#camp firefly

Emily wakes up on the first day of camp feeling like someone is sitting on her chest. It’s the same atmosphere as usual; her head rises from the same old flat pillow to the same old bunk above her. It’s the same atmosphere, sure, but today feels fundamentally different, for it’s the first time she’ll be interacting with real campers. Children. A gaggle of young folk coming to her every day for instruction or nurturing or a hand with the hot-glue stick. She’s been trained for this, of course, but what if she messes up a craft? What if she accidentally says “fuck”?

Wide awake, JJ and Penelope are up and bouncing around the cabin cheerily by the time Emily wiggles her toes and comes to from Dreamland. Emily had only awoken in the first place because the early-rising pair tuned the radio to something upbeat and relatively staticless, cranking up the volume. Emily would’ve considered that very rude had she not already slept in for an extra hour, and had she not been greeted with incredible excitement once her eyes popped open.

“She’s awake!” JJ cheered, Penelope replying with a soft good morning!. Emily took her time pulling her body from the mattress, and now sits still-groggy on the floor by her bunk, trying to do her makeup in a tiny, fogged compact mirror. Penelope is standing behind JJ, braiding bright purple ribbons into her hair.

It’s so early it’s still dark outside, so the three of them are illuminated by a sorta-eerie yellow light, an old light bulb wired smack in the center of the cabin. Penelope’s bags are packed by the door, and when Emily notices them, she feels a pang of sadness upon remembering that Penelope will be moving out to her own cabin with her own group of campers today. Emily will get to stay with JJ, which she thinks is quite nice, because the only other option was a single room all the way over by Rossi’s office all by herself. And she’s finding that she quite likes spending time with JJ and Penelope, so newfound solitude would be a drag.

The bunch have spent their past week in training--learning the lay of the land through semi-degraded VHS tapes of Rossi when he was young and sprightly still, walking through the camp and delivering very specific instructions on how to deal with very specific situations. Penelope was in charge of teaching the fun stuff---chants and traditions and how to make friendship bracelets.

On a particularly sweaty, boring training day, Emily pulled Aaron aside--away from the group who was watching an old-Rossi-video about the lake just behind the camp--and asked him if everything was always like this. Emily wasn’t entirely sure what the “this” was, whether she meant peppy or hot or musty or involved, but Aaron had nodded his head sympathetically and walked Emily back to her seat with a whispered, “You’ll get used to it.” Emily was only a tiny bit aware of Penelope’s eyes fixated on her as she slumped back down in the sticky plastic seat and focused back on Rossi-with-hair explaining the stupid history of the stupid lake.

And used to it she got. Spencer, too.

Turns out he shared the same sentiment as Emily--the, “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, but I don’t hate it,” sentiment, as they’d so concisely dubbed it, when they sat together in the back of the big room training was taking place in, gossiping and giggling as Rossi, real Rossi --- old Rossi --- stood in front of the small group and explained yet another probably-self-explanatory camp rule.

For as much training as it feels like they participate in --- or sit through, rather --- Spencer still wakes up on the first day of Real Camp so stressed out he checks for gray hairs in the mirror.

It turns out that you can sit through a series of convoluted VHS tapes and Penelope-lessons and still not know a thing about what you’re supposed to be doing. It also turns out that while Camp Firefly is clearly very loved, it’s not the most...efficient summer camp of the area. Or the most safe. Or staffed. Or large. In fact, Spencer marvels at the fact people even send their kids here to stay. It’s not that the camp is poorly run or anything (to imply that would be to question the abilities of him and his friends, Spencer acknowledges), but there’s got to be better options, is the point.

Besides the small handful of counselors Spencer had become close with, the staff only consists of a trio of kitchen staff, one (one!) lifeguard, and a male nurse that Spencer had spoken to once and left the conversation supremely uneasy at the poor guy giving any medical advice. Spencer made a mental note to try his hardest to not have any health issues during his time here.

The kitchen staff are older---like, appear-in-the-old-training-videos older, but they entertain the rest of the newer, younger staff with stories of their youth. The nature of Camp Firefly means that they have stories about Spencer’s friends, too, as the majority of them have been going to the camp every summer since they were children, aging up into their jobs as counselors.

