8 MMV: Cinders & Cardrona Valley

"I been once bitten now I won't go back/I timeless act that I keep for fact…/Oh my God I'm beaten in the game of love…" –Gin Wigmore, Oh My

8:10 am, Week 3, Wanaka Lakefront, Ardmore Street, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand

"Y'know, Val," he remarked after chewing, attempting to sound casual, "if I didn't know any better, I would've thought you just planned your ideal date night."

"What if I did?" Matilda answered, despite her shyness when it came to anything remotely romantic, offering him more of the raisin, peanut, and chocolate mix she knew he liked. "Would you…" she hesitated, "…be ok with that?"

Wyatt paused, surprised at Matilda's candor, his eyes softening as he reached over to stroke one of her stray flaming-red curls. "Yeah…yeah I would."

8:49 am, Week 4, Wyatt's Micro-Chic Tiny House, Camp Wanaka

"Does she know?" Wyatt inwardly cringed upon hearing the question, as he turned from the plugged-in hot plate, bearing two plates each of scrambled eggs and home fries, each decorated with ketchup smiley faces—two red dots with an upturned curve underneath.

"I made breakfast," he plunked the platters on the table. "Protein and carbs, just how you like it—"

"Wyatt, sweetie, you still didn't answer my question—"

"Paige—"

"Great-Aunt Paige—or just plain 'Aunt Paige'—we're in private company—"

Wyatt sighed. "Fine. Aunt Paige. And no," he said, reaching for his fork, "she doesn't know." He stabbed at his potatoes, placing a morsel in his mouth. "We like each other—but she's really skittish ok? If I throw this grenade her way, there's no going back—"

Paige chewed thoughtfully. "You really should tell her though—"

"Tell her that dear Grandma Piper's a Charmed One? Why would I want to do that?"

"It's a key part of her life, her mom being a Charmed One herself—"

"But it's her mom that's the Charmed One. Not her. She's probably got all sorts of pressure trying to live up to that type of reputation, and I'm not about to add to that," he replied, as if to say case closed.

"What if she finds out several years from now when she meets the rest of the family? Won't she be kind of…I dunno…pissed that you weren't upfront about it?" asked Paige casually, as she took a sip of coffee from her thermos.

"Whoa—ok, that's jumping to conclusions. Val and I are interested in each other. Like a summer thing. Definitely not marriage. Just a…thing." Wyatt was quick to point out.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Paige said, sporting a cheeky grin under the coffee cup from which she sipped.

9 am, Outside Wyatt's Micro-Chic Tiny House, Camp Wanaka

Where was he? Matilda tapped her foot, fidgeting as she nervously twirled a crimson lock of her long hair around a slender finger as she waited for Wyatt a respectable distance away from his tiny house. This wasn't like him. Do I knock or wait? Knock or wait? Knock or—?

Just then, the door swung open, and a mop of dark auburn tied-back hair was instantly visible. Paige? Matilda thought incredulously. She hadn't known any counselors or director-types to make personal calls to any of the cottages or other temporary seasonal housing on the campgrounds. "Morning, Matilda," the counselor called out casually, an odd expression on her face.

"Uh—morning, Paige—" Matilda called out uncertainly staring after her middle-aged form, though nonetheless attractive in its own way.

"In here, Val," Wyatt called out from within the tiny house. Matilda, hesitating, at last entered the threshold and closed the door behind her. The house's interior was a single honey-colored timber construction, with the bare minimum of essentials—a mini fridge, a hot plate, a sink, and a cozy kitchen table on the first floor, and a thin-but-sturdy wood-carved ladder that led to what Matilda assumed was his bed.

"Nice digs, Wyatt," she muttered, admiring the surroundings.

"Thanks," he replied as he cleared the dishes from the kitchen table. "Don't mind the mess, I was doing a breakfast thing—"

"With Paige?" Matilda tried to sound casual. "Isn't she, like, a little old for you?"

"Wait, what?" A confused expression flickered upon Wyatt's visage for the briefest of seconds before he burst out laughing, much to Matilda's consternation.

"What's so funny?" Matilda asked, definitely not in the mood for jokes. "I was just asking," she retorted, as she felt a sudden burst of heat on her cheekbones.

It took another minute or so for Wyatt to regain his composure. Impatient, Matilda strode from the kitchen to the entryway, her hand now on the doorknob. "Val—Val!" he swallowed hard. "Look, I wasn't laughing at you—" Matilda's fingers grasped and twisted the knob, pushing the door open as she made to depart.

"Val!" he called out quickly. "Paige's family!" Matilda halted in her tracks and slowly turned around.

