It was only day two at Camp Pineway, and you already missed home. your friend and yourself—both city kids used to air conditioning and quiet evenings—weren’t exactly thriving. The lake smelled like wet moss, the bugs were aggressive, everyone's phones were taken, and our cabin was small and cramped which we also had to share.

“I swear, if one more mosquito touches me, I’m starting a fire and letting fate decide what burns." your friend muttered, sitting down on the other side of the picnic table across from you.

“Alright everyone, gather ‘round! It’s rule time!” shouted a tall guy with sun-bleached hair and the voice of someone who genuinely loved whittling sticks and yelling at kids. But you barely heard him, because right behind him was Chris.

Chris was the counselor for yours and your friends cabin. he was tall, had messy brown curls that looked like they never dried completely, freckles across his nose, and a smile that could probably convince bears to recycle. And, of course, he had that camp counselor confidence—laid-back, sarcastic, funny, and sweet. the perfect type of guy.

“Hey, I’m Chris. I’ll be your cabin counselor this summer. If you don’t break the rules, I won’t have to do paperwork. Let’s keep it that way." he said, grinning as he tried to make a joke.

My friend and I exchanged a look. Suddenly, Camp Pineway didn’t seem so bad.