Camp Redwood

"Step on a crack, break your mother's back," I whispered to myself as I skipped over the black lines running along the white-tiled floor. I was in the main cabin, getting mentally ready to start the "Safe Space" session. I was the first one there, as always. I hated being late.

I skipped over another line and nearly fell on my face when someone's voice interrupted my thoughts. 

"What are you doing, Sunny?" 

I looked up. "Keegan," I giggled, sort of wondering  why he was here so early. I figured he's the kind of guy who liked to sleep in. "You scared me." 

"I have to ask you a favor." 

I furrowed my eyebrows, curious. This was the first time he's ever asked for my help. I was a bit suspicious. Looking around I responded, "If you want me to hide anything, I'd rather not-" 

"No," he laughed, cutting me off. I was relieved. "Not that." 

"Oh." I said, thinking that Keegan never ceased to surprise me. I skipped over a couple more cracks before going back to the beginning. "Then what?" 

"You're..." He couldn't quite get the words out and I could tell he felt awkward standing there. He uncrossed and crossed his arms and even messed with the beanie sitting over his shaggy brown hair. "You're friends with Lupe, right?" 

Immediately I jumped to conclusions. Lupe and Keegan sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g. I smiled inwardly, creepily picturing the sight. I was honestly awestruck, never thinking their spiteful personalities complemented each other in that way. 

"I am," I answered, biting my lip and staring down at the ground. I was trying my hardest to hold in an explosive laugh. "Why?" 
 
He said it really fast. "I think I need someone to talk to her for me." 

"I- I don't know, Keegan," I answered, truthfully. I wasn't one for drama, and I think she had a thing for Forrest anyway. I mean, who didn't? He was gorgeous. "I don't really want to get involved." 

He reached in his back pocket. And I perked up, hearing the sound of a crumpled candy wrapper. "You see," he smiled, pulling something out. "I thought you'd say something like that." 

I gasped as he threw a Snickers bar my way. I caught it with one hand, slipping it in the pocket of my shorts. "Okay," I said as he winked. "What should I say?" 



"So tell me about your addictions." Dr. Poxleitner smiled sincerely, looking at us. We were all sitting in a circle like the first day, able to see each other clearly. The only person missing, I noticed, was Sebastian. "You can start, Keegan."

He sunk lower in his chair, unwillingly answering her question. "I like pot." 

She sighed, obvious disappointment in her tone. "That's it?" 

"Yes." 

"Tell us why." 

His rolled his eyes.

"I mean, what's not to like about it? It doesn't cause cancer, it gives you a high-" He stopped himself. "I don't know what you want me to say." 

She faked a smile, saying, "That was enough." She looked directly at me. "Aubrey." 

I thought about my answer for a bit before responding with the only truthful answer I could think of. "I like sugar because can't live without it." 

She studied me like a book. "Why can't you live without it?" 

"Sugar," I said, "is the one good thing in my life right now."

Dr. Poxleitner frowned. "But it's not the only thing." 

It was silent for a moment while she rubbed her temples. She flipped through the papers on her clipboard and jotted something down. For a moment, it felt like we were the only two in the room. "It says here, Aubrey, that your parents died when you were very young," Dr. Poxleitner divulged, somehow not knowing that was a secret. The fact that I had no parents didn't matter at all, and I never planned on telling anyone.

"Dr. P," Keegan insisted, knowing she was making me upset. The rest of the group stayed quiet. "Please stop." 

"No, Keegan. I know you think were great friends, but we're not. I'm the adult here. I know what I'm doing." 

"Can you not talk to him like that, please?" I choked, on the verge of tears. I was about to break out in sobs like I always did when under pressure. My throat became unusually heavy, and I couldn't get the rest of my words out, because she interrupted me.

Don't cry.

"About when did you start to see you were addicted?" she inquired, as I ignored her. I sent a pleading glance toward the rest of the group, and suddenly wondered why she wasn't questioning everyone else. "Please, Aubrey. Just tell me. I'm here to help. It's because of your family, isn't it? Foster homes can make you crazy and I don't think-" 

I shot up from the plastic chair in complete rage, nearly knocking it full forced into the ground. Everyone in the room jumped in surprise. "I don't care what you think!" I cried, looking Dr. Poxleitner straight in her eyes. "Stop acting like you know me, because you don't!" 

I started breathing fast and shallow, staring at the ground in front of me. My head started to throb, and a screeching sound filled my eardrums. Even though I tried to stop myself, I cried, my hands flying up to my ears to unsuccessfully muffle the agonizing sound. 

I ran out of the cabin, leaving everyone sitting there stunned, and the door slammed shut behind me. I was running for what seemed like forever until I fell on my knees, the gravel scraping them until they bled.

There were many other campers walking by, but none of them paid any mind until Sebastian, who happened to be strolling along too, stopped in his tracks. He took one look at my tear-streaked face and silently pulled me up with his rough hand. I was lifted to my feet and frowned when his hand returned to his side. 

He led me to the nurse's station, after scolding me about how horrible it was leaving open cuts without protection and a whole lot of other things I really didn't care about. He didn't ask why I was crying and I honestly appreciated it.

He sat me on the hospital bed, my legs dangling off the side. I frowned, realizing just how short I was. "My legs don't even touch the ground," I said, sniffling. He smiled, disappearing into the tiny closet into the corner. When he came back, he held peroxide, band-aids, and a white towel. He dumped everything on an over-bed table and pushed it towards me. 

"How old are you?" I asked as he sat in a chair across from me. 

"Twenty one," he offered, looking at me through his thick, blonde lashes. 

He lifted my knees, which looked so pale and fragile in comparison with his sun-tanned hands. He scraped the tiny rocks and sand off with his thumb, holding me as if he thought I could break. It was nice, being cared for in this way by someone, and he unconsciously reminded me of my dad. 

God, I missed him. 

I was always told that horrible things happen to good people. I was in the car with them, aged only seven, and I should have died too. 

"Do you think there's a heaven?" I asked suddenly.

He stopped for a quick second. "You really want to know what I think?" 

"Yes." 

"I believe that good people go to good places." He smiled a little. "Afterlife is defined by the choices you make."

I hope that wherever my parents where was exactly what he said, 'A good place'. Again he didn't ask why, and I took comfort in knowing he wouldn't tell anyone about the things we talked about. 

"And Sebastian?" 

"Yes?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" 

I thought he ignored me at first, because he turned around, dipping the towel in peroxide before placing it on my knee. I winced in pain.

"Not really," he murmured in that deep voice of his, throwing the towel once he was done. I almost fainted. "You're smarter than other girls I know." 

"You know other girls?" I croaked. 

He laughed and stuck a band-aid on both of my knees and I jumped off the table, feeling better than I had before. I said a quick thanks. 

"You know," he said, opening the door for me. "It's okay to be mean." 

"What?"  

He sighed, repeating himself. "It's okay to be mean." His hands were buried in his pockets as we walked the trail to my cabin. "Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the Golden Rule, but sometimes it's just better to put up a wall." 

I just looked at him. 

"To protect yourself from things," he explained, "Like getting hurt." 

I pouted smugly. "I can protect myself." 

His brows climbed. "Oh, you can? That's the last time I'm helping you, then," he joked, poking me in my side. 

"Why're you so nice to me?" 

He grinned. "Because you're pretty." 

"Well that's a good reason, I guess," I responded. "But I'm also too young." 

He shrugged. "Age is but a number, Aubrey."