The following story is fictional, any resemblance to events or persons is unintentional.
© 2001 by Rei McCall, All rights reserved.

 

One Summer in Heaven or Hell                    by Rei McCall

 

PART SIX: NOT A MORNING PERSON

"Someone is going to die, slowly and horribly." At least that’s what I mumbled to myself as I hauled my sore nose off the floorboards. It was bad enough to dive out of bed even once while at camp, but doing it twice inside of twelve hours was really too common for my tastes. In my defense, though, that bugle was damn terrifying!

"Alright men! Everybody on your feet!" One minute the boy is sensitive and caring, and the next he’s a drill sergeant. Angus’ mood swings were starting to thoroughly annoy me. "It’s Friday, so you can sleep in tomorrow. Today, you’re official Camp Augwai property." Gee, he almost made it sound like a bad thing.

I got to me feet, tenderly testing my bruised nose and trying my best to hide my bruised ego. On my feet, I came eye-to-eye with Vin… and then realized he was still sitting on his bunk.

"You need to be more careful," the very large mound of muscle who slept below me warned, "or else you’re going to end up with a horrible nickname." He grinned, although there was something less-than-friendly about a guy this large bearing all his teeth. Chimpanzees consider a toothy smile a threat; Maybe I was a chimp in a past life.

I heard an unidentified voice from behind me yell out, "Hey, Floorboards, you awake yet?" Vin just grinned at me like an idiot with an ‘I told you so’ look on his face.

"Okay, boys, you’ve got until 6:30 to meet outside under the flagpole near the lodge. I suggest you get dressed and get out there early, because being late is five demerits." And with that magical word ‘demerits’, people started to move. Admittedly, it wasn’t all that graceful, what with everyone being half-asleep… sort of like a narcoleptic ballet. I guess actually seeing him hand out demerits to someone yesterday (namely me) had convinced everyone that he didn’t bluff… that, or the punishments for building up too many were a lot worse than I thought.

And then half the cabin was naked! It came as a little bit of a shock, especially seeing that Darren, the bastard, had a perfectly-sculpted chest that most 14-year-old guys would kill for. It wasn’t difficult to notice that I wasn’t the only person in the room with some reluctance to disrobe; three of the guys were staring a little blankly at the scene around them and probably had the same locker-room-based issues that I did… most of them, at least. One of them seemed to have some kind of, well… interest in the scene. I couldn’t remember his name, but the moniker of "Average Boy" would fit; average height, medium build, brown hair, brown eyes, no distinguishing features. I began to wonder if maybe I wasn’t the only one here who was interested in boys. Pity, too, he looked like a nice guy.

Finally, I followed suit with the other ‘shy’ ones, grabbing underwear, shorts, and a T-shirt and making my way for the bathroom. I swear, it took ten minutes for Windsor to put his damn clothes on and get out of the shower stall so I could change. There was literally a line to brush my teeth, since there were nine struggling people and only two sinks. Long story short, I arrived at 6:34 and got another five demerits. Seven demerits in twelve hours; obviously I was a real problem child. At least I wasn’t the only person who arrived late, so I didn’t feel like I stood out too much.

We were assembled outside, along with the rest of the camp, arranged in rows based on our cabins. It looked eerily militaristic, except we weren’t all in uniform and 80% of the assembled ranks were slouching.

And then I was introduced to morning calisthenics. Push-ups, sit-ups, running in place, jumping jacks, and needlessly painful stretching exercises left me barely able to move, let alone remain standing. What frightened me the most was that Mark announced that, since it was out first day, "I’ll go easy on all of you." It didn’t seem that easy, and my 13 push-ups beat what half of these guys could do.

"By the end of the summer," he announced proudly, "I will have you young men sculpted into ideal bodies that you can appreciate, and because you will have earned them yourselves, you will learn to respect them in the process." I had my doubts about him being able to sculpt my scrawny, 125-pound frame into something I could be proud of, and it frightened me to think what kind of body he might end up transforming mine into.

