text: The first week of camp was an eventful one. Each day was packed with activities--things like swimming, hiking, volley ball--and always ended with some major event. We’d had a barn dance that first Friday night. Charlie let me borrow one of her flannels and a pair of ripped jeans, though the latter was too tight, and the former too large. She matched me in blue and called us blueberries, something only she found very funny. By week’s end, it felt like far more time had passed. I couldn’t believe the difference between the girl who first step foot onto those grounds and the girl I was now. I was a regular. I knew the songs. I knew the staff--and they knew me! I knew that the shower in the back corner was your best bet for hot water and was usually available right before dinner, but *never* after. I knew that the brown food trays didn’t clean well, for whatever reason, and that if you wanted any chance at getting chocolate milk, you either had to get to breakfast early or hope Christoff was in the kitchen that day. Both Marcy and my mother were right: this place had quickly become home. Charlie, of course, was a huge reason for this. That girl knew each and every inner working of Burntwood, like she’d designed it herself. The way she moved through it was so smooth and fluid, the entire place molding around her existence as though created just for her. I’d learn new things just by watching, my admiration for her growing each day. She was already the best friend I’d ever had, and that made me feel guilty. I tried not to show it when she slipped the bracelet she wove onto my wrist just below Lily’s. The blue and white strings kissed the very edge of the scar across my palm. Weekends at Burntwood were typically less structured, with plenty of down time to do as you pleased. Some caught up on sleep, while most hung out in Hemlock playing ping-pong or simply lounging on the sofas. If we were really lucky, one of the life guards would volunteer some of their time off to guard the main docks for an hour. Charlie, however, had different plans for us that Saturday. “It’s not that far,” she said, dragging one of the kayaks off the rack. We were going to visit her Auntie Meryl across the lake to help prepare for tonight’s big event. With Charlie, I could never tell when something was actually allowed or when she was evoking her Lovel privilege. I kept an eye out for staff as we carried the kayak to the water. “Just so you know, my aunt can be a little weird,” Charlie informed me. “But she’s great, I promise. She can do anything. She helped me get over my fear of heights. Oh! I bet she can help you with your hand!” The pain had gone down but it still felt rather uncomfortable, all blistered and hard, and stuck to the wrap. I winced as we lifted a second kayak and nearly collapsed under its weight. I was exhausted, having hardly slept in days. More than once, Charlie had woken me in the middle of the night, shaking me from outside my bunk and telling me to roll back onto my stomach. When I’d finally protested, she asked me if I trusted her. And I did. So I listened. We carried the other kayak to the water and lowered it in with a splash. I stepped into one gingerly. I wasn’t particularly thrilled with how wet the seat was, or with the spider by my feet. I wanted to stab it with my oar but it wouldn’t fit. Charlie pushed me out into the water and then hopped into hers like it was nothing. “Thanks for coming with me, Red Paw,” she said as she propelled herself out with her oar. I hated the nickname but was too happy to have one to say anything. “Last year, we made it rainbow. You should’ve seen it! It went all the way over the Valley. I think this time we’re doing thunder. It’s gonna be fun!” Before I could say anything, she added, “Also, don’t tell my mom where we went, okay?” I didn’t like the idea of lying to Marcy, nor could I have ignored her. She’d been rewrapping my hand every day and would often approach me in the Dining Hall to ask how I was doing. Between tonight’s big event and how quickly my palm oozed through each bandage, I would certainly be seeing her later. Which wasn’t good, because I was a terrible liar. Charlie and I paddled across the calm water of Starry Lake on what was a perfect summer day. The sun was just the right amount of hot, without a cloud in the sky to interfere. I’d never kayaked before, and though my tired arms left me trailing in Charlie’s wake, it was probably my favorite camp activity thus far. I would’ve had no problem cruising all the way to Canada, and was disappointed when we’d soon reached the other side of the lake. Meryl’s home sat on the very edge of the water, with just a few panels of wood protruding out for a dock. Though five of her seven children had already aged out of Burntwood, Meryl Lovel was still heavily involved in what went on there. Her daughter, Celia, was just a year shy of joining us Wood Lily girls but had remained one of Charlie’s best friends. Until I showed up. She’d still wander off to Celia’s table sometimes at dinner, which made me jealous. But I knew I was being stupid. The house itself told you everything you needed to know about Meryl, with far too many dream catchers, wind chimes, and statues littered around the outside. The sidings were painted two different shades of purple, and, more jarring, had pink columns, dirty and chipped. When