Camp Runaway

The chorus of a hundred small voices, an expected cacophony at Camp Raukawee, echoed across the dining hall. "When the hand goes up... The mouth goes shut!"

As a counselor, I knew the theory: a moment of controlled chaos to gain silence. In practice, however, it rarely worked. My eyes scanned the group, settling on the one mouth that seemed to yell louder than all the others combined – Tasha, the bane of my existence.

Her rosy cheeks and big blue eyes might have fooled others, but I knew the sour irritation that often twisted them was reserved just for me. Everything that went wrong at camp, from a short turn on the rock wall to a denied second cookie, was, in her eyes, my fault.

"When are we going in?" she whined, her voice cutting through the noise. I forced a smile. "Soon. The quicker you guys be quiet, the quicker you'll get to eat!"

She scoffed. "It doesn't work like that. They always let our cabin in last. It's not fair."

Part of me wanted to explain why that was entirely her doing, but arguing with Tasha was an energy drain I couldn't afford. I put a finger to my lips, turning away, my gaze drifting to the staff table inside, where my best friend Seb was already digging into his food, a grin on his face that somehow managed to rub it in even more.