Camp Wisahickon

Chapter One

"We will be expecting a phone call every Sunday afternoon," My father says sternly, glancing away

from the road to give me a look through the rear view mirror.

"You have piano practice every morning," My mom adds, her voice holding equally as much stringency.

"We have a copy of your schedule as well as your piano teachers personal phone number."

In the rear view, I catch the look my father is giving me, which is full of unspoken threat; but not even

my parents stringent tendencies can dull my excitement. I simply nod and look back out the window,

feeling the restlessness beginning to creep through me. We were driving down the final tree-lined road,

only moments away from parting ways for the next four weeks. As the trees pass by in blurs of green, I

can only watch in anticipation.

We reached the last stretch of the long road, where the end winded into the beginning of a dirt path.

The tires shifted off the road and onto the dirt, and the familiarity of the feeling alone made a smile

grow on my lips. I could see, from the car window, two tall wooden pillars holding up an old wood sign.

In chipping white paint that looked worn from all the years of the camps existence read Camp

Wisahickon, in bold precise lettering, on the rectangular sign.

As soon as our car passed underneath the sign, I feel a shot of excitement course through my veins. I

could faintly see the cabins as we drove closer to the heart of the camping grounds, as well as people

flittering about. In less than ten minutes, I would finally be free of my overwhelmingly overbearing

parents. In less than ten minutes, I would be able to forget about the worries that they constant remind

me of. Most importantly, in less than ten minutes, I would be able to drop the "perfect daughter" act and

be myself for the next four weeks.

The car came to a stop, and I snapped out of my thoughts immediately to see we stopped in the middle

of the drop-off area. My eyes lit up with excitement as I flung myself out of the car, and then

immediately took a deep breath of the fresh, piny woods. A smile adorned my face subconsciously as I

inhaled the scent, my favorite scent, and for the first time in months, I felt relaxation roll through my

body.

"Ahem," My mother clears her throat, and I turn to see her looking at me expectantly. "Are you going to

say goodbye?"

I smile politely, because even her brass mood can't bring me down. I was finally home.

"Goodbye, mom," I say, giving her a quick hug, and then move to repeat the action with my father.

"Goodbye, dad." I step back and look at them both, still unable to contain my smile. "I'll see you both in

four weeks."

My mom eyes me carefully and nods. "I'll be calling your piano instructor every week to see how

practice is going."

As more people passed us, I grew more anxious to put my things down and go find Poppy. Poppy was

my best friend from camp; we met the summer after eighth grade, my first summer coming here. She

lived in Massachusetts but travelled to Maine every summer for camp, so I only get to see her when I'm

here.

"I expect you to be finished your summer reading by the time camp is over," My mom adds matter-of-

factly.

I turn toward her again and nod, willing to agree with anything they'd say just so they would leave. "I'll

have plenty of free time, so don't worry, I'll definitely finish."

My dad looked down at his wrist watch and then at my mom. "Come on Claire, we need to get on the

road before rush hour."

Finally.

We exchanged short goodbyes again, I grabbed my bags from the trunk, and then I watched as their

car drove off on the dirt road. As I saw the dirt kick up off the ground behind the car, I feel a sense of

liberation seep through me. Finally, I could stop acting like the good little girl they thought I was, and I

could be myself.

"Mina!" The familiar sound of my camp nickname made a grin grow on my lips immediately.

I turn in time to see a flurry of wild brown curls before I'm tackled in a tight hug that has me teetering

back. Laughter bubbles up my throat as I regain my balance, and I don't even care that I almost fell,

because I haven't seen the crazy girl that is currently attached to me in a year. A grin overcomes my

face as I squeeze her just as tightly as she was squeezing me.

"Poppy!" I exclaim as happily as she had, and when we let each other go, I see her smiling just as

widely as I.

"Oh my god, Mina, it's so good to see you," Poppy gushes in her typical dramatic manner. "I have so

much to tell you. But first: have you put your stuff in cabin 5 yet?" This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

I glance at my duffel bags, which were discarded on the ground a few feet away, and then back at

Poppy. "Nope, not yet. Parents just left."

