2 MMV: Chaos at Magic Camp
"I step on you to sip on fire/I got this feeling that I can't go back/…I gave so much to feel you rush/And in that rush, I want your touch…"
–Gin Wigmore, New Rush
1 am PDT/8 pm GMT+12, Vera Manor, Living Room
"Love you too," Matilda responded, then broke the hug to grasp Harry's arm, waving goodbye as they orbed across the hemisphere to Camp Wanaka in the Southern Alps of New Zealand.
9 pm GMT+12, Camp Wanaka, Cottage Bedroom
She was finally alone in her dorm—or was it "cottage?" Seconds after she and her father arrived at Camp Wanaka's door, two smiling counselors stepped forward to welcome them with a garland about the neck, reminding Matilda of tropical leis. Hers was a peach-apricot color whose scent reminded her of a mix of gardenias and plumerias; Harry's was made entirely of silver fern interwoven together—the symbol of New Zealand's national identity since the 1880s. Matilda's luggage had been enchanted to disappear from where they stood, then reappear in the room she would be staying in for the next several weeks.
The counselors bade them follow; a mere 200 feet from the lake itself, the camp boasted of breathtaking waterfront patio views of Lake Hawea and the surrounding Gladstone snow-capped mountains, in addition to a state-of-the-art open-air amphitheater for concerts, quaint flat-roofed one-story white cabins for the campers and separate similarly-sized cottages for junior counselors, a myriad of bohemian-chic waterproof canvas tents, and a set of micro-chic 500 square foot "tiny house" cabins with a desk, kitchen, and second floor loft via ladder, that reminded Matilda of her mother's Vera Manor laboratory (or "she-shed" as Macy affectionately called it). "Those micro-chic facilities are for returning counselors, who have certain seniority privileges," explained one of the two counselors, an older-yet-peppy witch named Paige, who had porcelain skin and dark auburn hair and claimed to have been a 1990s TV star back in the day.
Matilda retrieved her phone as if to take a picture, but instead checked the camp's accommodations website online, which corroborated what Paige said, though it also mentioned that the lofted tiny houses lacked bathrooms and that hot showers were only accessible from the director's cabin. Lovely, she thought, rolling her eyes.
Still, all things considered, Matilda mused to herself, staring at the ceiling from where she lay on her twin-size bed, the digs were pretty sweet. She looked past her fragrant flower wreath draped across the oaken nightstand, to the tiny kitchen (she could make scrambled eggs if she wanted), a bathroom with modern plumbing (thank God), clean bath towels that didn't reek of swamp monster (yet), and coffee and tea were provided for free. Requested staples (eggs, cheese, apples, carrot sticks, etc.) were already stocked in the mini fridge, along with condiments, spices, and other seasonings in the cabinet above, which had a couple of pots and pans, a teakettle, and some stainless steel utensils and recyclable paper cups.
Being a junior camp counselor wouldn't be too crazy—right?
Paige mentioned earlier that the camp grew its own fruits and vegetables, so Matilda wouldn't go vitamin deficient anytime soon (one of the first questions Harry asked the counselors before returning to Vera Manor). Plus, there was free WiFi; on her phone, Matilda played "April Sun in Cuba" by Dragon, a New Zealand Band. This rebellious 1977 hit song had been banned for decades in the U.S. due to its references to the Cuban Missile Crisis, its lyrics beginning: "I'm tired of the city life/Summer's on the run…" as she drifted off to sleep, the sound of croaking bullfrogs and humming cicadas lingering in the distance.
6 am, Next Morning, Camp Wanaka, Cottage Bedroom
The piercing sound of early morning trumpet taps jolted Matilda out of her slumber, as she groggily stumbled to her feet. She hurriedly showered and scarfed down a meal of scrambled eggs and ketchup, then brushed her teeth and put on her gym leggings, a sleeveless sapphire-colored tank top, a scarf, and her black insulated jogging jacket. She had read on her phone that due to the hemispheric location, the seasons were switched; it was currently fifty degrees Fahrenheit.
