Camp Gorebury

Chapter Four

Xavier

I did not get much sleep. I toss and turn throughout the night, dreaming of frogs, purple curtains, and a dinged-up police car; waking up every other hour or so to a racing heartbeat and sweat-soaked skin; half-expecting to see my dad looming over me, a pair of cuffs clutched in his calloused hands.

I am almost relieved when the first rays of sunlight start to peek through my blinds— that is until I realize that the morning brings something even scarier than a few nightmares: my meeting with the principal and my inevitable expulsion. It is enough to make me wish that I could close my eyes and go back to sleep for a thousand years. 

I lay in bed until my alarm clock goes off and mom comes into my room to make sure I am awake.

"Get ready," she says, her voice monotone.

"The meeting is at eight. Do not make us late."

When she leaves, she closes the door a little too loudly behind her. 

I roll out of bed. Resistance is futile, I think to myself, as I robotically follow mom's orders, pulling on my day clothes, eating breakfast, brushing my teeth, and waking up my two ten-year-old sisters, Maddie, and Martha, like the perfect automaton son.

The Twins— That is what I call my sisters— are identical, which means they're both equally evil. They enjoy making my life as miserable as possible, and every morning with them is like a fight to the death. 

I know today is going to be even more a struggle than usual when I flick the blinds open, and the two blanketed lumps do not even stir.

"C'mon guys, It is time for school," I sigh.

On a good day, I might try to wake the Twins up slowly by turning on the radio and singing along to whatever song is popular at the time, but today is not a good day, and I simply do not have the energy to deal with their bullshit.  One of the lumps starts to snore.

The subtext is clear: we're not waking up anytime soon, loser. 

That is when the remaining shred of my patience snaps in half. I toggle the light switch, making the room strobe like a disco party.

"Hey, slowpokes!" I shout.

I clap my hands together loudly.

"Get your asses out of bed, now!"  

Maddie, the younger twin, sticks her frizzy head out of from under a mound of pillows.

"You are early," she grumbles at me.  

"Thirty minutes early," her sister adds, pulling the blankets up over her head.  

"I do not care what time it is," I say.

I yank the sheet off of both of their heads and throw them in a pile on the floor.

"It is breakfast now, so either wake-up or starve."

 Martha hurls a pillow at me.

"Go away!"

"Stop that," I snap, deflecting the pillow with a lopsided kick.

"You are acting like a three-year-old!"  

"You are acting like a three-year-old," Maddie mimics in a sing-song version of my voice.  

"Do not copy me."  

"Do not copy me."  

"Maddie is a big loser."  

"Maddie is a—"

She shuts up abruptly and frowns at me.

"Hey, That is not very nice."

I pick the pillow up off the floor and hurl it at Maddie's head, but she catches it easily with her little gremlin hands.

"Too bad. I am not feeling very nice at the moment. Now, get up and go eat breakfast before I have to get mom involved."

The Twins' eyes widen. I hate being the older sibling who turns to their parents for authority, but sometimes It is the only thing that works. With the threat of a mom intervention hanging over their heads, the Twins have no choice but to wake up and crawl out of bed, although they make it clear to me that they'd rather be doing anything else.

"Why so grumpy today?" Maddie asks me.

When I do not respond, she pinches me on the arm and dashes into the hallway before I can retaliate.  

"I know why Xavier is grumpy!" declares Martha.

 "It is because he didn't get home until two in the morning last night. Isn't that right, Xavier? I heard the front door open and mom yelling your name."  

"You must have been dreaming," I reply coldly.

"No, she wasn't. I heard that, too!" Maddie hollers from the bottom of the stairs.

"I am only going to tell you two this once. Nothing happened last night. At least nothing that involves you."

Martha rolls her eyes at me.

(They're dad's eyes. The Twins both look just like him.)

"Do not worry, Xavier. We'll find out what you did sooner or later."  

"Out," I command, pointing my finger at the door.

"Now!"  

Martha saunters off down the hallway, wiggling her fingers at me as she leaves. When she goes down the stairs, she takes it two steps at a time like some sort of suicidal hurdler. I'd be worried if I didn't hear her start cackling and whispering to her sister the moment she reached the bottom.  The Twins really are demons.

"Good luck with figuring that out," I mutter when I am confident they're both out of earshot.

"I'll probably be gone by the time you do."

I put the Twins out of my mind and return to my room to gather up my things. Putting together my backpack feels foolish and a little naïve knowing that I probably won't be returning to Franklin High School, but mom has it set in her mind that I won't be expelled, so I do not have a choice. As I pack up my binders and folders, I find myself wishing I could share my mom's optimism. Maybe then I wouldn't be so worried about this meeting. 