She rolled her eyes at the mention of my parents, but didn't comment. "Me neither. Let's go get settled

then head to the pit to talk."

We followed the familiar path back to cabin 5, the cabin we stayed in every year together, and privately

exclaimed our excitement to be back. On our way to the cabin, we passed a few other friends, and

called our greetings with a wave. We walk past the few rows of boys cabins, through the clumps of

people talking and catching up, until we finally reach girl territory.

Camp Wisahickon was split up into four sections. The girls cabins and boys cabins were only within a

couple hundred feet of each other, but they were the first separated area of the camp. If you kept

walking past the cabins, you would eventually reach the main buildings: the recreation center,

auditorium, fire pit, and dining hall. However, if you go behind the cabins, through the trees, you'll find

the last and my personal favorite separated section of the campgrounds: the lake.

"I call top bunk," Poppy cries as we approach our familiar cabin.

I chuckle and agree, only because I love the bottom bunk anyway, and this was kind of our tradition; we

always shared a bunk bed. When we entered the cabin with our duffel bags tightly gripped in our

hands, I glanced around and saw the familiar faces of our bunk mates from previous years. The cabin

smelt of pine needles and firewood, a scent infinitely trapped within the confines of the wooden walls.

"Mina! Poppy!" Sarah, one of our bunk mates calls excitedly as we step through the threshold.

"Hey Mina!" Rachel, another girl, exclaims. "Poppy, it's good to see you!"

I drop my duffel bags at the base of our bunk and hug Sarah and Rachel as they flitter about the cabin

excitedly. Like me, they have gone to camp every summer the past four years, and stayed in cabin 5

with me and Poppy. There are a few other girls in the cabin that I greet as well, all familiar faces of

returning campers.

After a few minutes of catching up, Poppy tugs on the material of my tee shirt and announces, "We are

headed to the pit, if anyone wants to join."

The girls concede that they have other responsibilities to tend to, so Poppy and I head off to the fire pit.

We walk past the girls cabins, stopping frequently to say hello to other friends, and eventually make it

to the secluded fire pit. As expected, there was no one else there, so we had the area to ourselves.

There was a large, circular, brick fire pit situated in the middle of the open area. A few feet away were

thick logs to sit on, organized in a circle around the pit. A few white Adirondack chairs were scattered

behind the logs, spread apart evenly, for more seating. Unfortunately, at night, the fire pit is packed,

and it's the most likely that you'll end up on the dirt ground.

It was kind of tradition for us to go down to the pit when we first got to camp, so we could relay every

important piece of information from the past year without being interrupted. Unlike most years, though, I

was reluctant to sit down on the logs by the pit and spill the details of my past year, because it hadn't

exactly been a good one.

Luckily, Poppy didn't miss a beat in telling me her year. "Okay, me first. In the beginning of the year last

year I started talking to John-"

"That kid you liked with the girlfriend?" I intervene, giving her a look.

She rolls her eyes at me. "He had just broken up with his girlfriend. Or, that's what he told me. So I

started talking to him, and we started hooking up every now and again. But one day when I was at his

house and we were making out, his ex walks into his bedroom. It turns out, they never broke up, but he

just wanted to hook up with me and knew I wouldn't if they were still dating! Isn't that ridiculous? Well,

his girlfriend and I were so mad, that we went to his house at midnight a week later and spray painted a

huge penis on the hood of his car."

I laugh and listen to her animatedly explain, in detail, her other outlandish escapades over the past

year. I laugh often and just as frequently cringe at the detail she gives, but after ten minutes of

unnecessary yet insanely amusing information, there are tears streaming out of my eyes from laughing

so hard. Poppy was one of the craziest girls I've ever met. She wasn't afraid of anything, and because

of that, she always had the most outrageous stories.

"Okay Mina, your turn," Poppy says once we've both sobered up.

I bite my lip, reluctant to talk about the past year. "Not much has been going on, really."