Spencer hears about the time an elementary-aged Derek begged to help serve food to the other campers just because, and about the time Penelope and JJ (when the story is told, they call her Jennifer) passed a petition calling for Rossi’s retirement around the whole camp, just because he cancelled the Talent Show. (The petition turned up only 4 signatures, and the Talent Show is no longer a Camp Firefly tradition).

It’s awe-inducing to Spencer that these people around him have lived whole lives in these dingy cabins. They’ve known each other for ages, built relationships and traditions and memories and stories, all because their parents chose the cheapest sleepaway camp option.

Spencer wonders how different his life would have turned out if he’d been indoctrinated into Summer Camp Culture in his youth, whether he’d even be at Camp Firefly now. Probably not. Definitely not.

Everyone is hanging out around Rossi’s office when the first bus arrives, lounging against the walls and picking at their cuticles. The sun is meandering its way over the horizon finally, but it still feels impossibly early. The group wears bright orange Camp Firefly t-shirts that are meant to be matching, but budget things mean that some of the shirts are more worn---Aaron’s has the sleeves cut off, and the logo is largely rubbed off of JJ’s---and some are brand new.

The crackling of the bus’ tires signals it’s presence before the vehicle peeks over the hill, and when it’s finally in everyone’s line of vision, it’s like a switch flips. They’re hooting and hollering, jumping and dancing in the name of welcoming this bus. Spencer has a wild grin on his face, and when he meets Emily’s eyes, they share a look of fondness and excitement.

After the first bus arrives, the day goes by as quickly as a montage--a cluster of quickly moving vignettes.

Spencer watches as a young girl stares up at Derek, eyes wide and full of wonder. He’s lifting her--and three other girls’--duffle bags with ease, muscles flexing and shiny with sweat. Same, Spencer thinks, realizing his expression is most likely the same as the girl’s. Derek flashes him a quick, hot smile, and Spencer grins in return.

Emily executes her first craft--a cluster of glitter and string and construction paper--flawlessly. Each group introduces themselves to her with a chorus of “hi Emily,” and it warms her heart more than she expected. One girl missing her front tooth hangs back as her group is leaving--Penelope’s group is leaving--just to tell Emily that she likes her “funny makeup.” It’s just eyeliner, really, it’s not that funny, but the sentiment makes Emily smile nonetheless.

Aaron has some trouble with children in his group picking beds, a small verbal scuffle breaking out between two campers vying for the last top bunk. Aaron, ever a mediator, solves it with a stern glance at the pair and a reminder that the other option out of the two is a bed near a window, another highly-sought-after spot. They fight for the window bed next, and Aaron feels a gray hair sprout on the spot.

Once all of Penelope’s campers have unpacked, she takes them on a top-secret trip down to the lake. It’s definitely not top-secret, it’s a staple of every group’s first-day tour, but Penelope has a knack for making her campers feel special, so they creep around the sandy shore on their tiptoes, whispering, while Andrea the Lifeguard looks on.

Despite the speed and relative easiness of the day, everyone finds themselves exhausted, greeting each other with pantomimes of falling asleep and loud sighs. It’s not been a bad day at all, but a long one, and in an attempt to remedy the feeling Derek graciously offers to run to the supermarket and pick up some fun snacks---a counselors only affair.

Spencer volunteers to accompany him on account of him wanting to spend obscene amounts of time with Derek, and also on the account of Rossi offering his expensive car for Derek to drive. Oh, to feel buttery leather seats and hear music and smell anything but dry leaves and B.O.

As soon as their campers are pawned off to other people and sufficiently supervised, Rossi tosses his keys to Derek, who catches them with a jingle.

“Be back soon,” Derek promises, and Spencer punctuates with a wave and a smile.

The fluorescent lights buzz in Spencer’s ear, comforting him. Bzz, bzz. Hope you like the air conditioning, they call out to him. He sure does.

Normally the energy of these 24/7 high-budget chain grocery stores freak Spencer out. It’s always too bright, too loud, too full-of-people. But tonight, there’s not a soul around except him and Derek and the high-school-aged cashier, so Spencer’s actually feeling particularly soothed. The sounds of Derek’s feet dragging on the shiny floor and the squeaky wheel are good sounds, he decides. He could still do without the candy-coated pop music wafting through the speakers.

