"But dad I've never heard of Straighten Up voice camp." Miley whined, fingering the handle of her suitcase.
"Come on Miles, all the great singers of my day went there, including me."
"Voice-camp-going-daddy say what? You never told me about camp. And you always tell us stuff about 'back in the day' – we've practically lived back in the day with ya."
Robbie Ray smiled.
"See Bud, I didn't wanna live camp out for ya before you gotta chance ta go. Plus we'll all be waitin' fer you, and when you come back you'll be great! I packed up your bags for you, threw in a coupla new clothes, all you hafta do is get on that train sweetheart."
She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.
"I'll miss you daddy, I love you."
"Love ya too Bud."
"Olly?"
"Ya Miles, I'll miss you ya know." She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his around her waist. His lips reached her ear and he spoke in whispers.
"Look Miles, it's only a year and it's going to be hard sometimes. You're gonna wish you could just run from it all. Remember you'll have a better life when you get back, and we'll all be waiting. Don't be mad, it'll all be for your own good in the long run."
He pulled back with his hands on her shoulders and smiled before motioning for her to go. It's going to be hard sometimes … don't be mad, it'll be for your own good? What was this? Death camp?
Uneasily she waved and staggered to the train.
Robbie Ray turned to Oliver and put a firm right hand on his shoulder.
"Look boy, I don't know what you were whisperin' ta her, but she looked awful uneasy. This is fer her own good now. She cares about her friends, and her family, and Hannah Montana, and I'm not letting her jeopardize any of it with nonsense."
Shaking the arm off and offering a look that poured disappointment, Oliver began in harsh tones.
"I know you want the best for her Mr. Stewart. I know you have her best interests in mind, but what she's about to go through will scar her and hurt her, I would know. I can't even believe you talked me into doing this with you, supporting this." His voice had moved up pitches in his speech, and immediately he turned to walk away. But in a yell he turned back.
"Don't expect her to love you when she gets home!" And with that he had walked off leaving a very flustered Mr. Stewart, and a few rare eyes wondering about.
A few scenes of lush fields and beating sun, all reminiscing her leave, fluttered through her vision before they were lost in her sleep.
What seemed like moments later a heavy tapping was on her shoulders and the sputtering exhaust was silent.
"Think you can stop droolin' on the windows and wake up Sleeping Beauty?" A heavyset woman with big arms, a red face, and greasy brown hair at a blunt cut at her shoulders, distinctly middle parted, looked at her. She had a jean vest and biker boots. Ugh dyke.
On came a boy with a bull horn. He wore a tattered pair of white pants ending at his ankles, barefoot, with a thigh length white shirt coated in mud. He was fair of skin and layered in grime, blue eyed, with a thin spray of black hair where his head was shaved.
His fragile hands trembled with the bullhorn's weight. He cleared his throat and a struggling deep voice trembled out.
"Campers, as our returning guests know, cellular devices are absolutely not permitted. A marking utensil will be passed around to inscribe your information on your telecommunication device. Upon exiting the train, place your device in the bin in the front section and proceed to the camp lobby for admission. Thank you and have a good day."
His voice seemed to squeak at points when he struggled to deepen it, and Miley attempted small talk with her bus mate.
"Wow, his voice sounds terrible. I guess voice camp takes a toll on the chords huh?"
"Look princess obvious, I don't know anything about this voice camp business, but the boy knows he's bein' watched. See the way he's walkin' heavy-like and not smilin' and tryin' ta talk deep? He's actin' straight so that … witch … Luna don't get on 'im."
The conversation was relieved when the marker reached the pair. All while writing, the thoughts sat with Miley. He's tryin' ta act straight? Why would it matter?
She followed her mate to the front of the train, and into the lobby, being the last train to enter the camp; the speech began upon their presence. A woman of an old structure stood on a block of light wood and spoke into the crowd with a monotone voice and a tired speech. Her light voice carried.
"Welcome campers one and all, returning and firstly visiting. I am Colonel Luna, Chief Director of this camp. Here you will learn respect, find faith in religion, learn to appreciate all that you have, and learn to cure what disease has condemned you all. You will work hard, get fit, and learn to communicate with the utmost obedience to my fellow directors, or will suffer the consequences of obnoxious free-spiriting. I mean to be clear on this factor; disciplines and rules will not be outlined but will happen in live time. As long as you show total obedience and respect to any and everyone at all times, you will see to a discipline-free and enjoying experience at SUC."
She paused for breath and few snickered at the camp's initials before being hit in the arm by large sticks.
"As you can see, already, disciplining immaturity has begun. The fellow directors will chorale you into a large line to wait for entrance and placement; I expect thorough cooperation, and total silence. You will be reminded by physical means to be silent if you wish to test my patience or defy my orders. Do we have understanding?"
