Things you knew : When the age we were as campers no longer mattered in comparison to how old the ex-counselors were, that I had found Gabe online and that we dated for a year. I eventually got an official boyfriend, Jackson, who was sent home after a week for smoking weed. I flirted with boys playing basketball on “The Slab,” a concrete surface surrounded by a fence where everyone plays Horse. I befriended a set of twins who I took turns kissing after evening program. I kissed a boy who went by the name “Ice” because his hair was so blonde it was white. All the while, I lost myself in the boys of camp. You put hay in your hair for the weekly Square Dance, you wore all your clothes backwards for a laugh, you ate macaroni and cheese every night in our cabin and disregarded the weight that started to show on your belly. I tried hard to look good while you seemed to put all your energy into looking silly. I wore make-up and braided my hair in pigtails. I wore denim skirts and twisted the front of my shirts into a knot to show my midriff. None of our inside jokes carried over to the realm of camp, and since you were not available, I died for attention from someone else, anyone else. Even though I hated camp, I continued to go for the next two years, hoping each time would be better than the last.
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