"What—seriously?" Matilda turned around and stood facing him on the miniscule wooden porch area surrounding his tiny home. "Like, blood relation? She a cousin twice removed or something?"

"Great-Aunt, actually," he confessed.

"Seriously?" he nodded. "Dang, she's really well-preserved…" she trailed off.

"It's magic blood—delays aging by decades, so I've heard," Wyatt answered. "She pays a visit every now and then to see how I am. Especially since I lost my mom awhile ago."

"Oh wow," Matilda felt bad. "I'm really sorry—I had no idea, jeez—" she began.

"It's fine. I keep my private life under wraps. Anyways…walk to lakefront gazebo with me?" Matilda nodded, and off they went.

11 am, Outside Cottage, Camp Wanaka

After their lakefront gazebo planning meeting covering the upcoming Parisian boat movie night, Wyatt walked Matilda back to her cottage, where she saw a pale damask envelope waiting for her. She groaned, plucking it from the plastic mail container.

"Something the matter?" asked Wyatt, observing her visceral reaction, as she tore open the envelope and read the letter, her brow furrowing deeper with each line, her earlier smile replaced with a grimace.

"Maya."

"Sorry—who?" asked Wyatt, puzzled.

"You're the only one I've ever known to ask that," Matilda laughed ruefully. "My dear oldest sister Maya. Little-miss-perfect Ph.D. scientist at Columbia, following in mommy's footsteps. And dating a multi-millionaire tech genius on top of it all. My parents are thrilled, obviously."

"And that's a problem because…?" Wyatt followed her back to the lakefront gazebo, making sure she didn't step on any campers as she continued reading the letter while walking, thoroughly oblivious to anyone in her incoming path.

"She's perfect. Simply, without-a-doubt perfect. And she always tells me what's going on in her perfect life, with her perfect school, her perfect partner, her perfect golden-brown curls with her modeling career, and her perfect dream job. She always asks when I'm visiting."

11:20 am, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka

"What do you tell her?" Wyatt inquired.

"Nothing," answered Matilda, as they approached the lakefront gazebo. "I mean, why should I? I wouldn't want to upset her perfect little world."

"Is she being mean to you?" Wyatt couldn't help but ask, as he watched her pace around the gazebo's insides.

"N-no," she responded. "I sound like a terrible person—but every time she writes, she tells me about her life—it's like nails on a chalkboard—and I'm reminded, once again, that I'm nothing but a failure. That I'll always be less than her, that I'll never compare. That I'll just be flame-throwing Matilda with obscenely scarlet hair and exotic Afro-Caribbean cheekbones. That, no matter how hard I try, will never fit in. Ever."

"But Val," Wyatt drew close and enveloped Matilda in a quiet hug, not caring who saw. "Why are you trying to blend in, when you were born to stand out?"

"Excellent point," she murmured, biting her lip in a way that sent tingles down Wyatt's spine.

11:30 am, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka

"Do you have any other siblings you can turn to?" Wyatt held Matilda's hand as they walked to the furthest edge of the gazebo, watching the seagulls and other birds mill about, diving and hunting for their lunch.

"My brother Henry. He's a philosophy major at Middlebury, enjoying academia just like dear old dad. But he's at a writer's retreat, and Maya and I've been under strict orders not to contact him."

"Sounds intense, the life of a writer," remarked Wyatt.

"Oh, you have no idea," replied Matilda. "He's won awards and should've gotten a huge ego by now, but he's pretty mellow like my dad. He puts up with my middle-of-the-night panicked phone calls pleading for life advice too. No idea what I'd do without him. I mean, I'm such a problem child…" she trailed off, spotting a seagull in the distance, its feathers an unusual flamingo pink, unlike millions of its cohorts. I know exactly how you feel, she thought to herself as she loosened an earring and burned the letter to a crisp, its smoking ashes scattering past the gazebo's ledge onto the azure water below.

"Y'know what, Val?" Wyatt spoke up out of the blue. "I know something that might cheer you up."

11:45 am, Cardrona Valley Road, Cardrona 9381, New Zealand

They landed on yellowed, dried grass in a seemingly desolate field, save for a fence half a mile away, which appeared to have a bundle of tiny threads emanating from it. "Um, Wyatt—where are we?" Matilda asked, brushing the soil and dust off her dark leggings. Thank goodness she wore her grungy ones this morning, she thought to herself.

"Let's walk over there and see," Wyatt pointed in the distance to the fence. "I heard about this place from a guy in a bar before I left California; he said something about it being really famous eccentric art, so I thought it was worth a visit."

