#I messed up my lungs all the times I wore my binder for longer time

[truelyqueer]

"no regards?!" "Sorrry I was eating a Milky Way"

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Camp Beaverbrook | 005

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START HERE

Dear Dad,

I think I could get a little used to writing these letters. I’m not sure if you’re actually reading them, but if you are, this place isn’t so awful. Certainly, better than the alternative. Wilken’s hasn’t made the trip up here. Canceled the first time due to an emergency but I know I can’t push it off for long. I know that you like him, or whatever. You say he’s a good man, but something is off-putting about him. Maybe it’s the authority.

Your Daughter,

Beca.

The mess hall didn’t smell as appetizing on an empty stomach; the undeniable scent of burnt grease was layered against Beca’s lungs and made her crave something a little stronger. It had a tinged sweetness to it, or maybe that was the syrup that Aubrey Posen was slathering against a stack of waffles. It dripped and ran into a crumbly mess on the edges of the plate. Her stomach churned.

Chloe’s lavender scent was strong and almost eased the concoction. She hadn’t slept very well, the mattress lumpy and the ill attempt by the camp to keep mosquitos out had been futile. Her legs were a scabbed mess, and new pink lumps were against her collarbone. She scratched at them absently, reaching for a piece of toast that was in the middle of the table. Maybe that would settle her stomach.

“You didn’t get in until late last night,” Jessica stated, shoving a mouthful of pancake past her lips as she chewed slowly, trying not to choke on the batter. Her deep grey eyes were staring towards Stacie, the girl reaching for her glass of orange juice.

“Eh,” She shrugged her shoulders, “I met the new counselor from cabin seven. We have a lot in common.”  

Aubrey shook her head with a dull smile on her lips, seemingly having lost interest in her pancakes. She drew little patterns in her plate with the sharp edge of her fork. Chloe picked her own stare up from her food.

“You nervous about today, Bree?” She asked.

An odd look crossed her features. Aubrey Posen was tightly wound, and even though Beca had just met her she knew that from the start. The way she sat with her back straight and kept her elbows off the table while she ate gave way to little fun. Last night at the campfire was one of the only times she saw a bit of herself in the girl. The one who would drown out anxieties with alcohol instead of perfectionism.

Beca bit the edge away from her toast. It was dry, but she didn’t want to reach across Chloe to grab the pad of butter. A strange heat seemed to engulf her each time their skin made contact. She blamed the warmth of the fire last night and the fleece blanket that was draped around them. But it happened again this morning as they brushed their teeth together. So domestic, Beca thought.

“Nervous? No. Not really.” Aubrey said “I practically ran the camp last year by myself anyway. This time Gail isn’t breathing down my neck, though. It should be good.”

“No more projectile accidents, right?” A counselor Beca didn’t recognize spoke up. He had created a sandwich out of the pancakes and bacon, unabashedly shoving it into his mouth as crumbs dripped down his dark green shirt. The table shook and he recoiled. “Ow! Jesus Christ, Bree. She kicked me!”

Chloe shrugged, “You deserved it.”

Beca chewed slowly and didn’t ask questions. The wild look in the head counselors’ eyes gave her enough pause. She wasn’t here to make friends, she was here to keep to herself. Though, part of her knew Chloe Beale wouldn’t let her spend the summer coaching kids on how to properly use a jet ski without having some fun herself.

Her eyes moved to the small clock that hung above the doorway. They had been situated in the corner of the mess hall, sheltered from the noise of the campers tiredly eating their own breakfast. She could see the neon light from the kitchen seeping behind the side of the bench. It was nearly eight. Her stomach churned.

“Beca?”

“Huh?” someone had been talking to her. Aubrey had been talking to her. She knit her eyebrows together, looking at the rest of the people staring at her from the table. “What’d I miss?”

“I said the two of us need to talk. I have a binder on water safety that we need to go through. It’s very important. Probably the most important part of this camp. We can’t have any accidents.”

“Yeah, I think I’m good.” She sounded out easily. “Just make sure kids don’t drown, right?”

“It’s more than that.”

She had struck a nerve, Aubrey had turned a different shade of red than she had seen before and it almost made her feel triumphant. Like she was picking at the strings of a violin that was wound all too tightly. It gave her a familiar rush. A defiant one.

Beca pushed her chair back, standing from her seat. “I’m not the one handling arrows, no offense.”

Stacie didn’t’ look up from her food. “None taken.”    

Aubrey had grown three more shades of red before Beca gave her a slight salute and turned her back, walking out into the cool morning light. She wasn’t used to the atmosphere of the mountain, but she felt hot. Hot from the interaction that had just occurred. There was dew on the grass that soaked into her pant legs and made them cling to her skin. She pulled her long sleeve shirt closer- the red lifeguard design was painted on with a weird substance, the whistle around her neck jingling with each step she took.

Beca took her time as she walked up to the cabin that overlooked the rest of the camp. It was more of a house than anything, large and looming. It had a green roof and looked like one of those places she would construct out of Lincoln logs when she was younger. Gail had hoarded herself away there like a mad scientist, and Beca never knew if she was supposed to knock or not.

Wilken’s had his black El Dorado parked out front. He had a New York license plate and his engine clicked in groaned from the mountain air. He hadn’t been here long, but Beca knew Gail had already offered him a cup of tea that he would decline. He wasn’t much of a tea drinker.

She knocked anyway and was greeted a few seconds later by the owner of the camp. She looked somber, a flannel and a large pair of thick-rimmed glasses. A mug was in her grasp and it radiated steam, edging at the lenses. Gail offered a kind smile, but it seemed forced.

“You’re early,”

“I thought the walk would be longer.”

Gail nodded and stepped inside. She expected to be led someone more formal, an office with a large oak desk and bookshelves lining the wall. Instead, she was sat in the middle of a sofa that faced two other chairs. A fire crackled to her right and made sweat form against her brow. It was sure to warm up soon, having burned all night. Wilkens eyed a full cup of tea that he was too polite to decline.

He was a dark man, black and grey hair that always accompanied the black suit that he wore. Today he evaded the tie, almost like it was more casual. But she had seen him in a court setting. His only two moods were formal and somber. Today seemed to be the ladder.

“Hello, Rebecca.” He lifted his chin “How have you been?”

“Okay, I think. Everyone is very welcoming.”

She had only been there for three days, and he dropped her off himself. Granted, they hadn’t made much conversation. He wasn’t one to ponder the weather or ask about the tides. instead, they rode quietly with the windows down until it got too cold.    

“Good, I’m glad.” He shifted in his seat, the leather squeaking under his weight. “Have you spoken to your father?”

“I write him letters. Have you?”

“No, afraid not.”

Beca nodded. Gail had been watching this interaction carefully. Neither her nor Beca found a reason for these visits and they had barely begun. He would ask the same questions. How have you been? Have you spoken to your father? Have you caused any trouble? To which he would turn to Gail before asking Has she caused any trouble?

Wilken’s got her to sign paperwork that Beca didn’t care enough to read before thanking her and shaking the woman’s hand. He would nod at Beca too, a little form of affection before leaving completely. He drove away before anyone could ask questions an left the two girls in an unbridled silence.

“Want a muffin?” Gail asked, not drawing her eyes away from the fire. “Maybe some tea?”