Breakfast Time

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POV: Rowan

Despite the fact that I absolutely love Camp Dunbrook, and I've been a counselor for several years in a row now, this Summer was already off to a rough start. The girls in cabin one seemed to prefer Frankie-- who, truthfully, was better with the kids than I had expected-- and it was growing increasingly frustrating as we tried to get them all into bed. 

"One more spooky story?" Briclyn begged, garnering a chorus of "pleeeease!" from the other campers. It had barely been an entire day and the girls were already following Briclyn's orders and begging to braid her hair. Typical. There was always one girl who seemed to dominate the rest. Frankie quickly chimed in with the campers, a bold smirk glinting through her eyes. I groaned. 

"Fine!" I gave in, earning a side hug from the cute little redhead named Chloe to my left. I honestly cared more about the beam on Frankie's face, though. I'm not typically the kind of girl that needs to impress everyone, and I'm definitely not an approval-seeker, but I also wasn't used to being around someone who was so... difficult. 

I started reciting the camp lore about the fisherman who drowns little campers on the lake, holding my flashlight under my chin for the extra spooky effect.

"Evan Dunbrook was a camper here, fifty-something years ago," I began, watching Frankie sit back on her arms while the girls cuddled up around her. "Even when he was just a little boy, he loved messing with all of the other campers. Playing pranks, messing with their food, throwing them in the lake," The girls murmured among themselves, clearly not believing a word I was saying. "Just before he became a counselor-in-training, he and a little girl named Sally vanished at the campfire. The other campers say that Evan took one of his pranks too far, and accidentally drowned Sally in the lake. But Evan was gone too, and everyone remembered him more than Sally,"

"That's a little sexist--" Frankie cut in. I glared at her. 

"Soooo they petitioned to have the lake, and the camp renamed after him. Camp Dunbrook. Over the last few years, campers, myself included, have claimed to spot him out on an old kayak, aimlessly rowing around the lake. And sometimes, if you listen long enough with your head underwater-- you can hear Sally screaming, and nobody coming to her rescue," I trailed off, watching the girls faces blanch. 

"Boo!" Frankie screams, somehow having retracted herself from the circle to sneak up behind me. She grabs my shoulders as I let out a yelp-- almost dropping an F-bomb. 

"Oh my god," I mumble, my heart beat racing. All the little girls squealed with laughter, clearly having watched her sneak behind me. "Alright alright, be quiet and get in your bunks. You're all just a bunch of comedians, huh?" I grumble, standing up and brushing myself off. Frankie followed suit, smiling sweetly. 

"And if any of you get scared in the middle of the night-- wake up Frankie!" I exclaim, turning out the single bulb that hung from the ceiling, covering the room in thick darkness. 



The counselor campfire tonight was more lively than it had been yesterday. We were all kicked back, unwinding, and complaining about our campers. It was tradition, but of course we all love it here. 

I sat next to my friend Kalea. She was the counselor for bunk two, and her CIT was an angry-looking girl named Taylor. I noted that Taylor and her friends from the group home sat a good distance away from the rest of us. 

Kalea and I had been bunkmates since were were twelve. She always got top, and I always got bottom, even though we all know the top bunk was way better. I like to keep the peace, and Kalea was the type to always get what she wanted. 

"So is your CIT, like, kind of weird?" She mumbles, sipping on a corona that she wasn't supposed to have. I roll my eyes.

"Frankie? She's certainly not the friendliest person I've ever worked with, but it's going okay," I reply.  Kalea groans. 

"Well good for you, because my girl is honestly like, the fucking worst. She's bitchy, and complains a lot, and has to have everything her way--" She goes on and on. I choke back a laugh.

"Sounds kind of like you," I point out. Kalea takes a long swig of her drink.

"Touche. Anyways, I'm kind of thinking of hooking up with Dylan. He got way hotter, right?" Kalea nods her head in Dylan's direction, and I link eyes with Frankie, who was sitting nearby. She gave me a half smile, and I felt myself blush slightly. Her smile was really pretty, I wish she did it more. I didn't answer Kalea, and she touched her cold bottle to my leg. 

"Jesus!" I muttered, nudging her away. 

"I said I'm thinking about hooking up with Dylan. But he's like, all over that dyke-y girl," She mutters under her breath. 

"Fuck, Kal, don't use that word. And if you're talking about Blake, they're actually not a girl," I huff, pulling my knees up to my chest. 

"Oookay. I didn't realize you were so sensitive. But seriously, do you think Dylan's into.. Blake?" Kalea laughs. I stand up. 

"I don't know, Kalea. Why don't you go ask him," I mutter, marching off down the hill. 

Kalea has been my friend for, well, forever now. She's the kind of friend that you can't seem to stop growing apart from, but you can't exactly let go of either. We fit together like two puzzle pieces when we were young, but now, as eighteen-year-olds, I couldn't seem to make sense of what drew me to her in the first place. 

I find myself gravitating towards kissing rock, where I'd followed Frankie the other night. I had a lot of memories that took place here. As a camper-- chasing little boys with Kalea and pecking them on the lips at the final campfire before we lost contact for the rest of the year, and as a counselor-in-training, having my first real kiss in the moonlight. I circled around the rock, searching with my hands for the inscription. There it is. 

R.F + M.M

I ran my hands over our crude engraving. It was worn and crossed out. He'd kissed Kalea the day after. 

