The Rules of Regret (3 page)

I
skimmed over the email, looking for some hint of personality, but it was
completely devoid. Total robot talk. It sounded like a good idea at first and
an easy way to make $600, but the more I thought about it, the less the
position seemed to be a fit.

I
was not outdoorsy. I was never technically at-risk. I wasn
’
t even good with teenagers. I was
awkward and clumsy during my own early teenage years with my
more-red-than-brown hair, the collection of freckles that smattered my nose,
and the slight gap between my teeth that wasn
’
t corrected until senior year when
Lance
’
s
mom gifted the money for braces.

It
took a long, painful while to grow into my gangly body, and even longer to
accept those freckles I once hated. I
’
d
secretly wished for pimples instead, knowing that they were just a phase and
would eventually disappear, whereas freckles were there to stay. It wasn
’
t until one night when Lance traced
over every single one with the tip of his finger, telling me how much he loved
me and how much he loved them, that I accepted the beauty he saw in them.

So
no, I didn
’
t
think I
’
d
be much help to anyone currently going through that stage of life. I
’
d probably make them even
more
at-risk by inadvertently screwing
them up with my own embarrassing stories of adolescence. Lance was the one that
would make a great counselor with his ability to reflect and project his
opinions on others. I could only imagine what it would do to a young girl
’
s self-esteem to have someone like
Lance tell them they were valuable. If it was even a small fraction of what it
did to me back when I was thirteen, they
’
d
think they were the only girl he
’
d
ever laid eyes upon.

I
stared back at the formal letter and began running my fingers across the
keyboard to compose a response.

From:
Deborah Duncan

To:
T. Westbrook

Subject:
Not a good fit, but thank you

Dear
T. Westbrook,

Thank
you for your prompt response to my email. Upon further thought, I don
’
t think this program is the best fit
for me. I just completed my second year at Stanford where I am studying
Architectural Design. Unfortunately, I do not have a lot of experience with
outdoor adventure camps, even less experience with teenagers. I think I
’
ll stick with buildings :)

I
apologize for taking up your time. Thank you again for the reply.

Sincerely,

Darby

I
shoved off from the desk with my palms and snatched my phone out of my purse,
eager to call Lance. We hadn
’
t
talked since last night, and I was beginning to go through withdrawals. But
since I
’
d
never done drugs, I could only assume the feelings I experienced were
withdrawal-like. When someone was a part of your life twenty-four hours a day,
seven days a week, even three days apart felt like an unwelcome eternity. We
hadn
’
t
been getting along much lately (and by lately I mean the past couple of years),
but I
’
d
come to realize that even arguing was better than silence. At least there was
interaction. At least there was emotion. As odd of a sensation as it was, and
as hard as it was to verbalize, I
’
d
actually been wishing for an argument recently, just to keep the lines of
communication open.

When
my fingers fumbled onto my phone, there was a lengthy text already waiting for
me.

Lance:
You
’
ll
never guess who I just had lunch with
…
Congressman
Stanley! You know it
’
s
been a dream of mine to rub shoulders with that guy! Invited a few of us from
the firm out for dinner this evening. Missing you like crazy, Babe. But I think
this break in our relationship is what we need. Have fun and enjoy yourself and
don
’
t
think twice about me.

I
’
d already started tapping out a
reply, telling how proud I was of him and how exciting it must be to have a
chance encounter with his political idol, when my eyes fell upon those last two
sentences. Everything stopped. My key punching, my breathing. And apparently
our relationship. I wasn
’
t
planning on a hiatus, and wasn
’
t
sure I
’
d
be able to get through the next six weeks without
“
thinking twice
”
about him. In reality, I
’
d probably be in a constant state of
Lance pondering.

My
email dinged from across the room and snapped my attention before I had a
chance to respond to Lance
’
s
text. Probably more spam. I wasn
’
t
sure what website I visited or what list I
’
d
mistakenly got myself on, but over half of my inbox was littered with promises
of male enhancement and deals on prescription drugs from Canada. I was about to
routinely press the delete button when I saw it was from the camp, instead.

From:
T. Westbrook

To:
Deborah Duncan

Subject:
See you on the 12
^th
!

