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rose-sunlight · 4 years

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Parings: Jake x Amy, Holt x Kevin

Summary: The story begins. The group doesn’t exist, they are separated over different parts of New York. They all end up in the same place: The Bullpen Summer Camp.

WARNINGS: Minor Character Death, Abuse

A/N: This is for the @b99fandomevents Summer 2020 Fic Exchange written for @impossiblyizzy! Hope you enjoy!

Jake slammed the leaflet down on the table. His mother had slipped it through the door of his bedroom when his father slept in the living room. He wanted to be angry at her for this, to scream, and beg, and cry, but no words or insults could come to mind. This was pure shock.

He was looking forward to this summer; 11 weeks of no homework and mindless cartoons on the TV? Count Jake in. Maybe he’d try something different, though—he remembers his friend Adrian telling him about his new skateboard, maybe he could ask him to teach him how to skateboard properly, and not just blindly jumping and hoping for the best.

But no, now his parents were going to ship him off to some wishy washy summer camp for nine whole weeks. Now, he’d miss out on everything cool a sixteen-year-old should be doing on their summer break; like brooding in angst and staying in their rooms until the sun goes down. Now, he would have to participate in ‘team sports’ and ‘community activities’ and have a ‘life-changing experience with new friends’.

“You’re shipping me off to a hell hole?!” He glowered, watching as his mother barely looked up from her cross stitch. She finished one and glanced towards him, placing the needle and thread on the kitchen table.

She sighed “Oh, sweetie,” She consoled “I thought you’d be more happy, your father decided that this would be a nice learning experience for you.” Jake took a step back. Of course this was his dad’s doing, of course he’d want him gone for the entire summer for his own personal gain, so he could do whatever he did when he wasn’t there to witness it (Jake didn’t really know what it was that he did, but he assumed it was on the same level as sacrificing baby animals, like the demon he was).

“This is his idea?!” His voice raised a pitch so he sounded more like some of the girls in his class. He didn’t want his dad to wake up in a drunken rage, but he was increasingly wanting something to hit. If it was his dad, so be it.

“He’s your father Jake, not Satan”

“Here I thought they were one and the same. That’s not the point though, the point is that I’m not going to some wishy washy summer camp!” He retorted, before hearing the angry footsteps of his father coming from around the couch. His dad wasn’t a conventionally scary person, but it was the way he moved and spoke that managed to strike fear into his heart. He was like a giant in an average-sized person’s body, and right now, Jake felt 2 feet tall in his presence, and cowered. He didn’t like getting on the wrong side of his dad.

He looked down at Jake, arms crossed and face in a perpetual frown. Every day he saw this scowl, and every day he got his ass handed to him because of their disagreements.

His father had a booming voice when drunk “You’re so ungrateful!” He spat, “Look at the way you’re making your mother feel!” He looked back to his mom, who was frowning. Jake began to feel more guilty by the second “We want you to go, so you will be going!”

Jake puffed his chest out and scowled, fists bawled by his side “but-!”

“-You’re such a lazy little shit! This is why we want you out the goddamn house-” He physically shoved Jake, like a bully on the playground, and Jake’s eyes widened. He had been taken aback by the sudden escalation, even when it happened every day, practically. The stream of name-calling and hitting never really ended.

Jake stepped forward once more; he stood by the fact that he never learns his lesson, so his retaliation wasn’t unexpected by his parents “I don’t want to-”

He never did get his words in when he was arguing with his dad. Instead, he felt the harsh punch against his face, and sensed his body falling to the floor and crawling away until his back hit the cold wall. There was fear plainly shown in his eyes, as there always was, as the red splodge on his face ripened. “If I hear one more whiny ‘I don’t want’ out of your mouth…” He growled “you’re always whining about something, always playing the victim. That’s why nobody likes you, Jake. That’s why you’re getting shipped off to The Bullpen camp. Pack your bags.”

Jake stood up quickly, filing out the room. He knew when he was beaten, and that was one of those times. He angrily, but silently, stomped towards his room, trying his best not to punch his small twin bed in a sheer moment of fury.

He flopped down, knowing that he was going to go to this dumb summer camp even if he was dragged kicking and screaming, which he definitely would. He hit his pillow before flopping onto his bed, letting his rage take over before inevitably packing for this 9-week-hell.

~ Charles never did anything on instinct. That was something his mother always berated him for, in her own loving way. He didn’t take action, like how all Boyles never take action, and this seemed to cost him everything.

