Young Writers Society

Chapter 4: The Lake, as it Turns Out, is NOT Made of Actual Citric Acid

As it turned out, I only had one headache: one veeeeeeeeeeery long and veeeeeeeeeeery painful headache that lasted the whole stinking trip. My skull felt like it was a huge glacier that was cracking and falling apart thanks to global warming.

Other than that, the trip was mostly fine, aside from throwing up into my garbage can three times every five hours. I managed to destroy the game of solitaire as we know it, vomiting on all of the cards before I could even begin playing. I also learned how to text three words and how to draw a somewhat ok watermelon without my vision going blurry.

We stopped at two inns on the way, both of which were in towns shockingly smaller than my own. Both of the inns had nice rooms with red carpets and light yellow walls. One of the hotels was obsessed with vases. Vases of all different materials, shape, and colour were placed on podiums which stood in every corner and on every table. Their brochures were even covered in pictures of vases.

Meanwhile, the other hotel was obsessed with paintings. They covered practically every spot on the walls and some were even hung on the ceiling. It didn’t seem to matter what they looked like, the hotel just adopted them as their own.

Throughout the journey, he landscape changed drastically. Looming mountains turned into lush fields which turned into dark forests which turned into more mountains. We drove past glimmering lakes and towns which bustled with summer tourists. Our travels took us to tons of run-down gas stations and even the middle of a storm. We had to pull over for a bit on that one.

Throughout the trip, I would glance out the window to see if there was a sign that would say ‘WELCOME TO CITRIC ACID LAKE ARTS CAMP’. No such luck. Just trees, grass, and huge lumps of dirt. Hurrah.

Mom would occasionally ask me if I was ok or if we needed to pull over for a bit, but I never let them stop (no matter how much my aching brain wanted me to). I just wanted to get to camp so that this terribly long drive would finally be over.

Finally, after we broke through our second set of mountainous terrain, we veered onto a smaller road which was dotted with farms.

I looked around in amazement. Everything looked so clear and beautiful as the large ball of sun was setting behind a small forested hill, its rays casting a mosaic of colours onto the rippling clouds. Fields of grazing cattle and large stalks of corn were hit full-force by the light, long black shadows swelling behind them. A slight breeze ran by, causing some gold-tinged grass to dance.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I heard Dad say.

I nodded and rolled down the window, letting the air pick up my hair, teaching its quick performance.

I stayed like that until the sun was almost done its ritual and everything was splashed with dark red. We were just starting to turn on a forested road which was filled with potholes. I rolled my window up and gazed at my faint reflection, my mind quiet.

“We’re almost here, sweetie,” Mom said.

I snapped back to reality. “What? Really?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

My mouth was twisted into a wide smile. The painful drive was almost over! I could finally go to the long-awaited summer camp. A summer camp for theatre kids!

But then the memories of my past camp hit me and my smile died a little.

But will it be as good?

Suddenly, I felt like my stomach was doing gymnastics and I ducked my head into the garbage can. My small lunch of three crackers ejected quickly from my mouth and formed a sloppy mess at the bottom.

“Don’t get too excited,” Dad said.

I gave a thumbs-up and vomited again. Yellow stomach acid slid out of my throat this time, leaving behind a stingy taste. A water bottle was handed towards my direction and I snatched it. I swirled the water in my mouth and spit it into the trash before taking huge gulps.

“Feeling better?” Mom asked as I handed back the water bottle.

“Yeah,” I mumbled and resume peering out the window. We were just coming into a dusty parking lot. There were spots for around twenty cars, but there were only six there. We pulled into a spot and got out.

“We’re here,” I breathed as I gazed beyond the area.

A well-worn path led from the parking lot and to a large circle of more well-worn land. In the middle of the circle was a huge fire pit which was surrounded by large wooden benches. From the very edges of the clearing laid five russet brick buildings with sparkling dark blue roofs. They weren’t very big, but big enough to fig at least fifty people in there with enough room to breathe. I could just barely see the windows from where I was standing, but I knew that they were perfectly cleaned and clear.

Vast, majestic pine trees bordered the site, their needles silhouetted beautifully against the crimson sunlight. Their craggy trunks were buried in the shadows of their branches, but were still barely evident. They rose high above the roofs of the building, their branches reaching towards the middle of the camp as if to provide a shield from the sky.

Beyond the clearing, a beach of pale grey pebbles was splayed out before a lake of calm waster. I knew in that instant that that was Citric Acid Lake. A rippling reflection of the sun could be seen, emerged in the waters, which were illuminated and sparkling. I could see the sun moving little by little, causing its reflection to fade slightly. I looked back where the sun was making its descent into the far-away trees.

“Are you going to get your stuff?” Dad asked.

“Oh right!” I had nearly forgotten about my luggage! I ran to the back of the truck and pulled out my two suitcases. They were slightly heavy on account of all twenty-three books I had packed. My parents were hesitant to let me take that many books, seeing as how I would be too busy enjoying myself, but I managed to convince them by stating that camp might be really boring and they wouldn’t let me go home.

“Shall we go down?” Mom asked, turning back towards the camp.

“Sure,” I replied. “But where?”

That was when we noticed someone bounding towards us. She was tall, maybe twenty, with long black hair that was complete with red streaks. Her skin was very tanned and her features were very thin. She held a wide clipboard which held a dozen of sheets of paper that looked like it had been sorted, folded, and flipped hundreds of times over.

“No need to ponder any longer,” she said once she reached us. Her voice was very mellow, almost shy-sounding. “I’m Councillor Cora, head of the theatre cabin.”

My face brightened at the mention of the theatre cabin. This would be my councillor this summer.

“And who are you?” she inquired, sorting through her pages.

“Molly McAudley,” I answered.

Cora muttered my name under her breath as she traced her finger down a page near the middle. She then stopped and her face lit up.

“Ah, Molly! Another theatre girl. Splendid!” she exclaimed. “I guess that you know that I am your councillor this summer. We’re going to have lots of fun.” She turned to my parents. “Would you like to come see the cabin with her?”

“Not unless she wants us to,” Dad replied, looking at me for an answer.

I shook my head. “No, I think I’m fine.” My parents always let me go to my cabin without them. I think that it’s so I won’t get sad about leaving them; not that I ever do.

“Well have a great summer sweetie,” Mom said, giving me a traditional good-bye high-five.

“Don’t forget to call,” Dad added, giving me his high-five.

“I won’t,” I said as I picked up my baggage and turned to Cora who was smiling at us as if our good-byes were adorable.

“You must have a great connection with your family,” she said as we started to walk towards camp.

“I guess,” I replied modestly. “Has anyone else arrived yet?”

“About half of the campers from the art and music cabins and two from ours.”

“Cool. What are they like?”

“Well, one of them, his name is Griffin, is in the boys’ part of the cabin, so you might not get to see him tonight because we’re just sticking to cabins until the morning. But what I get from him so far is that he’s shy and likes to keep to himself. The other camper is Rowan. She’s quite nice and really energetic. She was here last year, so if you have any questions from the perspective of a camper, feel free to ask her.”

“Who else is coming?”

“Nobody who was here previous years, so I wouldn’t really know what they’re like. But I think that it would probably be best as a surprise, don’t you?”

That made sense; knowing everyone before you meet them spoiled all the fun. But one thing seemed to eat at my brain: why did only one person return from previous years? Why haven’t others? Was camp going to be so bad that I wouldn't want to come back?