Dear
Darby,

You
are in luck! We have buildings at our camp! And since you already have the
perfect camp name (I was a little worried with Deborah, but Darby is right on),
you have two advantages over all of our other applicants who made no mention of
loving buildings, and who have boring, commonplace names like Ryan, Sarah and
Chris.

We
look forward to receiving your completed application and meeting you at orientation
on the 12
^th
!

Until
then,

Torin

I
blinked rapidly at the screen, like the fluttering of my eyelids could somehow
magically rearrange the words and letters into a way that made more sense than
their current configuration. What in the world was that? If the first email
felt contrived and manufactured, this last exchange was a total one-eighty,
like an entirely different person penned it.

I
was pretty sure the intent of my original message was to decline the position,
yet this Torin seemed to have completely overlooked that. I was a little
annoyed that this last note demanded another response because I wanted to just
be done with this so I could start pounding the pavement, looking for a
real
summer job. I wasn
’
t sure why I ever thought summer camp
would work for me. McIversons didn
’
t
camp, and while I wasn
’
t
officially one, I was sure some of that had rubbed off on me by osmosis or
something.

From:
Deborah Duncan

To:
T. Westbrook

Subject:
Again, no thank you

Dear
Torin,

I
appreciate the encouragement, but I am still declining the camp counselor
position at Quarry Summit. After looking at my schedule further, I will need to
take off time between the third and fourth weeks of camp to visit my boyfriend
in Washington D.C., and now that I know the campers are at-risk youth, I don
’
t think it would be fair to leave
partway through the camp and disrupt any relationships that might be forming
while there. Because I cannot be consistent, I don
’
t think this is the best option for
my summer employment.

Sincerely,

Darby

Send.

There,
that should do it. I scanned over the note again as it sat in my sent folder
and lifted nearly a foot off my seat when the inbox chimed as I was still
re-reading my last message.

From:
T. Westbrook

To:
Deborah Duncan

Subject:
Luck o
’
the Irish

Darby,

You
are in luck once again! Any chance you
’
re
Irish (I
’
m
guessing so with a name like Darby Duncan)? Our counselors do not need to
commit to the full six-week program, and since the gap between the third and
fourth weeks brings in a new set of campers, any time taken off then will not
affect the relationships you form.

I
’
m still looking forward to meeting
you on the 12
^th
. Be sure to get fingerprinted soon because it can
take up to a week before it enters our system.

-Torin

P.S.
I will make sure the cafeteria is fully stocked with Lucky Charms prior to your
arrival ;)

CHAPTER THREE

The
smell of the pines swept into the Jeep before I was even able to prop the
driver
’
s
side door open all the way to let it filter in. It was like Pinesol
—
only more natural
—
lacking the potent,
disinfecting scent that took me back to fourth grade when Lucy Haverson puked
all over her desk during our weekly spelling test.

But
even now, it was a fitting aroma that summoned an appropriate memory. Because
that
’
s
how I felt
—
like
I could empty the contents of my stomach onto the crunchy gravel that gripped
the tread of my shoes. I wasn
’
t
a nature girl. Give me buildings and concrete and I was in my element. But
tall, ominous trees and looming mountain peaks that framed them like a Bob Ross
painting made me feel anything but comfortable. I started to regret my hasty
decision already. Maybe I should have sent out just a few more resumes.

“
Welcome!
”
A slight woman with a chin-length,
blonde bob shouted as she scurried toward me across the small parking lot,
startling me like she
’
d
just fired a gun into the crisp, thin air.
“
You must be Darby.
”
She extended a calloused, tanned
hand my direction. Her blue and red flannel shirt was tucked into her jeans
that rose well above her navel, and her boots looked more like practical
military garb than actual footwear. While the term
‘
mountain woman
’
wasn
’
t one that is readily at hand in my
vocabulary, she fit the description to a T in a sort of adorable, sort of scary
way.