His everything, even if he had only known his everything for six months. Charles knew he was in love with her, and she knew that she wasn’t. She didn’t look him in the eyes as she sat him down by the high school bleachers on the last day of term before summer. Charles had planned out their agenda for the summer, for all nine weeks, so that they could spend as much time together as possible. She patted his hand and smiled, but she never really looked at him directly.

Eleanor wore her hair perfectly, with bleached blonde summer hair and dazzling sea green eyes. He could write a whole novella about how her sparkling eyes made him feel, and how, if he took more action, he will ask her if she’d like to travel the world with him so he could try and find a sight prettier than her eyes.

“You’re a really good…person, Charles-”

Charles cut her off immediately, eyes full of adoration “It’s because you make me good, I mean, you’re the two halves of my hole!”

“And that’s great, but-,” Eleanor paused, taking not of the gesture Charles had made “wait, do you mean ‘whole’ or ‘hole’? N-no, it doesn’t matter, what I’m trying to say is that-”

Charles once again cut in, placing a caring hand on the small of her back, which she flinched away from almost immediately, only spurring on his concerns “My sunflower, is something wrong?”

Eleanor stammered “Yes…uh, um, no—well…okay, I’m just gonna say it.” She sucked in a large breath before continuing “I’m breaking up with you.”

Charles froze, he didn’t know what to do. One part of him wanted to break down and cry, and another wanted to fall to her feet and beg her to reconsider. He didn’t do either, instead, he stiffened up, listening to her reasoning but still not completely hearing her. The one overarching concepts she had brought up was that he wasn’t impulsive enough for her.

“I just think I need someone who takes risks.” Her voice echoed in Charles’ brain, playing like a broken record as he trudged the five mile walk home. She wanted someone the opposite of him, someone who could decide between two restaurants in under an hour. His norm was to wait until one of them was closed and go to the only one left open. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want him, either.

Through his blurry vision and tears, he made his way to his computer. His parents were out, not returning from their sensual food tasting for couples retreat until much later in the night. Charles punched in the first thing he thought of—‘how to take more risks’. When the results seemed to extreme or adult (no, he wasn’t going to have a one-night stand, Wikihow), he changed it up, editing the search bar to tailor more to him. One of the results that came up was to go on impulse trips. He thought he might be able to do that if they gave him some time. He then researched ‘how to take impulse trips for sixteen year olds’

Google disregarded the first few words, instead focusing on adventures that were specifically for teenagers. He factored in how far away most were, and how uncomfortable he’d be in hot areas like Thailand, and found the perfect website. Without even consulting his doting parents, he had booked a place, and spent almost all his summer money on this trip. Old habits didn’t die that hard, though, and he was already packing when he had a week to spare.

This would show Eleanor how brave and risk-taking he was. After he had taken place in the activities scheduled, she’d take him back in a heartbeat.

~ Terry had secretly prayed a day like this would come. He had hoped that it would come later, but it had still answered his prayers in a dark way. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he had hoped for something less permanent for him.

Because as much as his dad used to hit on him, he never wanted to put on a jet black suit and see the day his father was put to rest. He didn’t want to listen to his family cry, and talk about how his dad was such a good man with a good heart. He didn’t want to stand up and deliver a speech about how, despite their non-existent bond, he loved his father and was devastated when he didn’t come home from the bar that night.

But he was devastated. He didn’t know why, but he was in mourning over his father’s death, but not in the way he was expecting. He didn’t mourn the same way he did when his Grandma Ophelia died. That was the feeling of incompleteness, like the memories of her were too little, and he wished he had spent more time with her. With his father, he was feeling as if he had lost hope.

He had always thought that if he gave his dad time there would be a day where he’d snap out of it, and he’d beg to be forgiven, go to his basketball games, and finally see him graduate with a proud smile slapped across his face. Terry now had concrete evidence that this would never happen, and the hope of playing happy-families was gone. He was left with painful memories and mental scars of his torturous behaviour.

The worst part of the funeral was black-suited nobodies to him coming up and telling him how to grieve, how they were sorry that he had lost such a prevalent role-model in his life. All Terry could do was grit his teeth and smile through it. There was one man, though, who he hadn’t even heard mentioned once by his father. One person that was grieving differently to everyone else; he was crying like he actually meant it, but also like he had already made peace with the loss. Terry found him intriguing.

