Happy Camper
Prologue
Julie groans, and lays her forehead on the scarred wooden kitchen counter. "This is the longest summer of my life."
"We have only two weeks of camp left. Besides, why are you in such a hurry to get back to school? You're the only sophomore who has to repeat Introduction to University." Yes, that's a real class – an easy half credit for freshman that is meant to help them endure the transition between high school and post secondary. Basically all you have to do is show up, fill in a worksheet here or there, maybe complete a quiz or two. The class is a breeze. No one ever fails it; except, apparently, my best friend Julie.
Unfortunately for her, the class was scheduled 8am on Monday mornings during freshman year. On Sunday nights, it was our weekly tradition to gather blankets and snacks, and huddle together on a sofa in the dorm lounge to watch "The Walking Dead" on AMC. It usually aired at 10pm our time, so when it ended at 11, I headed to bed (frequently with a tear stained face and my guts feeling gross and twisted). Julie, however, would pull out her laptop and spend the next four or five hours on Twitter, Tumblr, and Pinterest indulging in the fandom and reacting to the newest episode. She almost always slept in. I think during the entire semester she only made it to two Monday morning classes – the first one, when we received the syllabus, and the week show didn't air. (She watches reruns just as religiously as new episodes.)
Julie takes offense. "What kind of sadist schedules a class that early on a Monday anyways? If you ask me, Professor Stein is really to blame."
"Stern."
"What?"
"The professor who teaches that class. His name is Stern, not Stein."
Julie dismisses me with a wave of her hand. "Whatever. The man has the personality of a stick. He's so boring. When he talks, it's like someone propped up a corpse and used it as a puppet." Julie's brown eyes sparlkle, and I know exactly what she's thinking.
"You're thinking about Walkers again, aren't you?"
"C'mon, Marcie, you love the show too."
"Yes, I do. But I have no morbid desire to actually live through the zombie apocalypse, unlike you." Julie's has t-shirts, posters, and even pillow cases printed with grotesque pictures of the undead. I might put Andrew Lincoln as my laptop background, but my fascination with zombies ends there. "Besides, you know for me it's all about the human aspect."
"Ugh! You are such a Psych major."
"I'm majoring in Social Work."
"Same thing." They really aren't, but trying to argue with Julie is like trying to get butter from a rhinoceros. "You wouldn't survive the Apocalypse anyway. You're too soft." At that, I take offense.
"Hey." I throw an unopened bag of marshmallows at her, and they bounce off her head.
"See?" She laughs. "I offend you, and the best you can do is throw a bag of tasty sugar pillows at me."
"I could throw a pot if you prefer."
She shakes her head, rips open the bag, and shoves a marshmallow in her mouth. As she speaks, the gooey fluffiness rolls around her teeth, and I remember the night she managed to convince me to play Chubby Bunny with her. "You're just too nice."
She's probably right. I snatch back the bag of marshmallows, and thrust a tray lined with perfectly squared chocolate pieces into her hands. I've been cutting bars into equal sections for the last several minutes, while she did absolutely nothing to help. "Julie! Those are for the campers!"
"You're such a mom, Marc." She laughs, but I can tell by the affectionate way she says it that she means it as a compliment.
"Yes, and you're a terrible helper." She may be a fan of zombies, but there is nothing more terrifying than hyper kids waiting too long for s'mores.
I grab the graham crackers and two bags of marshmallows. Julie inconspicuously swipes a piece of chocolate and pops it into her mouth. I see her do it, but don't say anything, because God knows I love her.
Dusk has fallen. We've forgotten to turn on the outside light so the steps are dark as we exit the mess hall. "You know, Marcie-" Julie begins, but I don't hear the sage advice she is about to utter. Something hits the side of my head, I experience the sensation of falling, and the world fades from violet to black.
