Cracks start to form.

I remember that morning, when Bitchface arrived, I'd been really proud as I hadn't been smoking. This was before I met her. I said to Health Freak at breakfast, "Every time I've wanted a cigarette, I've been going outside, and having hot water and lemon instead! Aren't you proud of me?" She seemed pleased and encouraging, if a little surprised. I was proud of myself and still feeling good. Then at breakfast, Bitchface got up and embraced Overachiever, a little too warmly for my liking. I couldn't believe it, but at the same time understood it so completely clearly. Everything was clear, clicking into my brain, slotting together, making sense. Of course BF would like OA, and vice versa. Of course they'd have a past together. Of course the one guy I'd felt an instant connection and attraction to would feel that way about the one girl I took an instant dislike to. Of course. Before I knew what was happening, tears welled up in my eyes. I didn't know what to do or where I was going, all I knew was that I needed out of this stuffy, claustrophobic faux primary school breakfast hall right then and there. My legs took me back to the house, across the river. I grabbed my iPod, money, and phone card. I walked the five minutes to the corner store to buy Camels, then realised I didn't have my lighter or enough money for one. The woman in the store, in an Alaska T-shirt, who chitchatted when I asked her about it, telling me her son went to university there, was so kind and cheery, handing me her lighter to keep. I told her I couldn't thank her enough. I must have looked teary, I bet she could tell I was just having one of those days, when everything is going wrong, but at the time I didn't realise this, and was just taken aback by how nice the people round here were. But looking back she must've known I was upset. I blasted Kelis and Nicki Minaj as I walked back, much slower, savouring my smokes, trying to gather myself together. I got back to the house and everyone crowded around, asking if I was okay, what was wrong. I said I was fine now and needed to be alone. Either before I'd left breakfast, or after, (I don't remember,) I rushed to the office and rang Jacky. I was still using the cheap phone card then, and unfortunately it cut out after just a few minutes. I let myself cry, telling him all I felt about OA and BF: how she just embodied and reminded me of everything I hate in girls, how typical it was that they has a past. Sometime during this short call, BF's face appeared at the window. It was obvious I was crying and upset, but she said nothing, just looked surprised, and ran back to the main house. I feel sure that she and possibly some others then listened into my conversation with Jack, which would be perfectly possible as there was only one outside line, which I wasn't using. All the others hooked up to the same line, enabling easy eavesdropping. I don't know how much, what, or even if they heard, but obviously this doubt didn't make me feel at ease or any better, when I was already feeling panicked and anxious by BF's arrival. Jacky reassured me, sounding worried, but saying how it didn't matter, I could still just shag OA and forget him, and I remember agreeing, saying how I didn't want a relationship with him, and reiterating our philosophy of hit it and quit it, but it was just hard as all the memories of awful girls came back when I first saw BF with her arms wrapped tight around him. I went to smoke after the call cut out, checking my phone absentmindedly, not expecting anything, but realising I was in signal range. I had a text from Jacky, telling me he hoped I would be okay, to try not to worry and that everything would be alright. I tried to reply, but my phone wouldn't pick up any signal for me to send my text.

Setting sail, June 11th.