"I know that not all of you are interested in sports," he continued, "and don’t concern yourselves with having an athletic build, but exercise and physical fitness doesn’t mean obsessing over your body. It means eating in moderation, keeping yourself healthy, and giving your mind a release from your daily stress. Most of all, it’s about feeling good, physically, mentally, and spiritually."

Oh brother.

"Self confidence, real self confidence, is not something that’s easy to acquire, but feeling good about your body and knowing that you’ve worked at to achieve something are some of the best ways to start. Because of this, a good deal of your summer will focus on athletics in one way or another, be it exercise, sports, or physical challenges. These morning calisthenics are meant to get your heart pumping, stretch your muscles, give your mind a chance to clear out anything you might’ve spent the night dwelling on, and generally keep your body healthy and primed for everything in the day to come. Over the coming weeks, these morning exercises will become progressively longer and more difficult, to meet the new levels your bodies will achieve, so I don’t recommend slacking off on them."

"Now, if everyone is ready, let’s have breakfast." With that, a manly yalp of agreement echoed around me. Apparently, these guys were hungry. I would’ve been too, if I didn’t remember what dinner was like.

Breakfast was soup… either that, or it was scrambled eggs. I wasn’t sure. Not being brave enough to taste them, I just got a bowl of cornflakes and the least-bruised banana I could manage to find. We were sitting wherever we damn well pleased this morning, so I decided to stick to the far side of the cafeteria, hopefully out of everyone’s line of fire, with my back to the wall.

Aside from the unidentifiable main course, breakfast was uneventful. It was loud, naturally, and you could literally see the teenage boys hammering out their pecking order already. I had to sigh as I realized where I universally stood in that order. I would’ve gone out onto the balcony to try and forget the entire scene, but it had already been claimed by a group of the higher-echelon guys, and they didn’t look like the types who were into sharing. So I just resigned myself to my dark little corner, along with most of the 98-pound campers.

After breakfast, we were all assembled outside around the picnic tables to fill out our schedules for the summer. Having no idea what the hell was going on, I took quite a bit longer than everyone else and eventually started getting stares from those around me, as if they were blaming me personally for having to take classes over the summer.

Apparently, Augwai, as a sort of rehabilitation facility, was a fully licensed private school that offered high school credit for classes. Every camper had to pick five classes, each of which met twice a week for three hours at a time. I was a little disappointed personally; only a total of six hours a day in these classes left plenty of time for creative new tortures in our little bunk groups.

I made sure to read over my forms twice, to make sure I understood everything. There were four categories of classes, and everyone was required to have at least one from Athletics, one from Academic, and one from Artistic. Your last two classes could be selected from any of those three or the Misc. category. The Artistic class was an easy choice: 2D art. I’d been drawing since I was five, so a class like that would give me plenty of time to practice. As for Academics, the Advanced Algebra class looked amusing enough. My mother had tutored me in math during the school year, since she had just finished her college-level algebra course a semester earlier. As sick as it sounds, it was fun, and I wanted to learn more.

As for the Athletics class, that had me stumped. Everything would involve activities that would get me torn to bits, or were physically impossible. Track and Field wouldn’t have been so bad if it didn’t involve that damn hammer throw and the javelin. Football was a strict no-no after the scars I’d gotten from it in Gym class last year. I was too short for Basketball and had no interest in Baseball, and I had no intention of signing up for Roller Hockey. Wrestling probably would get me killed faster than Football would. Hiking sounded nice… until I remembered that I’d be alone in the woods with juvenile delinquents. Swimming was out, since I didn’t think most of my fellow campers would appreciate a sneak-peak at my budding breasts. After scratching out another six selections, the only thing I was actually left with was Soccer, a sport that was almost entirely running. At least that was something I knew how to do.

And as to my two remaining classes, I picked Piano (I’d always wanted to learn how to play) from Artistic, and Archery from Misc. It had to be safe, since they were offering Riflery as well, and that’s where all the sociopaths would gather.

