Been carrying a torch for this couple for about a decade and since Psychonauts 2 is scheduled for a release this year I thought I might as well go ahead and do a little piece for them. Enjoy.

Summer 2004

Phoebe Love is 11 years old. Not quite a teen, and in the eyes of the grownups in her life, still very much young enough to be messed with. She's described by her teachers as a very polite and helpful young girl who always stays after events to help clean up. Her classmates, even taking into account a 5th graders developing capacity for savage gossip have surprisingly few bad things to say about her. She's just that nice drummer girl who may or may not have started those fires back in the early years of elementary school…although any evidence to prove it would never hold up in a court of law.

"Hey you still going to that camp this summer?"

That's the way they always phrased it when they asked. 'That Camp'. Not that she'd ever given then a definite name for the mysterious summer getaway she consistently disappeared to for three months out of every year. Giving away the name of a classified training facility that operated under the auspices of several national and international security agencies wasn't exactly something that the government smiled on.

So unable to drop a name, location or even any general hints as to what she actually did there Phoebe Love had simply taken to calling it "the camp", and her friends/uninitiated family members just ended up following her lead.

"Yeah," she replied to her classmate, accompanying her answer with an eye roll for good measure. "My dad's old camp."

She stressed the part about her father with a grumpy, aggravated drawn out tone, the way only a pre-teen can do. It was her other favorite diversion tactic. That usually cinched it for her friends. Ugh, a boring old summer camp my parents are making me attend again, I'll have to spend the whole summer doing arts and crafts and playing…boggle. Maybe they'll even have us climb a rope! So it'll be just like gym, except this time they expect us to do it for fun.

If anything there was a danger of her over selling it. Phoebe has a temper sure, but she's not a natural complainer. Reaching inside herself to find the downside of big events like this just wasn't her strong suit. Still, the lines worked. Usually accompanied by sympathetic nods and empathetic…

"Ugh, yeah sorry that sounds like the worst…" her classmates would say, making a face that resembles the one most of the students make in the cafeteria during the last week of school where the staff pile the last of their inventory into the meatloaf.

As that last red bell rings signaling the death knell of the school year and true initiation of summer, the kids burst from their seats and make for the doors amidst the teachers admonitions to stay safe and have fun.

Phoebe surprises herself with just how fast her feet carry her towards the door, only slowing down to bid one last goodbye to her beloved 5th grade teacher. Her sneakers snap quickly down the white tiled floors of the Elementary School, air almost acrid with the smell of children of all years pouring into the halls. The end of the year always feels like such a somber affair for her, but here she was 10 seconds removed from that melancholy feeling bolting for the exit.

There is an anxiousness to her gait, an eagerness, and for the first time she realizes just how excited she is to be returning to Whispering Rock.

With one last series of tearful "goodbyes" and shouts of "see you in September" she grabs the door handle to her moms station wagon, ready to head back to her summer home away from home.

"So what was I supposed to do? Oh don't give me that look. You don't understand Phoebe! I can see the future, I've always been able to. This is my family's curse…we know how things end up. Or at least…we're supposed to! There aren't supposed to be surprises and…oh Nils."

Elka Doom, a walking Dr. Phil miniseries just waiting to happen. A bundle of nerves, emotions, and gossipy tidbits that could turn themselves into lengthy novels that might even give Vernon a run for his money on a good day. She was a good friend…alright a reliable one at least, but not exactly the first draft pick for candidates to share a quiet bus ride with out to the west coast with.

Whispering Rock used to bus the kids into the camp one at a time, safety reasons and all that. Perhaps it had been something about so many promising young minds making for an inviting target.

Who really knows? As far as Phoebe is concerned having the entire bus to oneself had made for a relaxing trip. Just her, the beats from her Walkman, the endless green tipped peaks of the Pacific pines and the four or five armored unmarked government vehicles that provided a military style escort for the vehicle. Just a nice, peaceful ride through an undisclosed location in the state of…of…well the camp was in the American northwest at least.

Apparently it was a little too peaceful. Some psychologist, child development expert or penny pinching bureaucrat must've stuck their nose into the camp business, and starting that year the kids from similar areas were being shipped off to camp in pairs.

