Camp Canoa // Luke Hemmings

The One With Truth Or Dare

[Day +33]

Somehow, at some point, every volunteer in the camp became aware of the beach over the rocks, and it rapidly becomes The Place to Be.

We whisper across the cafeteria tables; nudge each other as we pass on the pavement to our various sessions; wink at each other after dinner when we say, "Alright, see you tomorrow then!" to suggest that we fully intend to stay in all night like good little boys and girls. And then, come nine pm, when all volunteers are meant to be heading back to the housing block to get ready for bed, we disperse in small groups down to the beach.

At first, my group dislikes it, wanting back the private area that we had claimed as our own, but when we have to start toning down our behaviour for fear of getting sent back to England or Australia, we realise that peer pressure is the perfect excuse. Amelia can't yell at us if all the volunteers are doing it – otherwise she would have to fire everyone and her entire business would quickly fall apart.

So now, every Friday at nine o'clock, after we pedal down from the café in Alben, whooping in the low light on the exhilarating downhill freewheel, we ditch our bikes and run for the beach.

The sand crests up beneath our feet as we hurry down, still warm from being heated all day by the sun, and the cold salt breeze whipping up from the ocean only serves to heighten our breathless excitement. We glance back over our shoulders, before clambering over the sharp black rocks to the party on the other side.

A small fire is already flickering half-heartedly on the sand, swallowing up small twigs faster than wood can be found for it. Gordon crouches to tend to it, poking at the kindling to keep it going until Emma comes back from where the beach trails off into low shrubbery and woodland, arms laden with firewood.

"Heya Luke," she says coolly when she spots him, her lips stretching into a smile "How's it going?"

"I'm good thanks," Luke replied, watching the flames twist and leap hungrily around the new logs. After a moment, he drags his attention back to Emma. "Would you like any help?"

Her smile stretches wider, and she slings an arm comfortably around his neck as they move off to collect more firewood. I watch them go for a good few seconds before I catch myself; it's an effort to drag my eyes away, and more so to rearrange my facial expression into something less hostile. They'll be back soon.

Three trips to the tree line later, we've got a roaring fire plus a good supply of wood to keep us going for the next few hours. By that time, most of the volunteers have made their way over – albeit not all in one piece, as Garth nurses his bleeding knee from tripping on the way over the rocks.

The few who are old enough disappear a few times to the divey-looking bar a hundred yards or so down the beach and come back with drinks – plenty for themselves and a few for the rest of us to share out. Emma, bless the kindness of her enormous, altruistic heart, brings Luke a steady supply of drinks.

We tell jokes. We compare groups, bitching about the staff constantly bearing down on us with rules and regulations. Anna has brought a pack of cards; I deal.

"Queen of diamonds." Rose says smoothly, slapping her card down into the sand and smirking around at them all challengingly.

"Bullshit!"

"Oh, you should be so lucky!" she replies, her smile wicked with triumph, and she peels up her card – as well as all the others heaped up on the floor – to throw across to Michael.

Fifteen minutes later has seen Rose wiping the floor with us all and it's pretty embarrassing. The circle divided after it became apparent that we couldn't all play cards without some of us abandoning the warmth of the fire, and as the night temperature drops and drops, a few have retreated to the far side of the group where the heat is strongest. The others play Bullshit.