Angus was perched like a vulture above me to snatch away the form the moment I’d filled in my last dot and added it to the pile on the table next to Mark. It landed not with a gentle flutter, or even a comic crash, but a piercing whistle that I swore made my ears bleed.

Mark stopped blowing and took the little silver charm out of his mouth, but only so he could shout unhindered. "Alright men, today’s agenda is to learn the lay of the land. Head off with your counselors and they’ll teach you everything you need to know about every square inch of this camp." And then he picked up the stack of papers and was gone.

I really didn’t like where this was headed.

Angus pulled an index card from his pocket, studied it a moment, and then proudly announced, "We’re starting at the ‘Upstairs Hall’ guys. You need to get that down first so you don’t end up wandering alone in the woods. Or stumbling ‘accidentally’ into the girls’ camp." He waggled one eyebrow up and down for an impossibly long time, and that paranoid little voice inside me couldn’t shake the impression that his comment was aimed directly at me.

Paranoia aside, I needed to learn what the hell was going on here, so while we were lead around the looping paths to and from the cabins, the outdoor bathrooms, and the public showers (which according to rumors, actually had hot water… not that I was going to try an verify that), I ducked back into cabin four to grab my handbook.

Reading and walking was a practiced skill for me, so even though I didn’t bother paying attention to a word Angus was saying on our happy little guided tour, I had no trouble keeping up without loosing my place even once. It’s not like he’d be saying anything that wasn’t in the handbook already, right?

The first chapter was entirely dedicated to the camp’s 60-year history. Half of it was obviously bupkiss, like how the original founders back in the 40’s based most of the camp’s workings off of old Mohican traditions. "Augwai" wasn’t even a Mohican word… didn’t even sound close to the dialect. Most of what they talked about, the ‘trials’ they put young campers through, was nothing close to Mohican tradition. I should know, after all. Grandma took it upon herself to teach me everything about "my people" before she died. If I actually considered myself Native American for anything besides scholarship applications, this whole thing would’ve been incredibly insulting. Still was, actually.

The paragraph about the various industrialists and politicians who’d sent their sons here was interesting, though.

Chapter two read more like stereo instructions. It basically went into why you (I) was here: More than likely because I had problems regarding my ego and self-image; Either it was too strong and led to trouble frequently (not the case), or it was too low and lead to being introverted, depressed, and unsociable. Either way, young men like that, according to the handbook, usually ended up unhappy, never living up to their fullest potential. The whole thing was broken down into flowcharts (why do they have to use flowcharts; I hate flowcharts?) to show how NOT giving your all at Camp Augwai would eventually screw you over in life.

It also gave a wonderful explanation of Augwai’s "Youth Reclamation Program". In other words, reform school. Every Summer, Augwai took in several young criminals who would otherwise be on their way to juvenile hall. They got the most positive attention and encouragement in an attempt to rehabilitate them into fine young men.

In either case, the whole theory behind the camp was simple: Gather up a lot of young men, put them somewhere that forces them all to be equals, and then through in lots of positive (and, if Angus is any example, cool) male role models. Combine this with regular strenuous activity, and theoretically, they’ll start to bond. Over the course of two months, the camp is supposed to wipe away most of the old habits and behaviors a young man has and replace them with positive goals and outlooks…

I couldn’t help but grin as I wondered how their program was going to affect a young woman.

The next chapter seemed to be a basic survival guide to camp. There was a nice long list of the basic supplies everyone should have, as well as a list of recommended items that wouldn’t hurt. I had most of the basic necessities, but almost nothing from the second list that would reportedly make my life easier.

There was also a lovely little explanation on the hierarchy. Naturally, campers were on the bottom. Senior campers were next; boys who’d been here at least once before and completed the program with flying colors. They were essentially the assistance for the next rung up the ladder: Counselors. These were young men from high school or college who’d been senior campers before and this year were in charge of a bunk of five to ten campers. After these were the Instructors; mostly adults who would actually be teaching the classes that Augwai offered. They were all licensed teachers and, if the handbook were to be taken as the Bible, excelled in their chosen fields. Finally, there was the head counselor, Mark, who was for all practical purposes, a king on high out here in the vast Pennsylvania wilderness. There were various support staff, too, like two secretaries who handled all the paperwork, the cooks, the nurses, and the groundskeeper (whose job was apparently made much easier thanks to the campers, according to the chapter on demerits and punishments). Campers were supposed to show respect to these people, and could earn demerits if they didn’t, but they didn’t have any actual authority.

