Camp Gorebury

Chapter Eight

Xavier

I don't feel tired at all when I reach Fairbanks International Airport the next afternoon. I know that I should be I didn't get any sleep at the airport hotel in Washington, and the three hour time difference between Alaska and Indiana is enough to throw even the most experienced traveler off. My body hums with nerves as I go to grab my bags off the conveyor belt.

 I've never felt more awake in my life.  I pace up and down the pick-up area until I spot a placard with my name on it. The taxi driver, a stocky, dark-haired man, holds the sign up impatiently like he's thinking of a million better things he could be doing.  I walk over and introduce myself.

"Hey there, I'm Xavier Black."

 I stick my hand out for him to shake, but he just stares at it. I let out a little, nervous laugh and point at his sign instead.

"You spelled my last name wrong. There's no E."  

The driver gives me a look that says he gives zero f***s about how my name is spelled.

"You're the kid heading to Gorebury, right?"

His voice is low and rumbling, like a combustion engine.

I nod.

"Well, you're late. And Gorebury doesn't appreciate tardiness."  

I try to force a grin, but my face isn't feeling very cooperative, so it comes out as more of a nervous twitch.

"Pedal to the metal, am I right?"

The driver just stares at me.  

"Uh, you never told me your name. Sir."

"I'm Alexander," he says.

"Now, do you want to be on time to your camp, or do you want to keep chatting me up here?"  

"On time. Please. Sir."  

Alexander ushers me to his car, and we hit the road. I quickly learn that he's not the talkative type, which might end up being a problem for both of us because when I get anxious I tend to ramble.  

"You're driving to Camp Gorebury, right?" I ask, probably for the tenth time yet. I rattle off the address in case he's forgotten.

"Just checking in. Cause it's in the middle of nowhere, and all that."  

Alexander side-eyes me in the rear-view mirror.

"Told you already, that's where I'm headed."  

"Sorry. It's just— we'll, we've just been driving for a long time, and you said it yourself, I really can't be late."

"Kid, we've been driving for fifteen minutes. Settle down."  

I rub my hands together anxiously. Outside my window, the greens and blues and grays of the Alaskan landscape speed away into a poly-chromatic blur.

 "You know how to get there, right? You've been there before?"

"Too many times for my liking," Alexander grumbles. 

My heart gives a nervous flutter.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can tell you from experience that nothing good comes out of that place. It's bad luck, Gorebury."

"Why? What happened to you there?"  

"Well, last time I drove to Gorebury my car got egged by some no-good campers. You know what eggs do to a paint job? Nothing good, I can tell you that. The kids there are all troublemakers. The counselors aren't any better, from what I hear."  

"I'm no troublemaker," I say quickly.

"Really, I'm not. I just slipped up. You see, a couple of days ago I—"  

My words are abruptly cut off by an ear-splitting screech. The noise catches me off-guard, and I jump so far out of my seat that I whack my head against the roof of the car. 

Alexander chuckles to himself.

"Sorry 'bout the honking, kid. Had to teach that semi a lesson— only damn fools do twenty under the speed limit around here. Now, what were you saying?"  

"Uh, I was just telling you that I'm not a troublemaker like the rest of the kids at Gorebury," I say.

My voice sounds a little shaky at first, but the more I talk, the more I hear my confidence grow.

"I have a pretty good reason for getting sent there. My school was planning to do a renovation and—"

Alexander honks the horn again.

Loudly. 

I glance out the window. No semis in sight.

"Did you just honk at me to get me to shut up?"  

Alexander shrugs.

"I'm sorry, kid, but I've heard a lifetime's worth of sop-stories. Every kid I drive to Gorebury says the same s**t. 'It's not my fault'. 'I'm innocent, I swear'. You all need to think up some more creative excuses. I'm getting really tired of the old ones."

"But I'm not like all the other kids, I swear! I just wanted to—"  

Another loud, drawn-out honk.  

"I just wanted to save the frogs—"  

More honking.  

"Jesus, would you please let me listen?"  

Alexander answers this question with you guessed it: another honk.  

"Message received," I grumble. 

The next hour or so passes by in silence. Alexander keeps the radio tuned to the blues station, but half the time we get nothing but static. I stare out the window to keep my mind off my troubles, while Alexander entertains himself by rolling down the windows and berating the cars we pass for driving too slowly.  

"So, when are we going to get there?" I finally ask.

I keep my tone light and casual in the hopes that Alexander won't start honking his horn at me again.

"Soon, right?"  

"Two hours, maybe more."  

"What?"  

"You're in Alaska now, kid. Biggest state in the whole country. Time has its way of passing out here; and if I were you, I wouldn't try rushing it. Now, settle down. This is going to be a long ride, and it's only going to feel longer if you decide to have a nervous breakdown in the backseat of my car. Trust me, nobody likes going to Gorebury. If you want this summer to be bearable, you're going to need to learn some patience."

"Patience? I'm going to be stuck at this camp for three months!"  

"Fine, then. Cry yourself to sleep every night because you want to go home so bad. I don't care what you do. All I'm saying is that freaking out now is only going to make the rest of your time here miserable."

"I'm already miserable," I mutter. 

Alexander honks his horn so loudly that I hit my head on the roof again.

"That was a warning, kid. Next time you start whining I won't be so polite."

He catches my eye in the mirror.

"If I wanted to waste my time listening to teenage angst, I would turn on the Ramones."  

