The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 74: Becca

She's sitting in her chair, legs folded primly, and she looks so similar to the woman I confronted during the first week of camp, but also so different. Her shoulders are slouched instead of proud, and her ramrod posture has been reduced to a defeated hunch. There are lines carved deep into her forehead and cheeks, and I'm sure her eyes would look just as weary if they weren't obscured by a pair of silver reflective sunglasses.

The Director is distraught. And I don't have to be a psychic to know why.

"I can explain," I say. I don't know why these are my first words, but they feel important. I want somebody to understand why I did what I did— I need the Director to understand. Maybe then, if she does, this guilt will stop crushing down on my shoulders— or, at least, the weight will lessen.

The Director exhales softly. "I'm sure you can. But first, have a seat."

I don't budge. A moment passes, and she seems to recognize my hesitance.

"I promise there will be no tricks this time. Hecate is outside in the forest, looking for Owen. She won't bother you tonight."

"Hecate doesn't bother me. I just have a general dislike for all dogs."

"Can you have a general dislike for all dogs in one of my chairs?" she asks, a reassuring semblance of her old self in the snappiness of her tone. "Please, Becca. You are not the only person I need to talk to tonight. I'm afraid I don't have time to spare."

I grab a folding chair off the wall and carry it over to her desk. There, I'm instantly reminded of my first meeting with the Director, and how it started exactly like this, with me grudgingly dragging over a chair, and the Director sizing me up from behind a pair of opaque wire-frames. The only thing that's changed is that now I'm not just in trouble for acting out in Sharing Circle. I'm in trouble for almost drowning Finn Murphy.

"You told me you could explain," the Director says, folding her callused hands together. She tilts her chin downwards to level with me. "I have already spoken with Finn—"

My throat goes dry at the sound of his name. "Finn's okay? He's awake?"

"Finn Murphy is fine. He's currently resting in the Med Cabin, trying to sleep off an overwhelming night. Now, I would like to hear your side of things."

I open my mouth to protest— to demand to hear more about Finn— but the Director's expression turns stern, as if she can already hear my complaints. I can sense that this is all the information on Finn she's willing to relinquish— at least, until I give her the explanation she wants— so I force myself to swallow my worry and push my emotions to the side. There will be time to find out how Finn is doing, but now is not that time.

My story lasts for almost half an hour. I tell the Director everything, beginning with Ronan's gut feeling about the monster in the lake, and ending with finding Finn washed on the beach. (I leave out the magic parts, of course. No need for me to get taken in for a psych eval, too.) I describe how Ronan became obsessed with the idea of a monster living in the lake after Clancy met his unfortunate demise, and how he, Finn, and Jasper broke into the Director's cabin to dig up proof.

At this, the Director smiles faintly. "I had an inkling it was those three. Hecate would've scared off anybody else. The only camper she's ever befriended is Finn Murphy... but please, continue your story."

So I do. I tell her about how we convinced Wolseley to reveal the story behind the summer of '69 and how Finn then summoned the kraken, and how Owen saw and was able to formulate his plan. I go on and on, babbling about how Ronan and I stole a motorboat (I lie and say we found the keys in the ignition, because claiming I got them out of a dream would sound too far-fetched), and then I keep going, pushing through the pain and fear of my own memories.