"When the hand goes up..."

"The mouth goes shut!"

Outside the dining hall, one hundred small voices echoed across the group, with all the expected enthusiasm of kids who'd been told it was not only allowed, but encouraged, for them to yell this at the top of their voices. Enclosed on all sides by miles of dense forest, a group of eight-to-ten year olds like those here were not about to pass up any opportunity to be loud and get away with it, which was probably one of the reasons camp held so much appeal for them.

In theory, the routine seemed like a genius way to get such a large group of campers falling quiet upon command; give them an excuse to shout for a moment, and maybe they'd get it out of their system. And yet it appeared the inventor had not designed as such with the kids of Camp Raukawee in mind; surveying the group, I noted no more than three mouths that had actually shut.

One that remained very much open, and in fact only to have been spurred on by the chorus to yell louder, belonged to the kid stood at the front of my line. Incidentally, it was also the one I would've paid the most to close for a couple of hours.

Upon first glance, Tasha seemed like a sweet enough kid, but she also happened to be the living embodiment of looks being deceiving. Rosy cheeks and big blue eyes were a lot less cute when twisted into the look of sour irritation I was so often faced with: one that was less associated with a general bad temper, and more a personal vendetta against me.

In fact, from the moment she'd been ushered into my care, Natasha Lee had deemed her counselor responsible for everything at camp that didn't go her way. When she had to climb down the rock wall to give somebody else a turn, it was my fault. When refused a second cookie at snack time, that was my doing. And when her incessant talking made us last into the dining hall for meals, I was definitely to blame.

"When are we going in?"

I'd listened to her whine for almost a week straight now, and the immediate urge was to scream, but I forced myself to smile. "Soon. The quicker you guys be quiet, the quicker you'll get to eat!"

"It doesn't work like that," she protested, though she'd hardly stopped to try it out. "They always let our cabin in last. It's not fair."

Part of me considered explaining how that was entirely her doing, but I had learned that arguing with Tasha came at the expense of a lot of mental strength, and I didn't have a whole lot to spare. So, instead, I put a finger to my lips and turned back around.

Besides, she had it all wrong; if anybody was receiving unfair treatment at Camp Raukawee, it was certainly not any of the kids. Amongst everything, nobody spared a thought for the staff, who got the short end of the stick at every opportunity. We were the ones who had to watch the kids chow down on their fourth hot dog at cookouts, leaving us to go hungry. We had to wake up at the crack of dawn and drag ten uncooperative kids from their bunks, only to be greeted with a collection of sour moods.

And, after everything, it was us that stayed after the campers had been ushered into the back of their parents' cars, trying to feel content with our mere hour of peace before the next busload arrived.

I only hoped one day Tasha would end up as a camp counselor, forced to endure the mood of the brattiest kid of them all without punching anybody in the face. Then, maybe, she'd feel a little bit sorry for me.

"Beavers, come on in!" Shany, the bubbly director at the front of the dining hall, beckoned over the neighbouring cabin. "And who's going to be next? Which cabin's standing in the straightest line?"

There was a great deal of shuffling from the other groups as they squeezed themselves into tighter single files. Unsurprisingly, Tasha remained defiant, standing with her arms folded and the moody look a permanent feature.

"Moose Cabin, you guys can come on in! And Bears! Come eat."

The calling continued, leaving the numbers outside to dwindle, until we reached the usual dinnertime scenario: the eleven of us left as latecomers, a pathetic group of pleading faces and one angry blonde.

"Last again, guys!" Shany called cheerfully, unaware of how the kids would likely take this news. "Better luck next time. Come on in."

Had I been a calm and composed counselor, with a group of well-behaved and under-control girls, I probably would've led them in single file. And yet my hopes were crushed when Tasha broke into a run, her pounding footsteps up the stairs triggering the other girls into motion. They tore past me in seconds, stampeding toward the door until I was the only one left.

Shany smiled, half sympathetically, but half in a way that read get your shit together. "Tough cabin, huh?"

"Something like that," I said, trying not to grimace as I headed inside.

Fueled by the excitement of dinner, the dining hall was a warzone, and my cabin table was no exception. As I walked in, I couldn't help but spare a longing glance over to the staff table; in doing so, I caught the eye of my best friend, Seb, who was already digging into his food. He shot me a grin, eyes glinting, that only seemed to rub it in further.

Seb and I had both been sent off on the staff bus a month beforehand, each against our will and at the insistence of our parents. He had the terrible misfortune of being Tasha's older brother, and had been forced into camp for reasons little other than keeping an eye on her. That should've been his job description, but somehow he'd been lucky enough to land lifeguarding responsibilities over camp counseling, while my own horrible luck had left me the main overseer of Tasha's cabin.

Needless to say, my summer was sucking a lot more than his.

At my table, Tasha and a couple of other girls had commandeered the cutlery pot, throwing knives and forks in the direction of their bunkmates with worrying inaccuracy. I wanted nothing more than to turn and head in the opposite direction, away from them all, but it wasn't like I had a lot of choice.

