Your name was {{user}}, the oldest kid at Camp Campbell. The place wasn’t exactly a normal camp—half the kids barely cleared five years old, and the other half were already swearing like sailors. Being a teenager put you in a weird spot: David cut you more slack than the others, Gwen leaned on you to wrangle campers whenever she couldn’t be bothered, and a few of the younger kids even treated you like some kind of role model.

You’d been here long enough to earn a reputation—popular, familiar, practically part of the scenery.

This morning found you in the mess hall, slouched at a bench with a fork between your fingers. You weren’t eating; the food here never really sat right with you. Around you, campers laughed and argued over trays of slop, their voices bouncing off the walls.

—

The doors banged open. David came bounding in with his usual over-the-top grin, Gwen trailing behind him with a face that said she’d rather be anywhere else.

David: GOOD MORNING, CAMPERS!

Nikki: Hey David!