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Dinner was spent leaning forward on the long cafeteria tables, huddled in a group, discussing our revenge plan in hushed voices. Sarah, Rachel, Julie, Poppy, and I created a master plan to regain our rightful bunk bed. Well, technically just Poppy needed to regain her top bunk, considering I was still on the bottom, but now this was a personal vendetta.

"Why can't you just leave dinner early and move her things to the other bunk?" Julie questioned as we planned.

Poppy rolled her eyes. "Because she will just do the same the next time we aren't in the room. We have to scare her away from taking my bed."

"And we have to do it without damaging your bed, so you can sleep on it again," Julie adds.

"Not necessarily," I smirk a little. "There are extra bed sheets in the counselors cabin. You know, in case we need to get messy."

Poppy smirks back at me. "I like the way you think, Mina."

And so we went about our plan in secret, whispering details amongst each other, the evil glint in Poppy's eye only increasing as we progressed. Our plan changed a few times as we configured the details, having to frequently shut down Poppy's ideas that leaned heavily on the harsh side.

Like when she suggested we lather half of her head with Nair. As you can see, Poppy seriously hated this girl, but it's not like I could say I'm her biggest fan either. I mean, she's new, and yet she's acting like she owns the place. And as far as she's concerned, rudeness and selfishness are two of Poppy's least favorite traits.

"What if we pour honey in her hair and eyebrows while she's sleeping?" Poppy suggests gleefully.

"She can just wash that off," Rachel dismisses.

"Yeah, you need something that she thinks will effect the bed," Sarah agrees. "Like bed bugs, or something."

Poppy makes a face. "I don't want bed bugs in my bed!"

While they discuss strategies, my mind wanders to a wilderness course I took in school last year. My hippy-teacher, Mr. Samuel, had tried to teach us the difference between different berries in the wilderness, and their different uses. Suddenly, a wide grin stretched across my lips, as I remembered one specific berry he had told me about.

"I got it," I exclaim excitedly, and all the girls turn their heads to me.

"Well, what is it?" Poppy asks impatiently, shaking my arm a little. "Don't leave us hanging!"

I think of how to explain, and instead decide that I need to show them. Carefully, I grab the knife I was using for dinner into my hand, and sneakily slide it into my boot with minimal movements. The girls watch with rapt interest, confused as to why I was stealing a knife from the dining hall. I flash them a mischievous smile and tell them, "Follow me."

They do, and we walk out of the dining hall casually, as if there weren't a knife in my boot. My eyes were alive with playful secret as I led my friends behind the dining hall, scanning the ground for a rose bush. Once I found a bundle of them, I jogged over and knelt down before the bush, finding it adorned with the berries I had suspected to be there.

I pick one of the dried, red berries and set it on the ground. The girls formed a circle around me silently, eyes following my every movement. With a cautionary glance around, I made sure no on was watching, and then slid the knife out of my boot. I look up at everyone, and then focus on Poppy, seeing as this is her revenge.

"These are rose bush berries," I explain, and then look down as I begin to cut it in half. "They have white hairs on the inside. The white hairs," I grab half of the berry and show it to everyone with a smirk. "Are a natural itching agent."

A smirk stretches on Poppy's lips. "A makeshift itching powder."

"Exactly." I confirm.

Sarah starts laughing, but looks at me with admiration in her eyes. "Mina, you're so smart! How did you even know about that?"

I grin at her proudly. "A professional always has a few tricks up her sleeve."

Our new plan formulated quickly, and we started working on it immediately. We worked to collect as many rose bush berries as we could find, stuffing our pockets and bags with them. Poppy ran back to the cafeteria and snuck a bowl out of the kitchen, and added it to our new project. We still had an hour before the sun went down and the counselors hosted the annual Welcome First Night Bonfire.

Like a crew of ninjas, we hid out behind the recreation center and cut the berries, then extracted the white stuff into the bowl. With everyone working quickly, we finished the task in a mere half hour, gaining a half bowl of natural itching powder. As my hippy wilderness instructor had told me, you only needed a little bit of this stuff to develop an itch-craze.