"Hey, guys, careful with those," I said on the approach, as a fork went skidding off the table and clattered to the floor. "Let's try not to take somebody's eye out before dinner."

At the front of the hall, over by the kitchen hatch, the food was starting to be dished out into cabin-sized portions. They all knew how the system worked - we'd gone over it at every meal this week - and yet ensuring our food got to the table without major casualties continued to feel like Mission Impossible.

"Okay, so I'm going to need two of you to calmly go and collect the food," I said, trying to keep my voice low. Still, this ended up being entirely pointless; before I could even finish my sentence, Tasha and two of her cronies had jumped out of their seats and were already halfway across the room. "Just two..." I finished weakly, trying not to put my head in my hands.

Sometimes, it was easier to leave them to get on with things. Such a tactic probably wasn't recommended for successful camp counseling, but then again, I wasn't even sure success was an option with Tasha around. She brought chaos wherever she went, and it just so happened that I'd spent the last week directly in the path of her storm.

As much as I wanted to slump on the table and stay there for a few days, I glanced over toward the hatch to watch them. There were two bowls to be collected, but their three-strong team had created problems; Tasha was clinging onto one side and trying to yank it away from her friend.

"Girls! Come on! Let's do this fairly!"

Rising from my seat, I headed toward them, emerging in ear shot in time to hear Tasha accuse her friend of being something I was sure should not have been in a ten-year-old's vocabulary. "You got to carry it yesterday. It's my turn!"

"Tasha, calm down. We can all take turns, I'm sure they'll need help with clearing the plates after dinner..."

And yet my words fell on deaf ears; they paid about as much attention to me as if I had been invisible. With one great tug, Tasha yanked the bowl toward her, and the surprise caused her friend to lose grip.

In hindsight, I probably should've seen it coming. And yet, by the time I did, it was already too late; the bowl of mac and cheese had escaped both of the girls' hands and was soaring through the air. The shock caught me off guard, freezing my feet to the spot, leaving me entirely exposed in the path of the inevitable.

The sloppy, gloopy mess hit me right in the face, splattering across before dripping down onto my staff T-shirt. A wave of silence fell instantly across the dining hall as everybody turned to stare; it seemed like every breath in the room was held, fighting back desperate laughter.

Reaching up, I swiped the worst of the cheese from my eyes, gaze fixing upon the three girls.

"Tasha. Sydney. Robin." My low voice must've been threatening, because it was the first time all week I'd had their full attention. "Get back to the table now."

An hour later, I stepped out of the shower in the washhouse, emerging into the communal area wrapped in a towel. The place was quiet and blissfully empty; I couldn't help but revel in the few moments alone. The evening had put me way too close to the end of my patience, and it was really a miracle that I hadn't snapped.

Despite the dining room disaster, I was still responsible for supervising my cabin (read: keeping them from killing each other) and therefore had been forced to sit through the entire meal while also being covered in it. Needless to say, mac and cheese lost most of its appeal when it was seeping through your T-shirt.

The only upside had been Tasha and her friends sensing my anger; they became suddenly aware they were treading on thin ice, and even the blonde-haired devil didn't seem willing to push her luck. It ended up being the most peaceful dinner we'd had all week.

Collecting my toiletries, I slipped out of the back exit and headed toward Squirrel Cabin (the most ridiculously named of them all, of course). The place was empty; the other staff had escorted the girls to the main hall for their evening session, allowing the counselors some well-earned night relief. I threw my sticky T-shirt on the top of the laundry pile and began rummaging through the drawer for something cleaner.

I was pulling on my pants when I heard movement from outside my room; the cabin door creaked as someone slipped inside.

"Who is it?" I called, reaching over to grab the towel for my hair.

"Your entire cabin, with a second bowl of mac and cheese to throw on you." The bedroom door opened, and Seb's grinning head appeared around the side of it. "Just kidding. Please don't punch me."

"You're pushing your luck," I told him, as he stepped inside. Strictly speaking, boys weren't allowed in girls' cabins; according to the directors, counselors were apparently both the horniest and least trustworthy kids around. Maybe they weren't wrong about some, but one thing was certain: nobody was ever going to walk in on Seb and I getting on each other. They were more likely to find him bent over and letting me slather his mosquito bites in chamomile, which was entirely unsexy. "Seriously. Nobody gets to mention what happened in there for the entire summer. That includes you."

"Oh, come on, you can't deny me that. Your face was comedy gold."

"My face was covered in cheese, actually, thanks to your angel of a sister." I shot Seb a look. "You know, I think I'm entitled to punish you by association. You share her genes, and that's bad enough."

Moving across the room, he sunk onto my bottom bunk, crumping a few strewn clothes in the process. "Huh. She really treating you that badly?"

"She's a nightmare." There was no point in sparing his feelings; Seb had lived with the girl for eight years. He knew better than anyone what his sister was like. "You know, she missed the target every single time in archery today. And then, when she had a tantrum, she said it was my fault because I was putting her off."

Seb grimaced. "Ouch. Not a good day, then."

