Dear Dad,

I've already been bitten by ten mosquitos. Trust me, I have counted. The first one sunk its greedy little teeth into me before I even got into the car. Right at the base of my collarbone. It makes it look like I was sucking face with someone on the bus ride here- course, neither of you let me take the bus. Wilken's smokes too much, but that's fine. It was nice that he kept the windows down the whole way. The mountains are cooler, especially at night. I'm glad you made me pack that sweatshirt or else I'd freeze to death out here.

Your daughter,

Beca.

She let the breath move past her lips. Beca had been holding onto it for way too long, it was starting to cloud her throat and make her lungs burn just like they had the second that man lit his first cigar. She expected a cigarette, the cab seeping with the scent of tobacco. Instead, it was the imported stuff. He looked like one of those cartoon characters with the angry faces. Beca wanted nothing more than to switch out his last cigar with a stick of dynamite, praying he wouldn't notice.

The chair that she was in creaked under her weight. It was old, and she knew that. If she applied too much pressure to the back of the chair it would break through in a dusty mess. Instead, she folded up the paper, shoving it awkwardly into the branded envelope that the camp had given her the second she signed in. Apparently, it was a requirement to actually write home. She was sure her father wouldn't mind.

Camp Beaverbrook was the last place Beca Mitchell wanted to be.

She didn't' have much a choice, however, brandishing the comically yellow t-shirt with the cartoon picture of a green beaver happily munching away at a log. On the back of her shirt in big block letters was the word Staff. She had also been given a whistle that tasted like rust and a large book of rules for what to expect as a watersports instructor. Just because she had written that she was a junior lifeguard at the community pool three years running.

Beca wished she was there now; the sun would be almost blinding, but it heated up raw skin until it was an angry red. She would be with friends, popping open sugary drinks and ice cream that would melt past fisted hands the second it was paid for.

But now, she was swatting at blood-sucking bugs, wiping it's mushed up contents on the bulk of her jeans. She hadn't unpacked yet and didn't feel the need to. The small boarding quarters for the counselors held two to three people per bunk. She was at the end of a long row of housing, and apparently one of her roommates wouldn't be returning this year due to a lice outbreak. (Which Beca thought was better left at home.)

The door creaked open behind her, loud and unruly. It seemed to brandish a layer of dust that she nearly choked on. The door was nothing more than a wooden frame with a mesh screen door that carried waves like an ocean during high tide. On the other side of this door stood her bunkmate.

She looked clumsy, that was something Beca could tell almost instantly. She didn't get a good look at her face; a duffle bag was weighing her down as she carried a photo box that rattled like no one's business. The frazzled girl dropped almost everything by the entrance, letting out a grumble of a noise before rolling her shoulders back in stifled pain.

"Um, hi." Beca managed, trying to keep her voice quiet enough not to startle the stranger. It didn't work. She gasped anyway, snapping an icy gaze Beca's way. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

She looked older than Beca and looked better in yellow than she did. She was wearing long sleeves that were rolled up to her arms and jean shorts that contradicted her need to cover up. Long curls flowed over wide shoulders. A smile brandishing her face. She sounded out of breath.

"No worries. You must be the new counselor."

"Beca, yeah." She said.

"Chloe," She pressed her fingers into her lower back, letting out a breath as she tried to work the kinks out that had formed on the track up here. "Mind if I take the top bunk?"

Beca simply nodded, running her finger over the pencil in her hand. She didn't' want that bed, she tossed too much in her sleep. It was easier to take the single bed, and the parasite-ridden girl would have taken the bottom bunk. "You've spent summers here before, then?"

"Oh totes," Chloe lifted her first bag onto the mattress. Beca tried not to wince at the word. "This is my third year."

Beca had a lot of questions, mainly along the lines of why would you subject yourself to something like this willingly? But this came out instead; "Why isn't there an 'e' at the end of the camp's name?"

It wasn't as pressing, but it was something that Beca wanted to know. A giggle pushed past Chloe's lips as she stared down at the bigger bag, then at the dresser across the room. She seemed resigned to leave it for another time. She crossed her arms over her chest and blew a strand of perfect hair from her eyes. "You must be starving, right? It was a long trip up the mountain."

"Oh, now you've won me over, Chloe."

Beca stood and lead the way to the door, it creaked loudly as she pulled it open and let Chloe go first. Halfway because she didn't really trust her weight on the set of stairs, but also out of what little kindness she had left in her heart.

The two of them walked, and Beca had to admit, there was quite a chill to the air, despite being early summer. The campers were set to arrive later that day, leaving them with mostly silence as other people struggled to move their items into the half-assed living quarters. They were the furthest away from the mess hall, a long uphill path cut through edges of wood until they made it to a large grassy clearing.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Chloe started, holding back a branch before it hit Beca square in the abdomen. "But you don't look very much like a camping girl."

"None taken, I feel like I would be more offended if you offered me a beaded friendship bracelet."

"Please, Beca. Bracelets are for the advanced." She snorted, "We start off with making coasters. Really, it's just a slab of clay."

Beca wanted to laugh, but she didn't'. She let an easy grin play at her lips. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Chloe nodded with exaggeration. She shoved her hands into the oversized pockets on her shorts. The grass was soft under their feet. There was a large log building up ahead that Beca hoped was the mess hall, her stomach close to digesting itself in a fit of instinct driven hunger. There were two smaller buildings on either side and a flagpole that housed fabric mimicking the symbol on her shirt perfectly flying high.

"Of course. You can't have a camp without a craft director, can you? Though, it's a lot easier to stick googly eyes on a rock than knitting a scarf in the middle of summer."

"You've done both of those things, haven't you?"

"I plead the fifth."

Beca took that as a bad sign. An even worse one was the lanyard that hung around her neck. It was clearly a construct of young campers trying to make something constructive out of glitter glue and uncooked macaroni. She considered it better to share her cabin with the human incarnation of a school bulletin board than an alternative. Besides, Chloe seemed nice.

"You still never answered my question."

"I don't think you ever asked one."

She held the door open to the mess hall, once again letting Chloe test out the exact weight that wouldn't send them through the creaky deck. The scent of an unidentifiable meat clouded her lungs. Hell, it was better than cigar smoke, and it was enough to send her stomach into a swirling mess. Beca was hungry, and at this point, it didn't matter what got shoveled into her mouth. As long as it was edible.

There were long picnic benches, most likely a few regular sized ones lined up to create four rows of tables that stretched from one side of the mess hall to the other. There were festive little welcome sheets in a golden yellow, and plates of store-bought cookies where the tables would break. They smelled like oatmeal raisin but looked like Chocolate chip. A long window was on the right side of the space, creating a pale-yellow light against the rest of the room, she could hear pots and pans.

"Right. Well, why is someone like you in a camp like this?"

Beca reached forward, snatching one of the cookies from the paper plate closet to them. Her stomach instantly eased the second she was able to chew real food. "I plead the fifth."