At seven forty precisely, we all pile into our beat-up minivan. Usually, I would take the bus, but as the newest and most dangerous criminal in Deauville, Indiana, I can't be left alone for that long.  I call shotgun as soon as we get out the door. Even though the Twins whine and gripe about being stuck in the back like It is the end of the world for them, neither dare challenge my claim on the seat. My family follows the rules of shotgun religiously— It is a tradition that Henley started.

She might not realize it, but she left a lot behind when she went off to college.  A shudder runs through my body as I recall dad's words from three nights ago. I haven't called your sister. My parents haven't spoken to Henley in almost a year. She doesn't know that I am about to be expelled yet.  I used to talk to Henley about everything. She knew about all my failed tests, latest crushes, misadventures with Lisa, and more. Nothing was off-limits between us. The first time I got drunk, I told her. The first time I had my heart broken (if you are out there, Ellen from seventh grade, this is for you), she was my shoulder to cry on.

Now I am about to flunk out of high school, and Henley is on the other side of the world, completely without a clue.  Feelings of guilt and anger pulse through my veins. I hate keeping secrets from Henley, and I also hate that she put me in this position in the first place. Older siblings aren't supposed to just f*ck off to England and cut you out of their lives. That goes against everything in their job description. 

I used to think that I could count on Henley forever. Now, I see that I was wrong. 

Finally, we arrive at the high-school. The trip felt longer than usual, but That is because I am used to taking the bus and chatting with Lisa along the way. Lisa. My gut clenches at the thought of her name. I wonder if she'll be at the meeting, too. For her sake, I hope not. 

Mom drops the Twins off at the playground across the street and tells them not to wander. The mischievous glint in their eyes tells me that they definitely will. I do not have much time to linger on how unfair it is that my younger sisters get more freedom than me because soon the car is parked and mom is ushering me towards the building, claiming that we're going to be late (we're ten minutes early), and then I have got bigger problems to worry about.  The inside of the high school smells distinctly teenager, reeking of bagged lunches, cheap cologne, weed, and crushed dreams.

Fortunately, the hallways are mostly empty; the first bell rings at eight-thirty, which is too early for any of the students, except for the geeks chasing down teachers for extra homework help, to be here.  Mom tears the hallway, the heels of her clogs tapping frantically against the stained linoleum tiles. I chase after her. It is weird to see her here, at school, especially when It is so empty like this. Something about the situation feels wrong in a way that I can't put into words. 

At one point in our journey to the principal's office, we pass by my English classroom, and I briefly make eye-contact with my teacher through the small window in the door. I haven't shown up to the school the past few days— blame it on the suspension— so he looks understandably confused to see my mother and I marching down the halls bright and early in the morning. I look away as fast as I can and hold up a hand to cover my face. I feel like I am being escorted to death row for some shameful crime— which, in a way, I am.  

"We're here," mom hisses.

When I look up, I see that she is right— somehow, even though I have no recollection of our arrival, we're standing outside the door to the main office. Mom flattens down the front of her blouse and tugs at one of her permed curls.

"Make yourself presentable," she says as if I can do much with my unwashed jeans and shirt. 

I can't believe we're here. The office. The place that has haunted my nightmares for the past two days. I have been here before, of course— I am no stellar student— but in all my times of visiting the principal It is never felt like this— like I am walking into something that I won't walk out of as the same person.  I turn towards mom for moral support, but she looks just as freaked out as me. Makes sense. Her hopes are riding on this meeting, too.

"Everything is going to be fine," she says, more to herself than me. 

She breathes in deeply. My mom has always been braver than me, so I am not surprised that it only takes her a moment to cement her resolve. I watch as she swallows hard, clearing her throat in preparation to speak, then pushes the door open with her fingertips and steps into the office.  Faces spin towards us like wind-up toys.

Mom strides into the room, one hand clasped on her purse, the other digging into my shoulder.

"I am sorry we're late. I hope we haven't kept you waiting."  

All around me, the faces start to sharpen and take shape. At the head of the rectangular meeting-table is the principal, a bespectacled, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and a permanent frown. Next to him is the secretary, armed with a fancy legal pad and glue-on acrylics that look more like claws than nails. To her left is dad, dressed to the nines in his official police uniform and even (gasp!) a baby-blue tie.  I glance around the room. No Lisa. Thank god.

"No worries, Mrs. Black," the principal says, pushing up his glasses with a stubby finger.

"Your husband only arrived a few minutes ago."  Mom forces a smile.

"I would prefer it if you called me by my maiden name, Ms. Wellington. Now, let's get down to business. What are the charges against my son?"

"Oh. Well then."