We hid the bowl as we crossed camp, back into the cabin, all grinning like fools who new an extravagant secret. The blonde was sitting in front of the only mirror, the one above the desk, applying makeup. Not even she could bring my mood down, and I continued smiling as I walk toward my bed. Carefully, with one cautious glance around me, I bent down and put the bowl under my bed to hide it.

"What are you wearing tonight, Julie?" Rachel asks as she begins rummaging through her suitcase.

Julie, with equally as much passion, tears through her suit case. "Something hot! I need to impress the new kid."

I stand up and look over at her with my brow knitted, confused as to who she was referring to. I hadn't noticed many new faces, but then again, I've been preoccupied since I got here. Rachel seems to know who she's talking about, because she nods feverishly in agreement.

"He's so cute," Rachel groans.

"Who?" I ask.

"Someone said he was in Juvie last summer," Sarah gossips, ignoring my question as she gives the girls a look. "He must be a bad boy. I love bad boys."

Poppy's interest piques. "Did someone say bad boy? Sarah, I call dibs."

"What's his name?" I try a different question.

Still, though, I'm ignored.

"I heard he's some kind of guitar prodigy. You know I have a thing for musicians," Patty pipes in from her top bunk, a hopeful smile on her lips.

All the girls swoon at once, and I take it as my chance to shout, "Who are you talking about?"

Julie snaps out of her dreamy-eyed gaze to look at me and answer in a just as dreamy voice, "Carter Miller."

Finally, an answer. I nod after she answers, not finding myself inclined to ask any more questions. The name didn't sound familiar, so it wasn't like I knew him from school. If that's the case, then I was fine pretending like he didn't exist, and letting all the other girls swoon at the sight of him. I felt no need to add to the pile.

Despite my internal conclusion, Poppy nudged me with her elbow and smirks. "Maybe this kid will be your summer fling."

I roll my eyes and mutter, "Or maybe not."

She rolls her eyes, and I focus my attention on changing before the bonfire. It was getting a little colder, and would be chilly once the sun went down. I knew I would get there late, as always, and wouldn't have a nice warm spot by the fire, so I pulled a sweater out of my suitcase and set it on my bed. My eyes lingered on the sweater before I put it on, studying it for a moment.

It was a soft sweater that clung to my arms comfortably, with thick off-white stripes and thin navy blue stripes. My parents never let me wear this sweater because of the hole near the bottom hem line; they said it was a "ratty old sweater" that I needed to get rid of. Now, as I stared at my favorite forbidden sweater, I grinned. They couldn't stop me from wearing it now, so that's exactly what I did.

I changed into the sweater in a small act of defiance that I would savor when I would have to tuck it in the back of my drawer until next year. I ran a hand through my straight brown hair instead of a brush and then deemed myself ready. My denim shorts, ratty old sweater, and flip flops have never been a more satisfying outfit.

"Old Ratty!" Poppy exclaims fondly when she spots the sweater- I had told her about my mothers loathing for it- and grins.

I grin back at her. "I've been itching to break it out."

Sarah and Rachel giggle at the word "itching", and Poppy smirks back at me. "What better time than tonight to do so? Satisfy the itch, I mean."

The giggling increases, and I smirk, then cast a glance at the blonde. She was unsuspecting, probably blocking us out- were those headphones in her ears always there?- and continued to touch up her bronzer. I look back at Poppy and then approach her bed, sitting on her temporary bottom bunk.

"What are you wearing tonight?" I ask casually, eyeing the mess that was her suitcase.

She smirks at me and carefully plucks a shirt by the strap out of her bag. "I always wear my sluttiest shirt the first night, you know this Mina! I have to see what there is to choose from this year."

She was referring to boys, of course. I simply roll my eyes and examine the shirt in her hands. "Well, put it on."

Poppy put it on, and I had to agree that it was a bit... revealing. I never understood why she wore shirts that showed cleavage, or shorts that were too short to be classified as shorts. I mean, my best friend was gorgeous. Poppy had long, curly brown hair and big brown eyes, as well as a beautiful smile and perfect body. Every year she had boys fawning over her, with or without the clothing choice. But something about her clothes screamed Poppy, so I didn't have a problem with it.