Our conversation dies pretty quickly after this. The car plunges into silence once again, as Alexander returns to shaking his fist at other cars, and I go back to staring at the window, my despair slowly pooling in my chest as I try to lose myself in the Alaskan landscape. 

The scenery out here is beautiful, all rolling mountains with snowy peaks, towering fir trees, and endless stretches of cerulean sky. On any other day, I'd be in awe over the wondrous nature displays, but now I can't seem to find the heart for it. The stifling atmosphere of the car reminds me too much of that night I spent in dad's cruiser. I can't calm down, so I just sit on the edge of my seat and drum my fingers against the pleather fabric, puzzling over what's worse: bad memories or a terrifying future. 

About an hour— or an eternity— later, Alexander points out a sign advertising a warm welcome to the Yukon. "'Larger than life!'— that's for damn sure."

I'm starting to feel nauseous now, so I roll down the window and stick my head out to get some fresh air. Before I did my research back home (thank you, library copy of Wild Alaska: The American Wilderness), I thought Alaska was all snow-caps and glaciers— and oh, boy, was I wrong. Out here, the weather is breathtakingly pleasant. The temperature is in the mid-sixties with almost no humidity; and when the wind catches my face, it sends goosebumps prickling up and down my arm and carries with it the smells of summer. 

Later in the drive, I catch a glimpse of my first moose. The sight of it is mind-boggling. I never realized how big the beasts could get!

Noting my awe, Alexander chuckles good-naturedly to himself in the front seat. When I look up, I see that the smile on his face is genuine.  

"This place really is larger than life," I say.  

"Just you wait, kid. You've haven't seen anything yet."  

An hour passes. At some point, it occurs to me that the taxi has stopped— but we're not at camp yet. As far as I can tell we're just idling on the side of some random road in the middle of the forest. I peak my head out of the car— nothing but sweet-smelling pine trees as far as the eye can see.  

"What's wrong with the car?" I ask. 

Alexander gives me an are-you-stupid? look.

 "Nothing's wrong, kid. This is where I let you out."  

"But we're not at Gorebury."  

"Yes, we are. Well, as close as I'm going to get to it."

Alexander sticks his hand out the window and points out a dirt path winding through the trees. Even in broad daylight, it looks sketchy.

"Camp is two miles that way. Keep north and you'll be there in thirty minutes. Don't worry about it too much, it's a scenic walk; I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself."  

"Why can't you just drive me the rest of the way to camp? If it's only two miles, it can't take you too long."  

"Hell no. I'm not going near that place again. Told you already, didn't I? Last time I drove to camp my car got egged— you can still see the scratches. There's no way I'm doing that kind of damage to my car again. So, get out, grab your stuff, and start walking."

"I don't—"  

Alexander just raises an eyebrow and jerks his head towards the door.

"Meter's running, kid."

It takes me a moment to recognize that Alexander's expression is deadly serious, and this isn't some stupid prank he's pulling on me.

"You've got to be yanking my chain," I say, weakly.

"We're in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness...."  

"And I'm sure that a non-troublemaker like yourself will be just fine. Now, get out. If you make me repeat myself one more time you're paying double."  

Wordlessly, I get out of the taxi and go to grab my bags. I dig through my s**t until I find the envelope of cash mom took out of my bank account. The contents are just enough to cover the fare— but not enough for Alexander, because the second I hand over the money he scowls at me and demands,

 "Drove you all this way, didn't I? Where's my tip?"

"Where's my ride to camp?"  

I fling my duffel bag over my shoulder and stalk off down the dirt path. Behind me, Alexander hollers,

"Save your attitude for Gorebury, kid. Trust me, you got none to waste."  

Just when I thought my life couldn't get any worse, it did. Figures.  As I stomp through the woods, anger coursing through me like electricity in a circuit, I think about all the shitty things that have happened in the past week. The almost-arrest. Lisa's betrayal. The constant threat of expulsion hanging over my head for three days straight. Henley's declaration of love for her new English fiancé... and now this: getting stranded in the middle of f*****g wilderness by some stubborn cab driver with an irrational fear of eggs.  

"I hate my life," I mutter. 

Around me, the forest is a color palette come alive. I might have felt guilty for sulking through such a beautiful mosaic of age-old evergreens, tumbling brooks, and creamy rays of the sun— if I wasn't too busy feeling sorry for myself. Alexander was right about one thing; this trail is as scenic as it gets. But that doesn't make me any happier about my current situation. 

The trail climbs higher and higher. Eventually, the hill gets to be so unforgivably steep that I have to pull over and pause to catch my breath. I lean against a sturdy pine tree, surveying my surroundings and breathing hard. I can see most of the forest from here. It's old, older than anything I've ever witnessed before. It almost feels like I'm trespassing on sacred ground. 

A few minutes later, I feel my lungs swell with fresh air, and I know that I'm ready to complete my climb. No time for second-guessing now. I scrape the dirt off my Converse, readjust the straps of my duffel bag, and push my fear deep down inside my chest.

Can't be afraid now. Can't slow down. If I get any more nervous about what's to come, I'm going to throw up my airport breakfast.  I glance at the swaying trees around me, trying to think of some sort of inspirational speech to give myself. It's no use— my well of motivation has run dry. After everything that has happened to me in the past week, I just don't have it in myself to be optimistic anymore.  

"Well, here goes nothing." I dig my shoes into the dirt and force myself to crest the hill. 

Gorebury awaits me at the top.