The shopping cart remains empty for about fifteen minutes before either of them address it. Derek and Spencer spend those 15 minutes wandering aisles, relatively silent save for short, casual remarks like, “Oh, maybe we should get barbecue chips,” or, “JJ loves these Fruit by The Foot.”

Derek pauses from where he’s pushing the cart and turns to Spencer. “We should probably start shopping for real now, huh?”

Honestly, half of Spencer thought they had been shopping for real already. But apparently, if you’re not putting things in the cart, it doesn’t count, he learns. (Derek might be a misguided teacher in that lesson, though.)

“I like to take my time here, because it’s about the only time during camp I get to be alone,” Derek explains, tossing a loaf of bread into the cart absentmindedly. Bread is not on the list.

Spencer tugs at his fraying string bracelet. “Oh. Sorry, then,” he says. Three boxes of graham crackers are set delicately next to the bread.

“For what?”

“Well, you’re not really alone right now,” Spencer observes.

Derek shrugs casually. “Sure, I guess. But you don’t really count, Spence,” he says.

He means it kindly, Spencer knows. But it’s an odd thing to hear--what does that mean? Is he implying Spencer is too boring, or too quiet? Before Spencer can spiral too much, Derek notices his uncomfortable silence and continues, “Hey, no, I mean because I like spending time with you. Like, it’s easy. I don’t have to think about it.”

Spencer has a flash of a vision of Derek dipping him right there in aisle 6 and planting a nice firm kiss onto his lips. In that vision, there’s a fog machine whirring and some Chopin playing. Vision-Spencer nips at vision-Derek’s lower lip.

Instead of all that, present-moment-Spencer nudges Derek’s shoulder with his own, murmuring a happy little “likewise,” and clinging onto the sound of Derek’s chuckle.

Derek kept his hand on the center console the whole drive home, and Spencer desperately wanted to reach out and grab it, to open his palm and lay in it, letting him be engulfed like a weighted blanket. But he kept his hands to himself, squarely on his thighs.

It’s dark when they return, and the bright LED headlights of Rossi’s fancy car seem out of place when they pull back into the camp. Everything seems out of place. Spencer can’t put his finger on it --- the buildings haven’t shifted, and the camp is exactly the same as it was before he left, and yet he’s got this strange premonition that something is just...off.

Spencer’s shoe is untied, and he can feel the laces whipping his ankle as he and Derek trek to Rossi’s office to return his keys to him. He’d reach down and tie them if not for the plastic bags of groceries in his hand---god forbid he let food sit on the dirty, unpaved path, no matter how many layers of plastic packaging protect it. Besides, the air feels thicker than usual, and each time the knit of his shoelace brushes his skin, Spencer is reminded just how uncomfortable everything feels and how desperate he is to be inside.

Everyone is packed into Rossi’s office when the pair gets there, and Spencer’s stomach sinks the tiniest bit.

Penelope and Emily are lounging in those sticky plastic chairs, showered and smelling like a cocktail of cheap, fruity shampoo. Behind them are Aaron and JJ --- JJ’s standing to braid French braids into Penelope’s wet hair, and Aaron just appears to be shaking out pent-up energy. How he isn’t tired, Spencer doesn’t know. Confused, and with hesitant movements, Derek pushes away a stack of bright-white papers on Rossi’s desk to make space for the grocery bags. “What’s everyone doing in here?” he asks. “I thought we were doing Shifts tonight.”

Now that campers have arrived at the camp, it’s become a little more complicated to hang out as a group in the evenings, as they’ve all got an obligation to be in their cabins just in case. Liabilities, and all that.

The first year Aaron was old enough to become a counselor---he was the first of the bunch to age up into the job---he devised an elaborate, elaborate system that allowed the group to socialize without any sleeping campers being left alone.

It’s complete with maps and rules and a very strict set of time shifts, so in addition to Spencer and Emily’s official training, they’d been trained on the side by a very drill-sergeant-y JJ in what Aaron all those years ago so aptly dubbed “Shifts.”

Neither Spencer nor Emily have got it down yet.

“Rossi has an announcement,” Aaron says, pulling his ankle up behind him into a simple hamstring stretch.