I turned to the slightly pudgy, red-faced man on my right and said, “Please let me know if I have this on too loud,” referring to my music, and we just got talking. I said I was going to work at a camp in America, and we speculated on what the camp director, who was picking me up from the airport, would look like. I said I thought she’d either be really fat or really thin (she was thin, as it turned out). From there on in, the 8 hour flight to Boston flew by in a haze of gin and tonics (though I made sure to keep asking for water too), laughter and making fun of the air steward. It felt like we’d built a firm friendship, and it would be a shame to abandon it once we’d landed. At airport security, on the way off the plane, the border woman read my visa and passport, saying “Camp Kill ‘em off?” in a derisive, wary tone. I replied, with the camp's name, correcting her, but added, “Yeah, I did think it was a bit of a weird name.” I made my way out into the bright sunshine, and gave my camp director a hug in greeting. She was surrounded by other workers, who I introduced myself to. I felt happy and excited. My new friend from the plane, came back in before we left and gave me a big hug. I had his number and his name for Facebook, so I was sure we’d keep in touch. The director drove us to her house in Boston, where we met some of the other students who would be working with us. I phoned home, but no-one picked up – I think it was the middle of the night in England – so I left a message to say I’d arrived safely. The house was quaint and cosy. Everyone seemed nice and friendly, if a little quiet. I felt I was a bit loud, probably from the gin, looking back. But it served me well at the time, I talked a lot, covering the awkward silences and creating a friendly impression. Later Trotsky said she'd thought I was really friendly, so obviously I made a good impression, at least on her. We went out for pizza, and afterwards we went to see the director's friend’s stained glass workshop. It was interesting and his pieces were beautiful, but it had been a really long day and by this point I was in danger of dropping off as he spoke. He showed us where he slept, next to the studio with a pull-down bed, and when he was out of earshot I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Sorry, but is anyone else reminded of Anne Frank by this?” I announced to the group. From what I remember, they laughed and sheepishly agreed. Once we got back to the house, I really was beat. I remember complaining about my stomach, speculating that it could have been the white flour (though looking back it was probably the amount of pizza mixed with, again, the gin!), but P cut me off, saying how much she’d been farting! I found this pretty familiar for someone I’d just met, and, as far as I could tell, someone quite posh too. Anyhow, I guess it put me at my ease a little more. Next came the long drive to camp. It was getting dark, and let’s just say the director isn’t the fastest driver on earth, very over-cautious and hesitant. I coughed the whole way there, feeling guilty that I was keeping the others from snoozing soundly, and wishing I could sleep myself. It was gross, and I prayed the cough would go after a few days. It did clear eventually. We stopped at a petrol station and I bought cough drops which I think helped a little. When we finally arrived, I had no idea what time it was but I knew it was late; Pretzel met us at our car and helped bring our bags in, though I think I insisted on doing mine myself. He was really friendly and chatty, and I remember liking him a lot from the moment I met him. Me and Trotsky were shown to our room, where Together Girl was sleeping. I felt really bad making noise but it was pretty unavoidable. I wondered how I’d sleep in the heat and probably kept them both up with my coughing. I can’t remember who or what woke me up the next day, or whether I had breakfast. I went down and had a cup of tea, I think, and Trotsky sat with me. I said I had to go out for a cigarette, which she said she “understood”, as I had been surviving on Nicorette mints since my last fag at Heathrow. So I went out back and had one, feeling the nicotine as it seeped into me, waking me up and making me feel alive again. The others were up already, having a tour of camp, and we met them by the lake. I remember feeling really embarrassed as I only had my pyjamas on, but no-one seemed to bat an eyelid. I can’t remember much else of that first day. We went back and got dressed, and maybe we started work then… we were clearing the cabins from top to bottom, inside and out, as they hadn’t been used since last summer. We swept, dusted, cleaned the bathrooms and toilets to Baby Girl’s iPod. It was good fun, I like the kind of work where you see the results you’ve achieved straight away. And because it was physical it kind of focused and consumed all of your attention. Those first few days were heavenly. Baby Girl would come into my room, waking me up at about 8, we’d all have breakfast together and then start work 'til about noon or 1, when we’d have lunch. One afternoon they went swimming in the lake, which I wanted to do, but chose to get some sun on my skin instead. This was a period when my psoriasis was really bad, and I was determined to use the baking sun on this side of the pond to my advantage, as my own personal light therapy. Another afternoon we went to the shops near Middlebury, and I got sunglasses and shampoo and bras. It was a really good day. I got a little lost and phoned home, which was really nice. I’d been doing a lot of deep thinking since I’d gotten there, and I remember telling my mum she’d done a brilliant job of bringing up me and my sister and thanking her. Eventually the minivan rolled into the parking lot and they found me, so I rang home once more to tell my parents! I wasn’t worried, though; Middlebury was small and I’d told them I’d be at the pharmacy to get some nicotine patches. I apologized profusely once they’d found me, of course, but the director wasn’t at all angry – she’d just been worried, which I felt bad about. It’s hard to remember the order all of it happened in. Most nights me and Baby Girl would stay up with Great Teacher and Pretzel, smoking and drinking and watching the stars. One night, probably our second, they took us out back and showed us the fireflies. It was amazing, hundreds of glowing insects. I looked up at the sky and it actually looked like a canopy you could pull down. So many stars. I’ll always remember that. They told us stories about the different drugs they’d taken and what had happened. They seemed like fun people. I was really happy to be there. They had these foam swords, and because the road was so quiet at night, with barely any cars passing, we took them out of GT's boot and fought with them. It was so fun. There was also a big sign saying, “STOP!” and ‘check the road’, or something like that, and I’d always sarcastically mock it at night, being like, GUYS! We need to stop and look!, a joke that the others probably got really tired of really quickly – but if so, they never said it to me. Everything changed once more counselors arrived. I remember the morning Bitchface arrived so clearly. She was sitting at the table next to mine, telling everyone how Evil Twin had been crying when she’d met her to be taken to camp. I jumped to her defence immediately. “How would you feel if you were in a strange country?!” and everyone looked at me like I had two heads… probably because I was interrupting a conversation at a different table to mine. From then on, I kept putting my foot in it, time after time. I found it odd how rude the Americans considered interruption – for me, and in the UK in general, I reckon, it’s natural.

Beginnings.

I have to start writing it down, because lately, I've felt like it's slipping away. I don't remember exactly what everyone said anymore, and I'm terrified of getting to the point where I don't remember it at all. It started as a utopia. I felt like I had found my place, heaven, on earth. But things quickly escalated and became darker, murky and, evidently, less clear. It may sound like I'm being dramatic, but as far as I can remember, I'm not. Not at all. As best I can recall, I'm going to record here what happened when I went to camp, last summer; the strangest and most interesting one of my life.