Cabin Tales

Chapter 13

Marley: Age 14

"So you're telling me these are edible?" I asked Anna who brought us to a bush packed full of tiny black and red berries. Before answering, she proceeded to eat a red one she had picked earlier. She smacks her lips as if to say, See? Delicious.

I looked over at Daniel to see if he was buying it – if he was going to try the berries. There was no way these were edible, but here my friend was eating wild berries. Daniel's face contorted in a way that let me know he was just as skeptical. Still, he held a couple of tiny blackberries in hand.

"Trust me," Anna said, popping another in her mouth. "My wildlife counselor showed us these. Lots of berries you can't eat in the woods, but these are edible. The red ones are extra sour, too. I swear you won't die."

Wildlife was an activity we could choose when we reached Nightingale village, and it was a favorite amongst many campers. It was essentially learning how to survive in the wild: discovering edible food, knot tying, camping in tents. Anna once brought me a stick she carved into a spear. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to keep it because it was a "hazard." (Understandable, but I was still pissed.)

I would've chosen wildlife, but the activity had a four-day schedule rather than our usual two-day classes. That meant if someone took a wildlife course, they could only pick two other activities. I had no desire to drop my classes with Daniel or arts and crafts with Anna, so wildlife was out of the picture.

Anna rolled her eyes. "Just try it."

She picked a few and motioned for me to open my mouth. Reluctantly, I opened my mouth just wide enough for her to slip a red berry in. I bit down, my watering mouth combining with the small amount of juice from the berry. I spat out the seeds, even though she already explained the entire thing was edible. This might sound crazy, but it felt like I was doing something illegal.

After realizing I hadn't died on impact, Daniel decided to try the black ones in his now purple-stained hands. He would do this thing where whenever he enjoyed something, he'd bob his head up and down. It was a very subtle motion, but I always caught him doing it. I noticed he did it after swallowing the berry.

"This is a good bush," Anna said. "Don't tell anyone about it."

"We won't," I promised her.

"Pinky promise, okay?"

Anna held her pinkies out. We all locked our pinkies and then twisted our hands so our thumbs would touch. This was what we did whenever we made a promise on something. And we were never allowed to break those promises. Ever. 

***

Since Nightingale was the oldest village, a dance was planned for the last Saturday of the camp session. It was similar to prom but without the extravagance and weeks of preparation. The event took place in the cafeteria with a few streamers and balloons. There wasn't a real DJ, just a counselor who played music from an iPod. Still, at fourteen, the dance felt special. Boys would ask girls to the dance or people would just go with their friends. Many considered it to be "a night we'll never forget."

I lingered in the cabin getting ready for breakfast one Sunday morning. Anna was sitting on my bottom bunk, twisting my hair into two braids, while I sat in front of her on the floor. One of the girls in our cabin, Emme, stood in front of me. We weren't close, but we also didn't hate each other. Every other camper and their mother loved her, and she was considered one of the popular girls even though it was only her second year at camp.

"Soooo," she said, looking down at me with her hands on her hips. 

Her almost white hair was tied into the perfect high pony, and she wore eyeliner on her waterline. When we first met last year, I thought she was a CIT or even a counselor because she always appeared older. It wasn't until the second day that I realized she was actually a camper.