When the man, dressed in a black tux with a bright green tie, different to everyone in the room, with a full head of bushy blond hair and a small frame, came barrelling towards Terry, he braced himself. He was ready for this man to defeat his expectations.

“You the son?” This abnormal man asked him. His accent was inherently English, dulled down by being in America for so long, or so Terry suspected. He wanted to say no, that Laurence was just over by the corner, drowning himself in alcohol even though he wasn’t the legal age. Instead, he just nodded. “Terry or Laurence?” he asked again.

Terry grit his teeth “Terry”.

The man snorted, not offering any condolences at all “A right dipshit, is what your dad turned into.”

“You mean he wasn’t always?” He didn’t want to laugh at his dead father’s funeral, but this man was doing it for him, letting out a massive guffaw at this stereotypical catholic wake.

“Your old man was good fun, at another point. All went to shit when his mom died,” He told him, and Terry perked up at the possibility of his dad ever being fun “I guess he never did speak about me. I’m Nelson.” Nelson extended a hand for Terry to shake. He obliged.

“How did you know my dad?”

Nelson chuckled. He pulled out his wallet, reaching for a picture. “The Bullpen Summer Camp in the late seventies,” when he saw how clueless Terry was, he lightly shoved him in a well meaning manner. Terry flinched. “Suppose you don’t know about that either, ey? Nah, your dad was voted ‘Camp King’. He was amazing at all the activities, I mean, he was the feller you wanted to share a kayak with—he made you laugh, and was a damn good rower. That’s the version of him I want to remember.”

The picture depicted a group of friends, six of them, three girls and three guys. The girls were dressed modestly, in skirts down to their ankles, which seemed so impractical for the activities. They stood with their arms at the waists of three other male friends. The boys were the same age as Terry, and his father was in the centre. His dad wasn’t what he was expecting. He wasn’t a bald, tall angry man with a pot-belly. This version of his dad was too much like him. He was muscle-bound, but didn’t look as tall with his peers, he had a full head of hair styled like Terry’s in a bulky afro, and he was smiling as wide as he had ever seen his dad smile.

Terry raised an eyebrow at Nelson, not knowing how to deal with the information he had told him, “You sure that was my father?”

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

Nelson sighed, and took a moment to look around at the people ‘celebrating’ his old friend’s life. He took in for the first time how everyone else spoke—he was portrayed a complex, fascinating man instead of the good one he had known. He supposed a lot had changed since the seventies. “Yeah, I suppose it seems too good to be true.” Nelson pierced his lips before patting Terry softly on the shoulder. Terry flinched again. “I’m heading out. You need a ride home?”

Terry had only just met Nelson, and yet he seemed so socially unaware as to offer a teenage boy a ride home. “No, my mom’s probably gonna take us back.”

And she did, once she’d settled a few things with the funeral planners. Terry couldn’t stop thinking about his father. He couldn’t stop thinking about the similarities down to the very hairstyle. That’s when he made the choice. He had to go to this camp, and see what changed his dad. He had to see for himself that his dad was actually fun.

That picture still rattled him, which is how he ended up in the bathroom, sitting down on the bathtub staring into the mirror, a razor poised at his afro.

He carved a chunk out of it, and kept going until all he had a mass of curly hair at his feet. He looked back in the mirror to see what could only be described as a baby afro, short at the sides and on the top. When he looked in the mirror, he could only see himself, not the vision of his father haunting him. Sure, his mom freaked out when he showed him, but he felt as if he was distancing himself from that younger dad he never knew.

Especially since he was returning to see what his dad might’ve been like.

~ Rosa knew this was coming before they even said the word. This was the norm; her fourth and final trip to The Bullpen. She was sixteen now, which meant that this was her final time attending as a camper before going back as a camp councillor. She wasn’t the most liked; she kept to herself, and all the younger kids knew she carried a whittling knife everywhere she went, but she liked being in nature compared to the stuffy New York apartment her parents and sisters lived in.

It wasn’t a shock when her parents dropped the leaflet under her door and wordlessly gave her a suitcase—black with a purple skull over it.

They weren’t talking to her at the moment, and she was fine by it. She couldn’t care less (is what she told herself when she put her face into her pillow and screamed until she began to cry). It didn’t matter if they weren’t on speaking terms, anyway, because soon, she’d be gone for the holidays.

The Bullpen was the one place she got to be authentically herself, where no one cared if she went off into the woods without sunblock, where she wasn’t bothered by her sisters storming into her room to ask if she had melted down one of their possessions to make jewellery to sell in the schoolyard. The Bullpen, under the watchful eyes of the camp counsellors, was her second home, and sometimes, she liked it more than her first.