"Not a good week," I corrected, reaching over to grab my comb. Even fresh out of the shower, my crazy curls were coming back with a vengeance, and they needed taming as quickly as possible. "How many days left of dealing with her?"

He paused, counting the date on his fingers. "Eight?"

I'd known it was coming, and yet I couldn't help groaning anyway. "Your parents had to sign her up for the two week program."

"Well, can you blame them? Wouldn't you jump at the chance to get rid of her for two weeks?"

I sighed. "I suppose."

Kicking off his sneakers, he lay back on the bed, hands stretched behind his head. "You know, when my parents were persuading me to spend the summer here, they made this place seem a whole lot less stressful."

I raised an eyebrow. "You thought being in a confined space with Tasha was going to be stress-free?"

At this, he caught my eye and smiled. "Well, not really. But I figured the rest of the kids would be a little less terrible."

I lowered the comb I'd been dragging through my hair, shaking out the damp curls. Then, I moved toward the bed, shoving Seb over so there was room for me to settle down beside him. "You're a lifeguard," I pointed out, my head resting on his outstretched arm. "You've got it easy, sitting down by the lake all day. No counseling involved."

"You think that's fun? A kid almost drowned today. I had to give CPR."

I turned my head, brows creasing in a frown. "Mouth-to-mouth?"

"The real deal." He shuddered, as if the mere thought was disturbing enough. "I know it's a lifesaving technique and I'm a huge hero and everything, but still. Feels kind of creepy on kids."

I looked back upward, staring at the mattress of the top bunk, just trying to savor the moment. In the last months of high school, when I'd envisioned summer, this was more what I'd been expecting: just Seb and I, hanging out the two of us, the way we'd been doing for years. Wooden cabins, wilderness and hundreds of loud children had not featured in my imagination, but we'd ended up amongst it regardless.

"This was hardly how I wanted summer to go," I said.

"Tell me about it." For a moment, Seb's voice sounded almost defeated, which was kind of soul-destroying in itself. My best friend had to be a strong contender for the world's biggest optimist, with a permanent string of jokes at the ready, so it was always a bad sign when he started looking on the black side. Thankfully, this time, it didn't last long. "Still, we've been here... what? A month already. Only two more to go."

"Yeah," I answered quietly. "We can manage that."

I couldn't voice what was really running through my mind, of course: what reaching the end of our camp jobs truly meant. This summer was the final mark of our high school friendship, before we went our separate ways. I was headed to college at the University of Manitoba, just far enough from home to warrant moving into a dorm, my mom's decision more than anything else. Seb, on the other hand, had much more exciting plans: he was bound for a year-long backpacking trip, a way to clear his head before he considered college.

We'd never really had to cope with being apart in the five years we'd been friends, and the truth was, I was kind of afraid to try. So, most of the time, I did my best not to think about it. It was easier that way.

"Hey, Ellie." Seb's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "You know, if Tasha's giving you a real tough time, all you've gotta do is let me know. I'll give her a talking-to."

"Like she'd listen."

"Oh, she will," he said, his tone sure enough to have me looking over, intrigued. "She'll pipe down when I threaten to tell Mom about the hell she's been putting you through. The horse-riding lessons she's been promised after camp should be enough to keep her in line."

I couldn't help but smile. It wasn't a guarantee by any stretch, but it was a glimmer of hope, and that was all I could ask for when it came to Tasha. Turning my head, I met Seb's gaze. "Thanks."

He smiled back easily, the expression lighting up his gray eyes, making them stand out even more against his dark hair. "Don't mention it. If we've got to survive another two months here, we might as well stick together."

Whatever else I might've been about to say was cut off; the sound of the camp-wide tannoy crackled through the cabin. I recognized Shany's voice, booming all the way from the main area. "Evening session will end in five minutes. Would all counselors please make their way to the rec hall to collect their cabins."

It took all I had not to groan.

"Well, the peace was nice while it lasted," I said, reluctantly pulling myself into a sitting position. "Shame it's now time to walk right back into the storm."

"I feel for you." When I looked over, Seb was still lounging on my bed, eyeing me with a mischievous grin on his face. "Seriously, Ellie, when I'm heading back to my child-free, totally peaceful staff cabin tonight, I'll think of you."

On any other night, I might've had the strength not to grab the nearest pillow and whack him over the head with it. Tonight just wasn't one of those nights. "Shut up. Do not rub it in."

"Kidding, kidding."

I turned my back on him as he sat up, beginning to gather my stuff together. Throwing myself in the camp lake sounded more appealing than going back and finding the girls in my cabin, let alone trying to get them to sleep, but I didn't have the luxury of that choice. Pulling on my staff hoodie over my pajama top, I was almost at the door when Seb's voice sounded again.

"Ellie."

I stopped, looking over my shoulder to catch his eye.

Perched on the end of my bed, he smiled at me, the type of infectious grin he knew I could never resist. "Two months. That's all."

The corner of my mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "You say that as if it doesn't feel like a lifetime."

Still, as I made my way down the steps of the cabin and joined the path to the rec hall, I couldn't deny that with Seb's encouragement I felt slightly better.