CHAPTER 1
There’s nothing worse than a pouring rainstorm on the first day of summer. Wait, there is—a pouring rainstorm while sitting in traffic on the first day of summer. Luckily, the radio in my old sedan was still working, and it was ‘90s weekend, which helped drown out the pattering of the rain on my roof. I didn’t mind the traffic too much; I just preferred to see where I was going instead of squinting through the windshield. I was finally about to reach my destination after spending close to thirty hours on the road in the last two days. My best friend, Emily, thought it was completely senseless of me to drive pretty much cross-country in a car that looked like it wouldn’t make it to the next town—all in hopes of getting a job working at a beach club for the summer.
No, I was not crazy. It all started when I’d seen an ad about a week ago, for last-minute spots at Bays Beach Club and Summer Camp in Madison, Connecticut. It had popped up in the ad field of a search engine when I was shopping online for beach sandals. Except those spots weren’t for job openings; they were for campers. I didn’t bother calling first; in my experience, that’s the best way to get an immediate rejection. It’s harder to turn people away in person…right? It didn’t matter; my first instinct was to get in the car and drive more than halfway across the country with a positive attitude.
Sure, there were closer camps where I could find employment. But Bays offered free housing with employment. I’d finished my first year at the University of Denver, where I’d been lucky enough to qualify for housing; you had to either be from way out of town or a perfect straight-A student. The thing I kept hearing from my adviser was that I had to keep my GPA above a 3.7 to keep my dorm, or I’d be sent back home to commute. Two things were wrong with that threat: First, I didn’t consider my dad’s house a commute. It was a mere twenty-minute drive from campus. Second, I hadn’t considered it my home for over a year, since my dad’s girlfriend, now fiancée, moved in last April. Since then, that homey feeling had turned to something else. It had become more like living with a new couple as they discovered new things about each other—eye-rolling, nauseating, and alienating. Those long months before I moved into my dorm at the end of August were unbearable.
So, I’d managed to keep my grades up—barely—to the minimum. But now I needed a place to live for the summer. Emily and her parents had been gracious enough to invite me to stay with them, but I couldn’t keep “staying with people” throughout the next three summers.
“Just make sure you have enough money for gas to get back home,” Em had warned me after I revealed my “completely thought out plan.” Let’s hear it for the support of friends.
Bays Beach Club seemed perfect—at least from what I could tell from the photos online. Beautiful beach, stunning sunrise by the pier. Far. New.
I glanced at my GPS and noticed that my exit was coming up. I squinted to see through my poorly wiped windshield. At last, I finally entered civilization.A very wet and humid civilization, I observed. I’ve always loved the outdoors, rain or shine. But I sincerely hoped this gloomy weather wasn’t a sign as to how the rest of my summer was going to go.
I pulled up to the main office and parked in one of the visitors’ spots in front of the two-story building. Taking a moment to myself, I smiled with the satisfaction that I’d made it. Not only had my underestimated eight-year-old vehicle gotten me here, but I had made a decision and followed through, without an ounce of hesitation. But the fulfillment was short-lived when I confronted my next step: securing a job and a place to live for the summer. I quickly reached for my bag to count what cash I had left. If I was going to be heading home in the next twenty minutes, I’d need every penny of it.
After a moment’s pause, I decided against it and threw it back in the passenger’s seat. That wasn’t the attitude I got into this car with, and it wouldn’t be the one I got out with. I pulled myself out of the car and glanced up, squinting at the peeking sun. At least the rain had stopped. That had to be a good sign.
As I approached the entrance, I glanced down at my appearance: khaki shorts, white long-sleeved blouse, and my white sandals, which I had bought online the day I found this place. They weren’t exactly interview appropriate, but they were the cleanest pair of shoes I’d brought with me. My dirty-blond hair was up in a ponytail, which I hoped looked more appropriate than if let it down. I paused before I walked in and quickly put my hand to my mouth, letting out a short breath. I nodded, remembering the mint I’d popped after that last cup of coffee a few rest stops back.
I walked in to a poorly lit and empty lobby.
I peeked around, looking for any sign of life. There were banners, photos, and an abundance of kids’ artwork hung on the wall a few feet in front of me. A very short stairwell on either side of that wall led to an even more poorly lit second level. I took a few more steps, peering into the few rooms that were open. The tiled black-and-white floors reminded me of my college cafeteria.
I spotted a light coming through a slightly ajar office door with a sense of motion behind it. I pushed it open lightly. A fairly short, dark-haired woman was putting up colorful charts on the half-empty bulletin board, which took up most of the wall behind her desk.
She looked back over her shoulder. “Registration office?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, confused
“Are you looking for the registration office for the Beach Club? Because that’s around the corner.” She sounded as if she’d answered that question fifteen times today.
“I’m looking for the camp director.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, come on in.” Her tone changed immediately as she put down her pushpins and paper. “I’m Sarah Thornton, the camp director. My camp coordinator has left for the day, but I’ll happily give you a quick tour. Are you and your child”—she looked me once over and continued—“or sibling staying here at the club or living nearby?”
“I’m Amy Kragen. I’m not staying at the club and I’m not here to sign up a camper. I’d like to apply for a position at the camp,” I said confidently. I was convinced that looking people straight in the eye and having full confidence in what you’re saying usually gets you a positive response.
Clearly, I was wrong, since she was staring back at me blankly as if to see if I was serious.
“Oh, honey, all of our positions have been filled for over a month. We start getting applications early March. Maybe try next—”
“I’m great with children,” I interrupted enthusiastically while pulling out my résumé and handing it to her. “I haven’t worked at a camp, but I did lifeguard at the community center pool the last two summers.”
“Because a lifeguard isn’t the first position we fill or anything,” she mumbled without taking the paper from me.
I kept a hopeful gaze on her.
She tilted her head and relaxed her shoulders. “Look, I’m sorry, but we are fully staffed for the season.”
“I’m CPR certified. I also have great references,” I paused, searching for anything else I could do that might draw interest. “I’m extremely outdoorsy, fun, and very creative. I’m actually an artist by hobby. Not to praise myself or anything, but I’m pretty good. Good enough to teach.” I waited for the slightest bit of a reaction. “I’m also very patient, and I love children.” I nodded enthusiastically, knowing that last part was better interview lingo for teachers and counselors.
Picking up the résumé without even giving it a glance, Sarah shook her head, irritated. “A lot of our staff come back from previous years, but open positions are posted in February.” She said, sticking to her come-back-next-year blowoff. She handed me my résumé and turned back to her bulletin board.
I looked around at the photos from past years. A group of children stood in a perfectly aligned manner underneath a handmade sign that hung over the main building. The sign read “Bays Beach Club and Day Camp.” I saw another photo of a group of kids and a counselor, all wearing green vests, standing in front of a gorgeous mountain. The kids looked like they varied from early elementary to late junior high. Scanning more of the photos, I noticed other camp activities: swimming, arts and crafts, various indoor sports, rock climbing, and even a few water sports. It looked like they really did have a good number of fields covered.
I considered turning around and walking back to my car when I noticed a series of photos in a crafts class. The campers sat neatly at their desks, drawing, crafting, scrapbooking, or painting. And all that was available to them was a straight row of boxes with supplies in front of the classroom.