So as she looked down at the sheen of her black suitcase in the low light of her shared room, she gave a curt nod to no one in particular, and began to pack her bag, sniffing lightly as she folded her second-best jacket down into a tiny ball. She had gone through a change in style in the past couple years, from ballerina pumps and pink strappy tops to the polar opposite of black leather jackets and DIY ripped jeans. Her hair had just grown long enough for her pink streaks to be cut out, so her hair was a natural curly brunette shade. She packed everything she knew she’d need for her nine weeks away, and it only took a couple hours to pack.

None of her friends were going back this year; the others had left and gone onto bigger things, most of them were going on some massive party-filled holiday—Rosa had declined the offer, and decided to go back to camp.

Her parents still remained silent, they didn’t speak to her at all, not even when the bus came to pick her up, as it did every year.

~ Gina was talking to her friends on her phone while a video on her iPad played softly in the background. Her legs swung freely in the air as the lay flat on her stomach, her freshly painted toes sticking pointily out. She didn’t have anything planned for the summer, she just wanted to spend some time doing some serious soul-searching. By that, she meant going out just to take photos for her Instagram following with spiritual captions.

Her parents had constantly been threatening her to get off her phone, but she hadn’t taken any notice. Every month, they’d tell her the same thing, with a different punishment (no more phone, we’ll block YouTube on your iPad, we’ll send your clothes off to charity), and every month, she kept on her phone and nothing happened.

Her friends weren’t planning anything, but there was a party planned for a months’ time. It was supposed to be the best event since Gina’s party where she convinced everyone that Jay-Z would be there. She slithered her way out of that one by getting the people there drunk enough so that they wouldn’t even remember. She had her dress picked out before anything else, even now it stared at her through the crack into her walk-in closet. It was short and sequinned, sparkly, and low-cut. Her mother had reprimanded her on the choice, calling her every name under the sun purely based on the length and the fact it showed off a little bit of boob. Gina had called her pathetic, and then yelled that she was jealous.

Granted, Gina should’ve realised that she had gone too far, but she never apologised for her words, and she wasn’t going to break that oath to herself.

Her mom walked into her room, followed by her dad, whose hand was on the small of her mom’s back. She didn’t acknowledge them moving around in her room until they opened her closet.

“What are you doing?” She asked, sitting back up and pausing the video on her iPad. She didn’t like it when they went through her stuff, she’d made it clear through putting up CCTV in her own bedroom when she wasn’t there. “Get out of my closet!” She yelled, but her parents still ignored her, packing a bag of stuff.

Her father turned to face her with a soft smile, “We thought that this summer you could go somewhere fun.”

She sat back in her seat, suddenly thinking about how her parents were going to send her on some expensive lavish trip with her friends “Oooh, where? Paris, Greece…Italy?”

Gina slammed the car door at her arrived destination, dressed in a fancy tracksuit with a travel pillow slung over her neck, ready for a first class flight to wherever, and looked around at the sights before her. It smelt like pine needles and damp river air. As the car she had arrived in drew away, her hope of being rescued was gone. Her parents had taken her phone before kicking her out, leaving her stranded in this grassy, humid spot.

To her right, there was a big yellow house, looking like something out of a Victorian utopian novel, with a large red roof and grand double oak doors. There was no road, instead there was a dusty mud path towards the main house, with grassy meadow verges all the way to the brick steps towards the opening of the house. They had roses and daisies along the open windowpanes, ivy also climbing up around towards the top of the house.

The road stemmed off like the branches of a leaf, to different areas and houses, swooping tall trees towering above the beaten track. Gina took notice of all the kids, mostly younger than her, some around the same age, who were wearing different coloured t-shirts: duller reds, bright oranges, grassy coloured greens, and duller royal navy blues. They all had different names in block letters, and Gina shuddered inwardly. Great, she thought, they’d shipped her off to a knock-off American Hogwarts.

~ Amy was sat on the bus, having been collected half an hour ago, and the first thing she’d realised was how unconventional this maths camp was. She had taken the only free seat in between a girl dressed in a jet black leather jacket who was carving something onto the side of the bus, and another girl, quieter, who seemed more like someone who would take this type of camp trip. She had big rounded spectacles and had woven her hair in plaits, chewing on the right one as if it were an instinct.

