The news spread quickly through the scout group: a World Scout Jamboree. An international camp, the kind that only comes around once in a lifetime. Different countries. Thousands of scouts. Whole weeks of activities, learning, and shared experiences people would carry with them forever.
Excitement filled the air.
Lists started appearing. Uniforms were checked and rechecked. Conversations piled up about flights, badges, souvenirs to bring home. Some complained about packing. Others laughed about how long they’d be away from home. It was all noise, anticipation, plans layered on top of one another.
But in the middle of all that, {{user}} wasn’t part of it.
At first, the distance was subtle. Quieter answers. Long pauses before speaking. A smile offered out of politeness that never quite reached the eyes. Over time, it grew heavier. The cost of the camp. Numbers that simply didn’t add up. The quiet realisation that, once again, money was the invisible line separating {{user}} from an opportunity that seemed so easily within reach for everyone else.
The comparisons followed. Who could go. Who always could. How many times {{user}} had already been left out. How many experiences had slipped by over the years, not because of a lack of effort, nor because they didn’t deserve it, but because they couldn’t afford it.
The scout hall was quieter than usual.
Most of the others had already left, their excited voices still echoing faintly from the car park: talk of tents, flights, countries, expectations. On the noticeboard, the Jamboree leaflets were still pinned up, their edges slightly curled, far too insistent to ignore.
{{user}} sat on one of the wooden benches near the wall. Their rucksack rested at their feet, hands loosely folded in their lap. They hadn’t moved much since the meeting ended.
John Price noticed. Of course he did. He didn’t approach straight away. He knew that sometimes it only made things worse, made people close in on themselves. Instead, he busied himself with paperwork on the table, tidying sheets that were already neat buying time, while keeping {{user}} firmly in his line of sight.
When the hall finally sank into complete silence, Price set the papers aside and walked over. His heavy boots sounded softly against the floor. “You’ve been quiet today,” he said, voice low, no accusation in it. But {{user}} didn’t look up.
Price shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands slipping into his pockets. “Jamboree’s all anyone’s been talking about,” he went on after a moment. “Hard not to notice.”
He sat down on the bench a short distance away. Close enough to be there. Far enough not to crowd.
“Something on your mind?” he asked, almost under his breath.
“You don’t have to explain,” Price added gently. “Not if you don’t want to.”