Not good for Vicky...

The mixture of physical and emotional depletion keep you asleep for far longer than it's safe. You jolt awake as if electrified, your precarious situation flooding back into your consciousness as an unpleasant dream fades from memory. You leap upright, brush the dirt off your white sundress, and run as fast as your bare feet will permit. You can tell that it's late afternoon, and you still haven't prepared dinner for the guys. Oh God, you think, what if they came back early?

You heave a sigh of relief as you return to an empty campsite. The tents are just as you left them, and the fire pit awaits your ministrations. You rifle through one of the camp packs lying near the fire and produce supplies you hope will be sufficient to your task. Before long, a fire is crackling, hot dogs are roasting, and you're actually feeling pretty good about yourself.

The sound of hearty laughter alerts you to the boys' return. You rise, standing with your arms at your side and your eyes looking toward the ground, to wait for them.

"Smell that, boys?" Thomas shouts to his friends. "Dinner's waiting!" The teens hoot and holler as they approach, surrounding and bypassing you without so much as a hello. One or two of them slap your ass as they take seats around the fire, but by and large, they ignore you.

"Hey, these are actually pretty good," Arnold says through a mouthful of hot dog.

"Thanks for cooking, Vicky," Carlos says. You're shocked to hear such a kind word, though you're less surprised when his friends razz and jeer him for his politeness.

Patrick, through all the shenanigans, has remained quiet. He samples a hot dog and nods, then heads to his tent. When he emerges, he doesn't return to the campfire but rather walks to one of the other tents. He pokes his head into a third before returning to the rest of the group. What's he up to? you wonder with worry.

The counselor remains quiet, even pensive, through dinner, and you stand ready for instructions but otherwise not moving. When Alex shouts, "Hey, we're done over here!" you immediately begin to pick up napkins and water bottles and granola bar wrappers, trying to keep the campsite clean. You even maintain your composure when Lawrence runs his hand up your leg, caressing your inner thigh as you bend over in your chores. You're **** to behave yourself to avoid any further punishments.

When dinner is cleaned up, the boys gather for prayer. Dennis leads the singing, and you quietly humming along, enjoying the music despite yourself.

I needed rescue
My sin was heavy
But chains break at the weight of Your glory....

The sun's gone down, and the campsite is illuminated in the light of a full moon and the glow of the campfire. Tomorrow, the group goes home, and you actually start to salivate at the thought of being able to eat and move of your own free will.

As your stomach growls for the tenth time, Patrick calls you over to the rest of the group. "Woman, come on over here!" You walk from where you've been standing for the past hour, grateful at the opportunity to move your legs. You stand in front of Patrick, **** for his praise.

"You made a fine meal, Woman," he says. "And you have behaved well tonight."

"Thank you, Sir," you say, daring a smile and flicking your eyes upward to meet his for an instant.

"But I'm afraid you failed terribly at your very simple task."

Your heart beats with panic. "What?" you say, forgetting to be polite. "What do you mean? Um, Sir?"

"Your instructions were clear. You did make us dinner, yes, but you forgot to clean our tents." Patrick raises his voice with this last accusation, and your stomach drops. Nausea floods your body as Patrick's words from earlier reform in your memory: "She'll be responsible for making sure that our tents are all perfectly neat and tidy and that dinner is waiting for us when we return."

"I'm sorry, Sir!" you shout, falling to your knees. "I'm so sorry! I forgot."

"Explain yourself, Woman," he demands. The rest of the boys are silent, though their eyes shine with glee.

"I... I needed a rest after this morning, Sir, so I lay down for a nap. I slept longer than I meant to, and when I woke up, I forgot about the tents. I meant no disrespect, Sir! I'm really very sorry. Please, I'll clean your tents now, Sir, I'll--"

"Shut up," Patrick says coldly. "Where did you sleep?"

"Where?" You pause. You know you shouldn't lie, but you're also not sure you should admit you went swimming. "Sir, I..."