The camp almost seemed to run like a small army. I had to take a second to shake the image of Mark dressed as a Roman Centurion, commanding his army of short-sword-wielding teenagers against a barbarian horde.

The next chapter was all about classes. Having learned that one earlier, I decided to skip that and move on to Chapter Five: Demerits.

Discipline seemed to be one of those utmost important tenants of Augwai. I, for one, could certainly see the importance of keeping all these dissatisfied young men in line. The camp had a list of rules that stretched on for pages, and every last one of them had a demerit cost if you broke it. Failing to clean up after yourself at a meal was, sure enough, two demerits, just like I’d been given, and being late for a general camp assembly was five. Late for a class was only three, though; go figure. After the first two pages, I was afraid to go on for fear of how many rules I could break just by rolling my eyes.

Demerits seemed to be Greek for "points for doing bad things that you will very soon come to regret". You could work off any demerits you’d earned cleaning the lodge, helping in the kitchen, helping to tend the grounds, and doing various other chores around the camp. It looked like the way this whole system was structured, 85% of Augwai’s workforce would be campers working off those easy-to-earn demerits before Sunday rolled around.

‘Magic Sunday’, according to the handbook. It was acceptable to have ten or fewer demerits when Sunday rolled around, but if you had any more than that on your record when noon rolled around every Sunday, you were punished for it. How many demerits you had determined just how severe the punishment was. The lightest just basically means working off the demerits in the worst possible jobs, like cleaning the bathrooms. Most of the example punishments they gave revolved around being humiliating rather than painful (it made sense; after all, a teenage boy’s ego is pretty easily bruised), and they all took place at a general assembly in front of the lodge, in front of everyone.

The worst part seemed to be that you didn’t know exactly how many demerits you have earned. Counselors kept track of your total and, while they USUALLY told you when you’ve earned any, they weren’t obligated to. Obviously, this encouraged people to work off however many demerits they thought they had earned, which was more than likely a lot more than they actually had. You also had no idea what punishment you were in store for, but more than likely it was bound to be embarrassing. Things like being stripped down to your skivvies and sent walking back to your cabin, or being made to wear something humiliating for the next day or week. They didn’t sound too horrible, but I imagined I’d find out in two days how bad the whole affair was.

On the brighter side, your demerits all got wiped clean after that.

"Hey Chris." Someone nudged my shoulder.

"Huh?" The only thing I saw when I looked up was the guys running away from me as fast as they could. It was like some kind of wonderful dream.

"Obstacle course."

"Huh?" I glanced at Angus standing next to me, looking a bit perturbed.

"Obstacle course. You’ve got to run it like everyone else, unless you want a few more demerits."

"Oh, I can work them off," I said absentmindedly, turning back to the handbook. "I need to finish this."

He just plucked the tome out of my hand and added sinisterly, "And if even one person doesn’t finish, everyone in the bunk has to run it again. And they won’t be happy-"

I never caught the last of what he was saying; I was out of earshot the moment I realized that at least half the cabin would have a severe problem with having to run all this again because of one little geek. Luckily, running like hell was something I had gotten very good at over the past few years. By the time I’d gotten across the field and up to the rope climb, I’d already caught up with the slackers in the group.

Scrambling over, under, or around things had become second nature to me (running for your life from testosterone-driven males tends to build those sorts of skills), so the rope climb, the tunnels, the monkey bars over mud, and whatever else I crossed in my adrenaline-induced haze almost didn’t seem to exist.

