Two weeks later, it feels strange standing in the driveway of my home, holding a large black duffel bag in one hand and a suitcase in the other. My mom and Poppy stand in front of me, ready to bid me a temporary farewell. I keep reminding them I'm not leaving forever; I will return home in five weeks as a new and improved person.
Haha, almost believed myself for a second.
"Look, just remember that if anything bad happens, call me, and I'll drive over there before you can blink, okay?"
I smile to feign some confidence for my panicked mother. "Mom, I'll be fine, okay? Remember that you're sending me off to college in the fall." I let go of my suitcase and reach forward to give her a hug.
Poppy stands off to the side with her lips pursed, hands placed on her narrow hips. She smiles, reaching forward to give me a warm hug. "Good luck okay? You do everything you put your mind to. You're not stopping now." I nod and begin to pull away, but she leans forward and places her lips by my ear. "And oh yeah, go find yourself a hot guy."
If that's even possible.
I chuckle, and she gives me a wink. Poppy ignores whatever our mother says to her and marches back into the house. That was everyone, since my father gave me a hurried goodbye and kiss this morning before hopping on a conference call, like clockwork.
"Is it too late to give up?" I ask my mom with a slight wince.
She stops the car and gives me one of her death glares; you know, the motherly stare that makes you want to melt into a puddle on the ground. "Whitney, if you decide to quit right now, I will personally pick you up and throw you into that camp."
Throwing teenagers. Don't think they teach that at her Saturday afternoon Pilates class.
Choosing not to respond, I stare at the endless array of thick green trees on the side of the highway, the only source of natural entertainment in Connecticut. In the silence, I reflect on yesterday afternoon. A huge altercation broke out downstairs between my mother and Poppy, resulting in her locking herself in my bathroom for two hours when I needed to use it.
An expert eavesdropper, I crouched at the top of the staircase and listened to their yells resonating across the house.
"Mom, you don't get it do you?" Poppy's voice was thick with tears, but I doubted she let our mom see them. "It's my decision. I want to do this."
A few seconds of silence passed before I heard our mom. "Poppy, listen to me. Just because you're twenty-two and a responsible adult, doesn't mean you always know the best for you. What if you're rushing all of this?"
"Why do you always say that?" Poppy shouted. "You never look at the bright side of things. Ever! Please look beyond your plan for my life for once."
"I am your mother, and I have a job to look out for what's best for you!" she yelled back and after a moment grumbled, "I thought Whitney was the tough kid to handle, now you?"
That was slightly hurtful but moving on.
"And how are you so sure?" Poppy said, her tone gravely firm. "Do you know me as well as you think you do?"
Once again, a long period of silence followed. "What I know is you are my daughter, who I raised to be mature and intelligent, and you have plans to apply to law school soon. Do you really want to turn into me? I threw away all of my potential to marry your father! What I wouldn't give to be your age again."
"But I'm not you!" Poppy cried. "I'm not repeating your life, Mom. You just refuse to see otherwise."
A huff from our mom. "Poppy, I can't argue about this anymore; it's ridiculous and quite frankly—"
"You know what, Mom? I'm done."
Before our mom could finish her diatribe, Poppy marched through the foyer and up the stairs. I fell onto my front as I tried to escape and leapt into my bedroom through the other door. Poppy stormed down the hallway and slammed the door of my bathroom shut.
Hard.
The car rolls to a stop. "So, here it is," my mom says, breaking the awkward silence. "Wow."
"Yup. There it is." I fold and unfold my hands, not budging from my seat. "This should be great."
She smiles, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure you'll have fun. Keep an open mind, and make sure to stay in touch with us all."
I nod, reaching over the center console to give her a hug, and she kisses my cheek. "Bye, Mom. Love you."
I step out of the car and open the trunk to get my bags. I observe a large, modern building with windows on all the sides, resembling the science centers at the college nearby. Behind it are the dorms, where we will all live for the next five weeks. The email said to meet in the central building, room 100.
I start making my way there as my mom drives away, waving to me from inside her car. From the corner of my eye I spot another girl walking towards the central building, lugging two purple duffel bags and sporting an extremely high ponytail. I hold the door open for her, and she gives me a big smile, showing off her bright white teeth.
"Thanks," she says, walking inside. "Do you know where we're supposed to go? The email had some room number, but I guess I didn't look at it close enough."
"It's room 100," I say. My suitcase's wheels make an annoying squeak against the polished floor as we walk. "Ah look, there it is."
We walk through the frosted glass doors and find the inside of the room itself mostly empty, its endless brown hardwood floor reminding me of a dance studio. There are about eleven girls in the corner sitting next to their bags, some engaged in lively conversation, while a few others are glued to their phones. Several look up when they see us, giving a mix of smiles and oh-God-what-did-we-actually-sign-up-for expressions.
