“I hate to do this, Dassy, but it’s not the first time you’re late to an activity. If it happens again, I’m gonna have to report it, okay?” 

First day of camp: Grab a bed, get to know bunkmates, analyze counselor, try to unpack in the middle of music and general chaos.

When the last article of clothing is folded to perfection on my corner of the shelf, I sit back on the bed and proceed to tally up the day’s findings:

Bunkhouse — 8/10. Great location, more spacious than last year’s, but the showers look awful. That’s camp.

Bunk — 6/10. Most girls I know from previous years, but there’s a new, cliquey looking threesome who seem to make a lot of noise. And another girl who no one knows, doesn’t look very happy to be here.

Counselor — 7/10. She comes across as adorable, fun, and peppy, and not the type to be super strict about all the rules. But to be honest, I’m a little intimidated by her. Still, that’s bound to change.

There’s a blast of louder noise, which I think is meant to be a summons to the dining hall. Ashira, our counselor, smiles sweetly as she herds us out of the bunkhouse. I give her a shy smile back as I pass, but her eyes are on the silent girl at the back of the straggling line.

“Bayla, are you alright there?” she calls. Her voice is silvery and clear. Wow, did we get Miss Perfect as a counselor this year?

The girl at the back of the line scowls. I look away and hurry to catch up with my friends. The sun’s shining and the path to the dining room is just as overgrown as always. Nothing like camp!

Breakout is cute, nothing major, and I spy some old friends in other bunks. In between shrieks and cheering, nobody eats very much, and nobody really minds. Ashira sits at our table near the new clique, who talk to her eagerly. I shrug; I have my own friends, they can keep to themselves if they want.

Suri nudges me as the waitresses start to clear the table. “Do you know who that is?” she hisses into my ear, signaling toward the end of the table. There was our bunkmate, honey-colored hair pulled back in a pony, highlighting the scowl on her face.

“Ashira called her Bayla, so I guess that’s her name,” I murmur back. “No idea where she’s from or anything, though.”

“Is she homesick or just shy?” Suri wonders. “Ugh, I’d hate to come to camp without knowing anyone.”

“Me too,” I start to say, but my words are drowned out by a burst of music so loud, my eardrums throb. Someone needs to figure out the speaker system ASAP.