Poppy gave me a blank look that I could read as 'who are you trying to fool?' before telling me flatly,

"You're a bad liar. C'mon, Mina, it can't be that bad. How's Jake?"

I sigh when I think of Jake, my boyfriend of a year and a half. A flash of sadness momentarily washes

through me as I grow nostalgic thinking about his sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, but I try to

push the hurt aside.

"We broke up," I mutter, meeting Poppy's surprised gaze. "He cheated on me."

Her eyes bulged out of her sockets before narrowing into a deathly glare as she hissed, "I am going to

cut off his balls and shove them up his ass! Please tell me you got revenge."

I smile a little mischievously as I think back to exactly what happened after I found out he cheated on

me. "Well, I might've cut a sizable hole in the back of his soccer shorts right before his game so he had

to play the entire game with his rubber ducky boxers showing."

Poppy doubles over with laughter, and I can't hold back my own when I think back to the game. I had

snuck in the locker room right before the game, so he had no choice but to wear the shorts, hole and

all. A satisfied smirk graces my lips when I remember sitting in the bleachers with the rest of the girls in

my grade as they giggled and pointed at Jake's bright yellow boxers during the entire game.

When I came home that day and told my parents that Jake and I broke up, they were more than

relieved. They never approved of me having a boyfriend- the one rule I ever blatantly broke- and

especially didn't like Jake. My mom insisted that Jake was a horrible distraction from my schoolwork

(which never wavered) and my piano (which never suffered).

"I still think you should castrate him and make sure he never reproduces, but that was pretty good too,"

Poppy laughs, but then becomes more somber. "How have your parents been?"

I sigh again; another subject I didn't want to talk about. "They're still the same control freaks that

they've always been. I mean, they seriously think that I'm going to go to Juilliard to play piano after

senior year." I shake my head, already frustrated just thinking about it. "It's not happening. There's not

a chance in hell that I'm going to let myself wind up like them."

Poppy looks at me sadly. "I'm sorry, Mina." And then, to lighten the mood, she adds: "You can always

stay with me and Stacy."

I appreciate her attempt to make me feel better, but it's futile. It's not my fault: talking about my parents

was a one-way street into getting me upset. Living with them all year nearly drove me insane with all

their rules and stringent regulations.

"I wish," I mutter.

Stacy was Poppy's mom, and the best mom I've ever met, at that. She was a sweet lady from the south

that moved to Massachusetts when she had Poppy, and my favorite thing about her is the fact she

retained her southern accent. Stacy trusted Poppy completely, and because of that, they had an

excellent relationship.

Stacy didn't mind that Poppy drank, as long as she was smart and safe about it. Stacy didn't mind that

Poppy played ridiculous pranks, as long as she told her the extravagant stories afterward. Stacy didn't

mind that Poppy didn't know what she wanted to do in life, because she believes that Poppy's future is

up to Poppy, like it should be.

Like I said: Stacy was an awesome mom.

"Seriously, she always talks about you. If you lived at my house, I'm pretty sure that you would be the

favorite," Poppy jokes.

I smile at her continued attempts to cheer me up, and decide to tease back, "I'll make sure to talk to her

about setting up my room when she comes to pick you up, then."

Poppy smiles back at me upon sensing my change of mood, and then suddenly a glint reaches her

eyes. "I think we're going to have to find you a summer love this year."

My smile dropped and eyebrows raised in surprise as I splutter, "What?"

She smirks. "It sounds like you've had a shitty year, and what better way to fix that than a cute boy?"

"Oh come on," I groan. "You know I don't just hook up with guys. That's your thing."

Poppy doesn't take offense to this because, well, it's true. And I certainly didn't mean it in a rude way;

every summer since we've been going to camp, Poppy chooses one of the many love-struck boys to

have some fun with while we're here. She has a little fling for the month, loses contact with the guy

when camp is over, and next year she starts the cycle over again.

