Page 1 of Camp Help Falling

Chapter One

Sadie

Early summer in the mountains is something you have to experience with all of your senses, even if that means getting a little dust on your dash.

Country music blasts from my speakers as the wind whips through my open window, pulling strands of my newly-cut hair out of its ineffective ponytail. I wasn’t planning on cutting it this short. I went to the salon with Brooke to get an emotional support trim after she canceled her wedding. Someone had to be there to remind her that leaving Cheater McCheaterface wasn’t the end of the world and bangs weren’t her look. But one impassioned speech about “not letting the past weigh you down” later, I was also in that chair, getting a matching chop.

Not that I have much of a weighty past to let go of. I don’t have a history of bad breakups. (It’s hard to have a breakup when you can’t actually get any dates.) I didn’t flunk out of any classes. (No boys means no distractions from homework.) And my bosses were always understanding when I quit for the summer, welcoming me back with open arms every fall.

It was more of a hope that less metaphorical weight will help me float to where I’m supposed to be. I’m done with college. I moved out of the house on Sunny Drive and back in with my parents. Theoretically, I should be running toward the beginning of my career—or at least a stable job that utilizes my parks and rec degree—but here I am, drifting back to summer camp.

I’m really lucky to be here, actually. Last fall, when I heard through the grapevine that the Browers—the older couple who had owned the camp longer than I can remember—were going to sell, I was a panicky mess. I had always thought I’d have just one more summer, but with new owners coming in, there was no guarantee they would continue running the camp the way the Browers had. I could only hope and pray that I’d get my one last summer before finally accepting that I’d have to get a proper year-round job.

Thank heavens my prayers were answered.

As I come around the last bend in the road, one of my favorite sights comes into view, and every noisy thought eddies out of my head.

Camp Brower.

The faded sign lashed to the archway that heralds the entrance to the old camp has seen better days, but an overwhelming sense of rightness settles over me as I pass under those worn letters. The gravel road widens into a parking lot that stretches down a slight slope, ending in a line of split-rail fencing with a singular opening. Beyond the opening is the familiar lodge, a little worn, but sturdy. A pillar of Camp Brower. The field beyond the lodge is barely visible to the left, and the lake I know is still freezing cold even though it’s June is hidden behind the dark brown building with a green metal roof.

I reach out and turn off my tunes, letting the music of nature rush in through my open windows. The shush of the wind through the aspens, the crunch of gravel under my tires, the birdsong echoing across this little hidden valley. Out here, there’s no extra noise. No Mom asking if I’ve heard back from any of the applications I have out right now. No phone notifications from social media. Just me and my thoughts.

Even my fears are quiet. Woodland paradise would be significantly less paradisiacal if I spent all my time worrying about jobs and housing and dating. The Three Amigos of Making Sadie Stressed.

I pull up next to the shiny—figuratively, as it’s just as covered in dust as my half-busted sedan is—white truck, which must belong to the new owners, and throw my car in park. As much as I want to jump out and frolic in the field of meadow grass that stretches down the hill past the lodge, I also need to take a moment to steady myself.

I’ve “met” Paul and Linda a few times now, over video call. When they first reached out to me, explaining that Mr. and Mrs. Brower had recommended me as their best pick for this year’s camp director, they were no more than a pair of voices and an out-of-state area code. Now, after several video calls and countless other phone calls to organize the hiring of camp staff, I feel like I know them.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous about meeting them in person for the first time.

I blow out a deep breath and remind myself that year after year, I’ve spent countless days making first impressions and meeting new people. New staffers, new campers. Meeting the new owners is not a big deal.

Especially since this is my last year at camp.

But I tuck that depressing thought deep, deep down, and get out of my car.

Walking down the dirt path to the lodge is something I’ve done so many times, I could do it blindfolded. I circle the building until I find an unlocked door and let myself in. The large main room is lit by the early afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, highlighting the swirls of dust that have been disturbed after a long winter of rest. A bubble of laughter echoes down the hallway, and I follow that sound and the singular light down to the camp office.

I knock lightly on the half-open door with the back of my knuckles. “Hello?” I call as I gently push on the door, careful not to hit anyone with it.

Two surprised yelps greet me as I open the door fully. Paul and Linda Evans stand behind a small desk that’s been pulled away from the wall, Linda with her hand over her heart, and Paul adjusting his glasses and laughing, even though one of the frightened screams was his. They quickly recover from the surprise when they realize it’s me and not a sasquatch.

“Sadie!” Linda exclaims as she works her way out from around the desk. She envelopes me in an enthusiastic hug, her cropped blonde hair finding its way into my mouth as I smile wide, before pushing me back to arms-length. “I thought you wouldn’t be here until Monday!”

“Surprise!” Normally, I’m used to being the loudest one in the room, but Linda, it seems, is going to give me a run for my money this summer. Her personality is as big as her smile, and it’s a wonder we can all fit in the room with it.

Paul chuckles quietly, drawing my attention to him. He’s definitely the calm half of this married duo. His light brown hair is already dusted with gray, and the frameless glasses that perch on his nose give him a distinguished, yet approachable, look. I give a little wave, since his wife still has her hands on my upper arms. “It’s good to finally meet you in person,” he says from the other side of the small room.

“You, too.” Linda pats my arms a few times before letting me go. When she steps back toward her husband, I get a better picture of the two of them together. They’re both in t-shirts with a logo for the Evans Youth Foundation and faded jeans. Paul is wearing boots, but Linda is sporting a chunky pair of white tennis shoes. All in all, they look like your generic middle-aged couple, not the multi-millionaires who bought the camp.

“My plans changed, so I figured I’d come up early and help get things ready for staff arrival on Monday.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Linda exclaims as she lays a hand on her ample chest. She reminds me of one of those grandmas who always has a “little snack” ready for you and never uses fake butter in her cooking. Sort of like my own grandma, which is one of the reasons I instantly like her. “We could use another set of hands. And someone who knows where everything is.” Linda’s laugh is just as I remember it from our frequent video calls.

“Well, where do you want to start? There’s only so much we can do before the rest of the staff get here and we have the hands to move things.”

“Paul and I wanted to get the office up and running before Monday, so we have a sort of base of operations.” Linda looks around the small space and its cluttered desk and random things stacked against the walls before she laughs and spreads her arms, gesturing to the mess.

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