This is just a test run chapter, so I'd appreciate it if everyone who read it gave me their opinion. Even if it's just a one-word review like "good" or "bad". If I get some positive feed-back I'll keep going. If not...I'll delete it and try again.
Also, if you want to be a camper/character at Silver Lake (which is, yes, based on Blue Lake in MI) just send me a short little profile through a private message and I might add you in!
Disclaimer: ABC Family owns "Switched at Birth"
Song: Give 'Em Hell, Kid
Artist: My Chemical Romance
I walked into the registration building, my slightly crumpled paperwork held tightly in my hand. The small, pudgy woman at the "Last Name H-M" desk asked for my name. I introduced myself and gave her the papers I'd been coveting for weeks.
"Ah yes, welcome to Silver Lake Fine Arts Camp," she smiled warmly, shuffling through a short stack of folders to find the one with my name on it. She was far more sincere than I expected from an underpaid camp employee and I couldn't help but smile back and accept the proffered cabin assignment. "You're in the Van Gogh unit in Cabin Four!"
"Thank you!" I beamed, checking the stack of brochures and papers she'd handed me. "Where do I pick up my uniform stuff?"
"That's just off of main camp in the performance dome," she explained, pointing me where to go. "Take your order receipt and show them, they should have everything you need already waiting." I thanked her again for her tremendous help and exited the air-conditioned building. Following her instructions, I walked down a short pathway and into the main performance dome where only a few students had gathered to pick up their uniform shirts and fleeces.
"Bay Kennish," I told the grumpy old man sorting through bags of shirts. He rustled around for awhile before finding the one labeled with my unique name and handing it to me with a forced smile. "Thank you so much!"
There is no way to ruin my good mood, I decided upon returning to my car. Toby, who had come along to take care of the car after registration day, drove me to the Van Gogh unit and made sure my bag, uniforms, sleeping bag, and pillow made it safely into cabin four; I was freakishly early for registration due to the unbridled excitement and was the first one in my cabin, so I was first to choose a bunk. The bottom bunk near the window was the only one I tested that didn't squeak, so I quickly claimed it as my own and unrolled my sleeping bag onto it, tossing my pillow on top for good measure.
"You excited, sis?" Toby asked, looking around the cabin. Several other bunk-beds were set up around a central space. The blocked-off area in the corner with a cot in it almost resembled a room except for the fact that the walls were only three-and-a-half-feet high.
"Yes! Do you know how amazing this is?" I nearly squealed, spinning in a happy circle.
"Apparently I don't know enough," Toby laughed, taking a peek out the cabin's front door. "Everyone is in uniform; why not change so you blend in?"
"Good idea!" I exclaimed, tossing my shirt off and making Toby flinch before he realized I was wearing a camisole. Over the top of that went my new light-grey Silver Lake Fine Arts Camp uniform polo shirt. My modest-length jean shorts were already regulation, so I didn't need to change those. "Toby! I'm a Silver Lake girl!"
"Our little artist," Toby said mockingly, wiping away a fake tear, "Off to camp for a month."
"Oh, shut up," I replied. I stuck my tongue out for good measure.
"Want to explore a little? We don't have to be back here until around four and it's only two," Toby offered.
"Yeah! Why not? Plus I need to figure out where all my classes are going to be," I sighed, reaching for the schedule on top of my duffel bag.
"What's first?" Toby asked as we strolled along the gravel path between units. Girls were running to and fro between units and cabins, hugging and high-fiving, their excited chatter filling the air. Most of them had blue or red name-tags, which signaled returning campers. My plain white first-year tag made me feel alone and a little embarrassed.
"Well…here, you read it," I shoved it into Toby's hands, suddenly self-conscious of the little white plastic circle pinned to my chest reading Bay Kennish.
Toby perused my schedule, which I had already memorized.
5:00 Am – Wake-up call
6:30 Am – Breakfast (Main Hall)
7:30 Am – Painting (North Prescott Building)
9:00 Am – Composition and Drawing (West Prescott Building)
10:30 Am – Painting Two (North Prescott Building)
12:00 Pm – Lunch (Main Hall)
1:00 Pm – Free Time
3:00 Pm – Shakespeare Studies (Silver Lake Elizabethan Theatre)
5:00 Pm – Dinner
6:00 Pm – Free Time
7:30 Pm – Concert (Performances vary)
9:00 Pm – In Unit
10:00 Pm – Lights Out
"Jeez Bay," he laughed, handing it back to me, "You're all over the place!"
"I know!" I smiled giddily, reading over it again. "I'll never have a dull moment!"
"You're going to come back dead tired after a month of this, though," Toby warned. "You push yourself too hard sometimes. And since when have you been interested in Shakespeare?"
"He inspired a painting of mine when I was signing up for camp, so I figured it would be fun to take a class about him while I'm here," I shrugged. "I'll be fine though."