"Hey," A voice calls out to me. I glance around and land my gaze on Frankie. I laughed, now she was following me!

"Hey," I reply. I can just barely make out the dark amber color of her eyes, glinting in the moonlight. She walks up to me. 

"Sorry for scaring you earlier. I just wanted to see you jump," She smirks. I glance down at her. 

"It's fine. Just be aware that I'm going to get you back-- and it's going to be way fucking worse," I laugh. She shakes her head. 

"Naw. Nothing scares me," She says quietly. After a beat, she speaks again. "Are you okay? I thought I saw you and that girl fighting," She mumbles. It almost sounded like she actually cared. I pulled my sweatshirt closer around myself. It was the one I'd let her borrow the day, and I noted that it now smelled slightly of cinnamon-- and, palo santo? It was nice. 

"That was Kalea," I sighed. "Old friend, not the best," 

"Hm. All of my old friends either get adopted, go to prison, or die," She laughs harshly. I search in the dark for her hand and grab it. She looks at me, alarmed. "Um-- I'm fine--"

"I know. You seem fine. I just, I guess sometimes it can be nice to be reassured without words," I mumble back. I constantly feel like I'm doing the wrong thing around her. 

"I don't need reassurance," She says, but there's a hint of a laugh in her voice. I sigh in relief. 

"Okay. Well, maybe I just wanted to hold your hand," I remark pointedly. Woah. Did I really just say that? There must be something about kissing rock that brings out the most impulsive version of me. 

"Okay, well, I guess I'm alright with that," She murmurs. She turns towards me, face-on. I swallow. She was just a touch shorter than me, but her intense gaze made me shrink. Her hand released mine, and trailed gently up my arm. I didn't dare exhale. 

"Wassup guys," An unfamiliar voice broke our bubble and we jumped apart. The voice belonged to Blake, who was followed by Dylan and Kalea. Great. What the hell was this? A threesome?

Frankie instantly, almost reflexively, leaned back against the rock. Coolly, she beckoned Blake over. Twigs snapped as everyone gathered around and on top of the rock. Chatting and giggles floated through the air-- especially Kalea's, who was definitely a little bit buzzed. I found myself falling into my own silence while Blake and Frankie cracked jokes at each other and messed around like boys. Just as I was about to walk away, I felt something brush up against my hand, and just like that, Frankie's pinkie was laced with my own. 


Late that night, we all went our separate ways and headed back to our own cabins. As Frankie and I walked side-by-side in silence, I kept replaying the feeling of her touch in my mind. I was glowing. Just before we reached the cabin, Frankie stopped. I look back at her inquisitively.

"Not tired?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. She smiles. 

"Naw. I just wanted to look at you once more in the moonlight,"

Fuck.


The next morning, Frankie and I head off to the mess hall early to set up for breakfast-- Kalea and Taylor were scheduled to wake up our campers and take them to their first meal with their cabin. 

The sun was barely peeking through the trees, but it created a soft honey halo around Frankie's dark hair-- thrown up in a small, messy bun. I noticed now for the first time that the nape of her neck was shaven into an undercut, and I longed to run my fingers against it. But Frankie was quiet, not even a hint in her eyes that we shared any sort of moment last night. Maybe it was all in my head-- or maybe she's the kind of girl that just flirts with anyone. It's not like I really cared, anyway. 

We sliced strawberries in silence, and warmed up large crock pots of oatmeal. Frankie turned on the griddle and began preparing pancakes, yawning throughout the morning shift. Not a single word was exchanged between us, and it was starting to put me on edge. I audibly put my knife down and stare at her. She flips a pancake and glances back. 

"What?" She finally says. I put my hands on my hips. 

"What's your problem?" I ask, sort of in the mood to pick a fight. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or maybe it was some unreleased angst-- but I couldn't seem to bite it back. She raises her eyebrows, focusing on the grill. I notice that her knuckles are white, clutching the spatula. 

"I don't have a problem," She says coolly, not even bothering to face me. I storm up to her and grab her by the shoulders, spinning her around to look me in the eyes. She looks shocked, and amused-- which only gets under my skin further. 

"I just! God, Frankie, every time I think we're making some headway and becoming friends, you change your mind and get all moody ten minutes later! I just don't know what the hell you want from me," I ramble on, just wanting her to acknowledge me, to feel bad-- to seek my approval for once. She sets her spatula down, and the pancakes angrily sizzle behind her. She steps towards me, threateningly, and I swallow hard. Maybe I shouldn't have pushed so hard. I had seen her punch a girl on the first day here. And it was nasty. I backed up, but she stepped forward again. I breathed heavily, nervous. 

"I don't want to be your friend," She mumbles huskily, completely backing me up against the counter. I grip the lip of the surface with my hands, regretting ever starting this conversation. She forcefully grabs my chin in her hand and brings it down towards her face. Oh. I feel her hot breath on skin, sending shivers down my spine. I stare into her deep, brown eyes, and am greeted with an emotion I cannot describe. Holy shit. I smell-- Jesus, what is that? Burnt toast? Just as I think she's about to kiss me, she leaps away from me and grabs the fire extinguisher. It dawns on me that the pancakes are fucking on fire, and I shake off my daze, and turn the griddle off as Frankie sprays down the flames, and the kids start filing in for breakfast.

Oatmeal it is, I guess. 

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