As the room emptied, I approached the shelves along the back wall to check out their first attempts. I couldn't help smiling when I saw several that looked to be the shape of a woman's breast, typical boys. They'd die if they attended some of the nude art classes I had been to. I wasn't a huge fan of nude art, but needed the exposure for my college applications, no pun intended. Continuing on, I grimaced at several unrecognizable shapes until I stumbled onto one that was the exact replica of a mountain lion. Reaching over, I picked it up and studied the detail in awe as I turned it over in my hands. The person who had created this had true talent. Clay wasn't the easiest material to work with, but somehow he gave the shapeless lump life that most artists spent their lives trying to perfect. Turning it over in my hands, I was shocked to see Trent’s name scrawled across the belly of the lion.
Trent the instigator had done this. The thought seemed crazy considering the way he had acted earlier.
"Hiding out, or contemplating death by clay?" Amy teased, coming into the room.
"Ha, an hour ago, I would have said both, but now...," I said, smiling crookedly at her.
"Hot damn, I mean, hot dog. It went well?" she asked with sparkling eyes.
"Not at first. I literally thought I was in hell, but one of the campers and Rick helped me pull it together," I said, linking my arm through hers as we headed out of the room toward the dining area.
"Really? Who?" she asked.
"Quinn."
"Aw, Quinn. That kid is freaking awesome," she said affectionately as she headed to the kitchen to grab the overflowing serving bowls for all the tables.
"He really is," I answered, juggling two heaping bowls of french fries. "He talks like an adult, but looks way younger than the other guys."
"He is," she said, balancing a glass pitcher of lemonade and a stack of glasses in her hands.
"Really?" I asked, heading back to the kitchen for more fries.
"Yeah, he's only twelve. Rick moved him up to the Eagle cabin last year."
"Seriously? The older guys didn't mind?" I asked skeptically.
"Nah, he could shame anyone with his sophisticated speech. Plus, they pretty much treat him like a mascot anyway."
"Is that why Rick moved him to the Eagle cabin?" I asked, confused at the wisdom of pulling Quinn from his own age group.
"Not really," she hem-hawed, looking uncomfortable.
"Amy, seriously, you're not going to hold out on me are you?" I asked, intrigued by her sudden secretiveness.
"I just hate being a gossip on something like this," she said quietly, juggling a platter of corn dogs.
I raised my eyebrows at her since we'd pretty much done nothing but exchange tidbits on everyone since I got here.
"Okay, I was trying to turn over a new leaf, especially when it comes to Quinnie. We all sort of love him here. Anyway, Rick moved him because he has ferocious night terrors and it was freaking out the younger kids."
"Night terrors?" I asked, confused over the term.
"Yeah, freaky dreams that make him wake up screaming like the hounds of hell are after him. Rick researched it a lot when Quinn first got here last summer and it's not all that rare. Anything can trigger them, but we're all pretty sure his stem from his asshole father. And no, I'm not apologizing for that one because I'm pretty sure Louise would agree with me," she said with venom in her voice.
"What would I agree with?" Louise asked, coming up from behind and startling us both.
"Quinnie’s father," Amy said, grabbing another pitcher of lemonade while I grabbed the cups.
"You mean, the prick asshole," Louise said with the same venom as Amy.
"Yep, that'd be the one," Amy said, shooting me a smile despite the heavy topic.
"Why, what'd he do?" I asked, delivering the stack of cups to the Raven table before heading toward our own table.
"He set him on fire," she said, dropping in a heap in the chair next to me.
"What?" I screeched. Bile rose up my throat as I recalled the scars on the backs of his hands and his words about always being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Shhhhhhhhh," Amy hissed as several people turned our way.
"Are you serious?" I asked, lowering my voice to a whisper.
She nodded. "He did other bullsnot stuff to him before that, one even sent Quinn to the hospital when he was seven. They took him away and arrested his dad, but when he was released, some pansy dick head judge was convinced he was rehabilitated and gave him back temporary custody. He showed his gratitude by setting Quinnie's bed on fire while he was sleeping."
I looked at her, completely appalled as my eyes filled with tears. What kind of world did we live in that parents did sick-ass stuff like that to their own children? The table around us filled as the other counselors claimed their seats. Their voices floated around me in a haze as I tried to keep from looking at Quinn on the other side of the room, sure that he would know we had been discussing him.
"Kimmie, you okay?" Rick's voice broke through my thoughts.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, swallowing the bile that was burning its way through my throat.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, looking at my empty plate with concern.
"Um no, I think I just need some fresh air," I said, bolting from the table before I embarrassed myself.
I barely made it to the woods beyond the building before I lost the contents of my stomach. Dry heaves pulsated through me as tears coursed down my cheeks. I was surprised at my reaction, having never been much of a crier. I just always felt it was a wasted emotion that never got me what I wanted anyway. Maybe I was feeling overly emotional from meeting Rick, or putting up with Mason's crap, but something had me feeling overly sensitive.
"Corn dogs not your usual cuisine, beach bunny?" the one person I wished to avoid mocked from behind me.
Forgetting the tears on my cheeks, I turned around, deciding now was the time he was going to take a punch in the nose. The sudden movement coupled with my puke-fest left me lightheaded. I took a staggering step forward before crumbling in an unceremonious heap at his judgmental feet. I wish I could say I'd never felt more embarrassed, but this was just another clip from my weeklong blooper real around Mason. All I could do was sit there and try to clear my head so I could run to the cabin and hide.
"Hey, are you crying?" Mason asked, kneeling beside me, concerned.
"What do you care?" I asked, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles to clear away the rest of the fogginess and tears.
"Did someone say something to upset you?" he asked in a tone I didn't recognize.
"You mean besides you?" I said, staggering to my feet. He gripped my arms to help steady me, giving me a sudden sense of déjà vu. Just that morning, he had gripped me the same way. Which, by the way, why did it seem like he was always holding me up? No wonder he thought I was a weakling.
"Yeah, I guess besides me," he said in a voice that almost sounded regretful as he took a step closer to me. "You have clay on your face," he added in a husky voice, swiping his thumb across my cheekbone.
My skin tingled at his soft touch and suddenly I had a hard time catching my breath. The look on his face was intense. Fighting to compose myself, I wanted to go on the defensive, unsure if he was just messing with me again.