The Summer at Camazotz

One

I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment school went from being mildly decent to a place I desperately wanted to avoid. For the first year and a half, I didn't totally hate having to spend six hours in a brick building at a desk that was just a bit too small in rooms that could've used a fan or two.

What I learned this year is that it is really easy for people to change something for you at the drop of a dime. For as long as I can remember, school has been this necessary nuisance that lasts six hours a day, five days a week, ten months a year for almost two decades. Now, it's something I dread because of the people I have to see, who I might run into.

Basically, I can't stand it and would much rather be anywhere than there.

Last week I finished my sophomore year of high school, and now here I am, about to board a bus heading two hours away from home.

A year ago, Mom had suggested that I become a camp counsellor so that I could get out of the house during the summer. At first I thought it was ridiculous and a waste of time. Then I considered it—really considered it—and decided it might not hurt to have an escape from reality for a bit. I went through all of the training and now I'm going to camp for the first time as a counsellor. I'm nervous, no doubt about that, but I'm also relieved to have an escape from the craziness of my everyday life. My friends were disappointed to find out that they wouldn't see me for a whole month, but accepted that this is something I need to do.

I hug Mom goodbye, but this isn't the hardest part. I can stand a few weeks away from my family, it won't bother me much. What keeps nagging at me is how I'll get along with everyone at camp. I've had this picture in my head for a while now that the other counsellors and I will be best friends. Except I can only hope it will turn out that well. I'm going to be responsible for ten kids, and if anything happens to those kids, I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for it. I doubt the camp directors will forgive me either for such a huge mistake, but they aren't my main worry.

"You'll be good right?" Mom looks me up and down. "You have everything? You promise you'll be safe and make smart choices?"

"Yes, mama," I say. "You do know I'm not one of the campers right?"

Mom looks me in the eyes. She's a few inches shorter than me, but she never lets the height difference get in her way of a good scolding or speech. "And you're still my son, so just promise me that you will be careful."

I give her another hug for reassurance. "Yes, mom, I'll be careful."

She keeps her questioning look, not faltering.

"I promise."

She smiles and hands me another bag. "I love you, have fun."

I hear how her voice shakes just the slightest, but don't say anything. The last thing either of us needs right now is for her to start crying.

I take the bag and sling it over my shoulder. I only have two bags, but Mom had nearly over packed each one, worrying that I'll end up needing something I most definitely won't. "I love you, too. I'll see you in a few weeks."

I turn and walk toward the bus. I wait for a few kids to put their luggage inside before I put mine in alongside all of the others. Some bags are pink and others are green; some have fairies or dragons, automobiles or crazy patterns. Each one is different, just like each kid sitting on the bus.

I'm going to be responsible for some of those kids and that honestly terrifies me deep down (though I'll never admit it to anyone else). All I can hope for is that my campers will tolerate me and not totally hate my guts.

Here goes nothing.

☼ ☼ ☼

The bus is crowded. It's meant to hold over forty people and although a few people have yet to hop on, it already feels full. There's a bit more room to move around, unlike a typical yellow school bus, but it doesn't make much of a difference for me considering my height in comparison to the four feet goblins around me. Kids are scattered all throughout the bus—some laughing and others crying. I don't blame the ones who don't want to be here. They're still young and are most likely not used to being separated from their parents for so long. While I wouldn't have minded being away from home as a kid, I know that I was definitely not like other kids.