There’s a new normal at Camp Sweetwater, and that normal is normal.
Ghost don’t appear in our bonfires now, screaming for justice. All the lifeguards at the lake are actually alive. There are no cryptic French whispers at night. And extremely important: shower curtains, towels, razors, and blackened wood just sit there, not doing anything.
Corryn Quinn, my best friend, and I made sure of that.
The next day, the Great Lawn is filled with flying girls trying to out-stunt or out-tumble each other. The HoneyBees are in the front rows soaring through the air. Rows of pink-and-gold aerials flip around the lawn and before I can catch my breath, back handsprings are tumbling toward me. If I had to bet, I’d say some of these Bees were doing somersaults before they could crawl.