Brandt whispers, “Say something, man.”
Mandy clears his throat. “Uh. I didn’t think I’d like this camp. I didn’t think I’d like you.” Some of the kids giggle. He continues. “But you’re weird. And fearless. And kind. And I guess… I kinda like you now.” He pauses. “And if I ever see one more hotdog launched out of a weaponized PVC pipe again, Iwillreport it to the FBI.” Cheers erupt. “And Margaret Anne and Riggs.
The room goes deadly quiet at that threat.
Mandy adjusts his foam crown and steps back, lips twitching toward a rare smile.
As the final round of applause fades after all the participation awards have been handed out, McCormick clears his throat. “There’s one more thing,” he says. “We all know Nash doesn’t like group activities, loud noises, or… feelings.” Nash, already suspicious, narrows his eyes. “But he’s here. And he made it through. And the kids wanted to thank him anyway.”
A girl walks forward with a drawing. It’s a stick-figure version of Nash withhuge musclesandangry eyebrowsholding a sign that says,
“SAFE AND SCARY IN A GOOD WAY.”
Nash stares at it. Everyone stares athim. His jaw twitches.
“I’m not crying,” he says immediately, voice tight. “I’m hot. I’m sweaty. I have allergies. Shut up.”
“Okay, bud,” West says gently, patting his back.
“You shut up too.”
He folds the drawing with care and puts it in his pocket like it’s classified intel.
Finally, it’s Brandt’s turn. He steps up to the mic and clears his throat. “This week has been wild. You guys made me laugh. You made me worry. You made me eat four pudding cups in a row just to cope.” The kids and their parents laugh. “You’ve also reminded me what it means to show up, even when it’s hard. Even when you think you’ve got nothing left. And I?—”
POOF.
A cloud ofglitterdetonates above his head, courtesy of the Weenie Crew in the back. Brandt blinks, now absolutelycoatedin sparkles.
He coughs once. “Right. And now I have glitter in my teeth.”
One of the kids screams, “YOU’RE A FAIRY PRINCESS NOW!”
“Damn right I am,” Brandt replies, striking a pose.
“And you’re not getting in my Jeep like that,” West vows.
As the sun starts to set, the kids gather for one last chant.
“CAMP BALLLLLLLLLS!”
The guys groan. But it’s fond now.
West picks up a half-eaten s’more. “Same time next year?”
Mandy glances down at his foam crown. “God help us… yeah.”
And in the distance, a kid cannonballs into the lake in slow motion, screaming:
“THANK YOU, BALLLLLLLLLS!”
Fade to black.
Glitter hangs in the air.
And a single hotdog arcs over the horizon.
God Bless Camp BALLS and Camp counselors.