"Here's the first stop, the Prescott Building," Toby announced. I was too distracted for the next hour and half to really care about anything other than my beautiful surroundings. We checked art classrooms, art exhibits, and a few pieces of outdoor poetry written by last year's campers and hung out to be shown off. Around four o'clock Toby walked me back to my unit, said goodbye, and took The Thing back home with him, officially leaving me stranded at Silver Lake Fine Arts Camp for a month. Dinner, talking with my cabin mates, and getting ready for bed seemed like a streak of light and the next thing I knew I was waking up again.
The whole morning was a blur, and I wasn't totally awake until half-way through Painting Two, when I snapped to attention. "Bay, your painting skills are incredible for someone your age," my instructor, Bernette, exclaimed in her breezy way. "The blend of tragic colors is so…renaissance, I love it!"
"Uh…thanks," I smiled back. To be honest, I didn't even know what the mess of blurred, dark lines on my canvas was supposed to be. I had just painted it in stupid sleepiness, trying to convey my sense of I-wish-I-was-still-in-bed. Maybe that's how they felt in the renaissance…
After lunch I spent my free time sketching different students on campus. One girl whispering what I believe were sweet nothings to her violin, a boy proposing to another boy in Ibe and two girls speaking in fluent sign language, only some of which I was able to pick up with my three-year language education. All I knew is that they were talking about some cute boy from one of their classes and I smiled and rolled my eyes, deciding to draw them next.
But as fate would have it, free time was nearly over and I had to rush off to my next class, which was a ways away from main campus, Shakespeare Studies. I was the second person there with several minutes more to spare than expected. The person who had beaten me was a rather attractive boy with brown-red hair, who rested against the building with his eyes closed. Inspired, and with nothing else to do but wait, I sat down nearby and pulled out my sketchbook again, doing an outline of his face and shoulders, slowly filling in the details until other students and the flamboyant teacher arrived.
I lost sight of the cute redhead as the instructor, who introduced himself as Mr. Bradshaw, tried to herd our rowdy group of teens onto the stage. "This is the world's first miniaturized Shakespearean theatre built specifically for students to work in," he explained, motioning around the open theatre. It was O-shaped, with an open ceiling, a space on the ground between the seats and the stage, and second story seats and a balcony. "That down there is where the poor would stand. They were called groundlings. There are the galleries, the heavens, hell, the balcony, the valley of death, backstage, and the stage."
The students murmured their excitement between each other before turning their attention back to Mr. Bradshaw. "What exactly will we be doing in this class?" one student asked.
"Good question," the instructor replied, "We will actually be doing an abridged performance of one of Shakespeare's plays."
"Which one?"
"Ah, I'm glad you asked! This year, since the Silver Lake Elizabethan Theatre, just call her Elizabeth, is so new, we will be doing a very stereotypical play. A crowd pleaser. We will be doing Romeo and Juliet: the Abridged Tragedy," Mr. Bradshaw explained. Most of the kids reacted excitedly, including me. I had a sort of secret love affair with Romeo and Juliet, which was less of a romance and more of a political statement about miss-communication.
"What about Emmett?" another girl piped, pointing to a figure at the back of the group.
"What about him?" Mr. Bradshaw
"He's deaf."
"I know," Mr. Bradshaw smiled, "So he'll just sign his lines and the rest of you will sign yours along with speaking them. It'll be a fun learning experience for everybody!"
One of the girls next to me leaned over and whispered to her friend, "We have to speak stupid old English and sign language? Ugh, how bad can this class get?"
"If you don't like old English you shouldn't have signed up," I snapped, crossing my arms. The girl turned towards me, "And American Sign Language is a beautiful language spoken by a beautiful group of people."
"Nobody asked you," she shot back, turning around to listen to Mr. Bradshaw again. I rolled my eyes and listened to the end of his speech, detailing tomorrow's auditions. Then he handed out scripts and told us goodbye.
On my way out the door, I was stopped by a tap on the shoulder. Turning, I came face-to-shoulder with the handsome redheaded I'd been sketching earlier. "Oh, hi," I smiled. He smiled back.
"My name is E-M-M-E-T-T," he signed, followed by a motion similar to the sign for 'boy' which I took was his name sign.
"B-A-Y," I replied shakily. I hadn't been signing a lot recently, and though I remembered how to say what I needed to, I was out of practice and my hands were clumsy.
"Thanks for sticking up for deaf people back there," Emmett signed to me, his sideways smirk both extremely sexy and innocently adorable. This boy is a walking paradox already and I barely even know him.
"Your language and culture are beautiful. People should be less ignorant and more respectful," I huffed. He beamed. Then I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, "How did you know what I said back there?"
"I read lips. And yes, it's harder than it sounds. And no, I'm not offended that you didn't know I read lips," Emmett explained.
"Cool," I blinked up at him. He laughed silently.
"Want to hang out today during free time and look at our scripts?" he asked, motioning towards main campus. I nodded.
"Yeah! Want to help me with a couple signs?" I asked, hoping that asking for help wouldn't offend him. Some people who speak different languages get offended if they're asked to translate…please don't be offended…please don't be offended…
"Sure," Emmett nodded, laying his long arm across my shoulders and leading me toward the snack bar on main campus. "If you buy me an ice cream."
"Deal."