Meryl opened the back door to greet us, I instantly remembered having seen her my first day. She was wearing the same oversized crescent-moon necklace I saw her wearing that night. “Oh just leave the boats there--yes, right there is fine. Charlotte, sweetie, how are you? And who is this?” She cocked her head to one side and was beaming at me from atop the steps, her little huffs of breath matching the shakiness of her hands. She moved in short jerks, like she’d just had several cups of coffee. Or something stronger. I stepped forward to shake the hand she was rubbing close to her chest. “I’m Maddie. Nice to meet you.” She squeezed the tips of my fingers and faltered at the sight of the gauze. “*You’re* the girl,” she gasped. “Madeline Goodwin? Oh, dear, I was so sorry to hear about what happened.” I feared, once more, that this was a reference to my sister, and was relieved when she said, “Come. I have something that’ll help with that.” Charlie flashed me a knowing smirk as we followed her inside. I couldn’t say I was quite so sure just yet. The back door led straight into a vast kitchen, with many cabinets high and low surrounding a center island, and windows lining the back wall for a perfect view of the water. “The kids should be back soon,” Meryl said, gesturing for us to take a seat at the old wooden table in the corner. “I sent them in town to pick up a few things for tonight. I’m low on chamomile. And garlic, of all things!” She disappeared into the pantry where we could hear her rummaging through drawers. I took the time to survey the rest of the house. There were several large plants hanging about in places you wouldn’t normally expect to see them; archaic artifacts resting atop shelves between dusty books; and weird paintings of unknown creatures scattered throughout the entirety of the first floor, which was small, but open. I could see more dreamcatchers out on the front porch through the far window of the conjoined living room. Meryl reappeared in a flash and placed a small vial onto the table before me. The liquid inside looked like ink. “Now, don’t drink that or--well, just don’t. But. Put a little bit each night on the wound and it’ll be gone before you know it. Bay leaves. Use them all the time. No scars! You may need a little extra--July can be...tricky. But you’ll thank me later!” I stared at the vial hesitantly but Charlie slid it closer before I could say anything. Meryl grinned and sprung off toward the island to check on the massive pot that was cooking on the burner. There was a half-chopped carrot sitting beside it, something we must have interrupted. She picked up the knife and continued chopping. “Are you excited for the Awakening, Madeline?” I squirmed and repositioned myself, wishing she would pay less attention to me. “I am,” I lied. Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening that night, just that it was something they did every summer to mark the end of the first week, and that it was especially important for new campers such as myself. Charlie wouldn’t reveal much else, which made me anxious. She’d assured me that it was merely a way to create fair teams for games and events, and served as a way to get campers of all ages to mingle. Just another one of Burntwood’s silly traditions, she said. She was Team Fire, whatever that was. Silly or not, I was hoping to be the same. “You seem like an Earth girl, if you ask me,” Meryl began. “Very quiet, but strong.” The sound of her knife against the cutting board filled the gaps between her words. “I would know. I’m an Earth girl. An Earth girl raising three Fires, three Ice, and one Air!” She looked up and laughed, light reflecting off the knife she was wielding. I did my best to laugh along with her. You really had to pay attention around Meryl. She did this strange thing where she’d weave in and out of conversations. She could start by talking to you and then wind up speaking to the air, or to herself, only to snap back to you again. “We’re very stubborn though, let me tell you,” she continued, flailing the knife as she spoke. “Us Earthies? We’ll hold onto things for life. I can sense a little bit of that in you, Madeline.” “Mom picks them randomly,” Charlie blurted. Meryl’s face dropped. “Of course she does.” The sudden snap of her next chop startled me. I watched her scoop the carrot slices into her hand and throw them into the pot, where they thunked and sizzled. We were then blessed with silence, albeit awkward, before being saved by the noisy return of her children, who came crashing in like a wave just minutes later, with grocery bags on their arms. Gwyn, the oldest child, led the pack, the others tailing behind her, each paired up in their own discussion with a different sibling. Six girls and one boy. It was interesting seeing the combination of features they shared, some with the same eyes but different nose, or the same nose but different hair. Poor Christian. Not only was he the lone boy, he was also the youngest. He and Celia were in back waiting for their turn in line as Gwyn collected all the bags. She moved like a machine, swiftly unpacking and putting things where they belonged. She waved a jar of minced garlic at Meryl who gasped and took it with delight, before taking Gwyn by the face and pulling her in for a big, motherly kiss. “My beautiful ice queen!” Gwyn, in her twenties, gave a