Amy nudged the girl excitedly “So, what do you think it’s gonna be like?”

The girl looked back at Amy with a raised eyebrow, as if she had just said something preposterous. She was only asking because this was the first annual maths camp, and she wasn’t entirely sure what the curriculum was going to be. “I’ve been there before, it’s fun, as long as you can swim”

“What?” Amy shook her head as the girl gazed out of the window, ending the conversation, “you’ve been here before?” She asked. The girl exhaustedly tilted her head back to face Amy.

“The camp has been open since the seventies, how have you not?”

Amy started to sweat “Seventies...this is the first camp opening!” She began to dig through her stuff, producing her leaflet that she had given to her dad for him to book. It showed crystal white buildings with a modern square between the buildings, the words ‘Bulletin Maths Camp’ written with a fancy cursive font. The leather jacket girl let out a loud guffaw, making Amy swivel around “What?”

“Dude, you’re on the wrong bus. This goes to The Bullpen Summer Camp.” She unzipped her jacket further so that Amy could see her dull orange shirt with a small logo that confirmed the name of the camp she’d been sent to. Amy began to hyperventilate, clutching the bus seat she was sitting on in pure fear. “Hey, you’re, uh, you’re kinda freaking out right now. It’s not that bad, your folks probably just got the name wrong. This camp normally comes up on any search first, just chill. You’ll have a good time, only a few of us carry knives.” Amy’s eyes widened, and she almost unbuckled herself so she could jump out the window. The leather-jacket-knife-wielding-maniac laughed again, before thumping Amy on the shoulder. “I’m joking. Again. It’s only me who does that, everyone else here are wimps.”

“I have to go back home. I can’t be here.”

“You signed up to the camp, you’re staying. Unless you want to break some rules and get sent home in Kevin’s tiny car.”

Amy’s heart stopped at the mere thought of breaking rules “Who’s Kevin?”

“He’s one of the camp counsellors.”

“Okay,” Amy sighed, hoping that this Kevin may understand and recognise that a mistake had been made and allow her to make her way home. She hadn’t brought her phone so that she could focus purely on the maths, but now, she wanted her phone more than ever. “Do you think I could stay with you for a bit just before I go home?”

The girl, whose curly hair Amy recognised as being almost exactly like the kind she wanted when she was little, smirked again, going back to carving her name into the side of the bus “Don’t worry, I got your back. Until you get housed, and then you’ll be your houses problem.”

Amy raised her eyebrow “Houses?”

“Yeah. There are a few.” That was the end of her sentence, and Amy didn’t want to push her. She did want to know her name, though.

“Amy. My name is Amy.” She said, extending a shaky hand for the girl to shake. Leather jacket girl glanced at her hand, not making any effort to shake it as she flicked her pocketknife up, twirling it and sticking it back in her pocket. She only nodded, so Amy put her hand back down “Rosa.”

Amy knew their conversation was coming to an end, so instead of probing Rosa for more information on their mysterious destination, she stayed silent, overhearing a conversation from a few bus seats away. There were two other boys, one by the window staring out, and another with curly brown hair that was poking up from the seats.

The window seat boy sighed, and Amy decided to look out the same window as Rosa.

Jake was about to lose his mind. This whimpering kid next to him had started in conversation with him as soon as he sat down. He luckily didn’t linger long on the yellowish bruise Jake had over his eye, instead comparing it to some girl named Eleanor, which had begun his large rant about her soft hair and gorgeous blue eyes. He knew more about this girl than he did his father.

“Oh, and she always did this adorable thing when she ate, she used to make this tiny smack with her lips…did I tell you how they’re-”

“-Soft and warm like kissing the sun, yeah, I remember that disturbing detail. Look, you’re gonna have to stop before I jump outta here myself.” Charles looked offended by that, before quickly forgiving the stranger before resuming his original upset persona, staring out the window in a sulk. A larger boy stood up from behind him with a stern gaze. He was taller than Jake and wore a grey hoodie with the hood up. He looked as if he had been sleeping, and Jake sunk back into his seat. He looked like how his dad did once he was woken up.

“Hey, he’s going through something. Try some compassion.”

Jake tried his best to back down, but he never learnt his lesson. Instead, he stood up, facing the taller boy “You try sitting next to him for an hour listening to his ex-girlfriends lips.”

