Page 58 of Lady and the Camp
“But Miss Hudson,” a freckled ten-year-old turned toward me with a wide grin. “If you’re back there for the picture, you’ll only see our butts!”
The girls collapsed into laughter at this amazing display of comedy.
“I’m showing yourbackssilhouetted against the lake,” I explained. “Also, we can’t legally show your faces on social media.”
The most fashionable girl of the group gasped and struck a pose. “We’re gonna be on social media?”
“Your silhouettes,” I reminded. “Because this is cheaper than stock photo.”
These photos plus the pics I’d snapped on the walk with Lucas would all go toward building content for the Camp Junebug accounts. I’d followed every other camp account in the tri-state area (other than the Trail Blazers, becauseno), and proceeded on a like and comment spree. Networking, baby. We could all support each other like I did in my skincare community. Well, before the drama. I’d even started a DM conversation with a scout leader in Cheboygan who had a hot tip on some excess canoes. Free boats? I deserved a raise.
In fact, I deserved some accolades for a show of restraint with my influencer accounts. I’d only experienced a single weak moment yesterday during my time online in the office. Yes, searching my own name as a hashtag was a dumb idea. Yes, it led to light doomscrolling and spiraling. But I pulled myself out.
Not before commenting to a troll in my defense under my private lurker skincare account, but a girl can only handle so much.
Maggie approached as I stood along on the shore while campers collected interesting stones for a project. “Did Lucas tell you? Tonight, we’re training for the camp games. We’ll rotate out so we have staff coverage for Campfire.”
I’d only seen Lucas in passing here and there since Saturday. It was now Tuesday afternoon. “About that—I’m sorry I challenged the other camp and involved all of you.”
She crossed her arms. “We’re all in, so don’t feel bad. Pocket Pete and the kitchen crew have been salivating for a chance to decimate the Trail Blazers.” She straightened, glancing around for any campers within earshot. She spoke louder. “By decimate, I mean participate in a friendly tournament with sportsmanlike attitudes.”
“It’s fine, no one’s listening.”
She lowered her voice. “They’re always listening.”
As if on cue, the tiniest fifth grader peeked around Maggie’s torso with a hand outstretched. “Is this a rock, Miss Maggie?”
“See?” Maggie mouthed to me before turning to examine the object in the girl’s hand. “That looks like melted plastic who’s had a rough day.”
The girl giggled.
Maggie held out her hand. “I’ll take it and trash it.” She scrutinized it further once the girl scampered off. “This has the Trail Blazers’ logo colors swirled in there. Those punks are polluting our waters. Probably burned the plastic and an animal carried it off.” Each word grew more severe and clipped.
Maybe pure revenge would fuel us to victory. “Do you know what games we’ll be playing?”
“Playing?” She huffed a loud breath. “This is war. In fact, I’m sure they’ll start with exactly that: Tug of War.”
Flashbacks to my childhood gym days danced in my head. I’d been that kid who despite being active, didn’t manage to be active in the right way for gym class. Excess energy: yes. Dancing to my own beat: absolutely. Paying attention when maroon-colored bouncy balls sailed my way? Sadly, no. One point for the bouncy ball, zero for Hudson’s nose.
Maggie continued chattering about the war games. “You have no idea how much we want to beat those snobs.”
Her apparent thirst for competition came across not a small bit worrying. Truth: I worried. “I hate to be a downer, but those Trail Blazers looked pretty fit. Is there any way we could practice on a ropes course similar to theirs? I’ve never done anything like it.”
“Hey, Boss,” Maggie said, looking past me rather than responding to my question. “What’s our rope inventory? Any chance we can rig up something in the trees mimicking a course?”
Lucas headed toward us with a neatly trimmed beard and a gray T-shirt begging to be snuggled up to. That was to say, he wore a perfectly clean shirt. A nice, clean T-shirt appropriate for a camp director on a hot, hot day.
Was it hot out here, or what?
Dang, did Lucas look good when he wanted to. And something told me he wanted to. He looked at me, almost as if waiting on me to speak to him.
“Hudson?” He said my name and my left knee creaked.
“Um, yes?”
Lucas looked at me directly. “I asked if you’d checked in with Rena about the camper with suspected hives.”
Oops, hehadbeen waiting for me to speak to him. “Oh, right. Did the herbal salve work?”