half-hearted smile and continued putting the groceries away, instructing her siblings to do the same. She really was quite beautiful, looking more like Marcy than her own mother, her brown hair braided around her head in the very same way, connecting in back down a long ponytail. Her demeanor, on the other hand, was far different, her resting expression one of discontent. When everything was put away, she snapped her fingers and tapped the island to indicate to the others not to go anywhere. Celia and Christian groaned and she shot them a nasty look. When she turned back, our eyes met and she quickly fixed her face. “Everyone, this is Madeline,” Meryl announced, just now remembering I was there. Her smile barely reached above the pot she was now stirring. “This is her first time at Burntwood so...today is a big day for her.” The whole family lit up amid a collective gasp. “What do you think you’ll be?” asked Faye, the middle child. She had the roundest face of the bunch, and her hair was dyed bright red. Meryl looked like she wanted to answer for me but changed her mind. “I’m not sure,” I replied. “I’m still kind of learning how everything works.” Faye stuck out her bottom lip like she was looking at a puppy, despite only being a few years older than me. She approached the table and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll teach you everything you need to know. Come on.” She took my arm and brought me to the island, Charlie happily following along behind us. Faye talked my ear off about this stew her mother makes every year before the Awakening, and explained the purpose of each individual herb and spice that was cooked inside it. It sounded crazy and would’ve been too much to take in even had she not spoken as fast as she did. But it was a fun atmosphere to be part of nonetheless. I hadn’t had anything like it since before Lily’s chemo. I’d forgotten how much I missed the noise. I stood happily among the chaos: Meryl, Gwyn, and Margot chatting as they fed the stew; Liv, Faye, and Ellie struggling to chop something I couldn’t quite identify; Celia, Charlie, and I pulling leaves off a plant and shrieking every time Charlie pretended she was going to eat one; and little Christian running scraps to the trash and trying his best to look busy. Out of nowhere, a chorus of singing began and soon our voices rang loud throughout the kitchen. I was very glad in that moment that I’d learned some of the camp songs, each as annoyingly catchy as the next and almost always about some poor animal’s demise. We sang a few of them in what would have been my favorite moment of the summer to that point, had it ended there. “What was the one that Dad always used to sing to us?” Faye suddenly asked. I felt the air get sucked out of the room. The older few made a face that the younger were too oblivious to notice. Gwyn cleared her throat. “The Three Little Rascals,” she said. “Dad loved that one.” Faye shook her head. “No, no. It was...oh shoot, what was it? Something about a wolf.” Celia squeaked and started singing. “*‘The lonely wolf hides in the bark, its spirits calling in the dark, it waits for you to light the spark, so don’t go wandering in the park!’*” She sang it a second time, and a third, repeating the same lyrics, only faster, loudly emphasizing each word of the final line. Gwyn’s displeasure was less subtle, but she seemed at a loss. I could see her peak over at her mother from the corners of her eyes. Meryl was just standing there. “*The lonely wolf hides in the bark, its spirits calling in the dark, it waits for you to--*” “Crawling!” Christian shouted. Celia stopped. “It’s ‘spirits *crawling* in the dark’.” “No it’s not! It’s *calling* in the dark! Why would the spirits be crawling, Christian?” “Why would they be calling, they don’t want you to know they’re there, stupid!” “Alright, enough!” Gwyn cried, swiftly getting in between them. “Thank you for all your help. Now go upstairs and get changed. Go!” They sauntered off and stomped up the stairs, their muffled whispers getting swallowed up by their bedroom door. Meryl was silent, lost somewhere in a thought. Gwyn returned with a pale face and faltered a bit when she asked Celia to slide her the pile of leaves. Each of us got right back to work, the sound of Liv’s chopping and the simmering pot the only things filling the air. The girls were darting their eyes back and forth at one another while their mother continued to spin her ladle. Meryl’s mouth twitched a bit, as though bits of her thoughts were escaping her body. “Where’d she learn that one?” she eventually muttered. Everyone’s eyes fell. The room moved more slowly. “I sang it to her once,” said Gwyn. “She asked where it came from, so...” The sound of the knife against the table boomed with each chop, feeling more like the ticking of a bomb. We waited for Meryl’s response but got none. Gwyn remained on the far side, struggling to keep her composure. “So what’s been your favorite event at Burntwood so far?” Margot said to me, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. Her nails were painted purple. “The dance was fun,” I replied softly. It still didn’t feel appropriate to speak. Something clearly wasn’t right. Margot nodded and turned to Meryl. “What about you, Mom? What’s your favorite camp event?” The room shifted their attention to Meryl, who lifted the ladle and took a