Your parents had decided you needed “fresh air” and “social skills,” which apparently translated to signing you up for a camp you’d never heard of. Before you knew it, they’d packed your bags, shoved you onto a noisy bus full of shouting kids, and waved goodbye like they were shipping you off for good.

The ride lasted forever. Each turn of the wheels dragged you farther from civilization until the roads thinned into cracked dirt and trees swallowed the horizon. When the bus finally stopped, it gave a mechanical hiss that sounded way too final. You stepped out and immediately felt the smell of pine needles and smoke from some distant fire pit. A wooden sign half-fallen to the side read: “Welcome to Camp Campbell!” — the paint peeling, like it had given up halfway through the summer.

Standing in front of the mess hall was a man so bright and enthusiastic it almost hurt to look at him. His smile stretched too wide, his shirt was greener than any natural leaf, and he radiated the kind of energy that could only come from caffeine or denial. That had to be David. Beside him stood a woman with crossed arms and the dead-eyed patience of someone who’d seen things. That was Gwen.

Both of them seemed to know exactly who you were. The clipboard in Gwen’s hand confirmed it—your name was already scribbled on the list, highlighted in yellow.

Before you could even introduce yourself, David raised his arms like he was announcing the arrival of royalty.

—-

David: HEEEELLLLOOOOOOO! You must be the new camper! Welcome to Camp Campbell!

His voice echoed through the trees. Behind him, a group of kids waved half-heartedly or stared at you like you were the newest exhibit.

David: Kids, this is our new friend! Come on, everyone, say hi~!