Faking Delinquency [SAMPLE, PUBLISHED]

P h a s e 4 : Arriving to Hell

So, apparently, the camp’s name wasn’t Camp Delinquency.

In my opinion, Camp Delinquency was a much better name—but hey.  Why ask a sensible human being what the name of a camp should be?  No, why don’t we name it “Camp Sunshine Brooks” instead? 

Yeah, you heard me.

They named a camp—one for delinquents, might I add—Camp Sunshine Brooks.  In that moment I wanted to march up to the heads of the camp and tell them off for false advertising.  For all they knew non-delinquent children were being sent here because their parents thought it was a regular summer camp.  Then again, if the parents weren’t smart enough to get the information about the camp first, that was their problem.

I clutched my duffel bag tightly, staring down the campground.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was a regular camp.  But I did know better.  I knew that the playground-like set up at the far right (and I mean very far right) was not to play on during free time.  I knew that the men dressed in police uniforms weren’t just playing pretend.  And I knew that the devices on some of the campers’ ankles weren’t just for decoration.

“On the bright side,” Arabelle said from beside me, “there’s a popsicle stand.”

And she was right.  Ahead of us was a snack shack where campers flocked, money in their hands.  I wondered how much the popsicles cost—or the ice cream sandwiches.  How did people even get money for that anyway?  Parents would actually give their children money when sending them to a camp in order to clean up their act?  I for one would not trust my child with money if they’d done enough crap to land themselves here.

“Am I going to be able to do this?” I whispered to her, my eyes scanning the grounds.  A huge building covered most of the grounds, separated into sections.  One was the head’s office, and that was all I really knew.  The office was the only one with a huge sign on the door saying, HEAD in all capital letters.  “Everyone here is so. . . .”

My eyes locked on a boy in the distance.  Why my eyes stayed on him instead of everyone else, I wasn’t sure—but it sure as hell wasn’t the hormones.  Sure, he was attractive, but the whole I’m-going-to-murder-you-and-your-children look he was giving me kind of threw the attractiveness away.  Especially when he was glaring me down.  Why me?  What had I done to him?  Shared the same air?

“Oh, that boy is hot,” Arabelle said, nudging me playfully.  “And don’t worry.  I promise everything will be fine.  If all goes wrong, just get yourself kicked out and then you can come home.”

I shot her an incredulous look.  “And then what?  Pull the mega silent treatment with Dad until you get back?  I’m not that good of an actress, Belle.”

“Then don’t get kicked out.”  Arabelle flashed a smile.  “It’ll be over before you know it.  And,” she added, flicking her wrist in the boy’s direction, “you have my permission to be nice to him.”

I barely cast him a glance before rolling my eyes.  “He’ll eat me in my sleep.  And enjoy it.”

“True,” Arabelle said with a snicker, “but he’s hot so that’s okay.”

We both looked up as our dad exited the head’s office, papers in his hand.  In that instant, everything became real to me.  I was standing inside Camp Sunshine Brooks, and I was going to be a camper there.  I wasn’t going to be leaving with my dad, leaving the guy who was still glaring at me like he could eat me.  And I sure as hell wasn’t leaving the police officers to continue on with their duty—probably arresting the boy for cannibalism. 

No.  I would be staying here at Camp Sunshine Brooks with the cannibal boy and the police that were going to arrest him. 

You have peanut butter, I reminded myself.  Just hold onto that.