Fifteen minutes later, she heard a sharp knock on the door and opened it, revealing a clipboard bundle within the plastic pocket-like shelving nailed to the front door. The bundle turned out to be the itinerary, campground map, and scheduling of various activities she was to report to for the day, and weeks to follow (subject to weather constraints). Apparently, her junior division counselor duties involved being both "gopher" and "guinea pig," scoping out hiking routes ahead of time, and testing well-worn paths for safety with a "division partner"—a fellow counselor with more years of experience.
Who was my division partner? Matilda wondered, glancing to the left and right outside her door. She reread the clipboard packet. Oddly enough, it didn't say. And apparently, junior division counselors were not allowed to interact much with the kids—only if they were "in disciplinary trouble or bleeding." How strange, she thought to herself. Perhaps it was so campers could independently test their magic, find new friends, and grow their confidence in the process, after having experienced lonely lives as strange children with unusual powers.
Matilda stepped back inside her cottage and closed the door behind her. The first activity of the day was the 7 am "Activities Run" at the tennis court a mile away. She was expected to report to the location ten minutes early. Figuring she had nothing better to do in the remaining time, she laced up her sneakers and went for a morning jog in that general direction.
6:50 am, Camp Wanaka, Tennis Court
After an invigorating jog that took her past the lakefront's perimeter, Matilda strode up to the tennis court, clipboard in hand, fully expecting to be assigned to her division partner. Strength in numbers, right?
The song "New Rush" by Gin Wigmore blasted from the loudspeakers above as she wormed her way into the now-crowded tennis court, finding herself surrounded by kids a full head shorter than her, and then some. The director paused the song to briefly explain the rules of the "Activities Run" exercise. All the kids, in the next five minutes, were to run to the counselor of the arts activity they wanted to pursue; each counselor was situated along different parts of the court's perimeter, poster board signs in hand. What the hell? Isn't this usually decided beforehand by helicopter parents? Matilda couldn't help but feel a rising sense of unease as she gazed across the throng of magical kids, some of whom no doubt were debating the best method of flying, traipsing, vanishing, orbing, or transfiguring to meet their heady goal.
"Five minutes, starting…NOW!" The director blew the whistle, and the Gin Wigmore song boomed from the loudspeakers once more.
7:01 am, Camp Wanaka, Tennis Court, Activities Run
Matilda gaped at the scene unfolding before her very eyes.
It was absolute, pure, unadulterated chaos.
She ducked as she spotted one blue mohawked boy jump twenty feet up in the air, landing with a sharp thunk onto the unlucky counselor holding a now-crumpled poster board. Matilda winced. She wondered whether she ought to risk life and limb by hurtling herself through the crowd to the counselor, but noticed a pair (junior and division counselors, she guessed), immediately coming to his aid with bandages and magical prowess.
Where on earth was her division partner?
She'd arrived on time and tapped the shoulder of the counselor she recognized from yesterday, though she'd forgotten the name. "Excuse me," she began, "who's my division partner?"
"It's your job to figure out who," and the counselor made as though to depart, but Matilda raced and intercepted the person's path.
"Wait—how am I supposed to know who?" Matilda asked incredulously, but the person smiled.
"You're magic, aren't you? Figure it out," the counselor responded slyly, then vanished into thin air.
Oh for the love of…Matilda inwardly groaned. This was not how she envisioned her first day at magic camp.
7:04 am, Camp Wanaka, Tennis Court, Activities Run to Camp Infirmary
A couple more minutes of shrieks, screams, and utter insanity transpired as campers morphed into sparrows, rats, and kangaroos, pummeling themselves through the dense crowds. As more and more kids arrived at their chosen arts section, the amount of people within the main area of the tennis court lessened considerably, though one student had accidentally turned himself into an elephant, and was trampling about, trumpeting its alarm as it tore a path through the netting, shaking its trunk this way and that, right into the path of a hysterically sobbing middle school-aged girl, who was unable to move from her position in the middle of the floor. Without thinking, Matilda dashed forward to grab the girl, yanking her out of the way just in the nick of time.
At that moment, she felt a sudden tug and found herself and the girl yanked from their tennis court surroundings, which melted away into what appeared to be the camp's infirmary. Matilda realized that someone was holding them both—and, startled, found herself eye-to-eye with a beach-blond surfer dude type who she could only assume was her division partner.