Were they leaves? Colored leaves? Paper? Décor? Matilda asked herself as they drew closer, walking on the roughly-hewn gravel path, admiring the open countryside and surrounding agrarian farmland, which, oddly enough, was devoid of cows and horses and any other livestock one might have expected to find in such a locale. They crossed the gravel path onto the jaundiced grass, and continued to their location, wondering what exactly was in store for them.

Noon, Cardrona Bra Fence, 2125 Cardrona Valley Road, Cardrona 9381, New Zealand

Oh wow, breathed Matilda, as she and Wyatt drew closer. Those weren't ribbons, or threads, or pieces of stray paper at all. "They're…"

"—Bras," finished Wyatt, equally stunned.

"I think I know why it's famous," Matilda stated with a smirk, as they observed hundreds upon thousands of bras, of every which size, shape, material, and color, flapping about the wind. There was a certain unspoken hilarity and absurdity of brassieres dangling on a fence that made them rather intrigued, as they strode toward the barbed-wire fence, approximately ten-feet-tall in height.

A large magenta placard along the center of the fence read "Welcome to BraDrona." Lower down, the sign stated "please take a moment to kindly contribute to the New Zealand Breast Cancer Foundation," and a Facebook link was listed at the bottom; the pair immediately opened their phones to the page.

"Pretty clever of them to put in a plug for breast cancer awareness," stated Matilda. Wyatt nodded.

"Puts everything in perspective somehow, doesn't it?" he remarked, watching as Matilda reviewed the Atlas Obscura website, offering more detail as to this puzzling display.

"Yeah," she replied. "Listen to this—apparently it all started with a few random bras back in 1999 between Christmas and New Year, then more got added until there were hundreds, and later thousands."

"That's a lot of bras," said Wyatt, upon hearing Matilda's words.

"Mhmmm…" she muttered to herself, as she scrolled down the website on her screen. "There was one bra theft including over 1500 bras that went missing in 2006, but the number of bras has only grown since then—oh, and there was a failed world record of the largest bra chain—"

"What, like it wasn't big enough already?" asked Wyatt, his mouth twitching at the corners, as he attempted to maintain a straight face, as Matilda whacked him playfully on the arm. "Ow—kidding," he said, massaging where she'd made contact.

"Wonder what happened to the 1500 bras?" Matilda thought aloud. Enough to fit an entire banquet table from the medieval ages, perhaps. Or five standard-dorm-sized bookshelves.

"Maybe there's a flock of extremely well-dressed seagulls?" Wyatt posited aloud.

"Maybe," laughed Matilda, as she removed her jogging jacket, thrusting it at Wyatt's chest. "Hold this for me, will you?"

"Uh, Val—what're you doing?" Wyatt watched as Matilda reached beneath her shirt, squirmed for a few seconds, then pulled an undergarment through one of her shirt sleeves. "Wait a minute—" he spoke as it suddenly dawned on him. "Are you nuts?"

Matilda giggled as she waved her bra, twirling around in the crisp, cool Aotearoan air. "Just a little," she professed. "Hoist me up, will ya?" Wyatt looked around; luckily nobody was in sight to witness a couple of magical youth getting their weird on.

Wyatt lifted her up to one of the barbed wire fence bits, where she delicately looped the bra. "For posterity," she said, her entrancingly curly red hair sparkling in the summery breeze as Wyatt noticed, in that moment, how her shirt front displayed her nubs rather prominently, causing him to sharply exhale. Does she realize how beautiful she is? Wyatt wondered to himself, not for the first time since they'd met, gazing at the lithe form that graced his very presence.

"We should probably head back," he said aloud, after several more minutes passed. Matilda reached for his arm, and the pair orbed back to Camp Wanaka, just in time for cafeteria clean-up duty.

2 pm, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka

After a late lunch of leftover Sloppy Joes with Wyatt at the canteen, they returned to each other's respective housings, showered, changed, and reconvened at the lakefront gazebo once more, to complete their field evaluations.

Camp Wanaka

Rate your experience (on a scale of 0-10, 10 being best) pilot-testing locations and rationale for your decision:

Cardrona Bra Fence, 2125 Cardrona Valley Road, Cardrona 9381, New Zealand

Rating: 9

Rationale: Eclectic social commentary and art piece focusing on brassieres and feminine beauty; one point docked due to lack of age-appropriateness (e.g., for young grade-schoolers, whose parents might hex us into oblivion if they found out we brought them here).

NOTE: Suitable for camp counselors ages 21+. DO NOT BRING UNDERAGE CAMPERS HERE.