Camp Dunbrook

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POV: Frankie


I never got to go to camp as a kid. A lot of us didn't, being that we're in the system, and we have a tendency to have missed out on a lot of formative childhood activities. Countless times have I made jaws drop after awkwardly mentioning that I didn't know how to ride a bike, or swim, or like, pick out an outfit that doesn't make me look trashy as fuck. It's a fun little surprise to slip into conversation, like, "Oh, haha, yeah, my mom never taught me how to do that. Last I saw her she was more booze than person". Yeah, that one always earns me a lot of friends.

The great thing about the foster system, though, is all the weird little opportunities that crop up and get shoved down our throats. We do a lot of volunteering, we meet a lot of dogs, and this time, we're getting the life-changing opportunity to go to summer camp. As counselors-in-training.

I'll be the first one to say it. This is a stupid fucking idea.

I currently live in a group home. It's not as horrible as you might expect, but I would never rate it above two stars on Yelp. "Smells alright, but some of the girls bite! And not in the sexy way! Will not be returning!"

I've been in the system since I was ten. I bounced around foster families for around six years, but my social worker and I found that I do much better in a structured setting. That, and there have been some incidents. Nothing major— I'm not one of those fire-starters like Yael. Just little things that keep people from wanting to adopt me.

It's alright though. I've been on my own so long now that I don't even think I'd know how to have a family.

"Hey stupid," a voice cuts into my train of thought. I jolt back to reality, and reacquaint myself with the jiggling bus seat, and the dirty, scratched up windows of the school bus we'd so graciously borrowed from the nearby school district. I don't know why they bothered, there was barely enough of us to fill the front of the bus. Blake snaps their fingers in my face and I grab their hand and pull it away.

"What?" I grumble, forcing down a smile.

"I lost you dude, I got lonely," They laugh, scooting down further in the bus seat. I roll my eyes.

"Sorry, this bus ride is kind of brutal, I was about to drift off," I laugh. They jab their long, spindly fingers into my side and I groan.

"I know, that's why I decided to start bothering you again. You can't leave me for the unconscious ether while Taylor's sitting right over there," Blake nods their pointed chin across the aisle, where the infamous Taylor sat beside Cal. I roll my eyes again.

"If you're that scared of Taylor, then you should have held up your end of the deal and made her bed this morning," I mutter. Blake's jaw drops.

"Okay, rude of you to take her side, seeing as I'm pretty sure she hid a pocket knife during pat down, but also— I never made a deal with her! I don't consult with the devil,"

"Right. So you're claiming that you never shared sour patch kids with her— and you don't consult with the devil? Now, I'm not sure if I can believe both of those statements." I laugh. Blake groans.

"God, okay, you caught me. My dad sacrificed me to the devil when I was twelve for a pack of cigarettes and now Lucifer is my foster dad. But, I would never share candy with Taylor," Blake holds up their hand in the scouts honor and we bust up laughing.

Blake and I met a few years ago when they were moved into my group home. It's a home for girls, and I could instantly tell that Blake was uncomfortable. I'm not really the take-you-under-my-wing type, but Blake and I connected instantly. First, it was talking about girls. Not like gross girly gossip, but like, hot girls. I'd met some girls coming in and out of the foster system who were...experimental, but Blake was the first person who would talk to me openly about it. It was validating, and exciting, and I finally had somebody to tell, er, come out to, when I was sure that I was a lesbian. Then, Blake told me that they were nonbinary, and I helped them tell the rest of the house, which, believe me, has not been an easy path. I guess you could say we're sort of bonded for life, now. Soul siblings, and whatnot. Maybe that is family, after all. What do I know?

"Christ, is that the camp?" Blake's voice cuts into my thoughts once again. I glance out the window and sigh. This is going to be a long ass summer.

After a second pat-down getting off the bus, Marley, our director, ushered us into a large dining cabin. The seats were made to look like long, halved logs— but I could smell the IKEA the second I walked in. Everything was a strange, bright, and unappealing shade of orange wood, but the sunlight that poured in through the wide windows was breathtaking. At a second table, a large group of teenagers sat. Of course, they were wearing matching sage green t-shirts— and were sporting a disproportionate amount of bandanas. The room got quiet as we filed in and sat down.

