Believe it or not, Sam was ready. Before time, too. Everything she needed for the camp was packed in the duffel bag. A baseball bat was in the place of the bottle pocket in her back strap bag and a steel bottle was in her hand.
Sam was sure she was the fittest, and she was ready to prove it.
The plan was to drop by at the camp from a helicopter. But Sam didn't really know where the camp was, and her family wasn't rich enough so her mom had dropped her off at the bus stop instead. ("be good, sweety," she had said. Which is not what tough moms should tell their cool, tough children in front of other people. It's embarrassing).
And bus had to be the most boring means of transport. What did a bus even have? What was a tough kid supposed to do in a bus?
Nothing.
And yet, there she was, under the heat of the sun, waiting for a stupid bus to come to the stupid bus stop and pick her up. And when the bus did arrive, Sam felt stupider then ever.
There was "SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST" spray painted on it with gothic font, but in neon green, which clashed with the yellow colour on the bus. Just when Sam was starting to regret her poor life choices, the door slid open and out hopped a burly man.
Apart from the colourful, flowery shirt he was wearing, there was nothing remotely cheerful about him. Big, burly, tanned and angry, the camp couldn't have hired better.
"Get in," he growled.
Sam didn't need to told twice. She scurried in with a barely concealed squeak.
The driver spat on the ground before boarding after her, glowering.
Before Sam could get a window seat, because that was just about the only good thing about a bus, the driver slammed his foot down on the accelerator and she landed face first on the floor.
"What the—"
What expletives came out of her mouth, even Sam didn't know, because right at that moment, Mr. Dev started roaring.
She tried to push herself up but the bus took a sudden turn and rolled over a speed bump. With that, Sam found her face planted yet again on the floor of the bus.
"What's wrong with this dude," Sam asked a really shiny black shoe right beside her face.
"Can't say I know, kid. What I do know is that it's best if you get up and seat yourself," the shoe replied.
"I didn't know shoes could talk," Sam mumbled
Someone grabbed her arm and hauled her up.
"Shoes can't, but I can." The man looked pale and exhausted. "And I say, it's going to be a long ride, so just sit down quietly and don't tumble around, yea?"
"Not like I was doing that on purpose."
"Whatever. Just sit down quietly."
Sam really wanted to protest but she didn't. Mainly because he looked too weak, and it seemed wrong to trouble him anymore. And he was anyway right about the long journey. So sitting quietly was what she did.
Except that she couldn't. Mr. Dev , that was the driver's name according to the man (who introduced himself as "Just Connor"), was going bonkers by the minute. He was raging and cursing and roaring. And while that usually wouldn't be a problem to Sam (her dad was like that when he was driving too), this dude was bad at driving.
"I am asking this again," Sam said, leaning forward so Connor could hear her over all the noise, "what is wrong with that guy?"
He looked like he didn't want to talk. And green. "He likes listening to songs when he's driving. Couldn't find a good one. Hence the mood," he mumbled
Maybe I can help him, Sam thought.
And that was a decision she would soon come to regret.