High ponytail girl turns to me. "I'm Natalie, by the way."
"Whitney," I say. "Do you want to sit over there?" I motion to an empty area on the right, a few feet away from twin girls. Truthfully, I want to sit there to take a better look at them; I don't think I've ever seen two girls so identical.
"Sure," Natalie chirps. We set down our suitcases and take a seat on the ground. I fix my attention on the twin girls, seeing a duplicate set of big brown eyes, pouty lips, and sleek hair, although one's is jet black and the other's dark brown. Natalie tries to spark some conversation, sliding a little closer. "Out of curiosity, what made you want to join this camp?"
"Honestly, some combination of nonexistent athletic skills and nothing else better to do this summer. What about you?"
She giggles, her light brown eyes twinkling. "I want to play varsity tennis next year, but my coach said that unless I become a stronger player, I don't stand much of a chance."
Great, another tennis player. Do I have some strange affinity for them? "Oh, my best friend is a tennis player—top in the state to be exact."
"Really? Wow, that's awesome," she says. "A lot of girls made it in their sophomore year, but I didn't. Still hoping to join the team my junior year. How old are you?"
Natalie did look a bit younger when I first saw her, but maybe it's just the juvenile sense of enthusiasm warping her true age. "Eighteen. I'll be a freshman in college at the end of this August."
"Wait, are you—"
Before she can finish her question, the door opens, and the sound of someone's footsteps booms throughout the vast room. The sixteen of us look up and find a brawny man with tan arms as big as some of the girls' legs in this room. He sports a muscle tank and worn-out Timberlands, appearing somewhere in his late forties.
The proverbial Bob?
"Everyone, stand up," he barks, moving to the center of the room. All of us scramble to our feet in a jumbled circle, practically knocking each other over. A few girls yell at us to space out, and soon enough we form a decent line. "That's good," he muses, resting his arms behind his back. "I'm Bob Campbell, in case you never read the title of the program. I'm a former military officer and now a certified fitness trainer, and in recent years, I've won three fitness competitions."
Gee, thanks for putting it out there.
"This camp is no ordinary fitness camp. We work on a strict basis with set rules and policies. If you cannot follow them, we will personally ask you to take your sorry ass back home."
One of the twins raises her hand. Bob huffs but lets her speak.
"What are these rules?" she asks, wiry arms folded over her chest.
"One of them states 'don't ask any questions until I say so,' since you're so curious."
Her cheeks flush red, but she tries to act unaffected, muttering some phrase of annoyance.
With the interruption, he walks down the line of girls, getting a good look at all of us. He pauses at my slouching form for a moment, internally judging me as he walks past. God, I do not blame him.
"Alright, now you're probably interested in how our system works," he says, his eyes fixated on the twin. "This afternoon you will first complete a diagnostic fitness test. It consists of a run and a few static and dynamic exercises, designed for us to test your level of athletic ability and later to gauge your progress. Afterwards, you will meet your assigned trainer. Given our camp's small size this year, each of you will have access to your own trainer, which will permit you to complete more personalized workouts. We encourage you take advantage of this valuable opportunity.
Our own trainers? I can't tell if his tone is ominous or encouraging, but I'm finally excited about something at this camp.
"Moving on, once you meet your trainer, we require you to follow all of their instructions. They will formulate workout plans tailored to your abilities but designed to push you to your limits. Secondly, everyone must wake up by eight in the morning, dressed and ready for breakfast. After which, you will have your morning workout session. Lunch will be served daily at twelve in the afternoon. After lunch, you will usually have a lighter workout session, but not always, depending on the plan we have in place for the day. Dinner will be served at six, after which you can expect some fun group activities." So probably not fun. "Finally, later in the week, we will have our first group challenge, where you will be competing with your fellow trainees for a change of routine. Now, if you have any questions, this is the time to ask."
Annoying twin's hand shoots up, and I can see her sister wanting to slap her arm back down. Bob sighs and points to her.
"Before you ask anything, please tell me your name."
"Adriana," she says. "Now can I ask?"
"Of course, Adriana," he answers wryly.
She stands up a little straighter and clears her throat. "Are the trainers male or female?"
Her sister melts from embarrassment, covering her face. I stifle a laugh at her question, wondering how that is her biggest concern with all the torturous aforementioned exercise awaiting us.
"We have a mix of both here, but I doubt you'll be very pleased with your pairing." I begin to question my sanity as I await another gibe from him, somehow finding the rudeness attractive. "Any other questions? If not, let's get started."
A burst of giggles spreads across the room, and Adriana's cheeks emanate a fiery red. Her sister mutters something along the lines of "I told you to shut the fuck up." No other girl raises her hand, probably not craving humiliation like Adriana.