A middle-aged, petite blond woman walked up and shook Marley's hand, before gesturing for the already-quiet room to settle down. She cleared her throat loudly, prompting Blake to give me the side eye. I looked away so that I wouldn't laugh.

Finally, the woman began to speak. "We here at Camp Dunbrook are so honored to have our friends from the Grove Street Girls Home here with us this Summer!" She spoke in a loud, perky voice, and wore a wide, pasted on smile. I glanced at the rest of the group, and they all wore similar raised-brow expressions as Blake and I.

"Um," the petite woman stammered. Clearly we weren't as jubilant as she had expected. We never are. The teenagers on the other side of the room began a clumsy applause, and let out a few hoots and hollers to encourage her. The petite woman's smile returned.

"We believe in rehabilitation, not punishment—"

"God, what does she think we are, war criminals?" Blake mutters. I roll my eyes.

"And we want to give you girls a second chance!"

We all began to squirm in our seats, and I watched as Marley forced Taylor to stay seated. Girl was about to walk the fuck out, and for once, I almost agreed with her. Someone should have given this woman a manual on how to talk to people that don't come from six-figure households.

From across the room, a tall brunette with the longest legs I'd ever seen stood up and hurried over to the petite woman's side. She quickly placed her hands on her shoulders, smiled warmly at her, and began speaking. She had the ambient sort of pep that made me gag.

"What Darlene means, is that we're all really excited to begin this adventure with you all," Her voice is deeper than I had expected. It's poised, confident, and kind. I catch Blake licking their lips jokingly and I shove them into the table, earning a warning glance from Marley.

"This is my third year as a counselor here at Camp Dunbrook, but this is the first time that we will be working with outside counselors-in-training— you guys!" She gestures towards us and beams. "I'm Darlene's right-hand-woman, so I'll be helping her out as we work through this whole process, so please bear with us. Today is all about giving our new friends all the information they need about camp before the campers get here, as well as getting them settled in with their counselor. Sooo... in that case, first and second year counselors, go ahead and head out and start setting up, we'll have you guys introduce yourselves at dinner tonight. Third year counselors, let's, well, let's get cozy!"

And with that, there was a mass scatter. It seemed the younger counselors couldn't escape fast enough. I couldn't blame them, though— this wasn't exactly how I was wanting to spend my summer either.

Not counting Marley, who clearly didn't trust us enough to take a walk, there were seven of us. Blake, Taylor, Cal, Yael, Jazmin, Zinnia, and me. We were matched perfectly with seven third-year counselors staring back at us, of which, four were girls, and three were boys. Darlene and the tall girl were whispering over a clipboard, but finally came and joined us at the silent table.

"Damn, I hope she's my counselor," Blake whispered, nodding at the girl.

"Oh yeah, if you want to be pilfered with camp spirit for the next two months," I bite back, a little more defensive then I had intended to come off.

"I've always wanted my own personal cheerleader," They shrug back. Gross.

"Alright guys! Wow! So I guess we should start by introducing ourselves. I'm Rowan, and you've already met Darlene," the tall girl says, gesturing at Darlene who blushes and makes a meager wave in our direction. At least she has the decency to be embarrassed about her awkward attempt at public speaking. The rest of the counselors introduce themselves as Kalea, Tia, Addison, Tanner, Malik, and Dylan. They all wear the same smile that resembles the cleanness of a brand new pair of Vans that none of us had ever experienced. Rowan begins reading off the assignments, and Blake groans as they get paired with whichever of the white guys was named Dylan. It's a toss-up, really, because they all look the same.
Finally, I hear my name.

"And.... Frances, I guess you're with me!"
"Er, it's Frankie." I mutter back, meeting her eyes. She smiles graciously.

"Frankie, got it!"

Blake stares daggers into the side of my face, and I fight a rising blush.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," They murmur jokingly, stabbing their fingers into my side repeatedly. I try to ignore them, but feel the burning sensation of anger rising in my chest. Everyone is chattering around us, so they don't hear me when I growl back,

"Shut the fuck up, Blake,"

Blake raises their hands in surrender, knowing not to keep pushing. That's how you lose fingers in a group home.