My mind finally started to come back together as I sat in the grass in front of Angus, panting like I’d just barely escaped the ninth circle of Hell with my life. Everything stopped running on instinct as I saw one of the boys slow down in front of me and double over, gasping for breathe…. Anthony, I think.

The last leg of the obstacle course, as I looked out to watch most of the cabin running in my direction (where the hell had they been, anyway? Napping?) was just a return sprint across the field. I apparently came in a very distant second, behind… go on, guess.

Yup, that’s right.

Darren.

He was gloating over everyone that came in, but occasionally shot me a dagger glance. Obviously, I’d insulted his ancestors by finishing so close behind him.

"Are you sure you hit all of the obstacles?" Angus was giving me an incredulous look and the tone of his voice seemed to imply that this was the second or third time he was asking.

"….actually… no, not completely." I was still trying to catch my breath. In that kind of escape mentality, it’s hard to really remember any details. I thought I’d followed the orange marker flags, but I couldn’t exactly say so without knowing for sure.

"Maybe-"

"He… did." Brian cut Angus off in between pants. He took a deep breath, pushing his un-manly chest out as far as it could possible go, and began speaking again. "I’ve never seen anyone get up a rope that fast; like a man possessed! He didn’t go hand-over-hand on the monkey bars, really, just sorta jumped up to grab one, then swung himself over the mud pit, but he still crossed ‘em, so it counts, right?" Angus looked like someone had just dropped a goldfish in his briefs (they were briefs; I’d noticed when he bent over after breakfast). "I think this boy is going to win the Camp Rally for us in two months, hands down!"

Brian sat down next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders. I probably would’ve appreciated the gesture a lot more if we weren’t both hot and sticky.

"Good hustle, Darren," Angus said with a pat on the back. "And Chris, you did damn good," he said as he helped Brian and I to our feet.

"You were incredible." I turned my head to see my extremely average bunkmate congratulating me with a warm smile on his face. Maybe too warm. I managed a nervous smile back before Brian latched on to my arm to start leading me away.

"Alright guys, you’ve got a half-hour before lunch. Shower and change if you need to, but don’t be too self-conscious about stinking. Everyone is going to spend a lot of this summer stinking." I shuddered a little at the thought of having to smell guy-stink for the rest of the summer. "See you guys after lunch."

I got a few more claps on the shoulders from guys much larger than me, and Vin was grinning like a moron again. "Someone obviously wants to steal my position as camp hero."

"You wish!" Brian didn’t sound at all nice, but he still sounded friendly. "The man-mountain came in dead last at last year’s Rally, after the entire cabin put our hopes and dreams on him."

"I twisted my ankle."

"Sure you did, big guy."

"Do you want me to squeeze your head until it pops?"

"And a damn shame it was you twisted that ankle!"

It’s official: I was surrounded by lunatics. I decided that maybe if I backed away slowly, they wouldn’t notice.

"Hey, where do you think you’re going?" My, but that deep, earthy voice sounded ten times scarier when saying something like that.

"Oh no. You wouldn’t do that to the poor guy, would you," Brian joked. He seemed to know exactly what was going on. I, on the other hand, was paralyzed with sheer terror. Why did I go and use up all that precious adrenaline on something so stupid?

"Oh yes I am." He grabbed my by the arm and without any real effort, tugged me towards him. Then I was up in the air. I made a very undignified noise (technically classified as a shriek, I believe), and then I was sitting down… six feet up… on Vin’s shoulders. "Can’t have you walking around and possibly twisting that ankle, can we?"

The best response I could manage was a low squeak.

"Nervous sort, isn’t he?" Brian added thoughtfully.

"I think he’s nice. Can I keep him as a pet?"

"You know you microwaved the last one."

How Vin could grin and joke around with my fingernails digging into his forehead, I’ll never know, but then he started walking.

"Hey, are those rocks ahead?"

For some reason, saying "If they are, we’ll all be dead," made me feel a lot better. I started breathing again, for starters.

Maybe I really was too nervous. "Hey guys, what’s a Camp Rally?"

 

 

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© 2001 by Rei McCall. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.