“
I
’
m Marla Westbrook. You
’
ll meet my husband, Curtis, during
orientation. Here, let me help you with your bags.
”
She didn
’
t wait for my reply and popped the
back to the Jeep open, tucking her clipboard up into her armpit. With two
strong grasps and a slightly audible huff, she yanked my luggage out of the
trunk and swung around toward the stretch of cabins that sloped down the
hillside.
“
Let
’
s get these dropped off and then we
’
ll meet in the Rec Hall with the rest
of the counselors. You
’
ll
be in the Spruce Cabin with the thirteens,
”
she called over her shoulder, her voice gruff and authoritative. I trailed her
obediently, because even though she was a tiny bit of a woman, she had the
overwhelming presence of a drill sergeant. And she sort of frightened me.
“
You
’
ll have eight campers bunking with
you at a time.
”

“
You said join the rest of the
counselors.
”
I tripped over an ill-placed log that outlined the dirt path on the way to the
sleeping quarters. After stumbling two feet, I reclaimed my balance before
Marla had the chance to notice my falter. Good thing, because I was fairly
certain there was nothing that would stop her from commanding me to drop down
and give her twenty and I had small, weak arms that trembled just thinking
about it.
“
Does
that mean I
’
m
the last one?
”

“
Yup,
”
she grumbled. Her whole no-nonsense
demeanor made me cower, like I was five years old again and just got in trouble
for sticking my hand in the cookie jar.
“
Last
one to commit to the position. Last one to be fingerprinted. Last one to show up
for orientation.
”
She didn
’
t
look back at me as she spoke and instead continued down the trail.

Though
it was mid-morning, the further into the canopy of trees we hiked, the darker
the surroundings grew.
Flashlight.
That was the one thing I forgot to pack. I highly doubted these pathways were
equipped with solar-powered ground lighting like our backyard at the rental.
Stumbling my way through this summer was something I
’
d need to get used to. I could really
use something to guide my path.

“
This is it,
”
Marla said, kicking open the door to
the second cabin on the left with the steel toe of her shoe. The walls were
flanked with four sets of metal bunk beds, their plastic mattresses bare, and
two low dressers rested under the windows on either side. There was an open
door at the back of the box-like structure that I assumed housed a toilet and a
shower based on the chipped tile floor that peeked out, its grout dark and
stained. From the looks of things, this camp had been in operation for quite
some time.

Marla
dropped my bags onto the ground, a small cloud of dust billowing out from
underneath it, and she wiped her hands across one another briskly.
“
You can unpack after orientation, but
this is your space. Feel free to decorate it as you wish, but these kids likely
won
’
t
notice
—
nor
appreciate it
—
so
don
’
t
put yourself out too much.
”

My
eyes traveled down to my pink duffel bag
—
the
one containing nothing but cartons of craft materials and teenybopper posters.
I groaned. I so wasn
’
t
cut out for this. I wondered if Marla needed any bonfire kindling, because she
was welcome to the entire bag if so.

“
Let
’
s head back up the hill. You have a
lot to learn, Darby.
”
Marla propped the rickety door open for me and I walked through, met with the
unfamiliar sounds and smells of the forest that made my stomach roll with
hesitation.

“
Yes. Yes, I do.
”

“
So that
’
s the procedure in case of an
emergency,
”
Curtis reiterated, his large hands folded across his chest as he casually
balanced his weight on the edge of the metal stool. His gray, handlebar
mustache obscured his mouth when he spoke, though the permanent smile was
evident underneath, despite the whiskers that curled over his upper lip.

Curtis
and his wife were quite the odd paring. While she probably didn
’
t weigh more than 100 pounds soaking
wet, Curtis was a big bear of a man, but more like a teddy bear rather than a
grizzly. The warmth in his green eyes and the upward pull of his mouth
indicated nothing but compassion and kindness. But I guessed you needed that
balance, especially when working in the field they did. I imagined Marla knew
how to get unruly youth in line, and I also supposed Curtis did a great job
easing any of their fears and troubles that might unexpectedly arise during a
week at camp.

“
We will have a different medical
staffer on hand each week, so get to know each of them and get to know them
well. We
’
ve
yet to have a week that doesn
’
t
involve injury in one form or another.
”

A
girl with two sleeves worth of colorful ink coating her arms and a headful of
black, spiky hair slipped her hand up.
“
What
types of injuries should we be prepared for?
”

Curtis
wobbled his head as though he was recalling past incidences.
“
Mostly cuts and bruises, an
occasional broken limb, lots of stomach issues and vomiting,
”
he said, stroking his mustache the
way they do in movies. I really liked his mustache and how deceiving it was.
How it made him appear tough and intimidating, yet that seemed to be so far
from the actual truth about his character.

