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Using my phone in place of a mirror, I smooth some concealer over the dark stains under my eyes. I’m not trying to impress anyone; I just don’t want to look like a total hot mess. Swiping on a little mascara, I decide that’s as good as it’s gonna get.
I’m tempted to lay down, but I know if I fall back asleep, I’ll just hate myself for it when I’m forced awake by Mr. Olson’s freaking whistle.
Back outside, I make my way towards the fire pit. There’s no bonfire going, but…
Oh sweet baby Jesus, do I smell coffee?
Following my nose, I find one of the dads with a pot of hot water, metal cups, and instant coffee.
With blessedly few words, he pours me a cup of life-juice and I take it over to an empty picnic table.
Sipping the coffee, I feel the stress of my morning slip away.
This is pretty okay.
The sun is out and already making me warm enough I can leave my jacket open. There are birds chirping in the trees around us and the kids all look wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to see what today will bring.
I smile into my cup. This might not be so bad actually.
A body sits down next to me. “Hey, roomie.”
I grin over at Rebecca, “Well, good morning. Did you have a nice night?”
She smirks, “Oh, I had a very nice night. He might not look like much, but Coach has hidden talents.”
I choke. First, I’ve never heard anyone refer to Gym Teacher Bob as Coach before. Second, that’s about the last person I would have assumed she’d be with.
“But enough about me,” Rebecca tips her head, indicating for me to look across the way. “Have you seen the survivalist guy yet?”
I shake my head, fine with the change of topic, “Why, is he hot?”
She lets out a groan, “So fucking hot. That man could survival me any day of the week.”
“What does that even mean?” I laugh, surreptitiously look around for this mystery man. “Do you know where they found him?”
She shrugs, “I heard someone say he’s from Darling Lake. But who knows if that’s true.”
Between two clusters of people, I catch a glimpse of a tall figure wearing a backpack, but I can’t tell if it’s the newcomer Rebecca’s talking about or just one of the dads.
The sound of a whistle announces the start of the day, and we get up to gather round the empty firepit where Mr. Olson is standing.
He waits for us all to settle, hushing a few of the kids, before he starts, “Good morning!”
There’s a mumbled chorus of “good morning” in response.
“So glad we all survived our first night in the woods,” he chuckles, and I’ve never wanted to throat punch someone more in my life. “If you didn’t have breakfast already, we have granola bars over there,” he points to a table, “you can eat while our special guest tells us what he has in store for us today.” Mr. Olson clasps his hands. “So, without further ado, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Stoleman.”
Stoleman?
The collective gaze of the crowd turns my way, and a prickle of unease crawls up my neck.
Slowly, I turn around, gaze locking on a man’s profile as he walks past me, towards the front of the group.
No.
The sun sneaks through the trees, highlighting the chocolaty brown locks mussed around the man’s head.
It can’t be.
His facial hair is the same rich color as his hair, and it’s almost thick enough to be considered a beard. Like maybe he shaved it yesterday. Or the day before.
Reaching Mr. Olson’s side, the man stops and turns to face everyone.
“Please,” his voice is clear, and deep, and I feel it resonate in my bones, “call me Beckett.”
