The sun shone through the thick mass of leaves, up on the tall trees. The early summer air, shift from the usual below-freezing temperatures of Uranium and constant dark clouds in the sky, brought humidity and warmth, effectively making the entire northeastern Saskatchewan sweat profusely. The presenter at morning radio program, “Good Morning, Brandeit County!” said the heatwave wouldn’t relent for at least next two weeks, probably longer.
That’s how Mischa arrived at the Uranium Camp. It was his adoptive “guardians”, if he could even call them that, that made the requirement – if he was to stay at their house, he had to pick up a job through the summer. Preferably, a time-consuming one, so he wouldn’t bother them while they tried to “build a bond” with Kyrylo, their other adoptive son. The one that fit their fantasies of having a normal family. The one they wanted.
They didn’t even bother to learn Ukrainian and had the audacity to act surprised when Kyrylo, a 3-year-old, couldn’t speak English. Fucking idiots.
He worked his fair share already. Back in Ukraine, in his early teens, he picked strawberries at a plantation outside Odessa. He got bare change for it, surely below the minimum wage, but enough to buy himself comic books and snacks, so he was happy. Then, he was a delivery man at the local pizzeria to support his mom when she couldn’t work anymore, and chipped in to the money they got from government. In Uranium, he tried working as a server in a café, the only one in town apparently. It was going well, the owners were friendly and the work was easy.
Until he got so mad at a bitchy customer he punched them right through their face.
He got fired, understandably, but kept in touch with the café owners’ daughter, Constance. She was nice and cheerful, sweet, had a great sense of humor and talented in singing, and generally the very opposite of Mischa. Yet, he enjoyed her company nonetheless.
They went to St. Cassian together, but shared only one class – Biology. Neither of them was a genius in that subject, but managed to get passing grades with shared cheat sheets. They sat next to each other at the back of the class to avoid the stare of their about ancient teacher, Mrs. Hodgson, who always sat at the desk with a ruler, ready to bang it against the desk if she deemed the class too loud.
It was actually Constance’s idea for him to become a counselor. He was laying on her bed, complaining about his “parents” and their demands. He was blacklisted by most employers in Uranium because of the incident in the café, so the only jobs he could apply for were in Hallinstown. And because he had no car, and Dick and Pippa were less than happy to share their family van with him, he had no means of transportation. Yes, he checked the buses, but they were only during school hours.
So, no job.
And then Constance, truly an angel on earth, sent to Mischa, said that the camp her parents deliver food to is hiring. Like, right now hiring, hiring anyone despite their past history. He raised his eyebrow at that, but she quickly fixed herself, “obviously, no criminal record or something like that,” though, knowing the standards of Uranium, he would probably meet a few drunk or high employees.
Constance’s parents were in charge of the camp’s cafeteria, a package deal with taking over the café, and this summer the camp was in desperate need of counselors. She knew the camp like the back of her hand, despite actually being enrolled there only two times.
So he called, still sitting in Constance’s room, and they sent back an acceptance email twenty minutes later. She looked at him, mouthing “I told you.”
Late June, weather hot and humid, and even his basement, usually providing some relief from the temperatures, was getting hot. The living room ceiling fan was running on the highest setting, but even that didn't work as well as everyone hoped it would.
At least, Mischa was happy about Dick and Pippa not going to his basement.
He packed a sports bag full of clothes, a mosquito spray, his first aid kit - “you never know what will happen”, his mama used to tell him and shove a few bandages and an antiseptic into his bag whenever he went outside to play - a towel, a shower gel, headphones and charger, shoved his phone into his shorts' pocket and got into Dick’s van at 7 in the morning to get there on time. He was supposed to be there by 9, for a “staff meeting” , whatever it was, so it was better to not be late for something that was apparently required, as the acceptance e-mail said.
His adoptive father, Dick, to get to the camp had to drive through a bumpy dirt road in the middle of the forest, off the highway and almost lost the way multiple times, cursing the town council for not paving the road.
Mischa would lie if he said it didn’t make him snicker.
