Camp Greenlake: A Tent's Story

Chapter One | This Definately Isn't A Girl Scout Camp

Chapter One
This Definitely Isn't A Girl Scout Camp

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

     The old bus sped down the highway at a speed that might not be legal in the lower 48 states, and yet all I can focus on is, why me? Why am I, of all the delinquents there are in Texas, being sent to Camp Greenlake. Last time I checked, that place was meant for boys and boys only, but according to the judge, they were able to make room for certain girls who were ten times worse than any other petty female criminal.
     If it were up to me, I would have opted to go to prison, but the judge asked my parents what they felt would be best, considering it was their convenience store I crashed into. I was honestly expecting them to opt for me to be sent to prison, because they were rightfully upset at the destruction of the store they had worked so hard to achieve.
Wouldn't have blamed them if they did end up choosing jail, but they didn't.

  Now, growing up in Girl Scouts, I have been to camp before. Never to one that lasted for 18 months, granted, but I was no stranger to the camp scene. As the bus transitioned from cement to dirt road, I felt my mind wander with the many possibilities of what I thought this Camp Greenlake would be like. Judging by the name, I assumed that it would be your standard forest camp with a big, glistening lake to boot. I always loved the outdoors, so having that small glimmer of hope to look forward to brightened my mood about this mysterious place. I almost drifted off in my thoughts completely before the bus hit a bump and I snapped out of my fantasy and realized we were careening through what looked like a desert.

    I became extremely confused.Where's all the green? was all I could think of as I could feel the speed of the vehicle increase to an even further illegal rate of miles per hour. As we sped on down the vast desert path further, I noticed a culmination of holes begin to show up. This perplexed me even further.
"What the..." I exclaimed quietly, under my breath even. Despite me practically whispering, the guard sitting mere seats across and in front of me shot me a glare.

"No talking." the guard spoke in a loud and stern manner, and sent a shiver down my spine. I really didn't think he could hear me, especially not over the sound of the bus and the tires ripping into the dirt as we hastened on down the way.
      I sheepishly turned my head to the window, and noticed a plethora of people in orange jumpsuits digging, and I saw what must have been the "camp" merge into view. While my head was still spinning with the myriad of questions I now had about this place atop of my already existing curiosities, the bus came to a screeching halt, clouding up dust outside as it did so. The guard looked at me, and since I didn't want him to yell again, I swiftly stood up with my stuff in hand, and made a b-line off of that bus.

    When we stepped out into this desert-like place, a wall of pure heat and humidity hit me, I was almost immediately drenched in sweat and my pigtails became extremely frizzy. Suddenly, a long sleeved shirt underneath a dress did not seem like the smartest choice of clothing. I felt my throat dry up almost instantly as well, suddenly craving the cold caress of water.
I looked around, and it seemed like your standard campground, only instead of cute little pitched tents, there were industrial, almost military-like tents in a perfect row adjacent to the building in front of where I had been dropped off by the bus. And of course, there was a splattering of kids in orange jumpsuits throughout the camp grounds.
   As I spent my time gawking at my new surroundings, the now irritated guard poked me with his gun.
"Come on, Gilbert, we don't have all day." he demanded, ushering me towards the direction of what appeared to be the main office of sorts.

I pushed the door open, and was greeted by an incredibly messy work space. Papers were scattered everywhere along the desk in the middle of the room, file cabinets overflowing with poorly organized documents, etc. There was a swivel chair behind the desk, and there was someone sat in it, except the person who was sat down was turned away from the door, so I couldn't see his or her face. The guard persistently pushed me into the room entirely, and pointed at where I ought to sit.

When I eventually sat in the admittedly uncomfortable seat, the mysterious person sat across from me made their presence known. A scraggly-looking man who looked to be in his late 40s to early 50s slowly spun to face me, almost as if he was trying to appear ominous. He had what I assumed was my file in hand, and it partially covered his face. It was awkwardly silent inside this office space, before a sharp southern accent broke the quiet.

"Kristina Gilbert..." the man dragged on, dropping the file onto his cluttered desk, and making eye contact with me so sharply I felt the sudden need to sit up straight. God, I hated when people called me Kristina, it made me feel like I was in trouble. Although, in this case, I guess I was.
"It's actually Kristy..um..no one calls me Kristina..." I said, immediately wishing I hadn't as his stare narrowed in a way that had me convinced he would smack me right then and there. It was a stare that told me he couldn't care less about what I thought he should call me.

"Oh my mistake, I didn't realize you were the one in charge here, please, excuse me." The tone the man used was enough to make my cheeks flush with embarrassment, causing me to gulp back my words.
I could hear the guard behind me snicker, and that made my embarrassment worse.
The man leaned back in his chair, adjusting his cowboy hat.
"My name is Mr. Sir. Whenever you speak to me, you will call me by my name."
I chuckled, but the glare I received in return made me instantly wish I hadn't.
"You think that's funny, do ya?" Mr. Sir asked, leaning forward and squinting his eyes like a predator looking at it's prey in the wild. A sense of fear washed over me as I blurted out "No, Mr. Sir."
Mr. Sir relaxed back into his chair, before getting up and mobile.
"This ain't a girl scout camp, Kristina. You got that clear?" his voice thick and clear, almost like that of a drill sergeant's, to which I responded with "Yes, Mr Sir." I had a feeling I would get really sick of saying Mister or Sir after all this is over. Mr. Sir made his way over to the door without a word, and with one swift look of "what are you waiting for?" from the guard, I scrambled to gather my things and follow suit.