Camp Canoa // Luke Hemmings

The One With The Dancing

[Day +41]

Lifeguard Chuck turns forty on a Saturday, and since he's now settling comfortably into middle age with nothing more to show for it than a bungalow outside of Dallas and an on and off girlfriend, Canoa staff decide that at the very least he deserves a party.

The foyer of the main building is all done up with cheap balloons and synthetic bouquets of flowers; half-heartedly twinkling strands of fairy-lights wilt from the ceiling; bad glam-rock is pounding from a ten-dollar stereo. At eight pm, as ever, the little kids are all ushered off to bed, and save for one unfortunate volunteer, all the staff - adult and teenaged alike – are invited. It had promised to be lame but so far the receptionist, Pamela, has grabbed Luke's ass twice and Nora has been on the receiving end of some seriously intense come-hither stares from Garth, which makes for some pretty good entertainment.

"If that woman touches me again, I want one of you to call the police." Luke tells us as he attempts to worm backwards in a cranny in the wall where he can't be reached.

Danni squints at him contemplatively. "Maybe we could doll you up, give you a hat – she'd never recognise you."

"I think you would look great in zebra-print." Calum says, swiftly ducking out of the way when Luke aims a kick at his shin.

Unfortunately, the attack is only a disadvantage to him; as he emerges from his hidden space in the wall, Pamela catches sight of him from the other side of the room, and, without further ado, comes strutting purposefully over.

"Oh god," Luke panics, clutching at my sleeve. "She's coming – help"

"Hey there, sweetie," She grins devilishly, grabbing him by the waist. His eyes fly wide, glancing back at us in one last desperate bid for help before she whirls him away. "This dance is ours."

The six of us remaining stand, birthday cake in hand, and spend a few minutes watching a miserable Luke getting dragged all across the dance-floor like a badly-coordinated sex puppet. He looks in pain and we all look on, cringing awkwardly at the horrific scene in play.

"I'm pretty sure that's sexual harassment." Michael mutters idly.

"Possibly."

However, when he tries to escape after the torment of two Iggy Pop songs, stumbling back to us with an expression like he has lost all will to live – only to be caught and pulled back – we agree that it's time to stage an intervention. Michael suggests starting a food fight, while Ashton is a hundred-percent convinced that the best option would simply be to invite her outside and feed her to bears, but in the end I do it.

Giving no indication of what I'm about to do, I push my paper-plate into Ashton's hand with an imperious, "Hold this," and I stride confidently out onto the dance-floor. The rest of the group fumble to throw down their plates and forks into a potted plant and hurry after me – just in time to see me tap Pamela on the shoulder mid-lunge and say, "Excuse me?"

Pamela turns to face us, hands still clamped tight onto Luke's waist. She smiles broadly. "Hey. How can I help you?"

I flash her my sweetest smile – the same one that Nora has forever resented for earning me unfair treatment. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I noticed that Luke here is just about the worst dancer I've ever seen, and I couldn't help thinking that maybe an education would be beneficial to everyone before he did anymore dancing. And therefore, with your permission," I concluded with a perfect straight face, "I would like to teach him how to dance."

Luke's forehead creases up with bewilderment and he nibbles at his lip piercing.

Pamela, on the other hand, chuckles throatily and is happy to release Luke, who staggers to my side, hands groping for safety. She steps back to harass someone else, wishing him all the best, and only then can he sag gratefully onto my shoulder.