“Hi,” I say.
My voice is meek, almost apologetic, as if I’m sorry to be invading their space, dragging my suitcase behind me. I haven’t been alone with a group of teenage girls since, well, not long after my first time at Camp Nightingale. After what happened here, I gravitated to boys. Shy, nerdy ones. Math whizzes, sci-fi geeks, and drama club members quakingly emerging from the closet. They became my tribe. They still are. I’m comfortable in their presence.
Yes, boys can break your heart and betray you, but not in the same stinging way girls can.
I clear my throat. “I’m Emma.”
“Hi, Emma. I’m Sasha.”
This is spoken by the youngest, a girl of about thirteen who’s perched on the top bunk to my left, her skinny legs dangling. She’s got a friendly face—huge smile, rounded cheeks, bright eyes made even more prominent by a pair of red-framed glasses. I find myself relaxing in her presence. At least one of them seems nice.
“Nice to meet you, Sasha.”
“I’m Krystal,” says the girl sprawled on the bunk below her. “Spelled with a K.”
A few years older and several pounds heavier than Sasha, she’s practically hidden inside an oversize hoodie and baggie shorts. White socks with blue stripes circling the cuff have been pulled up to her knees. On the bed next to her is a ragged-looking teddy bear. In her lap sits a comic book. Captain America.
“Krystal with a K. Got it.”
I turn to the other girl in the room, who lies on her side on the top bunk, elbow bent, head propped up. She appraises me in silence, her almond-shaped eyes flashing a combination of disdain and curiosity. A diamond stud adorns her nose. She looks to be about sixteen and, like most girls her age, thoroughly unimpressed with everything.
“Miranda,” she says. “I took the top bunk. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Bottom bunk is fine,” I say as I hoist my suitcase onto the bed, the mattress springs sighing under its weight.
Miranda climbs down from the bunk and stretches, her arms and legs enviably thin. She’s knotted her camp-mandated polo shirt at her midriff, revealing her taut stomach. Another diamond stud rests in her navel. She keeps stretching, although it’s more of a silent declaration. She’s an alpha female. Marking her territory. Making it abundantly clear she’s the hottest in the room. An old Vivian trick.
I feel exactly like I did the first time I set foot inside this cabin. Naïve. Tremulous. Unsure of what to do next as the girls stare at me expectantly. Well, Sasha and Krystal do. Miranda climbs back to her top bunk and spreads herself across the bed with a dramatic sigh.
“They did tell you I’d be staying here, right?” I say.
“They said someone else would be here,” Krystal informs me. “But they didn’t say who it was.”
Miranda’s voice floats from above. “Or how old you are.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I say.
“Are you our camp counselor?” Sasha asks.
“More like babysitter,” Krystal adds.
Miranda does her one better. “More like warden.”
“I’m an artist,” I tell them. “I’m here to teach you how to paint.”
“What if we don’t want to paint?” Sasha says.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”
“I like to draw.” This comes from Krystal, already leaning off the bed to reach beneath it, where several tattered notebooks sit. She pulls one from the pile and opens it up. “See?”
On the page is a sketch of a superhero. A woman with fiery eyes and the bulging muscles of a weight lifter. Her uniform is dark blue and skintight, with a green skull emblazoned across the chest. The skull’s eyes glow red.
“You did this?” I say, sincerely impressed. “It’s really good.”
And it is. The hero’s face is perfect. She’s been given a square jaw, a sharp nose, eyes that blaze with defiance. Her hair flows off her head in dark tendrils. With a few strokes of her pencil, Krystal had conveyed this woman’s strength, courage, and determination.
“Her name is Skull Crusher. She can kill a man with her bare hands.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I say. “Since you’re already an artist, I’ll let you draw while the others paint.”
Krystal accepts the deal with a smile. “Cool.”
She and Sasha continue to stare as I unpack, waiting for me to say more. Feeling extremely awkward, I ask, “So why did you want to come to camp?”
“My guidance counselor at school suggested it,” Sasha says. “She said it would be a good learning experience for me, seeing how I’m inquisitive.”
“Oh?” I say. “About what?”
“Um, everything.”
“I see.”
“My dad wanted me to come,” Krystal says. “It was either this or get a job flipping burgers somewhere.”
“I think you made the right choice.”
“I didn’t want to come,” Miranda says. “My grandmother forced me to. She said I’d only get in trouble if I stayed home this summer.”
I look up at her. “And would you?”
Miranda shrugs. “Probably.”
“Listen,” I say, “whether you want to be here or not, I need to be clear about something. I’m not here to be your den mother. Or babysitter.” I flick my gaze up at Miranda. “Or warden. I don’t want to cramp your style.”
All of them groan.
“What, don’t kids say that anymore?”
“No,” Krystal says emphatically.
“Definitely not,” Sasha adds.
“Well, whatever the current equivalent of that is, it’s not why I’m here. I’m here to help you learn, if you want. Or, if you’d like, we can just talk. Basically, think of me as your big sister for the summer. I just want you to enjoy yourselves.”
“I have a question,” Sasha says. “Are there bears here?”
“I guess so,” I reply. “But they’re more afraid of us than we are of them.”
“I did some research before I left home and read that that’s not true.”
“It’s probably not,” I say. “But it’s nice to imagine, don’t you think?”
“What about snakes?”
“What about them?”