Camp Arapahoe was nestled between a tranquil lake and a dense forest. The mess hall stood at the center of the cabins, a hub of activity. In front of the mess hall was a flagpole flying the American flag. It towered over the well-kept lawn, serving as a central meeting place.
Campers ran in all directions. The Superfly bus driver opened the door and exited, followed by Demarco, Smitty, Stephanie, and Yvette. As Allan descended, Mayhem pushed him off the bottom step, causing him to fly out of the bus and bump into Yvette. Like dominoes, Yvette bumped into Stephanie, Stephanie bumped into Smitty, Smitty bumped into Demarco, and Demarco bumped into Curtis.
“Hello, Curtis,” Demarco said as he tipped his hat.
Curtis was an eighteen-year-old, robust, black college student and camp counselor. He wore a blue bandana, a red shirt, and striped shorts. He wiped his nose with a towel around his neck for his chronic hay fever. He wondered why, in the world, he would choose a horse camp because of his allergies.
“Hello, Demarco.”
Smitty looked back at Yvette, Yvette looked back at Allan and smiled.
Allan and Yvette’s eyes connected again, and Allan received another shock of electricity. He stood hypnotized, if not dumbfounded, by her beauty. That is until Curtis pulled Allan out of his trance.
“You must be Allan.”
Allan was forced to shift his attention, “How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess. Listen. I’m Curtis. The boy’s counselor.”
“Do I get one phone call? I need to call my Grandpa.”
Allan watched Yvette struggle to carry her suitcase as she and others walked to their cabins.
“You just got here, Allan. Listen, in a few days you won’t want to leave. Your grandparents can come on visitor’s day. After our horseback trip. Okay?”
“I doubt…”
Curtis examined Allan’s face, “What happened to you? Listen, you can come to me with anything.”
Just then, a ball bounced, hitting Allan in the head. Mayhem added his own sound effect to the moment by blasting his trumpet at him in the distance.
“And I think you might. Follow me,” Curtis continued.
Allan and Curtis walked together across the camp. They passed one of the girls’ cabins, a simple white structure with a front porch. The porch was packed with girls, smiling and chatting as the boys walked by. Among them was Cheri, a striking young woman with voluminous hair and a curvaceous figure. She exuded confidence and warmth, blending an irresistible allure with nurturing, motherly instincts.
“That’s Cheri, the girl’s counselor, and hopefully my girlfriend soon enough.”
Allan and Yvette made eye contact again as she stood on the porch of her cabin.
They arrived at the boy’s cabin. It was also a simple white cabin with a front porch. Mayhem, Demarco, and Smitty were hanging out. Mayhem’s fingers pushed the pistons on his trumpet.
“Mayhem, you brought your trumpet for our wake-up calls, excellent. Why don’t you save it for that.”
Mayhem played an impromptu trumpet riff and waited for the applause from the girl’s cabins, “They love me.”
“They’re a captive audience,” Curtis shot back, “Demarco, you owe me money. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Hi Cheri,” Demarco yelled to the girl’s cabin and tipped his hat. Cheri and the girls laughed.
“Hi Demarco,” Cheri yelled back.
Nurse Frances, a sixty-year-old Haitian in a nurse’s uniform, appeared inside the cabin and pulled all the girls inside.
Curtis turned to leave, “Settle in boys. Allan, see you at dinner. Get ready to dance.”
The news of dancing hit Allan like yet another basketball to the face.