The principal glances over at dad, and then back at mom, clearly trying to assess the situation between the two. Mom continues to smile patiently. Dad tugs at his collar and fidgets with his tie.

"Well, I think that is for the attending officer to say, don’t you?"

The principal clears his throat awkwardly before continuing,

"Uh, Mr. Black, what would you like to add?"  

"I can give a summary," dad offers.

"Yes, that will work. Please go ahead."  

Dad plunges into a recap of that night without further ado. The secretary's pen scratches furiously across the legal pad as he breezes through his summary, the telling of it almost too efficient. He doesn't mention the frogs at all— not that he needs to; I doubt that the principal has forgotten my four-point presentation on the consequences of habitat loss, or the pleading letters that I would send to his office every Monday— and finishes by leaping to his feet and practically tossing the files for the renovation plan into the principal's lap.

He asks breathlessly, "Will that be all?"  

The principal gives a tense laugh.

"Hold your horses, Mr. Black. We're not even close to finishing here. We haven't even discussed what is to happen with your son, Xavier."  

Dad's face falls. This is the closest he has been to mom in months, so I am sure he is counting down the minutes until this meeting is over, same as me.

"How much longer do you think this will take?" he demands.

"I have got some important work to do back at the precinct—"  

"Oh, sit down, Elijah," my mom chides. "And stop acting like you have the most distinguished job in the world. I know that you are just working cold cases."

The secretary lets out a small noise that could almost be interpreted as a gasp. I just let my face fall into my hands in despair. Fights between my parents never end quickly— and they also never end without bloodshed. 

Heat flushes into dad's cheeks.

"Let's not do this here, Stephanie."

"First of all, do not call me that. I am Ms. Wellington to you and everybody else in this room. Second of all, do not patronize me. I may not be a police officer, but I am Xavier's mother, which gives me just as much authority as you."  

"St— Ms. Wellington, please just stay out of this."  

"What, like you did? Here's a quick reminder: if you hadn't stepped in and arrested our son, none of us would be here in the first place!"

"Would you rather our son be a law-breaker?"  

"Xavier is not a law-breaker. Xavier is a good kid. He just made a mistake, That is all. One mistake. Is that worthy of expulsion, Elijah? Of ruining his entire future, his entire life?"  

I lift my head out my hands and blink at her, astonished by the sudden shift of tone. Before the meeting, mom was threatening to ground me until the day I die; pretty much treating me like a common criminal. Now she is defending me— calling me good. As much as I hate it when my parents pick sides for and against me, I can't help but feel my heart warm towards her. 

Unfortunately, my mother, ever the mind-reader, quickly ruins the moment by whipping back towards me and snapping,

"I am in no way excusing what you did, young man. You are still in hot water for stealing the files. I only think that some people are taking this case far too seriously!"

Mom shoots an angry look at the principal, dad, and me.

"Whoa, whoa," the principal says, holding up his hands.

"I think that things are getting a little out of control here. Please, let's return to the matter at hand— your son, Xavier."

 "Yes," dad says.

"My son."  

I groan and let my head fall back down on the table. For a moment there, we were making progress— but dad just took us ten steps back. 

Mom scoffs loudly.

"Do not give me that s**t, Elijah. I know you are only saying that because It is convenient for you now— when was the last time you drove Xavier to school? Packed his lunch? Bought him a birthday present? Do not you dare call him your son when you can barely act like his father."

"I know that I haven't been around much lately, but he is still my kid—"

"Really? Tell that to the child support Elijah you haven't paid yet!"

"What do you want me to say here, Stephanie? Do you want me to apologize for doing my job? I am sorry, but you need to face the facts! Our son broke the law that night and now he is paying for it. Maybe you should blame yourself for that, not me— since apparently, you are the only one That is been raising him."

Mom's eyes pop out of their sockets. It takes her a moment to compose herself, but when she finally does, her words are sweet as honey.

"Care to repeat that, Elijah?"  Dad frowns.

Clueless, as always. Of course, I know what she is doing. Mom did it all the time to me. Care to repeat that is never a real question— It is mom giving you a second chance to take back whatever dumb s**t you said to her earlier. I know this because I learned my lesson the hard way. When you cross a line with mom, she makes it clear that you can either backtrack and apologize or get torn a new one. 

All heads in the room turn to dad. Even the secretary, who stopped writing ages ago, is staring at him.  I am the only person that doesn't bother looking up. I already know what dad is going to do. He is just going to keep blundering on like he always has, perfectly oblivious to everybody's emotions except his own.  Dad damns himself with only one sentence.

"Sure, I'll repeat myself— you've done a real bang-up job with raising our son, seeing as I only moved out a year ago and he is already about to be expelled!"