Geographically, this was the worst possible thing that could've happened to her. Her family was from Portland, Oregon, which meant the next closest drop spot was Salt Lake City, Utah. Oregon, Utah, yeah because that just a quick jaunt between the two right? Thus, here she was, trapped in a small cylindrical metal container with Elka Doom fresh off her own long trip north without another soul to talk to. By the time the two met up the blonde was practically bouncing in her boots and unloading her entire story from the moment the two had seen each other last year, with a good dose of flashbacks from that summer just for good measure.

"Oh Elka," she tries in her best consoling voice. She's given up trying to lose herself in her own world and lets the headphones slip back around her neck. She lists a consoling arm towards the sentimental seers shoulder only for the girl to immediately snatch her shoulder, pull herself in close and let out a heart-wrenching sob.

To make matters worse Phoebe strongly suspects that none of this is being done ironically.

"There, there," she attempts, patting her friend gently, more than a little unnerved.

"I know, I know," the blonde sniffs with a stiff inhale followed by a melodramatic sigh. "You told me this would happen, and I knew it was coming but Pheobe…I'm in love!"

Yep, she could see her chances for peace and quiet trip had long since vanished straight out the window and into the wilderness. Heck, they'd probably checked out at the same stop Elka had jumped on. Oh well, not like she didn't enjoy the counselor roll anyways.

"Are psychics destined for this?" the girl continues weeping without pause for her own internal monologue, "How can we who see everything be completely blind to our emotions?"

Something had obviously been taping a lot of daytime television.

"Ok, now you're just being dramatic," Phoebe says, awash with amusement as she gives her a friendly prod. Naturally, Elka acts like someone has just spit on her grandmothers grave. Her figure snaps off of Phoebe's shoulder, sitting straight up, hands on her hips and audaciously offended look on her face.

"Excuse me? Me dramatic?" Ok, so in retrospect she really should've seen this reaction coming. Elka stares down Phoebe's wide eyed and hesitant expression. For a second she pauses, her own look pursued and unsure, seemingly considering whether she truly was a little histrionic.

After three seconds and apparently deciding that her reaction had been, in fact completely reasonable she turns huffily towards the window, arms crossed.

"Well I guess it's not like I can expect you to understand, not with the steady kind of male company you keep."

Now that was just rude. She understood! Of course she could understand! Her male company was perfectly fine, thank you very much. She and Quentein liked each other (as friends) they were great together (as friends) and wow was it just her or was she growing a little hot under the collar at any insinuations otherwise? No, no, no, she had to remind herself. Keep your temper under control. Out of control tempers lead to burning down classrooms and science projects. They may lead indirectly to you getting sent off to a camp for psychics and forming the coolest band with a scarf sporting dj, but still, fires bad.

She pushes her anger and whatever else is involved in that emotional mess back down, taking a deep breath just like Milla had taught her until finally all that was left was the feeling of a warm glow in her cheeks that spread down to the tips of her fingers. She lets out a deep breath and tries again.

"Hey, hey, fine. I'm sorry Elka. I know it's a big deal. He sounds like a real jerk…"

She doesn't even get a chance to finish. Just like that all is forgiven.

"I know right? I mean talk about inconsiderate! What type of boy thinks he can just pull a stunt like that when I'm standing right there and get away with it? He's a pig Phoebe, an absolute pig and I'm tired of putting up with him!...Oh why do I torture myself like this? He's the only one for me Phoebe! The Only ONE…"

Outside the bus tree line begins to rise, the green peaks growing higher and higher, bolstering themselves into the cloudy purple distance until they stop at the base of a familiar looking range of jagged, ice dotted mountains. Through the pastiche of natural landmarks lies the solitary blacktop road, making its way into this mountainous valley, past very many official looking do not enter signs and military outposts.

Yep, summer time at Whispering Rock was here again.

It was easily to delineate the boundaries of the summer camp that the staff demarked for the kids. Every inch of the entryway to the campground was immaculately kept, and after seeing just how finely the grass was chopped the word immaculate wasn't being tossed around lightly. Even the tough forest grass has all been snipped and then kept 24/7 by local crazy old man Ranger Crueller…or maybe it was Janitor Crueller who cut the grass. Who could tell?