She was more outgoing and adventurous as I, with a fierce loyalty and unquenchable thirst for pranking. To be fair, however, I joined her in her admiration for a good prank. We became friends my first year at camp because I found out she had been the one to loosen the screws of the chair of our least favorite counselor, leaving him to crumple to the ground when he went to sit down.

I didn't bother putting on any makeup- not like I would've had a mirror to use, anyway- and laid on Poppy's bed until she finished getting ready. Once she was, we walked down to the fire pit together, following the smell of burning firewood and chatter. I saw and greeted many more familiar faces, going through the preliminary questions like "How was your year?" and "what are you doing next year?".

Poppy and I eventually squeezed our way toward the fire, and I got comfortable on the ground a few feet away from the pit. Marcus, the head camp leader, makes his way to the fire pit, and then stands on top of a chair to command everyone's attention. The chatter and laughter begins to quiet down until there's just a hushed whisper or two in the crowd, giving Marcus the floor to speak.

"Welcome back campers! I hope you've had a great year," Marcus says with a lot of enthusiasm. "And I hope you're ready to have an even better summer!"

As the head camp leader, Marcus is in charge of coordinating activities, managing the staff, and deciding punishment for any campers that break the rules. Here's something you need to know about Marcus: he is the kind of guy that bites off more than he can chew. Don't get me wrong, he's a good enough guy, but his poor organizational skills tend to rear its head in some way each summer.

Last summer, it was the Pizza Night; Marcus had forgotten to order the pizzas. The year before that, he forgot to hire a DJ for the End Of Summer Dance. So on and so forth, Marcus has a history of messing something up each year. However, despite this, he still manages to be the cheerful, smiling, clichéd camp leader that we all know and love.

"I see many familiar faces this year, but for those who are new, I'll give you the spiel. Breakfast starts at six and goes until ten thirty; lunch starts at noon and goes until three; dinner begins at six and goes until eight thirty, every day. When you wake up tomorrow, you can get the schedule from the Rec Center, and then you choose your daily activities." Marcus gives everyone an encouraging grin, his face alight with the same determination it always was. "Now, I'd like to ask the counselors to come up and introduce themselves!"

The group of counselors sitting on the log beside Marcus stand, and I watch half heartedly as they introduced themselves.

The thirty-something guy with untamed black hair goes first. "I'm Randy."

Beside him, the redhead who seemed to be in her late twenties gave a short wave. Her hair was in a big French braid, and she wore turquoise dream catcher earrings. "Hi everyone, I'm Melody."

Most of the counselors are returning from last year. For the most part, they're a mixed group of teachers, hippies, and middle aged wilderness lovers in their twenties, thirties, and forties. During their introductions, I let my gaze wander around to the faces sitting by the pit, illuminated by the burnt orange glow of the fire, carelessly studying other campers.

I picked out Julie and Sarah to my right, and Patty off to the left. As my gaze swept the people sitting on the logs across from the fire in front of me, I noticed a boy that I've never seen before. Actually, boy wasn't the right word- although he was probably my age, he was definitely a man.

I could tell by his sharp jawline, which was coated in stubble, and his hazel eyes that studied the whole scene carelessly. Something about him screamed confidence, the kind that you didn't try for, but it just naturally showered over you. There was more to him than his overwhelming attractiveness, though. He seemed... Interesting.

His gaze landed on me, our eyes suddenly boring into each other. His expression didn't shift the slightest, and I similarly kept an impassive expression. I simply met his gaze and didn't back down, studying him as he did the same for me. The strangers eyes floated over my features, sizing me up, and met my gaze again.

And then, after a moment, he looked away, continuing his study of the scene. I felt someone nudge my shoulder, and I glanced to my side to see Poppy smirking at me widely. I raise my eyebrows, confused as to her look, and glance behind Poppy to see Rachel giving me a similar look, although hers was more dazed.

"You were just eye flirting with Carter Miller," Poppy leaned forward and whispered, and then grinned. "Good job, Mina."

