Leo continued. “While we’re discussing staff, it’s important that we announce that this will be Bobby’sfinal summer with us.”
Everyone turned to the seventy-year-old sous-chef with sad glances and smiles.
His boss, Azalea, squeezed his shoulder. “Bobby has been with us from the start, and we plan to make this his best summer ever.”
Several woos echoed off the dining hall walls, and Felicia patted Bobby’s shoulder as he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
Hazel quickly put us back on track, probably for Bobby’s sake, but possibly for her own. She didn’t like to show vulnerability, especially in public. She’d been like this since I’d known her, back in high school when we became friends. She’d been a freshman when I was a sophomore, and we’d bonded over punk music and our distaste for discussing our family drama,which I later learned was rather dire for her. I often regretted not pushing her to discuss it more back then.
“Now, I’ll pass the baton to Autumn,” Hazel said to eager applause. We all knew what was coming from our newly appointed assistant director: an update on the shipping board.
“Quiet down, people. Quiet down,” Autumn declared to the crowd of camp counselors, owners, chefs, and bartenders. “I have an important announcement, and I don’t want to repeat myself.” She took a deep breath, clutching her fingers as though she were about to deliver a death sentence to our staff, before starting her slide show. An image of a dry-erase board with staff names and rankings took over the screen. “This year, we aren’t doing the shipping board.”
A giant red X animated over the image.
Okay, apparently, itwasa death sentence.
There were literal gasps and shouts of disagreement all around. People were shocked and dismayed. I may have seen tears.
“What’s the shipping board?” Emerson asked.
That shut everyone up for a minute. We kept this game from our campers because it was our way of blowing off steam, making each of them contestants in a dating-style game and betting on the results.
“The shipping board has been around for four years,” Leo said pointedly of the unofficial competition that Autumn ran in her free time. “It’s a time-honored tradition. People use camper profiles to pair them together?—”
“And then maybe try to push them in the right direction,” Felicia, our resident horndog, added.
Sometimes it worked, and the person betting on the couple won a few bucks. Most of the time, nothing happened at all. Last year, the winner had been Leo by a landslide. It was the sameevery year. Leo also won an honorable mention by guessing that Autumn and her now-boyfriend Jamie would get together.
Camp Starlight was a place to get away from the monotony of real life, a respite from the mundanity of cubicles and familial obligations. The majority of campers were just there for a good time in the open air. But there were always hookups, which went hand in hand with rumors and conjecture. Our camp made it easy to spread the gossip since it was so small, and the staff was a huge part of that. That didn’t mean our lives were spared from the grapevine, as Autumn had learned firsthand last session.
“Holy shit, y’all are diabolical.” Emerson’s gleeful smile put us at ease. “I want to play.”
“When everyone decides to let me speak,” my friend said with the tact of a middle school librarian, “I’ll explain.”
There were more groans and a cluster of angry words shouted. Someone even threw a rolled-up piece of paper at her, which she ducked from with catlike grace before it hit the projector screen. If she didn’t get it together quickly, this was going to turn into an angry mob.
“We’re going to be doing something else,” she said, raising her voice over the din and hitting next on her slides. A list appeared, and she pointed the laser at the screen. “Because the shipping board caused more harm than good.”
“Tell that to the people who got together!” shouted Sawyer, our resident yoga expert and the loudest person in this place.
“We have no idea if the people whogot togetherended up in lasting relationships,” Autumn said. “But my guess is they were mostly hookups. And we are not running a bordello?—”
A bordello? Really?
“The corkboard of wedding invites in our office would say otherwise,” Hazel said carefully, adjusting her aviators on the top of her head. She had her hand on a bouncing Leo’s shoulder, who looked like he wanted to fire Autumn on the spot. Ourboss’s indignation could have been cause for concern to a normal staffer, but we all knew that Autumn was unshakable, so it didn’t matter. “And considering your relationship was one of Leo’s success stories, you don’t have room to talk.”
Autumn ignored her. “And frankly, it was costing everyone too much money.”
She had that right. I couldn’t calculate how many twenties I’d lost during that competition, and I wasn’t about to count.
“I’m still owed my fee from some people.” She fake-coughed. “Lamar.” She glared at the man who had tried to pair her now-boyfriend off with a woman we called Cherry Lips Cheryl. To be fair, he’d had no idea that Autumn and Jamie had a history or would end up together. “And I was sick of doling out fake sympathy after hearing you all were going broke.”
“And we won’t lose money on this stupid replacement?” Leo said, unconcerned with his confrontational attitude.
Autumn put her hands on her hips, a look of scorn on her face. Man, she was especially heartless today. I liked it. Leo was unwavering, not even breaking eye contact as he pushed his black-rimmed glasses up his nose.
“Does anyone want to hear about my alternative?” Autumn said to a crowd that was ignoring her. She raised her voice. “Yes? That’s what I thought. So shut up,” she chastised. “I wouldn’t take this away without having a better alternative.” She directed that at Leo, whose crossed arms said he wasn’t interested. He looked like a four-year-old being told he had to eat his green beans if he ever wanted to see dessert. “This year, we’re going to start a tournament-style competition I’m calling Camp Wars.”
