Page 6 of Camp Help Falling

I lift one shoulder. “I don’t mind waiting. Finish your meeting, and then you can show me the room.”

An old-school landline rings on the desk. Dad picks it up and turns away, speaking quietly into the receiver. His head bobs along to whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying. Mom gently places her hand on my arm and leads me toward the door so we don’t interrupt the phone call, but before we can leave, Dad calls out to her.

“Linda, will you grab Landon for me?”

Mom nods and continues steering me back toward the main room, where the singing has ceased and the girl from the parking lot is now talking to the group. Mom leaves my side, heading over to one edge of the room, where she taps a man—Landon, I guess—on the shoulder and quietly says something to him. He stands and Mom slips into the seat he vacated, leaving me at the back of the room with no idea what to do. I nod an acknowledgement to the guy as he passes me on his way back to the camp office.

Unsure of whether I’m supposed to follow Mom to one of the tables, or go back to the office to wait with Dad, I settle for the middle ground and lean against the back wall of the large room, my attention going back to the woman from the parking lot right as she says, “No purple.”

Chapter Five

Sadie

The parking lot hottie disappears as soon as he goes through the lodge doors. I’m only a few minutes behind him, carrying the box of t-shirts, but when I pull open the door, he’s nowhere to be found. Tyler is just wrapping up “Oh Helena” with the last verse: as loud as possible while miming dying. When he collapses onto the floor, the rest of the staff applauds at his theatrics, their voices finally quiet.

A second later, Tyler pops up, dusting off his hopelessly dusty shorts. “Alright, everyone. I’m going to turn the time over to Sadie for some last-minute camp business before we put the finishing touches on the campfire programs.”

Tyler moves to sit down next to his wife, and I take my place at the front of the room, setting the massive box on one of the tables in front of me.

“Okay, guys,” I project to the room in a voice that feels loud, but sounds like a whisper compared to “Oh Helena.” “This is our last meeting before participants start arriving in the morning. So let’s start with a run down of tomorrow’s schedule. Wake up call is at 6 am sharp. Someone will be coming around,” I gesture to the adult staff, “at 6:30 to make sure everyone is awake. We’ve got our food truck coming in to drop off our order, and it’s all hands on deck to get it unloaded. While we’re doing that, the lovely Danielle is going to be prepping breakfast. The faster we empty the truck, the sooner we get to eat.

“Participants won’t be arriving until 9 am at the earliest, but we do need to do a full sweep of the activity areas and cabins before their arrival. Hailey and Landon,” our two lead counselors, “will be in charge of those assignments. And I need four volunteers to lead the ice breaker games on the field as participants start arriving.”

Nearly half the youth staff raise their hands, but I pick four at random.

“Thanks, guys. I’m sure y’all remember some easy games from last year. Keep them simple. Keep them fun. And keep them engaging.”

I quickly run through the rest of the camp business we need to cover before excusing everyone to get a good night’s rest. As I come to the end of my mental list, I pause. It’s something that we’ve already gone over this week, but it never gets any less awkward bringing it up.

“And the last thing before I have you guys come get your staff t-shirts,” I pat the top of the box in front of me and clear my throat. Quick and easy. Rip the band-aid.

“Just a reminder about the Purple Rule.” Groans echo back to me from the youth. “It’s for your safety, it’s for the camp’s safety, so please just follow this one, guys. No holding hands. No kissing. While you’re on Camp Brower property—no purple.”

I scan the room, attempting to make eye contact with as many youth staff as I can so they understand the importance of this rule. My gaze gets to the back of the room and snags on a striking pair of blue eyes.

Parking Lot Hottie.

He’s standing at the back of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. And smirking. And that little tilt to his head, paired with a raise of one eyebrow is saying, no purple?

I blink and look away, noticing Linda pulling Landon aside at the edge of the room. Come to think of it, she wasn’t in the room when I began the meeting, so maybe she was in the camp office with him. He did say he was looking for Paul and Linda, after all.

Landon stands and Linda slips into his seat as he heads to the back of the room, passing in front of the tall drink of water who is still staring at me.

“Okay, staff shirts!” I exclaim, busying myself by pulling out my pocket knife and opening the box of shirts. I fold back the flaps and start pulling the stacks of folded shirts out. This year, they’re teal with “STAFF” emblazoned across the front in white, and “Camp Brower” across the back like the name on one of Ava’s lacrosse jerseys.

Youth staffers start to stand and move, aiming for me and the shirts, but I hold my hands out like Chris Pratt in Jurassic World to stop the teenage raptors. “Hold it. I changed my mind. I’m going to lay these out by size while we go over the campfire programs. When we’re done with that, come grab your size and cross off your name as you leave.”

I shove the shirts back into the box and move to the side, leaving room at the front for Tyler and his portable whiteboard. Earlier in the week, we brainstormed skits, songs, and run-ons for the two campfire programs we put on for the participants—one on Monday night and one on Friday night. A hello and goodbye to camp. Now, Tyler has all of the acts listed in order on the board. As he starts going over the blocking for the program, I start laying out the staff shirts.

Linda quietly gets up and moves the few feet down the table to help me get the shirts organized by size before giving me a quick side hug and returning to her seat.

Any doubts I had about Paul and Linda as replacements for Mr. and Mrs. Brower were easily put to rest this last week as we prepped the camp for participants. Both of them have been so hands-on and willing to get a little dirty to make sure they know how to do things, where equipment is located, and they’ve already picked up a handful of camp songs. Watching Linda, laughing with the staff as they practice some of the run-ons, leaves me feeling like I’m leaving Camp Brower in the right hands.

I grab my size off the top of a pile and move toward the back of the room.

“What was all of that about purpling?” Parking Lot Hottie’s voice is low and deep, a voice that should be recorded and listened to. Frequently.

I slowly turn, trying to make it look like I’m unfazed that he’s moved away from the wall and is standing behind me, ducking his head so he’s speaking closer to my ear. I glance up at his flirty smile and return it with one of my own. What? This guy isn’t a staffer. He’s probably going to leave tonight. And I’m not purpling with him. I’m just…flirting.

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