Summer Camp Bao

The gravel crunched beneath the rickety old camp wagon's wheels as it made its way down a column of giant pines. Bao peeked over the sheet of the wagon, frowning. The terrain was green. Too green. Not the groomed, landscaped green of his family's mansion—this was wild green. Translucent and unmanicured, teeming with unseen bugs and releasing the aroma of damp bark and wildflowers.

He disapproved of it.

“Camp Silverpine" the driver yelled, voice ringing out, as the bus groaned to a stop before a creaky wooden arch. Pinecone-shaped letters, faded with time, spell out the name of the camp beneath them.

Bao stood up last, adjusting the creased collar of his travel coat. It was beige linen, imported. He wore a matching scarf around his neck, even in summer. Appearances mattered.

When he stepped off the bus, the weight of the heat hit him in the face. Sticky. Muggy. Not a hint of air conditioning to be had. He squinted around, catching a glimpse of the chaos—counselors shouting orders, kids rushing across the field, and the distant sound of a chorus of laughter somewhere near the lake.

He spun to go get his stuff, just in time to catch sight of his monogrammed steamer trunk tossed carelessly onto the ground by the side of the bus. Dust swirled up into the air.

"Oh come on," he breathed, horrified.

"First year?" a voice said behind him.

Bao turned around. A tall, thin deer a year or so Bao's senior was standing some distance away with a rolled-up sleeping bag strapped across his back and an expression of mocking amusement in his eyes. He had a leather cord tied loosely around one antler, something made by himself for a necklace.

"Yes," Bao said, straightening his back. "My name is Bao."

The other deer blinked. "You expect me to applaud, or…"

Bao's eyes narrowed marginally. "And you are?"

"Reed. Welcome to the wilderness, Bao."

He offered a lopsided smile, then walked back towards a group of other campers congre-gating in the shade.

Bao was used to people knowing his name. He was used to his family crest opening doors, not getting him dumped into the woods with no staff, and no privacy. His mother had taken most of his pretty things at the gate with a kiss on the cheek and a dramatic, “We’ll write to you, darling.”

Bao had never written a letter in his life; his personal servant typically does it for him.

A shrill and piercing whistle called the new arrivals to the central clearing. A cheerful doe with a clipboard and a tan camp shirt beckoned them over.

"Cabin assignments!" she shouted. "Let's get you all settled before dinner!"

Reed, evidently, was in Maple. Bao saw his name on the same list. Great.

When they arrived at the cabin, Bao stood in the doorway for a full minute, staring. The floorboards creaked. The walls were uneven logs. There were bunk beds, not single beds, and none of them had canopies. The whole place smelled faintly of mildew and dust and something suspiciously like… moss.

“I don’t suppose there’s a spa wing,” Bao muttered.

Reed laughed. “You’re gonna have a time, rich boy.”

Bao ignored him and proceeded to claim the lower bunk at the farthest point from the door. It did have a view of the lake through the grimy window.

By the time his trunk arrived, the other campers had begun unpacking. Some had brought barely more than a blanket and a mess kit. Bao lifted the lid of his trunk to reveal three tailored outfits, grooming supplies, pressed sheets, and a velvet pouch full of herbal teas.

“You’re not seriously putting a quilt on your camp bed,” said one of the other deer, wide-eyed.

"A hypoallergenic goose down blend," Bao replied, folding in the seams with practiced ease. "I don't work issue-stanch."

Supper that night was consumed in the mess hall: vegetable stew, warm bread, and something that might've been berry cobbler. Bao pushed his food around with a wooden spoon and grumbled.

"It's not poison," Reed said from across the table.

"It's just. country," Bao complained.

Then, with the sun fallen behind the leafy branches of the trees and the trees buzzing with frogs and cicadas, Bao stretched out in his bunk gazing up at the slats overhead. No buzz of the city. No midnight violin lesson. No muffled sound of his parents' voices down the hallways.

Nothing but the groan of wood. The breathing of strangers.

He did not care for this place.

He did not care to be by himself.

And yet—when Reed's voice cut through the darkness with a thoughtless, "Hey, Bao. You ever build a fire?"

Bao blinked. ".No."

"Then tomorrow, you and me. We'll get to it."

Something in Bao's breast moved.

He rolled onto his side and whispered back, "Only if we can heat my tea water on it."

Reed chuckled, and somewhere in the night, an owl hooted.

It wasn't home. Not yet.

But it was something.