After a couple of hours of general, mind-numbing instruction and information, Darlene finally sets us loose with our counselors to get settled into our cabins. I watched with disdain as Blake meandered after an all-too-perky Dylan in the opposite direction, leaving me alone with the tall girl. Er, Rowan.

"Come on, Frankie, let's head down to our cabin. We get to be in cabin one, which is pretty cool if you ask me," She smiles warmly and starts leading me down a large grassy hill towards a cluster of small, screened in cabins. I groan. I've roughed it before, believe me, I have, and I'm not exactly too keen to revisit those memories.

"So, uh, how long have you been in the group home?" Rowan inquires as we march down the hill. I swallow, instantly feeling uncomfortable. There is nothing weirder than talking to kids with families about your lack thereof.

"Uh," I start, but she cuts me off by slapping her open palm to her forehead.

"Shit—" I'm surprised to hear her curse. "I probably shouldn't ask that, huh? I'm sorry—"

"Nah, it's fine. But uh, I've been at this particular home for like... a year and a half.. Ish," I say quietly. She's silent for a minute, and I can tell she doesn't know what to say.

"It's cool that you get to do stuff like this," She smiles, her pale optimism hitting me like a rock.

"I guess," I mutter, desperately wanting this conversation to end. Luckily, it does. We arrive at our cabin, and Rowan lets me in.

It's a dark oak square, with bunk beds in every corner. On the far wall are two floor cots that look mildly more comfortable than the bunks, and Rowan points to them.

"That's where we get to sleep. One of the many privileges of being a counselor. I've wanted one of those cots since I was a camper here," She grins, grabbing my bag out of my hand and slinging it beside what I assume to be her stuff. She lays down on the cot closest to the wall and breathes deeply, smiling the whole time. I stand still awkwardly in the doorway, making the acquaintance of several spiders huddled up in the corner of the cabin. I can't wait for them to see my tits in the shower. Rowan sits up and notices my uncertainty.

"Ah, yes. Our first duty is to get this place clean," She says. I quickly grab a broom from the corner of the cabin and get to work, just wanting to power through to the end of the day.

"Hey, you almost done in there, Frankie?" Rowan's voice calls through the screen door. Truthfully, I had been staring at the same spot on the wooden floor for the past thirty minutes, lazily pushing a scrub brush around. I do enough cleaning as it is with Marley peering over my shoulder, I think I deserve to catch a few Z's while Rowan has her back turned.

"Uh— yeah, one second," I reply, tossing the brush to the side, brushing off my knees, and exiting the cabin. "What?"

"Look," Rowan exclaims, nodding her head behind me. I turn around to face the yellow cabin door and notice a freshly painted plaque. She had repainted the cabin number, and added our names in little swirling letters. To top it off, she added a couple of bright smiley faces— one for each of us. I turned back to face her, stifling a smile. I didn't want her to know I thought it was sort of cute.
"You, uh, got paint on your chin," I mutter, once again, trying not to laugh. Her eyes widened and she instinctively reached up for her chin, immediately covering her fingers in yellow wet paint.

"Oh! Thanks. I better go wash it off. When I come back why don't we head down to the mess hall for dinner, okay?" She smiles, heading off towards a smaller cabin that I assumed was supposed to be the bathroom.

The second we arrived at the mess hall, Rowan and I instantly branched off from each other. I'm sure she was eager to drop the whole best-friends act, and I was relieved to see Blake and the rest of the gang already seated and eating.

"Yo! Frank, not gonna lie, this food is the bomb—" Blake yelled from their seat. The rest of the girls nodded and murmured in agreement. The food was being served buffet-style, so I headed over to the table, grabbed a plate, and loaded up. I made sure to get extra mashed potatoes, because whenever Marley made them at the group home she always added, like, an extra inch of milk, causing them to be soggy as fuck.

"So how's cleaning with miss body-oddy?" Blake asks as I sit down, literally unable to contain themselves. I shove them as I sit, their body colliding with Taylor's. Shit. I should have been more careful.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Taylor yells, turning to face Blake. I don't know why in the hell they decided to sit beside each other in the first place. The two of them can hardly go two minutes without getting into some kind of fist fight, and it's always ugly.