7:10 am, Camp Wanaka, Camp Infirmary
After calming the frightened girl down, Matilda watched as the guy surveyed the girl's leg, palpating her skin, checking for internal bleeding or other outward sign of injury. "Can you put your weight on it?" he asked aloud. The girl wiped her tears with tissues Matilda had in her outstretched hand, and made as if to stand, but collapsed back in her seat, grimacing. The guy flagged over a woman Matilda assumed must be the nurse in charge, who ran her hands over the injury. She gathered a poultice from a nearby cabinet and laid it on the tender area, recommending aloud that the girl rest on one of the available cots for an hour.
The guy with the beach blond-highlighted hair made as if to walk out the infirmary's front door and Matilda, unsure of what to do, followed after him. "Are you…" she asked somewhat uncertainly, "my division partner?"
He turned around and faced her straightaway, his mouth twitching into a cheeky grin. "Never thought you'd ask." He offered his hand, and after a brief moment, Matilda reached out and shook it. For a tall, muscular man, he sure had a gentle grip, Matilda realized, having initially expected to be enveloped in a bone-crushing handshake. She then remonstrated herself. Snap out of it, Valensi! He's probably taken, or a jackass, or both.
"What's your name?" she finally asked, as they exited the infirmary's front garden and proceeded to walk through the grass in the direction of the waterfront gazebo.
"Wyatt Halliwell, Junior," he answered. "And you're-?"
"Matilda Valensi," she replied.
"Ah, the child of a current Charmed One," Wyatt remarked aloud. "Wow—I knew there was a reason we were paired up!" he exclaimed. "Wyatt: world guardian," he pointed to himself, "Matilda: battle-mighty," he added, pointing to Matilda. "We're gonna be pretty formidable," he grinned.
"Wait—so how exactly does this whole pair thing work?" asked Matilda, thoroughly confused at this point. "I got here yesterday, and thought we'd be given more…" she bit her lip, trying to pinpoint the exact word for this odd situation, not to mention that Wyatt already seemed to know her family status, and she'd barely met the guy.
"…Guidance?" Wyatt asked. Matilda nodded. "Yeah, the folks in charge have a literal hands-off approach when it comes to magic kids. They want kids to explore their powers in a healthy setting, and meet other magic kids, since they've mostly been raised in a non-magic world where they were forced to hide their abilities."
"Wow," breathed Matilda. She hadn't realized that there were still families out there that tried to suppress and outwardly deny mystic power, even when it stared them in the face. "Poor things."
"Yeah," said Wyatt sympathetically, as they drew closer to the gazebo. "Most of the campers here, for all their bravado, have actually had a pretty rough go of it."
"So," Matilda began as they approached the gazebo, sitting along one of its side benches to plan their next activities for the days ahead, "what did you do to get here?"
"What do you mean?" asked Wyatt, genuinely puzzled. "I've gone here since I was a kid—I chose to be here. You didn't?"
Matilda laughed ruefully. "Um…" she finally shook her head, her bright red curls aflutter in the sunlight that was beginning to peek out from behind the silvery storm clouds above. "Not exactly."
"Oh, so you're one of the rebels then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, though lighthearted.
"Well, long story short, I was waitressing and some drunk creep grabbed my ass and I lost my temper and set everything on fire, and this is my punish—I mean," she said, backtracking, "—my community service requirement."
Instead of appearing horrified or judgmental or any manner of expressions, Matilda watched as Wyatt proceeded to laugh aloud for the next several seconds, so hard that he nearly cried. "Jesus, Valensi. I woulda given anything to see that."
Matilda twiddled a stray lock of hair. "Yeah, seems you'd be the only one. My parents were horrified—my dad had to memory wipe two hundred customers' minds." She looked over at Wyatt, who still appeared rather impressed. "I've had this…fire…thing since as long as I could remember, and I've had trouble controlling it when I lose my temper—which used to be pretty often—and the Whitelighter orbing you did earlier, that was pretty useful—I'm trying to figure out how to use my fire for good—" she knew she was beginning to ramble.
"You know what I think, Valensi? Val?" his expression softened. "I think you've come to the right place." And with that, the two eagerly began to discuss the upcoming pilot testing of various planned excursions.
Maybe, just maybe, thought Matilda, eyeing Wyatt's broad musculature and lopsided smile, this summer wouldn't be so bad after all.