The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 20: Ronan

Time passes quickly when life doesn't suck.

The rest of my activities fly by in a blur, and before I know it, I find myself sitting on the outskirts of a crackling camp fire with a dozen other campers. The fire's a little lame, mostly because it's still sunny outside (thanks, Alaska), and also because Owen keeps refusing to put more wood on it, citing the dangers of "fire hazards". Still, the fire isn't entirely without perks— we get to stay up an hour later than usual, with lights out at eleven instead of ten, which is basically an insomniac's dream come true.

The counselors made an announcement during dinner saying that we'd be having a camp fire on the beach after dinner. The camp doesn't really have a beach— just a small pebble shoreline that wraps around the lake— but the counselors like to pretend that we do to make the place feel more like a summer camp. (Lightlake is near the ocean, apparently. Not that you would know with all the mountains in the way.) The camp fire isn't a mandatory activity, but it is a camp tradition, which is about as close as calling something mandatory as you can get without actually calling it mandatory. 

After the counselors made their announcements, Clancey and his friends made it clear to me that while I was free to go to the camp fire if I wanted to, but they would be busy doing other more interesting (and probably illegal) things instead. I didn't feel like getting caught breaking the rules in the first week of camp, so I decided to go to the camp fire without them. I figured that even breathing in smoke and dealing with annoying campers would beat lying on my cot and counting sheep, failing miserably at the task of falling asleep.

So I go to the camp fire. I participate in a few conversations about football teams and girlfriends at home, MTV and the merits of the most recent Rambo movie, and a dozen other random subjects brought up to fill the awkward silence. I meet plenty of new campers, some of them cool, most of them not, and even get roped into talking with Owen until I manage to make up a good enough excuse to escape. After socializing for a good hour I find myself sitting at the edge of the circle, alone. I stare into the flickering flames, searching for something I can't remember losing; not feeling bad, but not really feeling good, either.

Then something catches my eye. It's a bird, small and round and gray and white, bopping around the camp fire like some kind of wind-up toy. The bird weaves fearlessly between feet, pecking at the ground and stirring up miniature dust devils with its wings. It doesn't seem like it's afraid of any of the campers. In a funny way, it sort of reminds me of a dog wandering around under the dinner table in search of scraps.

"Cool bird, isn't it?"

I don't realize that the camper is talking to me until they slide across the bench I'm sitting on and tap me on the shoulder.

I look up and frown at them. I don't like it when strangers touch me.

"Hey," the camper says. "I'm James."

"Ronan."

James smiles at me. "Nice to meet you, Ronan."

I squint at him. What does this guy want from me? Maybe he's one of those nosy types who likes to "comfort" the kids sitting by themselves. Or maybe he is the kid sitting by himself, and is looking for some company.

James keeps smiling at me. I can almost hear the elevator music playing behind it. His expression isn't vacant or bland, but it isn't like any other smile I've seen at camp— there's no ulterior motive tucked away under his smile, no hidden meaning. He's either zoned out or being genuinely friendly to me.

Hmm. Maybe I jumped the gun on this one— maybe James really does just want to talk.

"I just met your roommate," James says. "He seems nice. His name is Finn Murphy, right?"