Camp Uranium was placed far outside of the actual Uranium, deep in the thick forests west of it. It was the same way as to St. Cassian, except you had to drive around five minutes longer and then turn into an unpaved road, and then make a lot of twists and turns.
The dirt road turned into grass, and they were redirected by a middle-aged man with a long beard and a beer belly to park some three hundred feet away. Dick parked far away from most of the cars, and Mischa practically ran with his bag to see the campground.
Multiple identical cabins stood in a half circle around the biggest building, a big beech in front of it. Behind the big building was an apple orchard, and a pathway to the lake hidden behind it. If he remembered correctly, most of the buildings were scattered within one mile of each other – there were more cabins and a camp garden further into the forest. Constance took him on a tour around the entire camp in early June, before the season started, but he forgot most of it.
The camp was a small, family-owned business that later got consumed by a corporation that came to “revive” the town in late 1980s and was thrown up about ten years later when it stopped being profitable. It was picked up by another business again, and has been running under it ever since.
“Mischa!” He heard Constance’s voice call out from behind, and suddenly was wrapped in her warm embrace. He turned around and pressed himself closer, putting his arms around her back, squeezing her.
Constance was a hugger. This trait came naturally to her – from his time at the café, he learned that both of her parents hugged their employees often, and were pretty affectionate with each other and their kids. It’s not like he minded – one of the things Mischa knew how to do, and how to do well, was giving physical contact, and he thoroughly enjoyed all forms of it.
“Hi Constance.” He smiled, snuggling his face into her hair. It always smelled nice, like her coconut shampoo and conditioner and freshly baked bread.
Constance suddenly pulled off, looking him in the eyes with a wide smile.
“Come on, there aren’t many people in the canteen yet, you need a good seat to hear the head counselor well.” Constance tugged on his wrist, clasping it in her own hand and pulling him towards the big building. Mischa turned around and waved off-handedly to Dick, leaving him standing next to the car, watching him and Constance with a relieved expression.
They ran up the stairs, creaking below their weight. Constance pushed open the big, wooden doors to the big building. Inside were multiple tables with long benches attached, some chairs put in a half-circle around a microphone, and a couple people sitting on them. He caught a brief glance at a boy with glasses hunched over a notebook, rapidly scribbling something.
“Hi Steve!” Constance waved to some old-ish man in a green polo with a giant Playboy rabbit on the back, and he waved back enthusiastically. Then, she pointed to two empty seats and they sat down - Constance still cheerful and happy, practically vibrating with excitement and Mischa getting more anxious by the second. The weird, freezing feeling at the back of his neck was there again, squeezing his insides, wrenching his guts, ready to attack at any moment.
“Mischa? You’re okay?” Constance’s voice seemed oddly distant. He held onto it like a lifeline.
“Yes. Yeah.” He tried giving her his most reassuring smile. She kept shooting him worried glances nonetheless.
Few minutes later, almost all of the chairs (Mischa counted them three times, in a way of calming himself down he read on the WikiHow – exactly fourteen, two on his right, three on his left including the one Constance was sitting on, four in the back and four in the front.) were taken. A girl with dark brown hair in two braids, wearing a black sweater – who wears black clothes, much more sweaters during heatwave? – was sitting on his right, having come there a few minutes before. She was staring blankly in front of her, light eyes, he couldn’t really see the color, unfocused and mouth slightly agape.
Suddenly, the doors burst open, revealing a very frantic, short redhead girl immediately running in. She had a tie-dye rainbow t-shirt and black bikers shorts, and a red-face from exertion.
Said ginger ran up to Constance, dragging a big, dark suitcase behind her, panting and trying to get her words out. “I’m so sorry I’m not on time, the bus came half an hour late and I thought I wouldn’t get here but-“
Constance smiled at her. “It’s alright! Just sit down Ocean.”
Huh. Ocean. Who gives their kid such a name?
Ocean craned her neck, eyes widening for a moment, and walked over their front row to sit next to the girl on Mischa’s right. She sat down next to her, quietly shuffling away in the chair, as if she was trying to get away from the girl.
Mischa took another look at the girl.
