01. SOME BIRDS AREN'T MEANT TO BE CAGED.
In all of his sixteen years of life, Puck had pulled some serious stints and never once got caught. He'd shoplifted and trespassed and loitered, gotten into his fair share of school yard brawls, and he'd walked away from all of them as a free man. Well, until this time.
Apparently in small town Ohio, a kid getting drunk and stealing a car is a pretty big deal. Not a jail kinda big deal, but rather a "do a shit ton of community service or go to juvey" kinda big deal. And he wasn't about to waste his whole summer away in juvey. Besides, community service couldn't be that bad, right? He'd probably just mow some grass, paint hop scotch boards on playgrounds, read books to old people.. something like that. A couple hours a week for a month maybe and he'd be back to living his life as a free man.
If only it were that simple.
You can't really compare an underage/DUI/automobile theft to egging someone's house in terms of community service hours. This screw up was definitely screwed up, and the only suitable assignment he could get was to spend his whole summer working at some camp for kids, being a cabin counselor. Puck was rolling his eyes instantly at how it sounded like something out of some Disney movie, but then he agreed. He could play games and shit if he had to. He could be creative and encouraging if he tried really hard.
So on May 30th he was driven by a social worker to Camp Dalton, just a few hours from his house, and dumped off with his backpack over his shoulder. He checked in and got a couple lame t-shirts and a name tag and was shuffled into the main cabin for his counselor training, seeing a bunch of nerdy looking people who were all wearing the same shirt as him sitting at tables looking pumped as hell.
'You must be Noah,' said a dark haired woman who was standing at a separate table in the front of the cabin, going through materials for the training. She didn't sound too happy to see him, and she definitely didn't look like it either. Not like Puck could blame her. Who would want some shitty delinquent hanging around a bunch of impressionable kids?Â
"Puck, actually. But yeah," he said, trying to not sound like a total ass hole, but he could already tell that this chick was one of the ones who would call him a name he didn't even go by just to get under his skin. And he was exactly right.
'Mmhm. Why don't you have a seat, Noah?'Â She just handed him a folder and gestured to some empty seats near the others, a fake smile plastered to her face. All he could do was shrug in response and turn on his heel, heading over to where the other counselors were sitting. He plopped down in a chair, propping his feet up on another and opening the folder, glancing through the materials as he waited for things to get started.