The other boy went to place a hand on his shoulder, but Jake flinched away, immediately going into fight-or-flight mode, hitting his hand away. The taller boy scowled “Hey, don’t hit me, man, I’ll hit back”. To prove his point, he shoved Jake lightly. Jake slapped his hand more, going to swing at the boy. Luckily, he was flung back in his seat, tumbling over so he was facing the back of the bus. The bus had stopped, and they had arrived at their destination.

Jake was still staring at the back of the bus. He had made eye contact with a girl, around his age, who looked just as unhappy to be there as he was. She was staring at him, of course, she was, he had just began to start a fight on his first hour of being at this dumb camp. She had long black hair that waved at the bottom, with brown eyes and tan skin. He stared straight at her, and she stared back. He broke eye contact and sat back down, watching the beginning of the bus get off and look around the site.

He collected his bag, spotting the girl he’d seen taking her suitcase from near his. Jake shuffled towards her, smiling in his half-quirk smile. She spotted him before looking back down to her suitcase, looking around for someone. “Hey, I’m Jake.” He said, and the girl was about to respond before the other girl came and found her.

“and she doesn’t care. Bye.” She said, so Jake walked away. His best bet was to find the crying kid (Charles, his name was. He’d remember that and be kind to him) and stick by his side to avoid being totally alone through this stupid camp experience.

He found the kid, still moping around the place, and patted him on the shoulder “Hey. I’m sorry for snapping at you, I just really don’t wanna be here.” He admitted, and the boy looked up to him, and then to where his hand rested on his shoulder.

“That’s okay. I’m here because Eleanor broke up with me because I don’t take impulse risks. I think this will make her take me back and make me look more masculine than I actually am.” Charles unloaded onto Jake, whose mouth suddenly dropped, speechless. He’d never met someone so open before.

“Oh…well, I’m Jake, by the way.”

“Charles.” He raised his hand up in a short wave, and Jake was about to continue his conversation when a man walked up to the bus, looking around at everyone, new and old. He was average height, with a bald head and a neutral face.

“Attention Campers!” His voice boomed, and everyone shushed. Jake rolled his eyes, sighing, “Welcome to The Bullpen! I am Raymond, you can call me Ray. I am the head counsellor here; I overlook everything you do. I decide who is sent home for bad behaviour, and who gets extra privileges. At the Bullpen, we have different houses, you don’t get to choose your roommates, that’s down to us.”

Jake whispered to Charles “He sounds like a drill Sargent.”

Ray continued “Every house has a separate counsellor, there are 6 kids to a bunk and 49 of you with us this year. This means one group of you will be sleeping in the bigger room we have here. We normally house 50 kids here, and we have 8 houses. I will now pass over to Kevin who will explain.”

Kevin stepped forward; he had a beard and wore the same kind of outfits as Ray; everyday wear suits which didn’t seem to fit the vibe of this camp at all, but nevertheless, Kevin seemed a bit easier to read than Ray was. “Afternoon,” He greeted “As Ray was saying, there are 8 houses, these people will be your team for any activities, they will be your family. The houses all have different shirt colours, they have already been picked out for you and paid for by your parents or guardians. People who have been here before will stay in the same team, the teams are sorted by age.”

Charles’ hand had made his way to Jakes shoulder, and Jake found himself trying not to flinch or tell him to stop. Charles had already admitted on the bus that he found touch comforting, and if this was what it took to make friends here, he would have to allow him. “Looks like we’ll probably be put together, then.”

“Here’s hoping.”

“The team names are up to you to decide, they have to be appropriate, of course, but the colours are what you will go by for now until you have decided. The colours are as follows: Red, Pink, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Purple and White. I’ll pass you over to Norm, who will call out your names. When you hear your name, step forward and find your group.” He instructed, as another man, slightly larger with a Frankenstein haircut.

Norm smiled and waved as he read names from a clipboard “King, Warren, Reid, Flowers, Bright and Prentiss, you’re Red Team. Take your shirts, and your counsellor Jason will take you to Rose House. Okay, Orange Team, Peralta, Santiago, Boyle, Diaz, Jeffords and Linetti, take your shirts and your counsellor Ray will take you to Sandy House.”

The list continued as Jake stared at the people who were standing out from the crowd—the wide-eyed girl, her friend in the leather jacket, the boy who he’d tried to fight on the bus, Charles the emotional risk-taking non-risk-taker, and a new girl, who hadn’t been on the bus with them, dressed in fancy clothes and looking more miserable than he did.

These were the people he was supposed to be getting along with and spending most of his time with for the next nine weeks? Oh boy, was he in for it.

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