Whichever one of his personalities kept the grounds he must've gone over it all with a ruler and clippers like a professional barber. It gave the entire camp a fresh feeling as she stepped from the bus and ran across the parking lot, taking in deeps breaths of the mountain air as she did so. It was an odd odor, fresh pine needles and cut grass gave it all a real natural air, yet it was combined with the murky, fishy smell that wafted in on the breezes that skimmed Lake Oblongata, with just a hint of greasy burgers already being charred on a distant grill from the cabin. All of this combined with the slight tinge of the odor psitanium emitted (a strange blend of what she could only describe of peppermint) and the air around the camp was anything but normal.

Still, it was familiar, it was safe, the wind here held her memories, good ones. All this combined made it smell like she was returning home. Slinging the blue bag over her shoulder Phoebe makes as mad a dash as she can for the main cabin.

"Phoebe!" Elka yells after her, in a voice that demanded to know where her friend was off to. Phoebe barely turns her head to yell the one word answer back behind her.

"Drums!"

"You're a girl obsessed," Elka laughs.

"Better with drums than boys," Phoebe returns only half joking. Still as she bounds up the winding wooden ramp up to that old rickety cafeteria building she finds her feet pushing her faster and faster. Excitement courses through her veins, and she throws her arms out in front of her as she barges through the cafeteria doors.

"Hi Mr. Crueller!" she beams, not even taking a second to consider whether or not that old man was still behind his eternally warming grill. She's always taken it for granted that he'll be there, he's almost like a fixture of the camp at this point. Sure enough there he still is, fitting in like a part of the scenery. The old mans eye seems to twitch at her voice, doubtless many lines about his grill and the patties ready. Quickly Phoebe adds, "Not here for a burger."

Crueller looked distinctly disappointed at this.

"Have you seen my drums?" she asks breathlessly, her little sprint into the building finally catching up with her lungs.

"Bah, oh yeah I remember you. You and the scarf mummy always ran together." Crueller says, slapping his spatula atop the grill in recognition. He gives her a look like he can't decide whether he should threaten her with the spatula or not, "He never ordered anything either. Your equipment's up in the attic!"

"Thanks Mr. Crueller!"

"And try to keep the racket down this year!"

Just like that she's flying up the steps towards the lounge room. Rushing around the multicolored and fraying beanbag chairs and old fixture T.V tuned in straight to basic cable Phoebe looks up towards the ceiling. With steely concentration she finds the latch around the attic entrance in her minds eye, mentally takes ahold of it and opens the ceiling door; letting the ladder tumble down to the ground sending a spew of dust into the already dusty longue.

Within minutes she has her drums pulled down from the attic and arrayed in front of her on the cafeteria stage. A task that would doubtless have taken much longer if it hadn't been for those ultra convenient psychic powers. She sets her bag down beside the red and white drum kit draped in every single band name they'd created since arriving at camp and removes her sticks.

The quick pattering of their metal tips against the plastic coverings stretched over the drums begin, sending reverberations through the building. The music echoes about as she tries to work her instruments back into shape. Her movements, wrists flipping up and down as she gets her rhythm going gradually became faster and harder, more intense. Slowly she begins to realize, the drums sounded old, and not in that cool vintage way she enjoyed. The set was worn, ratted, with bits missing from places they should be and areas bent where it shouldn't have been. For a brief second she grows hot as something that reminded her distantly of disappointment set in. This was it? Her strikes got a little bit faster and a little bit heavier as she kicked her drumming into high gear. This was what she had gotten herself so worked up and excited over?

She forces the drums to play on, their sound getting more and more intense, drumming at the top of her game as her arms find the routes across the instrument that they knew so well. This just wasn't…

"Dang Phoebe," a voice pulls her from her groove, and its distinctly mellow personage slides into her world like it had a designated position right beside her. The surprise of the voice causes her to fumble her sticks, sending them flying through the air.

Quentin catches them telekinetically without anything so much as resembling a fuss and tosses them back to her as he climbs up onto the stage, lugging his dj set up behind him. Psychics, Phoebe decides are capable of making anything look smooth, but Quentin, who practices regularly made it seem second nature, like levitation was as natural as breathing.

