“I know,” he says. “Totally worth it.”
I get a killer headache on Friday afternoon.
Gavin brings me chicken soup. Talia’s hand sanitizing goes into overdrive.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, impressed by his sweetness.
“I called in some favors,” he says.
He sits on the end of my bed and plays with my hair when no one’s looking.
Saturday is wild.
The kids are off the wall with excitement.
Partly to see their parents, but mostly because visiting parents means more candy.
“I asked for licorice!”
“I’m going to eat a million brownies,” says Fancy, who has her appetite back.
“My parents are divorced, so I’m getting twice as much!”
“Tonight’s going to be bonkers,” Talia tells me.
“I’m excited for the brownies,” I say.
“I’m excited for the tips,” Talia says.
During the last staff meeting, they told us that we are allowed to take tips. But you have to turn them down at least once. They acted out the process for us.
“Thank you so much for taking such good care of my kid!” Priya said, and tried to hand Botts something.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Botts said.
“But I insist! You’ve earned it!”
“Well, okay, thank you!”
The morning is all about cleanup. There’s a paper chase through the camp, where all the kids run around and try to pick up as much garbage as possible. Whoever collects the most bags of garbage gets a sundae party later this week.
Then we all clean up our bunks and porches.
Everyone has showers the morning of Visiting Day. We take the girls up right before lunch. Juniors have the last slot.
“Okay, no joke, girls, everyone has to wash their hair today!” I yell.
“I don’t want to!” screams Fancy. Now that she’s well again, her spunkiness has returned.
“No choice!” Talia says. “Today is a must-wash day!”
“Am I done?” Slugger pops her head out of the shower.
I glance at her hair, which is both soapy and slick with conditioner. “No,” I say. “Another rinse. Next!”
I knock on the next stall. “Who’s in this one?”
“I am!” I hear. It’s Prague. “Not done yet!”
“Lily, where are you?” I ask.
“In here!” she says from the last shower.
“Did you take out your braid this time?”
“Um . . . no!”
I roll my eyes. “Take out your braid!”
“Okay!”
“Before you wash it!”
“Oops!”
Now Talia rolls her eyes. “They’re seriously helpless. Don’t their parents teach them anything?”
“Everyone remember to look for ticks!” I yell out. “On your feet and armpits! I’ll look behind your ears! I do not want your parents finding ticks on you!”
“Now am I done?” Slugger asks again, sticking her head out. She has a little conditioner on her ear, but that’s it. “Good enough,” I tell her.
I double-check on Shira. Last week, I noticed that her shampoo had never been opened.
When they are all done, we march them back to the bunk and get them dressed in their camp T-shirt and shorts. We brush all their hair. We check behind their ears for ticks.
“They better not give us spaghetti for lunch,” I say.
“Maybe we should have them wear other T-shirts and then change them?” Talia asks.
“We just refolded all the clothes in their cubbies.”
“I know, but it’s so risky.”
“Okay, girls, take off your camp shirt, put it on your bed, and put whatever shirt is at the very top of your T-shirts on. Whatever that is. I do not care if it doesn’t match. Do it very, very carefully!”
We are glad we did, because they manage to get cream cheese and bagel all over themselves. Smears of cream cheese. Everywhere.
“Why are children so filthy?” Talia asks, and pulls out the hand sanitizer.
At 2:00, the kids are standing on the porch. At this very moment, all the parents have arrived, driven onto Upper Field, and are waiting for Eric to announce the beginning of Visiting Day. All the kids are on their porches, ready to run.
“And Visiting Day starts . . . in . . . three . . . two . . . one! Happy Visiting Day!” There’s a loud horn sound.
The kids shriek and take off.
Shira slips and falls right on her face.
“Kid down,” Talia says. “Kid down!”
I hurry beside her. “Are you okay?”
Tears stream down her face.
I pick her up. Her shirt is dirty and her knees are skinned. Crap. I take her back into the bunk, clean her up. I put her in a plain white shirt instead of the camp shirt.
She takes off again. “Don’t run!” I yell.
She slows down but then runs again.
“If she goes down another time, we’re out of shirts,” I say.
Talia sighs. “There goes our tip.”
As instructed, we stay in the bunk to greet the families. Kids want to show their parents where they sleep, and they are adorably excited for their parents to meet us.
It’s super funny to see the parents after knowing the kids for so long. Shira has her dad’s big ears but her mom’s height. Slugger looks nothing like her mom, who is tiny and birdlike. Lily looks identical to her mom, but has her dad’s curly hair.
Prague’s parents don’t show up.
They’re in Greece and couldn’t make it back.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I say, running my fingers through her hair.
“Whatev. They didn’t make it back last year either. They’re a little self-involved.”
I laugh even though my heart breaks.
“If it makes you feel better, my parents didn’t come either,” I tell her. I hadn’t invited them. It would have been tough for my dad in his walker, and my mom just complains. She sends at least three texts full of complaints to me every week.
“You’re a counselor!” she says. “It’s different.”
“True. I’m kind of jealous that Talia’s parents are here though.” They are currently sitting on her bed.
“They’re kind of adorable,” she says.
“They really are. So will you hang out with me all day? Keep me company?”
“Sure,” she says, lacing her arm around my waist. “I don’t want you to get lonely.”
Talia sanitizes her hands between parents.
Fancy’s mom corners me on the porch.
“Thank you for taking such good care of my baby,” she says to me. “She loves you.”
“Aw, thanks.” Then she awkwardly hands me a wad of cash.
“Oh, not necessary,” I say.
“You slept with her in the infirmary,” she says. “It’s necessary. Please.”
Good point. “Thank you!” I say, trying to be cool about it but not really succeeding.
I check to see what she gave afterward. “She gave me two hundred bucks! Holy shit!”
“And yet she only gave me fifty,” Talia says.
“Her daughter did vomit all over me,” I say. “And she’s sent me about seven hundred texts.”