I roll my eyes at her and turn toward Marcus in an attempt to ignore her. Even though I feigned nonchalance, it grabbed my interest when Poppy told me that had been Carter Miller, the very one that all my bunk mates were fawning over an hour earlier.

My gaze shifted to Carter one last time, and I see he's still looking around. The fire lit up his face in a soft orange glow, creating a sharp contrast against his jawline. I look away and set my gaze back on Marcus, and as I do so, I tell myself not to get wrapped up in the infamy that is Carter Miller.

At ten o'clock, when the bonfire was still in full swing, Poppy and I decided it was time to strike. The blonde- we learned at the bonfire that her name was Katie- had, unsurprisingly, found herself in the middle of a log otherwise occupied by boy campers. While she was preoccupied with the male attention she was getting, Poppy and I snuck back to our bunks and exacted our revenge.

We kept the lights off in the cabin, only using the flashlight on Poppy's phone as we got the itching powder from under my bed. Because we couldn't touch the white powder without feeling the effects, Poppy had to carefully shake out the bowl onto the sheets. We made sure to place a thin layer underneath the main bed sheet, and when we were done, we hid the bowl under my bed again.

"I'm going to be one happy camper tomorrow," Poppy hums with a devilish smirk.

I grin. "It's the first night and we're already pranking someone."

Poppy gives me a fierce look. "Oh, Mina, that's where you're wrong. We aren't pranking anyone; we're exacting revenge. We're restoring justice, righting wrongs, doing a social service."

Her facade breaks with a grin, and I can't help but laugh.

"We'll see what Katie thinks of that theory tomorrow morning," I tease, and then stretch out. "I'm going to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I might as well go to sleep too. On the bottom bunk," She adds distastefully.

I change into my pajamas in the dark and grin at her. "Don't worry, you'll be back in your bed by tomorrow night."

"I know I will be," Poppy sings, and I can hear the smirk in her smug tone. "Night, Mina."

As I climb into my bed, a wave of tiredness washes over me for the first time all days and I murmur, "Night, Poppy."

+ + +

Unlike most of the campers, I had to wake up at seven forty five on Monday morning. While everyone else slept in on their first morning at camp, I had to wake up and tip toe out of the cabin. I didn't bother changing out of my pajamas, which were a pair of pajama shorts and a long sleeve shirt, but did tie my hair up into a loose bun.

I slid sandals into my feet and carefully left the cabin without waking anyone up. Outside, not a soul was to be seen or heard, leaving me alone with the beautiful sound of birds chirping a morning song. I strolled toward the auditorium slowly, taking my time to look around the beautiful camp grounds and appreciate the soft blue sky, abundant green trees, and savory piney smell.

At my pace, I reached the auditorium by eight o'clock on the dot. Practice didn't start until eight thirty every morning, but I had long since developed the habit of arriving early to warm up. I approached the beautiful grand piano, which was sitting on the edge of the stage as I left it last summer, and hesitated before sitting down on the bench.

Piano was something I struggled with. Not the actual act of playing, but rather the concept of playing. I only did so because I was bred into it; my parents had me start lessons as soon as I was old enough, hiring the most expensive piano teachers. Growing up, I listened to everyone tell me that I was blessed with the skill of being a great pianist, but it was never my choice to be one.

And yet, there were moments like this one, when I looked at the off white keys of the piano, worn from years of use, and I understood the beauty of the instrument. I wanted to sit down on the bench and strike the keys in such a way that would generate a wonderful sound, one that would carry through the acoustics of the auditorium, filling my soul with happiness.

So that's what I did. I sat and began playing, not by looking at any composition but by memory. I found myself playing Vienna by Billy Joel, but instead of the uplifting tune I had hoped to carry, the song took on a particularly dark sound. As the song continued to sound offset, I eventually grew frustrated and withdrew my hands from the keys.

"Why'd you stop?" A voice asks, ringing through the auditorium, surprising me.

I look toward the empty floor and see someone standing there with their hands shoved in their pockets. It's not just anyone, but Carter Miller, standing there in all his bed head glory, wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt. I was surprised that anyone was up this early, let alone him, and looked at him in confusion for another moment.