"Trying to best Buddy Rich already? I thought you were saving that duel for a special occasion," he jokes, casually getting his set-up steady.

Phoebe feels the frustration melt off of her. So yeah the drums were old, but then she didn't exactly come to camp for the drums, she came for the people. In particular her best friend. Quickly, and only from the corner of her eye she gives him a glance, like there would be something awkward about sizing up a friend she hadn't seen since last summer.

Quentin Hedgemouse. 11 years old just like her. Not quite a teen, and in no hurry to get there. He's cool, collected, and helpful; never letting anything get to him, but helpful and polite all the same. He gets some flak from Bobby and Benny, but it's pretty obvious that they'd much rather be him than pick on him. The scarf is still cool, and his casual flair draws a lot of attention from the girls. Not that Phoebe's noticed. They're 11, and they've got far more important things to deal with; their music if she's being specific.

"Just blowing off a little steam," she says, trying to make the annoyed wrangling of the kit before her seem at least somewhat normal. "It's gotta be murder on the drums though."

"No need to apologize." Quentin sashays between his bag and set up, picking out a record before giving her that dumb smile, the one he always has right when he's about to try and get under her skin. "It was total fire my guy,"

He's making that joke again. The one that she hates. She might legitimately set anyone else of fire for pushing this particular button of hers, but she just…won't with Quentin, she won't or can't. She, once again being 11 doesn't really think about it too much.

"…You know it doesn't even make me mad anymore," she says. She wants to get mad, she honestly really does, but that block still exists with Quentin. She can't blame the guy for just doing what he does…That stupid smile of his can go drown in the lake though. He probably thinks he's being cute.

"Wouldn't be summer camp if I didn't let at least one in on the first day back," He grins.

"One of the constants of the universe." She has to agree. "Like Mikhail still being into wrestling or Franke and Vernon getting back together."

"Franke and Vernon? That train wreck is still going?"

"Barreling into the station with no brakes, right on cue," Phoebe says, reciting what she's already heard from Elka who of course has her nose in everyone's business.

"Well seems like there's only one cure for the humdrum of the endless soap opera of camp life." Quentin says. She can see he's already in that musical groove, cool waves just washing off of him. She collects her sticks again and gives him the answer she knows he's looking for.

"Get the band back together?"

"What're you talking about? Band never left Pheobe!"

"Then let's get our groove on brother." There's a goofy grin on her face as claps the drum sticks together, their sound reverberating through the cafeteria before she belts out with as much force as she can. "A One! Two! One, Two, Three, Four!"

The camp initiation ceremony is still scheduled for tonight, but that's not for another four hours or so. They've got time. Time to loose themselves in the music and get their sound back into shape while the minutes tick away around them.

"Hey! Sounding good their guys!" a pair of goggles yells from the rafters above them. "Say neither one of you would've happened to have seen a one eye mutant salamander around here would you?"

"Raz?" she yells back up, still rapping away at the drums. "You're not fighting the clock this year, you don't have to complete the scavenger hunt on the first day!"

"The sooner I complete it the sooner I can advance up the ranks!" Is the only reply.

Gradually, more and more campers drift through the hall. They're not interruptions so much as they are part of the background. Campers, their friends, their audience, all part of what makes Whispering Rock, Whispering Rock.

"Hey have either of you seen Milka?" Elton of course.

"Ahh good, the melodical patterns have returned. This will be useful data. I wonder if it's a seasonally recurring phenomenon on this planet?" There's Chloe.

"Phoebe, hey girl you looking fine as always! Better make a move their Quentin." Nils of course. She really hopes that Elka's not there to hear him.

"Well, well, well, so the one hit wonders came back!...You guys need a bass player?...I've been practicing," Never expected to hear that from Bobby.

"Hey it's Phoebe and Quentin!" Crystal. "I'm like so totally stoked to see you guys again!"

She can't help but beam back.

"Good to see you to Crystal!"

Just like that, the Levitators/Firestarters (they'll work out the name later) are back in business. Grooving here at the start of summer with her best friend without a care in the world. Now this is what camp is all about.