I
always felt like an open book. I wore my heart on my sleeve. My emotions were
written all over my face. Insert any other
cliché
descriptor for vulnerably expressing
oneself, and I could be its poster child. What you saw was what you got when it
came to me and I sort of hated that. Maybe that
’
s why I
’
d tried so hard all these years to be
someone else. Then at least what you saw wasn
’
t the entire story.

Curtis
twisted the curled edge of his mustache, rolling it between his fingers.
“
Like I said, usually just routine
illnesses, but at least once a summer we have an attempt, so be prepared and on
the lookout for any signs or indicators.
”

“
An attempt?
”
a boy in the row behind me said,
cocking his head. His hair was fire-red and skin was so pale he could have been
an albino. I
’
d
never seen anyone look the way he did, but I could say the same for the girl
with the intricate arm drawings, too. Pretty much everyone I grew up with had
been preparatory school material with their crisp polos and pressed, pleated
skirts. No one in here was wearing anything that required any kind of ironing
at all. Though it should have been a relief
—
an excuse to relax and for once, just
be comfortable
—
it
felt more constricting than the blue and khaki uniforms we
’
d been required to wear back at our
private high school.

“
An attempt. A suicide attempt,
”
Curtis clarified, his body bowing
toward us slightly.
“
These
aren
’
t
your typical happy-go-lucky campers. They
’
re
not here because mom and dad wanted a week of quiet away from the kids. They
’
re here because this is the last straw
—
the last resort.
”
He paced the length of the stage,
his gaze deliberately meeting each counselor in attendance as he swept across
the floor.
“
They
won
’
t
like being here, they won
’
t
like the food, they won
’
t
like you. Be prepared for that. If you are, it will make your job that much
easier.
”

I
pinched the bridge of my nose and clenched my eyes shut, attempting to draw in
a cleansing breath, but the headache that pulsed just behind my eyes disallowed
my focus to fall anywhere but on the rhythmic beating that vibrated my skull.
What had I gotten myself into? The open position at Burger Bills sounded like a
dream job right about now.

“
Hey. You okay?
”
I snapped my head up and fold my
hands quickly into my lap. The dirty-blond haired boy sitting immediately to my
left tilted his upper half closer, so close that he was almost touching me.
“
You alright, Darby?
”
His shoulder pressed against mine.

It
concerned me that everyone knew my name when the rest of the counselors still
maintained their anonymity. I guessed that
’
s
what I got for being late and for being so transparent and all. And I was sure
it wouldn
’
t
be the last time I forced myself to stand out. Nothing about this experience
felt natural to me. I
’
d
already achieved sore thumb status by sticking out so blatantly and I was only
one hour in.

I
didn
’
t
look directly at him, but centered my vision on Curtis
’
s shoes as they scraped across the
wooden stage. He continued the pacing and I studied his strides like there
would be some test on it in the very near future.
“
I
’
m fine, but thank you.
”
It was a nice gesture, I supposed,
and I didn
’
t
want him to think it went unnoticed.

Blond-boy
hugged his arms tighter to his chest and slunk down into his seat, clearly
comfortable not only in his chair, but with everything Curtis was saying about
the counselor experience as well. This couldn
’
t be his first time at camp. Maybe we
could be friends. I could definitely use someone to show me the ropes.

“
Like I mentioned earlier,
”
Curtis continued,
“
Saturdays are your days. Your
Sabbath, your day of rest. Spend it wisely because the remaining six belong to
us. Are there any more questions?
”
He steepled his index fingers in front of his mouth and surveyed the room with
a sweeping gaze.
“
Oh,
and one more thing. You
’
ll
be paired off. This will be your buddy, your right hand man. As you
’
ve probably already figured out, cell
reception is not one of the luxuries we have here. Instead, you
’
ll be using these.
”
Curtis yanked on the clip of a
walkie-talkie and released it from his belt. He waved it in the air like he was
ringing a bell.
“
This
is your line of communication, your lifeline. Don
’
t lose it
—
especially during
your survival overnighter. Now, do you have any questions?
”