Pencils & Polaroids

44: park the preacher

"Lovely. Now click File and Save the audio mix." Collin leans down to my shoulder behind me as I follow his instructions. "Perfect, now what's the next step?" 

"Extract?" I suggest. 

"As?" 

"No Wav document. So, Mp3?" 

"Good," he rests both hands on either side of the desktop table from around me. "You're getting it now." 

Not only did I ask for his help for the very first time in this camp, but I also let him teach me the process of sound mixing step by step. Mostly because whatever Luke drilled in his presentation went beyond my grasp.

As I extract the audio I've just mixed, I detect Collin giving out a smile. "This is proof that obedience comes with age." 

My lips ram into a reluctant purse. "Is this your twisted way of wishing me happy birthday?" He gushes a chuckle looking away from the computer screen. "Very creative." 

"My twisted way of wishing you happy birthday involves a dance flood, some sick mocktails, and a DJ party on the campus tonight." 

I veer toward him and roll my eyes. "The mid-camp bash was on the itinerary. You didn't plan it for me. The party is a lucky coincidence." 

"Fine. But you know what isn't? Adrian Lang rushing back to Ravenford this morning for a meeting and returning tomorrow." 

"You took the Chief out of his own bash?" I gasp. 

"Happy birthday," Collin winks. "Don't you dare be a party pooper." 

"Meh," I shrug. "If it requires fake smiling I probably won't come." 

"It's your birthday party! You kinda have to be there." 

I shrug again. "I don't know. I've never really had huge ass birthday parties--"

"You're a Grinch, I knew it." 

His offense strikes my heart. "I wouldn't say I'm a Grinch--"

Zach beside me clears his throat extra loudly, intending to catch both Collin's and my attention. His scathing eyes resemble the bunch of other pairs that latched onto my trail since this morning's breakfast buffet. Word got out that I spent a questionable amount of time with the Skippers last night, in their cabin. And with how Collin is teaching me, I can imagine how vile this looks. 

But how do you explain to a bunch of dimwits that because my stupid step-brother and I let our phones die in the night, my father decided to call the main office (Skipper's landline) to give me a long and detailed happy birthday speech? 

If it wasn't embarrassing enough to listen to my father ramble about the do's and don'ts of turning eighteen, he was on speaker and both my Skippers were holding back a volcanic fit of laughter, throughout the one-hour twenty-seven-minute call. 

"Fell, did you want to say something?" Collin asks straightening up. 

Zach thumbs the enter button and I see his audio being extracted. "If someone in the team had a doubt, shouldn't they consult the team first? Or their Captain?" Zach gives Collin a dark eye. "Skippers were told not to intervene in the tasks until absolutely necessary." 

Collin's fingers slide off the desk from either side of me. "What makes you think you can talk to me like that?" 

Now, Zach's dark eye diminishes to a faint grey. "N-No, I don't mean--there is a limit for favoritism is what I wanted to say."

"I very well know my limits, Mr. Fell. I don't need a whiny hormonal teenager to instruct me on what I can and cannot do. This is my camp. I am the authority right now. I can do--I am paid to do whatever the hell I feel like doing. Just because I'm a little more approachable than Cain, it doesn't give you any damn rights to teach me my job." Collin sighs in agony. "Now, did you have a sensible question to ask, or was that all your brain could come up with?"