No one spoke.
"DO. WE. HAVE. UNDERSTANDING?!" Bellowed Luna, and instantly murmurs of "yes" and "yes ma'am" filed through.
"Good. I expect to only ask you once, and have a certain and solid answer." The room was flooded with a giant "yes ma'am," and silence remained, only tested by the fools, and again punished into silence.
The line seemed to be never ending. The room was hot and people were sweaty, tired, hungry, and worn from travel. Most returning persons had nothing but the clothes on their backs, while Miley trudged along in designer jeans with a bright pink piece of luggage behind her, again receiving snickers. She only looked up a few times, nauseous of the odor and heat, to find several persons, dressed in similar military attire as Luna, walking around with a large bat where their rifle would be placed.
Her hunger was causing waves of pain in her stomach, and when she felt she could die, she had reached the dark wooden door of the office. Stumbling in with no sense of grace, and gently closing the door behind her, she smiled and looked to courteousness to begin her life at camp.
"Hi I'm Miley Stew-"
"I don't care. And if you speak out of turn again, expect physical punishment." replied Luna, not looking up from the paperwork on her desk.
"Are you a FBB?"
"Excuse me Colonel?" Miley asked, desperate to redeem her mistake. Luna sighed heavily and with purpose to make Miley feel stupid.
"Are. You. A Female. By. Birth?" the words were drawn out with annoyance in the undertones.
"Umm yes I am Colonel."
"How old?"
"Sixteen ma'am." After becoming content with the notes she'd written, Luna looked up.
"Well you hardly look like one of them. It's a shame someone like you does such the disgusting deed against God." She sighed and turned to a large pile of white robes marked Fem. and passed Miley two dress robe- much like what she'd seen the boy wear, only these were dresses.
"The dress with blue stripes is night wear, the other day wear; the swimsuit-like wear is for showers. Your number is 1616, marked on your robes. I shan't see you out of uniform at anytime." She then picked up her radio.
"I need Officer 3 for a sixteen year old FBB, and a minor worker for luggage." She put the radio down and pointed to the door.
"But Colonel-"
"If I so much as hear you speak again without being called upon by a director I will have your number branded into your flesh, where you will never forget your incompetence. Understand me?"
"Yes ma'am." Miley choked out, before sprinting out the door with all the speed she could muster.
A dark haired, unkempt man met her at the door. He wore a dark green suit with MW imprinted at his chest. Never speaking, he grabbed her luggage, with his eyes far from hers, and hurried off.
"Wait what are you-" He was gone.
Outside was pitch dark save the luminous accents from the tall light posts. Another man, too with a MW, grabbed her arm roughly.
"Let go. You're hurting me."
"First of many you bony little bitch." The words shut Miley's mouth in a heartbeat. His short fingernails dug into her arm and she sucked down her tears.
"Get used to this." His scratchy voice snarled out, before he pushed her into the arms of a slightly shorter girl in uniform.
The girl, unexpectedly it would seem, haphazardly caught the stumbling Miley before pushing her off.
"Get off me. Jared, don't take your temper out on me." She grumbled with displeasure and motioned for him to move, before looking, slightly upwards, at Miley.
"Are you FBB number 1616?" Miley looked at the girl's chest. Her tag read Dorm Officer 3.
"Answer me dammit. Yes or no?" Her voice spit anger.
"Umm yes."
"It's yes ma'am or yes Officer Belson to you. Understand?"
"Yes ma'am." Miley stumbled out.
"Come here." Grabbing Miley's arm, as it seemed to be custom, she pulled Miley into a line of 15 other girls looking equal of age, but far less glamorous and confused.
Standing in line was a pain. Her stomach still ached and her mind begged to be cleared with some information. What kind of voice camp was this? She dared not speak, to have her "finger-imprinted" arm bruised with a bat. Her legs burned to sit, but everyone else in the twenty-so lines she could see in the darkness were standing, so she would too.
"House 16, we are no longer awaiting any further admissions. Food will be distributed after showers and mandatory bedtime curfew will resume and become consistent after today."
'Officer 3' spoke up to her group, before motioning for them to follow. Miley, relieved to be moving, followed keenly behind, her heels sinking in the dirt.
House 16 was far from the 'active houses' and they'd been tracking in the dirt for around ten minutes. Miley soon realized that the houses were numbered in distance, all the members were the age of the house number, and sixteen was the third youngest age (the first two being fourteen and fifteen.) I feel bad for the older houses; must be so we can train our voices by the ages of them. All the living houses seemed purposefully positioned in a distance from the community of houses near the lobby. She grumbled at the distance.