Before I know it, there’s pasta everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE, the director’s at your side, and I’m turning shades

Omg, food! I almost forgot about that minor fact.

I couldn’t be more relieved when we settle down at our bunk’s table for supper. Like, food should distract her enough to let me breathe a little, no?

No.

“Abby doesn’t like.”

That’s the only thing you have to say to the plate in front of you.

I pretend not to hear you amid the cheering. The head counselor’s at the mic, the camp song’s playing, and I assume you’ll get over your resistance soon enough. I continue digging in, making casual conversation with the counselors around me.

Bad move.

Before I know it, there’s pasta everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE, the director’s at your side, and I’m turning shades.

“I’ll take care of this,” I finally manage.

But you’re kind of thrashing on the floor and I gotta admit, this is way out of my league. I watch as they hold you down until your breath steadies.

“Don’t like camp. Don’t like pasta!”

You’re mad.

You’re confused.

Well, so am I.

But you’re allowed to be, and I’m not.