.
10: You saved me. That night–the first night at the Service Station… since then, you’ve saved me from my nightmares. I know you’re interested in learning more about me, and one day, I’ll tell you more. However, I’d like you to know that you saved me that night.
11: Confession. These aren’t ten things I like about you… These are ten things I love about you. And I probably won’t send this until I’m at camp. I’m too scared of your reaction, so I’ll use this as an opportunity to delay it. I’ll see you Monday, Conner.
31
CAMP
Camp.
I’ve never been, but it doesn’t sound so shocking given my upbringing.
Tall, mossy trees tower over us, asserting sheer dominance in an eerie way. Some girls on the bus joke about it looking as if we are stepping into a horror movie, but I’m not convinced. Creepy monsters and ghosts don’t scare me when people can be just as scary, if not more.
Mrs Moore heads out first, then it goes in order from the back to the front. And we, Samantha, Renee, and Zarya, are middle-class. Forgotten, even by the teachers. They pity the front row, and they notice the back. We are just along for the ride.
I grab my bag and hand Samantha her suitcase. When I ask her what she brought, she tells me she has all her skincare and haircare products inside. I can tell she takes care of herself. Her olive skin glows, and her hair glistens in the sunlight, sending curly ringlets down her back.
The year twelve bus parks beside ours as we get out. Mrs Moore doesn’t pay mind to the Year Twelve students. She makesus follow her to where we will stay tonight. Our first stop is the four cabins. We already eye the popular girls. Two groups end up claiming the cabins, and as they head off to their luxurious rooms with better mattresses, beds, and private bathrooms, Mrs Moore shows us to the smaller cabins that remind me of tissue boxes—small, white, boxed containers.
“I thought we were going to be together?” Samantha whispers to Renee.
“Me too,” Renee replies. “But I guess the larger group of girls got the cabin.”
“Go in groups of two and claim your room,” Miss Moore says. “Afterwards, head back to the bonfire. From there, we will go hiking and abseiling.”
Samantha and I look at each other. Then, we go down the rows of containers. Zarya and Renee enter one, and others before us move from door to door, checking them out before settling into their designated ones. By the time we find one, it’s the last one left, facing the eerily haunting trees.
Samantha eyes me before opening the door. “Uh…what the fuck is this?” The room catches her off guard, and Samantha isn’t usually the one to be surprised.
There is a bunk bed pressed against the right side of the wall, and that is it. A window with a hole in the fly screen is on the other side of the small container. Samantha flicks the light switch and yelps when it makes a popping sound, plunging us into the dimly lit early morning light.
“Wow,” she breathes.
I go to the window and close it before flies or mosquitoes weasel their way in, when I realise the window doesn’t lock. It seems like someone broke the hinge, which reminds me of my door at home.
Grimacing at the irritating resemblance of the two, I face Samantha, but she’s already out the door and calling MrsMoore’s name. I follow behind her and struggle to catch up to her long strides when someone slams into me. I stumble back and land on my arse. “Loser,” Sarah Jane sneers as she walks past.
I sigh as I rise and follow Samantha. She’s already at the bonfire and complaining to Mrs Moore.
“I’m sorry, Samantha. We are already swamped. There’s no other cabin available for you, but I can arrange for a worker to inspect it. Aside from that, maybe you and…Noya…can bunk with someone else.”
“Seriously?” Samantha blurts. “This is inhumane!”
“It’s camp,” Mrs Moore says stubbornly. “Embrace the wild.”