A blonde woman, appearing a few years younger than Bob, wearing gray leggings and a sports bra walks into the room, letting us all see her tan and very toned stomach.
"Hi girls, I'm Cindy. I'm the co-owner of this facility and will oversee your progress with Bob," she says. "I'll first lead you to the dorms just outside of this building."
We follow behind her in a small herd, bags in tow, and are greeted by the humid air. If I stay out here for a few more minutes, my straight hair will likely resemble a dandelion.
"I hope we can pick our roommates," Natalie whispers from beside me, appearing apprehensive. I nod along. "I don't want to get with someone rude. Or messy. That's the worst."
"Alright, this is the hall where your rooms are located. You can find one communal bathroom on each end." Cindy alleviates our worries when she adds, "Please divide yourselves in pairs and go settle in."
"Let's get the corner room," I tell Natalie, hurrying to the door at the end of the hallway.
The spacious room contains two sizable beds and windows on both walls, definitely nothing like the dingy and musty cabin room from the summer camp I attended in middle school.
"This room looks nicer than mine at home," Natalie jokes, walking to the window to check out the view.
I sit down on the mattress, getting a feel for the level of softness.
Not too shabby, given how much my parents paid for this experience.
After fitting the bedsheets we brought from home and shoving our still full bags in the corner, we hear a knock at the door. Cindy manifests again, this time holding an iPad and a clipboard and pen. I try not to think about how the paper defeats the whole purpose of the device in her hand and focus on her instructions. We'll be meeting outside in a few minutes for a "basic" fitness test—to her, she should have added.
Outside, we stand in a disorganized line again, and I get a better look at everyone. My eyes pass by a couple blonde heads, and I do a double take. My heart nearly drops to my stomach as one girl turns her head towards me, hair fanning across her face. I blink twice, hoping my brain is just superimposing her image in real life.
Nope, that is definitely Willow Gerard standing seven feet away from me. What the hell is she doing here?
I spin my head around and drag Natalie to the opposite side of the group. She looks confused but doesn't question me.
"Alright, girls, listen up!" Cindy calls from beside Bob, appearing about half his size from this angle. "This test will start with a simple one-mile run. Try your best to pace yourselves, as I know this might be new to some of you. We'll start first with a few stretches."
Oh God no. This lady did not just put "simple" and "one-mile run" in one sentence, although I seem to be the only person fazed. After our quick warmup, the other girls hurry to assemble themselves at the beginning of the road, some even fighting for a specific spot. The only spot I want is the one as far away from the blonde-haired demon as possible.
We begin running, some girls sprinting to the far front. Despite my absolute hatred for gym class, I did remember one of my teachers saying pacing yourself is key—so that's why there are already ten girls in front of me.
I try to use my somewhat long legs to my advantage and take a large stride that lets me pass a petite Asian girl. Willow has the most impressive lead, no surprise, with Adriana trailing behind her. By the time Cindy calls that we have finished only a quarter of the mile, I am ready to pack up my belongings and head back home.
How do people run for fun?
"You can do it girls; keep going!" Cindy yells, clapping her hands above her head.
I feel my legs shake and my heart nearly pop out of my chest as I force myself to keep running, my pace declining with every heavy stride. Natalie has kept the same rhythm as me this whole time, and I wonder if she did so out of sympathy for my glaringly unathletic self.
Soon enough, I consider power walking like my grandma does with her old-lady friends every Sunday morning. Another quarter mile, and it's physically impossible not to do that, my stamina depleted.
I try to hide my embarrassment as I half-walk half-jog along with a few other equally inept girls, focusing on my erratic breathing. Towards the end, another wave of energy washes over me—or maybe it's the frustration over how far of a lead Willow has.
"Girls, the finish line is around the corner!" Cindy calls, already at the end of the road.
Closing my eyes, I tuck my chin down and zoom ahead, despite my screaming calves and quadriceps. I pass two other girls and cross the finish line, winded to the nth degree. I look up and lock eyes with Willow, who despite the humid air and long run, lacks a single visible drop of sweat on her face.
Looking away, I shuffle away to Natalie, who is busy gulping down a whole bottle of water.
"God, we actually survived."
I heave a euphoric sigh of relief and bring my own bottle to my lips. She holds up her hand for a high-five, but we don't get to complete it, as Cindy's unwanted instructions come again.
"Unfortunately, there's a second half, girls, so join me back here once you've taken a moment to rest!"
The rest of the exercises are more agonizing than each other, and when we're forced into a one-minute plank, my whole body gives out. I collapse onto the grass after twenty seconds, my arms feeling like Jell-O. A few other girls are spent as well, and Cindy gives us her sympathies, which almost seem fake at this point.
If this is just the beginning, there is no way I'm going to survive the next five weeks here.