“Yeah, I heard he’s gonna promote you to Head of Grocery Shopping, Der,” Penelope teases, peering jovially at Derek through the corner of her eye.

“Haha,” Derek deadpans, and tosses her a pack of fruit snacks that he’d picked out specifically for her. They're the good brand, the blue bag, and she accepts graciously with a kiss blown in his direction. Derek catches it, and presses it to his cheek.

Emily has noticed that Rossi always slinks into his office after his guests have arrived. He’s never there waiting, never anticipating. She has no clue where he’s coming from, although she assumes it’s from his cabin. He always makes an entrance, always sits with a weird old-guy sigh, and then launches into whatever reason he’d called the meeting in the first place.

On cue, Rossi swings the door open and lowers himself into his chair slowly. Emily anticipates it and then there it is---Rossi sighs that damn sigh, and leans forward onto his desk. Although no one else moves, the air shifts towards him as well, and it feels like the seven of them are all standing nose-to-nose.

Penelope slips Rossi a fruit snack discreetly, sliding it across the table to rest by his elbow.

“You know I love you all very much,” Rossi starts, and Emily feels like she might puke. That’s the thing about her Rossi prediction --- the important part, the part where he speaks, is the part she’ll never be able to guess.

So, she feels like she might puke. Not because she feels ill, of course, but in her experience all of that cheesy, “I love you” bullshit always prefaces the worst news, and she has absolutely no clue what is about to come out of Rossi’s mouth. Her mind leaps to the worst possible conclusion---”You’re firing all of us,” she blurts out, relieving the tension just a tad as JJ bursts into snickers behind her.

Another sigh. “No, I’m not firing you.”

“A kid died?”

“Jesus, Emily, would you let me finish?” Rossi says.

Then, after a deep breath, “Developers are coming tomorrow to look at the land. I’m planning on selling Camp as soon as this summer is finished.”

Oh, Emily thinks.

It hits them like a punch to the gut.

There’s hardly room to breathe in the cabin, let alone fall to the floor, but somehow JJ makes it work. The sound of her knees hitting the wooden floor reverberates and warps through the space.

Emily and Spencer exchange a watery glance and mirror each other, biting the inside of their cheeks at the same time. They share a small, spiritless smile at the misfortune.

Penelope is gasping short and shallow breaths as she staves off cries, reaching down and behind her for JJ, who has tucked her head into her knees, pulling off an emotional Child’s Pose on the filthy floor.

Penelope crying is awkward because Emily is sitting right there, upset as well but characteristically less overt about it. Their knees are touching --- Emily’s right to Penelope’s left --- and yet, there’s no tissue for Emily to give Penelope, no way to console her without feeling irreparably out of place. Emily sinks lower into her seat, wishing she had the confidence to place her hand on Penelope’s leg as a tender signal that she’s there and she understands.

Derek is shoved into Spencer as Aaron pushes past him and out of Rossi’s office. It’s not a malicious push, and the sad look Derek gives Spencer is one of pity both for Aaron and for himself, too. An anguished cry comes from outside, from Aaron, and everyone’s eyes widen a little at the sound.

It’s impressive to Emily just how immediately everyone started crying. Before Rossi had even finished his sentence, there were tears welling up in Penelope’s big hazel eyes. Emily almost feels jealous at the brazen displays of emotion. She wants to love something so hard that she could cry at the drop of a hat over it. Nothing has ever touched her as Camp Firefly has touched Penelope, touched JJ, touched Aaron, touched Derek.

“I feel like my world is crashing around me,” Derek admits shyly. “As stupid as that sounds.”

Spencer nods. He knows the feeling. They sit on the porch of their cabin in creaky rocking chairs, a cloud of bug spray encompassing them.

“It’s like, I grew up at this camp. This camp saved me as a kid.” Derek shakes his head.

This camp is saving me now, Spencer thinks wryly before tucking that thought away in a deep corner of his brain. “I’m really sorry, Derek,” he says sincerely.

The door to the cabin creaks open, and a teary-eyed child steps out onto the porch. His feet are light, and he closes the door behind him slowly, clearly not trying to wake any of his fellow campers. “Derek?” he asks quietly. “I can’t sleep...and I kinda miss my mom.”

