Page 4 of Camp Help Falling

“It’ll look bigger once you get here.” Mom pauses again, and I sense an unspoken conversation on the other end of this call. “It has good bones,” she says after a minute of silence.

I groan.

Usually, someone says something has good bones when they’re grasping at straws for good things to say. It does not give me much hope for what I’ll find when I get there.

“Oliver,” Mom gently reprimands, and even though she’s two thousand miles away, I straighten. Mom and Dad wouldn’t have made the decision to buy a property all the way across the country lightly. They wouldn’t have signed the papers if they didn’t believe that this camp was going to work out for them. So I need to put a little more faith in their decision and wait to pass judgment until I see it with my own eyes.

I rub my free hand over my face. With everything that happened today, this feels like running away, and I’ve neer been one to run away from my problems. But it doesn’t have to be permanent. One week, maybe two, and then I’ll come back and hopefully have some leads for a new job. I can take some time to reset myself and then get back and hit the ground running.

“Alright. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

“Remember to call us on this number. We don’t have cell service while we’re at the camp.”

Great. Another thing to add to the list of things I’ve lost.

Chapter Three

Sadie

Staff arrival on Monday goes about as well as it can, considering Paul and Linda are running on theoretical knowledge, not practical. We’ve spent the last few days talking about their youth programs in Virginia, but even working with other youth is different than a youth camp staff. They’re a different breed. But they catch on quickly as teenagers start arriving, either dropped off by a parent or a sibling, or carpooling with other returning youth staff. Hugs and high fives get tossed around like confetti with everyone excited to see their summertime friends and ready to welcome the fresh-faced newbies to the ranks.

Even though Camp Brower is under new management and more than one returning staffer was skeptical, everyone seems excited to be here and ready for another summer spent making camp the best place to be.

Our few adult staff also arrive, most new to me, but one family stands out from the rest. Danielle Adams is an old friend from my first year as a staffer. She was a few years older than me and already a staff veteran by the time I showed up. Camp means as much to her as it does to me, maybe even more, seeing as she met her husband Tyler here. One summer they became friends, and now they’re married with two adorable kids.

Danielle was the first person I called when Paul and Linda asked if I had any contacts I could reach out to. She and Tyler have been staff regulars for years, including the two summers Danielle was pregnant. I’m just lucky she and her husband hadn’t found another camp with the news of the sale and were available for another summer in the mountains. She’s taken on the role of camp cook while Tyler is my assistant camp director. And while they’re busy, their two kids, Finn and Harmony, will most likely be running amuck, watched over by a whole camp staff family.

After introductions, cabin assignments, and endless rounds of camp songs, I’m able to redirect the youth staff’s frenetic energy into spending the week cleaning up the camp and setting up the activity areas. We only alot one week for all of the cleaning and set up, since most of our staffers aren’t available until schools are out for the summer, but we manage.

Camp Brower sports an archery range and a multi-use waterfront, and both areas require their fair share of set-up. Checking out the equipment that’s been in storage for eight months, repairing what we can and putting together an order for the things we can’t. Cleaning. Organizing. Reminding staff to get out of the water and get back to work.

Set-up week goes by quickly with at least some measure of success. Aside from encouraging a bunch of teenagers to “put their back into it,” gathering everyone for meals and our nightly staff meeting is the biggest struggle, but I’m sure we’ll be a well-oiled machine by the end of the summer. Just to repeat the transition from chaos to order next summer.

Well, I won’t be repeating it. This time next year, I’ll be working full-time…somewhere else. I don’t know where yet, but this summer is the end of my camp era.

By Sunday night, Camp Brower is as ready as it’ll ever be, and it’s like the last sleep before Christmas for the staffers. Camp participants start arriving tomorrow, and the energy in the lodge is electric. The one thing we’ve all been waiting nine months for starts tomorrow, and if I thought the youth staff were difficult to corral during a week of prep work, they’re darn near impossible to settle for our final pre-camp staff meeting. I pass the reins to Tyler, hoping that he can out-sing the staff and burn enough of their energy for ten minutes of serious talk.

I duck outside just as Tyler starts up “Oh Helena,” a repeat-after-me song that starts at a whisper and gets progressively louder with each repetition. By the time he’s done, Tyler will be red in the face and hoarse from screaming, but it’s an effective way to burn off excess teenage energy.

Unlocking the trunk of my car, I shift around the random garbage until I can reach the big, brown box of camp staff shirts I picked up in town yesterday. Their printing had been delayed a few days, and I’m just glad they finished before our first day of camp. Nothing is worse than missing staff shirts.

Okay, I can think of a few things that are worse—stinging nettle, I’m looking at you—but I really want things to go well for Paul and Linda’s first summer. Even though I won’t be sticking around past August, I want the camp that’s been a home away from home to be a success for years to come.

While I prefer to intone the virtues of being short, there are a handful of downsides to being someone who brings the average American female height down. One of them being that my trunk is deeper than I can reach without completely climbing into it. While the upper half of my body disappears into my trunk, trying to reach the box that’s tucked all the way at the back, the gravel crunches behind me.

“Hey, do you need some help?” The voice—a man’s voice—and footsteps get louder as I lunge forward into my trunk, trying to grab the edge of the cardboard box that’s wedged behind my extra duffle bag. My toes come off the gravel and then lightly touch down, more an illusion of support because all of my weight is on my hips, the edge of the trunk digging into my bones uncomfortably.

“No, why?” I rock back and push forward again, this time my feet come well off the ground, but my fingers wrap around the corners of the box.

“Uh,” the male voice behind me pauses slightly, and I wonder if it’s because he’s currently talking to my backside. A rush of embarrassed heat floods my face, and I try wiggling backwards to get my feet on the ground, only to realize I’m literally shaking my butt at this poor stranger. “Your feet aren’t on the ground. I didn’t know if you were stuck, or…” He trails off, and I pray that he’s averting his eyes from my knock-off Shakira moves.

“Believe it or not,” I grunt out, trying to grasp the smooth sides of the box and pull it toward me, “this is one-hundred-percent—” grunt “—intentional.” I plant both hands on the sides of the slippery cardboard and rock my upper body backward, reaching, reaching, reaching for the ground with my toes.

The man behind me clears his throat. If I were him, I would also feel super awkward talking to someone’s butt while they’re hanging halfway out of a trunk. I wiggle back, finally getting my elbows onto the raised edge of the trunk, giving myself enough leverage that I can push myself out.

“See?” I wheeze, a little out of breath. “Totally intentional.” I smile before I turn around, making sure it’s locked into place. I don’t want whoever’s behind me to know how mortified I am about the whole show I just put on for him.

Turning around, I’m expecting…I don’t know who I’m expecting. All the staff are accounted for, screaming their hearts out in the lodge. It’s not a pick-up or drop-off day, so parents shouldn’t be wandering around the camp, but maybe it is a parent who’s looking for their son or daughter.

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