CHAPTER 4
The next morning, I was up at 5:30. I threw on my navy khakis and a white tank, grabbed a sweater, and made my way out. I quickly looked over at Rachel, who was still sound asleep. I doubted an earthquake would have woken her. I always envied people who could sleep like that. But there was an upside to being an early bird.
Like watching the sunrise.
I took the last step off the deck and headed toward the beach. My timing was perfect, I saw the slightest hint of pink and yellow in the distance of the ocean. As I walked down the sands of the beach, I took in a deep breath, inhaling the salty smell. For the last few days, I’d felt nothing but nervous, rushed, irritated, and scared. But as I slipped off my thongs and dipped my toes into the warm, smooth sand, I felt at complete ease. This summer was going to be different for me.
I found a spot near a cluster of beach rocks, far enough away from the water that it was dry, but close enough to get as much of the ocean in my view of the sunrise as possible. The sun came up slowly, spreading its rays evenly, finally waking the dull, gray waters. It was a brilliant orange with streaks of pink and yellow. I sat and looked around the empty beach, wondering how no one else ever seemed to want to witness these daily wonders. Then again, it was Monday morning. Maybe this was more of a Saturday thing for folks around here.
I found myself wondering what it’d be like to watch the sunrise with someone. Don’t get me wrong, it’s something I’ve always enjoyed and preferred doing on my own; it’s when I do my best thinking. But for a reason I couldn’t explain, the thought of another person sitting next to me seemed…okay. I’d have to stop listening to Rachel so much. Emily was never really an all-guys-all-the-time talker.
As quickly as I let my thoughts take over, daylight hit, and I smiled that my ritual hadn’t disappointed.
I stood and walked in the opposite direction of Bays House and the camp. I had a few spare minutes before I needed to head back and change for the first day. The beach was still pretty empty, but a handful of people started to make their way down with their lounge chairs and umbrel-las. I walked past the building crowd and onward toward some beautiful cliffs I’d noticed from my tour of the town on Sunday afternoon, after Sarah had given me the official green light.
I didn’t have time to get close enough to see the details of how deep it went in, but I did see what looked like an eagle falling from the top and diving into the water. I shook my head lightly and squinted. That was no bird—it was a human. I kept walking forward and saw her head pop up from the water and her arms fly up in excitement. There was laughter and screaming from the top, as another body dropped from the cliff.
I stood and watched as the group of friends, who seemed to be in their early twenties, reveled in their freedom. I imagine the logic behind engaging in such a dangerous and probably illegal activity this early in the morning, was the scarcity of life guards, officials, and the concerned general public.
Two hours later, campers ranging from ages five to fourteen were spilling off the buses like water from a broken fire hydrant, all of them running to the gathering of folding tables, clipboards, and the uneven line of counselors and lifeguards.
After Sarah’s welcome speech in the gym, the lifeguards—Rachel and a guy named Peter—went up on the stands and made their pool safety announcements. I noticed Sarah handing out schedules to the rest of the counselors. She finally approached me.
“Amy, you’ve got seven in your first class,” she stated, handing me a list. I attached it to my clipboard, where I kept my site notes and map of the town.
“Okay, my nature art class, please line up in front of me when I call out your name,” I called out over the group of eight-to-ten-year-old campers, who, according to the revised schedule, were my first class.
Once we were all set, I gave them a quick rundown of what we would be doing and was invigorated to see their excitement.
“Nature art, huh?” a familiar voice behind me said.
I swung around and was convinced this was the guy I’d bumped into yesterday outside the staff lounge. I hadn’t gotten a glimpse of his face since I’d run off almost immediately after crashing into him. But I could tell it was him by the width of his broad shoulders, his voice, and my fuzzy memory of his hair. Seeing it more clearly now, I noticed it was soft brown and wavy, where the front fell just below the eye and the rest spring out in random directions. He smiled at me and I sighed silently with relief that he hadn’t recognized me. Maybe I’d run off faster than I thought.
“Hi. I’m Amy Kragen. Yeah, I’m taking them out to the river today behind the camp, just off the grounds. We’re going to find something in nature to inspire our art,” I said casually.
He nodded, looking at the kids. Then he turned his head to me. “Rick Foster,” he said, stretching out his hand.
“Are you a first year here?” I asked after a light shake of his hand.
“Rick! Rick!” yelled out one of my overly excited campers I remembered as Dillon.
“Dillon—hey, buddy, good to see you!” he acknowledged with equal excitement. He turned back to me with a little less enthusiasm.
“Third year,” he said flatly.
I smiled politely but said nothing. Instead, I turned to my group and asked them to each pick up an art travel clipboard I had set aside in a cart, at the other end of the gym.
I turned back to my notes to check the first site. Extremely aware of Rick still standing next to me, I looked back up at him.
“Good meeting you, Amy. Good luck on your first outing.” He said walking toward the center of the gym to meet his class. A few steps away, he turned back and added, “Oh, and try not to knock any of ’em over on your hike through the woods.” He winked and turned back to his set of eight kids. “Okay, guys. Drop your bags over at the benches and meet me back here for warm-up.”
Great, I thought. Well, here was my chance for a quick and painless apology to avoid getting off to a bad start with any of the staff. “Rick!” I called after him and walked the few steps over. “Look, I’m sorry. I was…”
“In a rush. I know, I heard you,” he said with a grin.
“Yeah, but I probably should have—”
“What, stopped and helped me dry off my shirt?” he interrupted again with a smirk. “Appreciate it, but I’m not interested.” He turned away, facing his campers.
