Page 38 of Lady and the Camp
“I didn’t know you were here.” My heart hit my chest loud enough for the sound to bounce off the walls. I couldn’t be sure whether the disgruntled mom caused it or, well, somebody else. For whatever reason.
“No,” I said as Twila answered, “Oh sometimes. There’s always a few.”
“There are?” I blurted. “Why didn’t you warn me?” Information I could have used when I’d agreed to this job. Vital data.
“It’s only a scant few,” Twila said. “Oh Hudson, dear. You look shook.”
She had her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold. She wasn’t smiling like Twila. She did look shaken. “Shouldn’t you be with the campers?” Not sure why my concern came out that way, but it was out and I couldn’t take it back.
“There’s only a few left,” she answered blankly. “Maggie sent me here.”
Huh. Across the room, Twila stared laser beams at me and mouthed something. I shook my head, not understanding. Twila focused her beams on Hudson, then on me again. Hudson continued to look dazed.
“Are you okay?” I asked Hudson. “Here, sit down.”
She blinked, seeming to snap out of her trance to sit in a chair. “That woman bullied you, and you dished it right back. You held your own.” She looked at me with near fascination. Near because I couldn’t imagine she was fascinated. “Is that true about the camp owner? How they view the camp?”
I nodded. “It’s not a radical concept. It’s just a summer camp. I don’t get this whole grading thing.”
“Feedback is everything,” Hudson responded, more in her usual tone than the detached state she’d been in. “People love feedback. They also hate it, but they crave it. It’s the world we live in.”
“We’re notgradingcampers.” No way, never. “The owner doesn’t want it and I sure as heck will not be forcing some invented curriculum or criteria on anybody. Counselors, kids, nobody.”
Hudson smiled. “Vision.That’svision.”
Twila slow clapped. “A beautiful vision indeed.”
I pointed at Twila. “No.” I looked at Hudson. “It’s not my vision. I’m just here to keep the lights on.”
It was my usual line. I filled the position to keep the proverbial lights on at camp. But hearing it out of my own mouth today, I sounded…uncaring.
I’d taken the position, rooting for the old ways of Camp Junebug, because it made the most short-term sense. Short being the key word I couldn’t lose sight of.
A few ranting parents I could handle. Twila, I could mostly handle. It was only for one summer.
“I understand the camp a little better now,” Hudson said. “The grassroots angle can be highlighted in the marketing—hear me out.” She held up a finger, already knowing my objections came pre-loaded. “You want to get the right families here. Not ones who are disappointed they aren’t receiving report cards and educational agendas.”
“Sure,” I said. “Problem is, they pay. And somebody’s got to pay to keep this place running.”
The office door opened and a man came in with a little girl in tow, carrying her bag and a sack full of camp crafts. Twila’s attention now diverted, Hudson stood again and approached me.
“I want to know more about this Trail Blazers camp,” she told me.
I started to say no, but figured she’d press. “I have no interest in talking about their camp.”
She looked past me to my office. “If I could understand what they’re all about, to contrast it from what you don’t want Camp Junebug to be, that can help sharpen the—” she paused. “Snapshot that’s portrayed to the public.”
I bristled. She didn’t say the word marketing, though she said everything around it. But she had a point. If our website offered more information, maybe these parents who wanted a different experience than what we offered would bypass Camp Junebug altogether. Save us all some grief.
But I didn’t want Hudson’s help. If I took it, that meant investing more in the camp. Not simplykeeping the lights on. I didn’t have it in me to invest more than I already had.
I’d only ever intended to work at Camp Junebug two summers, tops. Earn my camp leadership experience, get my recommendation, and move on to the work that excited me in Colorado.
Only I’d been played. Burned. By the person I believed I could trust. The person who’d brought me into camp, before the split, promising me a recommendation using his connections which extended to programs across the country. Until he abandoned that plan for his own agenda.
I was done trusting. I could only depend on myself.
“You can look at the Trail Blazers’ website yourself,” I responded. Except for that thing she told me about avoiding the internet. “You said you had that internet addiction thing. You were in here yesterday on Twila’s computer.” I lowered my voice. “You’re not out of bounds on some ten-step program, are you?”