sip. She grimaced and shook her head, her face slowly swelling with anger. She then threw the ladle across the room. Drops of stew hit me in the face. “You see what you did!” she cried. “It’s spoiled!” She glared directly at Gwyn and pointed her finger. “This is your fault. The *one* thing Shereen asks me to do. The one thing!” She put a hand to her forehead and wailed an exaggerated groan. “We can fix it, Mom,” Faye assured her. “Oh, honestly, Faye, just shut the fuck up, for once. Please? Can you do that for me?” Tears welled in Faye’s eyes as she nodded and faded back against the wall. Celia and Christian had reappeared in the doorway, cowering in their new yellow and red outfits. I was too afraid to keep watching. I stared down at my feet where more specks of stew had been splattered. “*We can fix it*,” Meryl mocked. “No, *I* can fix it.” She huffed and continued on mumbling under her breath. I could hear her rummaging through drawers and cabinets, tossing other unknown contents into the pot. I finally looked up when she snapped her fingers and said, “Line up. Everyone.” No one wanted to move. It was Margot who broke the ice. She stepped up and flinched when Meryl simply placed her hand on her back. “Go ahead,” Meryl instructed with a nod toward the pot. Margot leaned her face forward, and spit in it. Meryl lifted her hand and waved for the next person. I watched in awe as the other girls approached one by one, each spitting into the pot without a word. Christian hung back. “Me too, Mom?” Meryl signaled him forward and he rather happily spit into the pot. She smiled weakly at him and then turned to me. “Maddie, c’mon dear.” I felt sick. I absolutely did not want to do this, nor did I have any idea why it was being done. Yet I complied, crawling to the other side of the island where an agitated Meryl was beckoning for me to move faster. I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. I hopped up against the table and spit quick, nearly hitting my chin against the pot as I hurried down. Before I could get away, a hand gripped my shoulder. “Again. That wasn’t enough.” I’d never felt more disgusting. I glanced at Charlie but she was staring down at the floor. The blank look on her face made me feel worse. I turned back and got up higher on my toes, preparing a thick pool of spit in my mouth and letting it fall slowly into the stew so that Meryl could be sure of its existence. She thanked me with a pat on the back and then shot another glare at Gwyn, the only one yet to contribute. No words were needed. Gwyn reluctantly approached, stopping just shy of where Meryl wanted her and getting pulled closer, their noses nearly touching. Gwyn shuddered, unable to meet her mother’s gaze. “Go on,” said Meryl. She was blocking the way but wouldn’t move. Gwyn had to lean past her, practically sticking her face inside the pot. The moment the saliva broke from her lips, Meryl grabbed her by the braid and held on tight, looking more furious than ever. “No, Mom, please!” Gwyn shrieked, writhing in her mother’s grasp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Meryl ignored her. “Margot, dear, get me the blue candle.” Margot hesitated, distracted by Gwyn’s sobbing. Gwyn looked over at us, as though pleading for help. But no one said a word. “Margot!” Meryl snapped. Margot dashed across the room and reached up for one of the high cabinets, where many multi-colored jars sat neatly packed, three rows deep. Still flustered by her sister’s cries, she retrieved the royal blue, only to be corrected. “No, the light blue.” Margot jumped and returned to the cabinet. Gwyn caught herself as Meryl gave repeated tugs to keep her under control, tears streaking down her cheeks as she helplessly watched Margot swap the candles. “Light it,” said Meryl. Margot nodded and found matches inside the drawer. A weight was building in my chest as she struggled to light the match, nearly fumbling it before finally getting the candle lit. She stumbled back a safe distance and stood all alone at the end of the table, staring anxiously at the flame. Meryl shoved her free hand into the drawer for a large pair of scissors, raising it to Gwyn’s braid and, in several crunchy snips, cutting off a thick, lengthy piece. The remaining stub fell limp to its side. Meryl let go of Gwyn with a shove and placed the severed braid inside the candle jar, watching it burn and melt into the wax. Gwyn continued to whimper, standing motionless just inches from her mother, tears still falling onto the floor, snot oozing out her nose. Her soul was seeping through her puffy, red eyes. Meryl paid no mind. She closed her eyes and inhaled the smokey remains of her daughter’s hair, taking big breaths and releasing them slowly out her nose. The rest of us held our breath. When she finished, she returned to the stew with a new ladle, lifting herself another large scoop. My body was numb, fearing what may happen if she had still been dissatisfied. After a crisp slurp, she swished her tongue around the inside of her mouth and gave it a few more clicks, staring through the wall ahead of her. She then nodded and gave the pot a casual stir. “The Offering,” she said, glancing over at Margot. “That’s my favorite camp event.” She smiled to herself and carried on like nothing had happened, humming “The Lonely Wolf” as she stirred. “Alright!” she suddenly declared.