Her braids were low and loose, unlike the braids of the girl sitting in front of him in Health at school. Her hair was dark chocolate brown, much darker than his own, and slightly curly at the ends. She didn’t seem to wear any make-up, but he could see her eyelashes were dark and long, and lips in a shade of strawberry. Her two front teeth, protruding and showing behind the slightly opened lips had a gap between them.
She was wearing a black sweater with sleeves to her elbows, pure torture for Mischa, a white shirt with the collar poking out from underneath the sweater, a white skirt with fluffy underskirt to make it look bigger. In all honesty, Mischa liked her outfit – she didn’t look like all the other girls in Uranium, with leopard print and endless layers of jeans.
She looked really cool. Aesthetically - was that the right word?- pleasing.
Constance leaned over to whisper in Mischa’s ear. “That’s Penny you’re sitting next to. She’s a regular at the camp. She’s really nice, sometimes a bit crazy. Generally fun. It’s her first time being a counselor, though.”
“How do you know that?” He cocked an eyebrow.
Constance shrugged, looking away. “I know everyone, a lot of people come here every summer. It’s the only camp in our area.” She hesitated, drumming out a rhythm on her temple. “… And I might have taken a peek at the documents. Sorry?” She bit her lip, fighting off the smile slowly overtaking her face.
Mischa threw a soft punch at her shoulder, making her smile more, but the bubbling playful fight was cut off by a loud, rumbling voice almost yelling into the microphone.
“Hello counselors! We want to welcome you to Camp Uranium, a beautiful place filled with amazing people and rich history. My name is Dennis Brooks, but you can call me Den. I’m the head counselor here, so any worries or problems should be reported to me.” The man took a deep breath, wiping the sweat on his forehead with a tissue. He had dark, graying hair pulled back into a ponytail, long beard and was wearing a Camp Uranium t-shirt, dark blue jeans shorts and obnoxious red sneakers with bright neon yellow shoelaces.
“This year, we have twelve counselors, and last year we had ten. Six cabins are here, around the cafeteria, six are deeper, near the campers. People from cabins around cafeteria won't have a cabinmate, some of you who will have cabins deeper will have. After I assign cabins, you have twenty minutes to unpack, and then I’m going to guide you around the campground. It’s a pretty big place, so pay attention to the tour, in case you will have to seek out missing campers.” He looked around, staring at the counselors faces. Most of them were highschoolers, excluding that one woman with crusty, bleached blonde hair in her 40s and the football coach from Hallinstown High School. “Also, everyone will be supplied with a Camp Uranium t-shirt and a name tag at their cabins. You write the name you want to be called by on it. Nickname, full name, something, you choose.”
And then he started listing the names and cabins. Mischa definitely did not zone out, staring at the Wi-Fi icon on his phone displaying “no reception”, until he heard his name. “Penelope – sorry, Penny – Lamb and Mykhaylo Bachinski, cabin seven.”
He leaned over Constance, tapping her back, “They can put two people together”
Constance shrugged. “They probably don’t have a cabin to put you with another boy.” Her phone vibrated, the screen lighting up. “Shit, my mom needs me to help them in the canteen. Something with lunch. Talk to you later!” And just like that, Constance sprinted through the small crowd getting up and disappeared behind another set of doors.
He’s not even going to question how she had reception there.
Everyone started getting up, so Mischa did too. He headed towards the main doors when he suddenly felt a touch on his shoulder and almost jumped out of his skin.
But today wasn’t the day he departed from the mortal realm, or whatever his English teacher said and his brain couldn’t get rid of. The girl, Penny, who he was supposed to share cabin with, was standing behind him, eyes burning holes in his forehead.
She was almost as tall as him. Woah.
“Hi! We’re cabinmates, right?” The girl chirped in a cheerful voice. Almost too high for Mischa's liking. He nodded.
The group started moving out of the doors, slow steps, and out of the main area onto a small forest road.
The girl chipped up again. “I’m Penelope Lamb, but I like Penny more. Is this your first time here?”
Mischa nodded again. “Yeah. I moved here last year. Never had a chance to be here.”
“Ooh, from where?”
