My backwoods bestie

The next morning, camp doubled in size. At least it felt that way. Every path seemed crowded. New faces. New voices. New luggage stacked outside cabins.

I tried learning names. I really did.By breakfast I’d already failed.

There was a girl with jet-black hair wearing a faded stretched out My Chemical Romance T-shirt who looked like she’d die before admit to sweating.

There was another counselor who had the warm, effortless kindness of somebody who remembered everyone’s birthday. She laughed with her whole face, checked that everyone had eaten, and had the sort of confidence that made people gather around her without realizing they were doing it.

A guy wearing makeup strutting around camp with three ten-out-of-tens trailing him like a harem. I was afraid I’d have to pay his price to talk to any of them

There were more athletes. More musicians. More counselors than I could possibly keep straight. Everywhere I looked, another introduction. Another handshake. Another story.

It felt less like a summer camp now and more like a tiny town that had appeared overnight.

Then Deb found me. “Our newest gopher needs a partner.”

I looked around. “I thought I was the newest gopher.”

“You are. Go join our old gopher and learn the job.”

She pointed toward a beat-up green John Deere Gator parked outside the maintenance shed. A girl sat behind the wheel with one boot hanging out the side. She couldn’t have been much older than me. Freckles.

Sun-bleached Sox cap. An oversized Pats hoodie despite the warm weather.

She greeted me with a grin. “You the cornfield kid?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “I’m Cass.” She extended a hand. “Born about ten minutes from here if you run fast or drive slow.”

“No kidding.”

“My family’s been around this lake forever. She shrugged. “I’ve worked here every summer since I was fourteen.”

“So you’re basically camp royalty.”

She laughed. “I mostly just know where everything’s hidden.” She tapped the passenger seat. “Hop in.”

The little Gator bounced down the gravel road. Cass drove with one hand while pointing out buildings with the other.

“Maintenance shed. Shower house. Mail room.”

“If Deb sends you somewhere and you don’t know where you’re going, just hang out for the next hour…she’ll forget

“Does that work?”

“Surprisingly often. Especially if she has her travel mug filled with iced wine.”

She was funny in a completely unfiltered way. Comfortable in the woods. Comfortable getting dirty. Comfortable being exactly who she was.

Halfway across camp she casually leaned toward the open side of the vehicle and spat into the gravel. A noticeable lump beneath her lower lip.

I looked over.

She caught me staring. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve never been around country girls, have you?”

“Not like you.”

She laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She parked beside one of the camper cabins.

“Your first real lesson.”

I looked around. “What are we fixing?”

She pointed toward the restroom.

“A clogged toilet.”

I sighed. “I had a feeling this job was eventually going here.”

“You wanted adventure.”

“I don’t remember saying plumbing.”

She handed me gloves. “Everybody remembers their first one.”

Inside, she explained the basics while keeping up a running commentary. “The trick is not to panic.”

“I am already panicking.”

“Good. Means you’re paying attention.”

It took several awkward attempts, a lot of determination, and more mess than I’d anticipated before the toilet finally cleared.

Cass leaned against the doorframe, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. “You look like you’ve been in a fight with a monster made of diarrhea.”

“I lost.”

“Badly.”

I stepped outside into the fresh air. “My dignity didn’t survive.”

“That’s normal.”

I peeled off my filthy work shirt and held it as far away from myself as possible. “I definitely need a shower.”

Just then, a group of counselors crossed the path on their way toward the waterfront. One of them looked over. Another gave an exaggerated whistle. Someone else called, “Yoj can snake my shitter anytime.”

The group dissolved into laughter as they continued down the trail.

I stood there, shirt in one hand. “…Did that just happen?”

Cass rolled her eyes so dramatically I thought they might disappear. “Camp Orgee.”

“What about it?”

She climbed back into the Gator. “The counselors around here only think about one thing.”

I laughed. “I traveled a thousand miles because I was thinking about that one thing.”

She stared at me for a beat. Then shook her head. “That’s why you’re a dumbass.”

I couldn’t even argue.

She started the Gator. “You getting in?”

“In a second.”

“You planning on working shirtless all day?”

“I hadn’t decided.”

She smirked. “Well, if you do, don’t blame me when half the camp suddenly needs something fixed.”

I climbed back into the passenger seat.

As we rattled toward the next job, I realized something. Every counselor at Camp Orgee had a story. Every one of them seemed to think they’d figured life out.

Cass was the first person I’d met who acted like life was just something you laughed at while driving a noisy little utility vehicle down a gravel road.

And somehow, that made perfect sense.