“C’mere, then,” Derek says tenderly, and gestures for the boy to sit in one of the unoccupied rocking chairs. “Spencer and I were just talking about how much we miss our moms, right Spence?”

Spencer agrees with a nod and a kind smile directed at the boy, then he takes a backseat to the conversation unfolding in front of him. He watches as Derek effortlessly consoles the weeping child before him by sharing his own stories of similar plights in homesickness and offering jokingly to sing the cabin to sleep next time.

After a few minutes Spencer’s mind starts to wander, curious on how the rest of his friends are sleeping tonight after the news of Camp Firefly’s imminent closure. He hopes Emily is chatting with JJ just as he’s chatting with Derek, comforting her and providing the very few words of solace that would help in this situation. He thinks of Penelope and Aaron, all alone, and he half-considers walking over to each of their cabins just to check on them. He doesn’t, though, because it’s technically against the rules, and because Derek is standing, wrapping up his conversation and holding his hand out to help Spencer up out of his seat. The camper, who Spencer has learned is named Alex, scampers inside, tears dried.

Derek holds intense locked eye-contact with Spencer for a second. His eyes are soul-searching, making it clear that he has something he would like to say to Spencer. Maybe he wants to thank Spencer for listening to him talk, or accompanying him to the grocery store. Spencer quickly flips through a plethora of ideas of what Derek could say next like he’s flipping through a book, but he comes up short.

Derek’s mouth is open slightly, like he’d taken in a breath to speak and then lost his train of thought. The sight of him makes Spencer sweat a little, and just for a moment he feels like maybe he should break the short distance between them and kiss him.

Then Derek is tearing his eyes away, dropping Spencer’s hand, murmuring a gentle, “Sleep well, Spencer,” and retreating inside and to his bunk.

“Goodnight,” Spencer replies, but Derek’s already tucked himself in and turned his back to where Spencer stands by the open door.

Emily is always the last one to fall asleep. She knows this based solely on a feeling, an energy that settles over the camp when everyone else’s eyelashes are finally closed and their breathing patterns slowed. It takes a little longer on this night, considering the 40 new bodies in the vicinity--Welcome, Campers!--and the obviously upsetting news that’d been delivered to her and her friends, but finally Emily feels it. She’s the only one awake.

As much as Emily doesn’t like to spend time to herself, as she often finds herself in rabbit holes of self-loathing thoughts, this nightly hour-or-so of atmospheric solitude is comforting. Usually.

Tonight, she’s reeling with visions of land developers coming to the camp in fancy suits, and clipboards, and leather loafers that are far unsuited to trek through Camp Firefly’s unpaved land. And it sucks to imagine.

Emily has only spent a week or so here at the camp, so she doesn't feel like this loss hits her particularly hard. The only reason she’s even at this tiny camp in the first place is the fact that it’s on the exact opposite end of the country from where she’d spent her spring.

When summer ends, and this camp is gone, all she’ll need to do to heal is move to a new city, and make new friends. Then she’ll repeat the process once she gets hurt or bored. The collection of people who have known and loved Emily Prentiss is so impossibly large, and as a result, large is the collection of people who have lost her and haven’t thought about her since.

With regret, Emily recognizes that the group she’s met and befriended this past week will eventually forget about her, remembering her only as the charismatic figure who took over the Craft Cabin the year the camp closed.

And yet, she feels differently than usual. She thinks of pretty Penelope, who is so sweet and sheepish and shy around her, but blooms into wide smiles and rosy cheeks around others. Of JJ, who eagerly taught her how to braid and make friendship bracelets on only their second day of meeting. Derek and Aaron, the rare macho men who haven’t made her want to gouge her eyes out but instead make her laugh constantly. She thinks of Spencer, the quiet intellectual who she feels such a warmth toward, considering him her baby sibling or her protegé.

She’s not entirely sure of what this emotion is, what it means or what it will mean in the future. What she does know, though, is that she’ll take up as much space as possible until her quiet disband from the mismatched group of friends. It’s how she always goes.

It’s then that she decides fuck the developers and fuck Rossi’s plans. If she’s going down and away with this camp, she might as well make it count. As she closes her eyes, finally ready to sleep, a plan begins to formulate in her mind.

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