Mom slams her hands down on the table.

"Alright, Elijah, that is it—"

"PARENTS!" the principal shouts, cutting off mom's explosion.

"Can we please focus here? I wasn't planning on expelling your son at all, but if you keep arguing, you'll give me no choice!"

Silence falls over the room.

Looking dumbfounded, dad plops back down into his seat. Even mom, on the brink of a furious retort, closes her mouth and presses her lips together so hard that you'd think her life depended on it.

"Thank you," the principal says, his voice thick with frustration.

"Now. Let's get back on track, shall we?"  

For the first time in a long time, my parents agree with each other. They nod their heads in unison and let the principal say his piece.

"Usually, any student who commits such an act like breaking into the school would be suspended or expelled," he starts.

"While Xavier doesn't have a perfect record, he is been a decent student for the past two years, so I see no need to expel him. Of course, I can't rule out suspension him for the rest of the year. The only problem with that is Xavier would miss his final exams, which would not mean good things for his grades. He would most likely fail more than one of his classes— and, as a result, have to repeat the tenth grade."  

He says this all while looking directly at me. I silently picture him falling into the creek and the frogs eating him alive.  

"Also, this type of disciplinary action would stay his record. Permanently. For all of his prospective colleges to see."

Mom turns pale.  

"However," the principal goes on, all but stopping my heart,

"I have decided to make an exception."

He sounds sullen, as if this "exception" wasn't his idea, but he is being forced to dole it out anyways. (I knew it! I knew that he never liked me! This is the equivalent of a kangaroo court.)

"Instead of being suspended or expelled and missing his exams, Xavier can attend a selected summer camp instead."

The ball of worry and stress I have carried around all morning bursts like a grenade in my chest. I am saved! But before I can even muster up a triumphant whoop, or even a slightly confused what? the principal continues, and my brief victory dissipates into the humid summer air.  

"A summer camp in Alaska."

It dawns on me that I haven't been saved at all and the world is starting to crash and burn around me. Mom, however, doesn't seem to realize that the apocalypse is nigh and looks positively catatonic with relief.

"That is wonderful!" she exclaims, beaming very specifically at the principal and (of course) not at my dad on the other side of the table.

"We were so worried, you know. But this— this! I can't even begin to thank you. What is this summer camp? And how will this help Xavier?"

"It is called Gorebury," the principal says.

"My cousin has a kid that went there. Very positive remarks all around. I did my research and, well, Gorebury simply works miracles on troubled kids like Xavier."  

"I am not troubled—"

Mom hushes me.

"The camp sounds wonderful. How long is it?"

"Three months. Do not worry about the commute— It is sleep-away," the principal jokes, chuckling to himself. 

I think I might have shed a tear.  The principal goes on to explain that this extremely unnecessarily length of time in the middle of God-knows-where is a "guaranteed fix". He doesn't clarify what about me is going to be "fixed"— I guess That is a mystery I'll have to solve for myself while I am dying of frostbite in the Alaskan wilderness.  Out of all the adults at the table, dad is the only one that doesn't buy into it right away.

"What is the cost of this place?"

 "It doesn't matter. Xavier will pay for it," mom says.

"With what cash?" I hear myself squeak. 

She kicks me in the shin underneath the table.

"Not now, Xavier."

I do a quick calculation of all the costs in my head. There is the exact price that the principal gives us, and of course the airplane tickets there and back, and I can't forget the taxi to and from the camp itself... all of this comes out to a lump sum that my four months of working at Bobby's Burger Shack will never be able to cover, but I guess that It is all worth it in the long run because the Principal has graciously permitted for me to stick out the last few days of school and finish my exams. No more Cross Country, of course, but at least my poor, delinquent soul is being saved! What bullshit.  

"I can give you more time to consider," the principal offers when he is finally done with his spiel.

"I understand that this is a big decision to make."

"We'll do it," mom blurts out.

"Sign Xavier up. Or write his name down on a list somewhere. Whatever you have to do to get him into this camp. I want to make this happen."  

"Stephanie, don’t you think we should talk about this together—?"

dad begins.  

"I have already asked you not to call me that," she snaps.

"Also, I do not need your help with this decision. I have made up my mind. Xavier is going to this summer camp."  

The principal smiles, satisfied.

"I'll call the camp director immediately."  

And That is that. 

In less than thirty minutes, the meeting is over, and my fate has been decided.

Summer camp.

In Alaska.

I feel like I should be doing something to fight this, but I do not know what. All I can think about is the frogs. The renovation will continue as planned now, and their natural habitat will be bulldozed and paved over in less than a year. I am getting sent to rot in the middle of nowhere, and it doesn't even matter.

My sacrifice was for nothing.