He thought about it for a split second. It could go two ways – either she would get put off by him not being a native Canadian, thought his accent might have already given this away, or she would baby him for being from “poor-post-communist-suka-blyat-east-Europe'' and try to get him to speak in Ukrainian. These were the only two reactions he got when telling people where he was really from, and both were really weird, but he was used to them since the move.
“Odessa. Ukraine.”
Penny beamed. “My parents visited Odessa once! Soon before they got engaged, before me or my brother were born. Ma- My mom told me it's a beautiful city, with a lot of old buildings. She studied architecture for a few semesters before dropping out, so I trust her on her word. Much bigger than Uranium. They didn’t spend a lot of time there, only landed there and spent a few days, because they were heading to visit their friend in some small town in Crimea. I- Oh sorry, did I talk over you? I’m so sorry, I tend to get a little lost when I talk, I swear I wasn’t trying to be mean or-“
“No, it’s okay! You can talk." Mischa shook his head, and Penny’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Really? Seriously?" An affirmative hum from Mischa. "A lot of people say I’m a chatterbox,” Seeing Mischa’s confused expression, she cleared, “Negatively. It means I speak too much and too loud.”
“Well, it does not bother me.” Mischa started toying with the speck of dust on his shorts, trying to get his mind from racing.
They spent the next few moments in silence, only shuffling of their shoes, noises of Penny's suitcase being dragged through rocks and dirt, and chatter from other counselors. Den passed them the key to their cabin. It was more on the side from other cabins, about forty feet from the nearest one and behind a big spruce. It was made of shiny logs, with a tiny porch and a singular white, plastic chair standing on it.
Mischa opened the door with the key, putting it on a table next to it. He looked around - the bunk beds seemed to be everywhere, creating a maze, but Penny maneuvered between them gracefully. He followed her, and soon they were standing in front of two
“I think we’re supposed to have those.” Penny slid her suitcase under a bed and sat on one of them – they were twin-size, with the same red and green tartan covers, one pushed against a wall, the other one between a nightstand and one of the bunk bed’s ends. She sat on the latter.
Mischa immediately got to work, dropping his bag on the dusty floor – clearly not cleaned in some time, but it’s not like the basement was in better condition when he first came there, and he managed – and opened the big closet. It was made of some light brown wood, polished, and creaked suspiciously when he opened it. Inside were two parts – one with five horizontal shelves and one with a horizontal metal bar and a few hangers.
He started putting his clothes on the highest shelf. He was glad for his above-average height in moments like these – he didn’t even have to stand on his tiptoes to reach it.
“What’s your name? You didn’t tell me.” He whipped his head around quickly. Penny was staring at him intently, hands in her lap, watching his moves carefully with light blue eyes. They remind him of his mom’s-
No. Don’t think about her now. Have fun.
He took a deep inhale. “I’m Mischa. Bachinski. Really Mykhaylo, but you know, I like Mischa more. I like rap, and I go to St. Cassian-“
Penny slapped her hands against her thighs. “No way! Me too. Well, I will be starting in September, but I already got a tour from the principal. Oh, sorry, I cut in. Go on.”
“And, uh…” He looked away, staring at the slashed surface of the closet. What else could he tell her? It’s not like he wants to confess his entire miserable life to some random girl he met not even an hour ago. “I have a younger adopted brother? My life is not that interesting.”
“Well, I think everyone’s life is interesting in some way. That’s part of life, because all of us are different and our lives are different, people with normal lives want to have lives of people that are exciting and… stuff. But people with these lives want normal lives. We aren’t going to be happy with our lives until we accept them as they are.”
Mischa was, admittedly, taken aback. “Wow that’s… Really clever.”
He felt stupid. She just spouted out almost literal poetry, words that made so much sense but were abstract at the same time, it was almost unbelievable. And there was he, stumbling over his response, saying such simple sentences like a kindergartner responding to a philosophy professor.
Penny smiled again, her gums showing. “Thanks! I really like public speaking. It makes me feel heard.”