However, I'm the opposite. I've never been interested in the boys at camp, nor have I ever been

interested in becoming invested in someone for four weeks and then leaving them behind. Unlike me,

most of the campers at Camp Wisahickon traveled here from states along the east coast, and after July

ends, I don't see them again until next year. Therefore, I didn't see it worthwhile to start a relationship if

it's imminent to end.

"Exactly! It's time for you to experience a simple, no strings attached, easy and fun fling with a cute

boy." Upon seeing my skepticism, Poppy adds, "Think about it. The last boy you kissed was Jake. Don't

you want to change that?"

I'm not going to lie, her point struck a chord with me. It suddenly bothered me that the last boy I kissed

was Jake, when I wasn't the last girl he kissed. I mean, isn't that unfair? He cheated on me, and yet he

stole my last kiss. Poppy recognizes that her comment got to me, and a satisfied smirk stretches

across her lips. Like usual, she had won.

"Okay, I'm open to the idea," I admit sheepishly. "But we'll see what happens."

After a half hour more of talking, Poppy dragged me back to the cabin so she could change before

dinner. As we sat outside, it began getting cooler and cooler, the breeze ruffling the leaves on the trees

and slapping us on our bare arms. We walked back to the cabin slowly, stopping every few feet to greet

old friends and familiar faces, and finally reached the door with a brightly painted 5 on the center.

When we walk into the cabin, the first thing I see is Sarah, who is glaring toward our bunk bed. She

meets my eye and motions for me to follow her gaze, and when I do, I see why she was glaring. Sitting

on the top bunk, where Poppy has been situated for the past four years, was a girl with unnaturally

bleach blonde hair and entirely too much makeup on.

She's lying down on Poppy's bed and doesn't even bother looking up when we enter, but keeps her

eyes glued on the screen of her phone. Poppy stomps over to her and puts her hands on her hips

threateningly, but the blonde doesn't spare her a glance; she just continues to text away, her fingernails

hitting the screen and creating an incessant tapping noise.

"Excuse me," I hear Poppy say, a rude coldness thick in her voice.

The blonde looks up from her phone and raises a perfectly polished eyebrow at Poppy, as if she were

an annoying pest. "What?"

Poppy grinds her teeth together and practically growls, "You're in my bed."

The blonde looks bothered, but not by Poppy's words, rather by her existence. "Oh, this is your bed?"

Poppy nods impatiently. "Yes. I've slept on it for the past four summers, and those," She motions to the

ground, where her bags were discarded. "were my bags that you threw on the ground."

By now, Sarah and the other two girls, Julie and Patty, we're watching the spectacle with wide eyes.

They, like me, were waiting for Poppy to lose her temper and show this girl who's boss. I watch

incredulously, a few steps behind Poppy, as the blonde glances at the bags, and then back at Poppy.

"Too bad. It's mine now." And then she looks back at her phone, as if the entire thing had never

happened.

Poppy glanced back and saw my incredulous expression, which matched her own, before it twisted into

a scowl. Her temper was flaring, and I could tell that this wouldn't end well for the blonde.

Poppy turned back to the blonde and snapped, "You're new, so I'll give you another chance. This isn't

your bed. Go on a free bottom bunk."

"I don't do bottom bunks," The blonde says casually, eyes still on her phone.

When I see Poppy take a step forward, I decide it's time to diffuse the situation. Taking a few quick

steps, I grab my best friends hand and pull her back to me. As I suspected, her eyes are ablaze and

she was pissed.

"Just change and let's go to the dining hall," I say sternly, and then lower my voice. "We will get your

bunk back later, don't worry."

Poppy must've seen the mischief glinting in my eyes, because a similar expression overcame her face,

and she seemed more than pleased to follow my instructions. Sarah apparently heard me, because

when I caught her gaze, she was smirking knowingly at us.

We had a bit of a reputation at camp, you see. While most campers found excitement in the daytime

activities, like sports or music lessons, Poppy and I found more excitement in the things we could only

do once the sun was down.

Things like playing powerful pranks to anyone that crossed us.