“Nah, man. My mom’s husband is faculty and I don’t need that in my life. Plus, my stepbrother is there and we’d probably kill each other if we played on the same basketball team. I’m at Stanford. You play?”
Dropping my bags to the floor and emptying the things from my pockets, I take a seat on my bed and brace for the normal reaction. “Yeah, ice hockey.”
“Sweet.” He gestures toward the keys. “Was it a long drive?”
It takes me longer than it should to answer him because it wasn’t the question I was prepping for and, the more small talk we make, the more relaxed I become because he doesn’t mention the rink at all.
I’m sure it’s an anxiety thing to assume that every single person with links to Maple Hills knows about the situation I caused at the start of the year. It’s my biggest shame, the first time I thought “yeah, Dad’s right, I am a fuck up,” so it isn’t as easy as choosing not to think about it like my teammates suggest. Stassie says that over time it won’t be the first thing I worry about, but I’m still waiting for that to happen.
An hour flies by so quickly I don’t even get a chance to open my welcome pack before we have to head over to the main hall for the meeting. This place is huge but, thankfully, Xander worked here last summer so he knows exactly where we’re going.
We grab two empty seats on the front row and wait for the rest of the room to fill up. Xander passes me a sign-in sheet being sent around the room and right at the top is the Wi-Fi password.
“The Wi-Fi fucking sucks, by the way,” he groans. “It’s not too bad if you’re in the main buildings but in our cabin it’s non-existent. You’ll get random service and all your messages will come through at once and scare the shit out of you.”
“No service is good for me, to be honest.” I sign my name and connect anyway, passing the sheet on to the people beside me. More messages from the group chat come through, along with some other notifications and messages from my mom.
MOM
I’ve been trying to reach you all week and so has your brother
I hope you have a great summer at the camp
Please visit when you’re back
Missing you, sweetie
Me and your dad both do
I check the other notifications and the one that stands out is the one from my dad.
DAD
Request from kcallaghan19
$50
I lock my phone quickly in case anyone is looking over my shoulder and put it back in my pocket. I feel bad for ignoring her calls, but it’s always the same excuses I’d rather not hear. My brother, Ethan, only calls to give me shit about not visiting, despite the fact he fled to the east coast with his band as soon as he possibly could, leaving me to deal with it all alone.
I’ve always been second choice. To my dad’s addictions, to my mom’s excuses for him, to Ethan’s desire to move away far enough that he can pretend nothing’s wrong.
I love my family, but I hate what we’ve become. Tiptoeing around the things that keep us divided, making excuses for Dad, refusing to work toward a solution in favor of pretending there isn’t an issue. I’ve reached the point where it’s easier to ignore them and keep my distance both physically and emotionally. Thankfully, now I’m here, that distance I’ll be keeping is four hours north.
An older woman taps a live microphone at the same time a fluffy, golden head lands on my knees. Xander immediately reaches for the dog, scratching between its ears in a way that makes the dog’s eyes close and tail wag. “Hey, Fish! I’ve missed you and your hair all over my clothes,” he coos. He looks at me to explain. “She’s Jenna’s dog, you’ll meet her, she’s a director. Jenna works in the office mainly, so Fish just roams around the camp, getting attention from everyone. She usually picks a favorite and sticks with them. Looks like you’re a contender.”
“Welcome everyone!” the woman calls from the front. “For our newbies this year, my name is Orla Murphy and I’m the resident dinosaur here at Honey Acres. I’m the Camp Executive Director and owner and I oversee everything and everyone on camp. My family founded Honey Acres one-hundred and fifty years ago and I’m so happy to welcome you to our family this year.”
I’m half trying to listen, half trying to fuss over Fish when Xander grabs me suddenly. “Oh my God,” he whispers, squeezing my arm tightly. Following his line of sight, my eyes land on the cutest two—equally as golden and fluffy, but much smaller and chubbier—dogs trotting toward us. “Baby Fishes!”