'It wasn't my fault Tay," Blake says with an open mouth, chewing their broccoli openly. God, no wonder Taylor hates Blake so much. "Frankie shoved me,"

"I told you to keep your dyke-ass hands away from me," Taylor mutters, standing up and getting in Blake's face. I glance around the room and can't catch sight of Marley. Luckily, the room is loud enough that nobody is paying attention to Taylor. I might still be able to diffuse this. Blake stands up. Fuck.

"The fuck did you just call me?" They say, slamming their fork down. Taylor towers over Blake, and I know that if I don't intervene, Blake is going to be spending the rest of the summer in the ICU.

"Sorry, Taylor, it's my fault. I didn't think I shoved Blake that hard," I say, trying to stay calm. I try to put myself in between them, because I know that Blake won't back down for their own good, and Taylor won't end the conversation without some kind of pay out.

"I don't know what it is with you gay bitches, you think you can just get all up in my business—" Taylor is now standing nose to nose with me, and I stick out a hand to keep my distance, feeling my heart beat faster with anger.

"Get your hands off of me," Taylor snarls, grabbing my fingers and squeezing them until I cry out in pain. I wind up my other arm and punch her straight in the nose. Blood sprays from her face as she stumbles back, clearly seeing stars, and I look up and make direct eye contact with Marley as she enters the room.
Shit.


"How many times have I told you not to get involved when Blake and Taylor fight?" Marley asks me. The room has completely cleared out, except for us. I close my eyes in frustration.

"Approximately a thousand. But I can't just sit there and let Blake get the shit beat out of them!" I exclaim, searching Marley's eyes for a grain of empathy.

"Look, Frankie, I know you guys aren't all that excited about this whole.. camp thing. But it took a lot of work for me to arrange this. People aren't exactly thrilled to let rowdy orphans around twelve-year-old campers,"
"--Well, that's just because they choose to stereotype us." I cut in. Marley raises her eyebrows at me and waits for me to finish.
"And you proved them right today." She replies. I open my mouth to protest, but decide it's not even worth it. I love Marley, I do, but she will never understand why I can't just sit there and wait for help while Blake gets the shit beat out of them. That's not who I am.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll make sure Blake avoids Taylor for now on," I mutter, rolling my eyes inwardly. Marley lets out a heavy sigh.

"How about instead, you focus on you? This is your last summer before you're out of the system, Frankie. Why don't you try to enjoy it?" Marley smiles.

"You mean my last Summer before I'm dumped on the side of the road like trash?" I mumble back, knowing it'll get a rise out of Marley. She sighs again.

"We'll talk more about it later, Frankie. There's options. But right now, you have to focus on getting through this summer and making the most of it. Otherwise I'll have to send you to another home," Marley stands up and I know that the conversation is over.

"You can head back to your cabin now," She says, crossing her arms.

"I thought we were supposed to have a campfire tonight?" I say quietly. I wasn't going to say it out loud, but I was kind of looking forward to watching Blake catch marshmallows on fire. Marley gives me a tight-lipped smile.

"I'm sorry, Frankie. You made Taylor bleed— you're lucky that this is the only punishment I'm giving you,"

I snort, standing up angrily and storming out of the mess hall. So much for summer break.


It's dark when Rowan enters the cabin. Not much time has passed since I was banished to my cot, but enough for me to know she's been at the campfire. I can smell the smoke as soon as she enters the room. I pretend to be asleep as she gingerly shuts the screen door.

She pads over to our cots, where I watch her through lidded eyes.

"Frankie? Are you awake?" She mumbles. I slow my breathing so that she thinks I'm asleep. I'm not really in the mood to hear her pity me.

Assuming I'm asleep, she begins undressing. Christ. I try to take deep breaths and keep my heart from beating straight out of my chest. I shouldn't look. I really shouldn't.

I can't right? That's like, gross. That would literally make me a predatory lesbian.

Fuck.

I crack an eye open, just long enough to see her pull sweatpants over a tiny little thong.

Fuuuuuuck.

My breath catches in my throat and I cough, and try to pretend like I'd just woken up.

"Hey sleepyhead," Rowan says, glancing over as I sit up on my cot. I grumble a reply. She's way too fucking chipper. 

"Wanna come out to the campfire?" She asks, handing me a bottle of water that was sitting on the ground. I gratefully

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