Life in New York City is chaotic—it's hectic. People rush to their workplaces or back home. Sometimes they head downtown for a party or a Broadway show, but not me. No sir. I don't like going out unless it's for school, a good New York-style bagel, or, to be honest, to buy new books. My siblings, on the other hand, are different. They're always out and about. But there's one thing we all have in common: summer camp.
Every single Hayden kid started attending Camp Willowcrest at the age of six, when we were just simple campers following the rules, making new friends, and having fun. Now, we're all senior counselors. Sabrina, the firstborn and the "mom" of us kids, is the Assistant Camp Director. As if she doesn't already control us at home! Then there's Melanie, the second oldest, a gym enthusiast who's in charge of everything related to sports and workouts. She can be a little annoying sometimes. The twins, Alexis and Karter, handle outdoor activities. If you're looking for an adventurous summer, they're the ones to follow. After the twins comes me, Serena. I help campers with arts and crafts—if you want to make a bracelet for your best friend, I'd be happy to help. Lastly, there's Eliot, the youngest of the bunch. He's a counselor-in-training, still learning the ropes.
Camp Willowcrest is not only a common bond for me and my siblings, but it is also the place where I met my best friends: Riko, Pratibha, HaYun, Waya, and Huang. Waya was the first one who invited me to join their group for the Scavenger Hunt. Walking around the camp, finding random objects, is how we started becoming friends. It is also when I began celebrating my birthday in the summer, as it's the only time I can celebrate it with my friends—none of them, except for Riko, were born in the summer.
Camp Willowcrest is where I experienced young love. Back in New York, no one paid much attention to me—perhaps it was partly my fault for being a hermit and avoiding social events. Maybe, to the boys at school, I wasn't that pretty. Who knows?
The first boy I ever kissed was a seven years old, with blonde locks from the South. I never saw him again after that summer. One of the cabin directors that time had read us the letter he sent: 'I'm happy for the weeks I spent at Camp Willowcrest, but sadly, my family and I are moving to Toronto, so I won't be coming back.' I'm sure there was something else written in that letter, but I forgot everything else the second it was for dinner. What can I say? I was seven and hungry.
Camp Willowcrest wasn't always rainbows and sunshine. I remember a summer—I think I was around 14—when I realized that mean people often hide behind pretty faces and sweet voices. It was the summer I learned how jealousy can be a terrible monster, worse than any ghost story you've heard about around a campfire.Â