A loud piercing whistle broke up the noise of the room and I peeked out from under my hiding place. Rick was standing in the doorway, looking anything but happy. "What the blazing hell is going on in here?" he asked to the now silent room.
"Dude, Trent totally started it..." a short shaggy-haired kid said, pointing to the tall kid on the far side of the room.
"What the F, Paul, I thought you had my back," Trent shouted, glaring at Paul.
"This is NOT the kind of behavior I'm looking for from you guys. I'm all for screwing around, but when supplies and furniture are compromised, that's not cool. Folks spend their hard-earned money to make sure this camp is functional and you show your respect by climbing on it like it’s playground equipment," Rick said in a stern "don't mess with me" kind of voice.
Brushing dust off the knees of my skirt, I stood up, embarrassed to be caught looking like an imbecile.
"Kimberly, can I see you out here for a moment," Rick asked, sounding slightly disappointed.
"Um, sure, Rick," I said, feeling defensive from the look on his face. I tried to tell him I wasn't good at this sort of thing. This was not my fault, I couldn't help thinking as I closed the door smartly behind us.
I looked up defiantly, ready to tell him this whole thing was his fault for entrusting a complete novice with the job. My insolence, however, deflated like a balloon as he just stood there in silence, studying me.
"I'm sorry," I said, cracking under the pressure. "The situation just got out of control. I'm not used to telling kids near my age what to do," I added as I scuffed the toe of my shoe against the doorjamb.
"I know I shoved you into this position. I wanted you to learn to love the camp as much as I do in the short amount of time you will be here. I can see now I was unfair in assuming you'd want to be a part of this," he said, sweeping his hands out to indicate the space surrounding us. "I can make arrangements and get your position replaced, but you might have to still camp out in one of the cabins if you don't mind," he added.
My stomach dropped. He doesn't think I have it in me to do this, I thought despairingly. Only day one and I had shattered his faith in me and stomped on his dreams. All I could think about were my complaints that now seemed insignificant when I looked into his hurt eyes.
"I can do this, Rick," I said with more bravado than I had felt since my plane had landed days ago. I would show him I had it in me or die trying, a silent voice mocked me.
"Are you sure? I'd understand if you wanted an out. I know I kind of sprang all of this on you."
"I'm positive," I said, meaning it for the first time.
"Fantastic," he said, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. "Now go in there and show them who's boss," he added, indicating the closed door behind me.
"Um, right. How do I do that?" I asked as he burst out laughing.
"Be firm. They respect an authoritative tone."
"Right," I said doubtfully.
He laughed again. "You got this," he said, winking at me before strolling away.
Obviously, it made him happy that I didn’t want to give up. Now I just had to prove to both of us that I wasn’t going to disappoint him again. I twisted the doorknob and stepped back into the craft room. Several catcalls followed my entrance. Taking a deep breath, I turned to face the offenders.
“Shut it!” I demanded. They looked surprised at first and then grinned at me.
“Is that funny? I’ll tell you what, embarrass me like that again in front of Rick, and I’ll make sure every girl here knows you wet the bed at night. And I can be awfully convincing.”
You could hear a pin drop for a moment as I stared directly into their eyes. I knew they were waiting for me to flinch, but I maintained an unreadable poker face, all the while, trying to hide my shaking legs under my skirt.
“Works for me,” one of the boys finally answered, cracking first.
"Teach found herself some balls out there in the hall," a voice in the back called out.
"I want all the clay picked up in the next two minutes with a piece roughly this size in front of each of you," I said in a deadly serious voice as I held up a piece of clay the size of a softball. "Time starts now, or you can choose to ignore me and spend an extra rotation this afternoon with me instead of archery or canoeing."
Without hesitation, everyone jumped from their chairs and began picking up the mess of clay that was scattered about the room. I watched as they exchanged stares, trying to appear cool and unconcerned. "It's your pick. Of course, I have cute origami flowers picked out for the afternoon class that you might be interested in," I added, digging it in a little further.
"Hell no am I making some pansy-ass flower," Trent said, dropping down to the ground so he could pick up the offending balls of clay.
I turned away again, letting out a deep breath. It worked, I could do this, I thought gleefully.
"Nice job, teach," a small skinny boy said quietly beside me.
"They're a good lot, but just need a firm hand," he said wisely.
I fought the urge to laugh at his adult like choice of phrasing.
"I see. What about you?"
"I'm the good boy who’s always in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, running his finger over some angry looking scars that ran up the back of his left hand disappearing under the cuff of his worn flannel shirt.
"I see, so you're just a silent observer?" I asked, trying to hide my horror at the scars that marred his skin.
"Exactly," he said, grinning at me. "I'm Quinn," he said, holding out his hand so I could shake it.
"Kimberly," I said, holding out my own hand.
He laughed. "We all know who you are. I'm just relieved you pulled on your big girl panties and showed these lugs you're here to stay," he whispered conspiratorially as the others finally slid into their chairs.
I smiled at him, enchanted with his mature dialect. "Well, Quinn, you just remind me of that if it looks like I'm losing control again."
"Will do, teach," he said before pulling his own chair up to the table.
His words spurred me on as I instructed the now silent class on how to construct the lumpy ball of nothing into something that would inspire them. I forgot that I was talking to a bunch of unruly boys as I lost myself in my craft. Art had always been second nature to me, as natural as breathing. From as young as I could remember, I had used artistic tools to express my feelings, whether in pastels, chalk, watercolor or with just a plain piece of paper and a blunt pencil. I was always able to capture what was in my mind.
The hour flew by as the guys listened to me with rapt attention, trying to work the clay in their hands like I was mindlessly working mine as I talked. I had them line their various projects along the shelves before they exited the room and told them we'd continue the next day.