No Way Back

Saturday

Camp.

The one place people pretend to be excited about for the aesthetics and group photos. And by “people,” I mostly mean the kind that plan matching outfits and already have a Pinterest board called Summer Memories before the trip even starts.

Not me.

This is my first time going.

I managed to avoid the annual school camp trip for two years straight, but apparently, my luck ran out. This year, my mom decided it was time for me to “get some air,” “make some friends,” and “step away from screens.” She said it like that. With the quotation fingers and everything.

So now I’m stuck on a sticky, slightly questionable school bus with about fifty other teens from Willowbrook High. Most of them are loudly complaining about the lack of air conditioning or trying to connect to WiFi like it’s a life-or-death situation.

I don’t really blame them. The ride’s been long enough for me to regret not faking an illness—or possibly a broken ankle. I’m sitting halfway down the bus next to Efua, who’s pretending to be asleep with earbuds in, even though they’re not even connected to her phone. Classic move.

Up ahead, the trees start to blur together, and I realize we’ve officially left normal civilization. No more gas stations. No more chain restaurants. Just pine needles, too much sun, and the occasional sign that says things like “Camp Ravenwood welcomes you!” in fading paint. One of the letters is peeling off. I think it’s the R.

By the time the bus slows down and crunches to a stop in front of a small wooden building that looks like it was last maintained in the early 2000s, someone shouts, “Finally!” and half the bus lurches forward to grab their bags.

I stay put for a second, watching the counselors outside do their best enthusiastic camp wave. You know the kind. Smiles too big, shirts too neon, and clipboards like they’re organizing something more serious than group hikes and bonfire songs.

Then I sigh and grab my duffel.

Here we go.

Welcome to Camp Ravenwood.

Population: too many teenagers, not enough snacks, and the smallest chance anything interesting will happen at all.

(Spoiler: I was wrong.)

Mr. Curtis is waiting as the bus doors hiss open, grinning like this is a Disney Channel original and not a chaotic teen trip to the middle of nowhere. He’s got on those awful cargo shorts, a whistle slung around his neck like he’s about to coach us through our feelings or lead a nature hike or something equally horrendous.

“Welcome to Camp Ravenwoodwood!” he beams, like he’s rehearsed this in front of a mirror every night since last semester. “Where the bugs bite, but the memories stick!” (yes, he actually said that)

I immediately get hit by the thick, humid wall of forest air. my backpack’s heavier than it should be, the straps digging into my shoulders, and there’s already sweat on her neck. Classic.

Before I can take three steps, a voice rings out behind me—loud, cheerful, obnoxiously confident.

“Darling! Did you miss me?”

I turn just in time to see Tammy Parker emerge like a final boss from the shadows of the bus. She’s somehow changed outfits since boarding, now in a matching Adventure core set, sunglasses perched perfectly on her head, phone in hand and already vlogging. Of course. If I hadn’t been on the bus with her, I might’ve assumed Tammy got here via private jet.

“I’m gonna throw you in the lake,” I mutter.

“Good, content is content,” Tammy replies, tossing her hair and spinning slowly in a circle. “Day one and I’m already giving summer goddess" She pauses to study the photo "Oh. Ugh. This lighting is fighting for its life though.” she says like she's looking at a bad report card

I roll my eyes and check the time on my phone. 12:34 PM. Which, unfortunately, means there’s plenty of time for the so-called “chaperones” to throw us into icebreaker activities disguised as “camp tradition.”

“Everyone to the center circle!” Mr. Curtis yells, gesturing like he’s conducting an orchestra. “Let’s get our cabin assignments and buddy up!”

I sigh, adjust my backpack, and trudge forward. The “center circle” is the massive clearing where the buses are parked, gravel crunching under foot, with girls’ cabins to the left, boys’ to the right, and a row of teacher’s cabins straight down the middle like some weird camp version of a school hallway.

Teens spill out of the other buses in waves. Most look just as unenthused as I am, dragging luggage, clutching iced coffees like lifelines. There’s noise—too much of it. Screaming greetings, the dull thud of bags hitting the ground, the clatter of someone already tripping over their own suitcase. Which is a lot for people who look like they don't want to be here.

I glance around, eyeing who made it off the bus. I spot Tarik hopping off near the back, already animatedly talking to Allie about some anime she’s definitely going to pretend she’s seen. Efua’s close behind, nose in a book, disconnected airpods still in, dodging the chaos with the grace of someone used to avoiding it.

And then, Ollie. Sitting on top of his suitcase like a throne, headphones in, arms crossed. A smirk playing on his face like he knows something she doesn’t. He probably does.

I look up. Mr. Curtis is still yelling about name tags and team building, like he isn’t seconds away from getting booed off his own stage.

And all I can think is: This better not be the highlight of my summer.

Mr. Curtis lifts his arms, attempting to gather everyone’s attention like a substitute teacher on the last day before summer.

“Okay, everyone! Let’s quiet down and—”

No one quiets down. Someone hoots. A loud thump echoes as someone drops their suitcase. Laughter ripples through the crowd.

“Alright, alright! Eyes on me, people!” he tries again, voice cracking like an awkward game show host.

Then she walks in.

Miss Alice doesn’t need to say anything. She glides into the circle like a forest spirit from an indie movie—long dark braids, linen jumpsuit, flawless glowing skin. She claps once. Just once.

Silence.

It’s actually impressive.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile so composed it could make hurricanes blush. “Now that we’ve arrived, let’s start with a few camp guidelines…”

And that’s when I see him.