Mischa nodded and went back to folding his clothes, the very same way his mama taught him when he was a young boy. It’s not like he had a lot of them – a few t-shirts, shorts, one pair of jeans and two sweatpants, two hoodies, rainproof jacket, socks and underwear. Penny definitely had more, seeing the size of her suitcase, but didn’t start on unpacking it yet.
“It’s seventeen past ten. We have the meeting at twenty, we better go.” Penny made an agreeing hum and they walked out, Mischa locking the door and putting the key into his pocket. The two of them started walking towards the cafeteria.
He turned to Penny, “Do you have reception here?”
“Near the road, Uranium cell tower’s reception reaches there. And sometimes you can catch the camp’s Wi-Fi in the cafeteria. It’s a lotta spotty though.” She looked around. “Did you know that until… summer of 2006 there wasn’t any reception? Once every week we could call from the telephone in the head counselor's cabin. Before that, we had to go to the nearest gas station to use the payphone. My parents didn’t have a phone, so I had no one to call. I just hung out with other kids without phones at their houses or who had already called, because it was a bloodbath. The run to the payphones and the queues I mean.”
Mischa listened, zoning off slightly. He really needed to sneak off before the campers come and call Talia. He already missed her, her sweet voice and raspy laugh, and they literally had a call last night. And he texted her while in the car. Sue him, she’s too pretty and nice and smart to be away from so long.
Penny kept talking to him. Her voice was similar to Talia's, with an occasional rasp, going higher when she ranted, and so Mischa labeled her voice as a good one. Mischa kept occasionally saying something in response and they arrived at the canteen. Constance, sitting at the bottom of the stairs, texting on her phone, told them the meeting has been moved to the campfire due to a delay in the kitchen.
He didn't ask further.
They walked over to the campfire area and sit on logs next to each other. Penny pointed out that she had talked with the redhead girl, Olivia?, O-something?, on the bus and that she had a vibe of being super obnoxious and arrogant. Mischa snorted and talked about Constance and their silent alliance in Biology. And that, if Penny wanted to, they can sit next to each other in classes the next school year, if they have any together.
Penny grinned and agreed.
Then Den walked in with a red clipboard, red-faced but with a huge smile. He did a basic run-down of the rules at camp, what counselors can do, what they can’t do, where they should report, then handed out little pamphlets with the camp’s statute and what they can do in a so-and-so situation when a camper does so-and-so.
Mischa crumpled the paper and put it into his pocket, while Penny eyed it warily. Her eyes skimmed over every section, paying attention to the dark blue letters.
“Did you know we’re legally allowed to break a camper’s ribs?”
Mischa blinked. He was unsure if he heard that right.
“What?”
“If we do CPR, we can break the kid’s ribs and we won’t get arrested for that.” Penny explained, calmly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“See-pear?”
“Resuscitation.” He was still confused. Penny explained further, the slightest of smirks tugging at her mouth's corners, “You know, someone’s not breathing, like drowning, and you drag them out and you have to make them breathe again.
Mischa made a long "Oh" sound, neurons coming together. “Oh, yeah, I have a certificate for this. I’m a licensed lifeguard.”
“You are?” Penny stared at him in awe, mouth comically open. “That’s so awesome!”
“Yes. Got my license in Ukraine, and I was a lifeguard here too.” He stopped for a moment, “So I can break a kid’s ribs?”
“Only if you’re doing CPR.”
“And how can they prove it? They are, like, dead.”
“If you’re doing CPR to a corpse, you’re doing something not right.”
“Good point. But they are…” He searched for the English word for a few moments, making weird moves with his hands, like he always does when he forgets something. “What is the word?”
“Unconscious?”
Mischa nodded rapidly, “Yeah! How can they prove that I wasn’t doing see-pear?”
Penny pouted her bottom lip, lost in her thoughts. “I don’t know. But I’d rather not have my co-counselor get arrested for aggravated assault.”
He pretended to understand the last term.
“Alright,” Den yelled, waving his arms to get everyone's attention, “Now the best part – the tour! Don’t stray away from the group and pay attention. Remember, after the tour you have an hour before the first campers arrive. Change into your camp tees, put on tags and big smiles. Now, let’s go!”
And so it begins.