The Sign in the Smoke (Nancy Drew Diaries #12)(18)

Katie nodded. “That’s cool!” she said. “Can I look at them when we get back to the cabin? The art looked pretty.”

“Me too?” asked Cece, raising her hand like we were in class. “I just read my first fantasy book, Seraphina, and I thought it was way cool.”

Harper’s cheeks flushed pink. “Sure,” she said, crumpling up her trash with a shrug. “I’d be happy to show you . . . just make sure your hands are clean.”

As we gathered up our trash and started heading back to the cabin, all complaints about being tired seemed to dissolve into the air, and the girls chatted happily about their favorite books, their favorite activities—all the things that made them different. If the girls noticed that Harper was still a little quiet and standoffish, they didn’t seem to care. They were talking like there were a million things to learn about one another and they couldn’t wait to learn them all.

I fell into step beside Maya at the end of the line and shot her a wink. “Nice job there,” I whispered. “You might be a natural for this CIT stuff, Maya. You totally defused that fight!”

She held up her hand so I could slap her five, and I did. “Same to you,” she said. “I think we’re going to make a great team, Nancy.”

I smiled as I followed Maya and the rest of the girls down the path to the main camp.

As nervous as I was this morning, I thought, camp is really starting to feel like home.



“So how’s it going?” Bess whispered as she slid in between George and me. We were sitting on a log, getting ready for the first full-camp campfire of the week. George and I had just been catching up on what was going on in our bunks. To her surprise, George was loving working with the younger girls.

“Marcie is amazing,” she’d told me. “It’s like she has this inner voice that tells her what each girl really needs. And the kids are soooo sweet. You know what’s crazy about seven-year-olds?”

“What?” I asked with a smile. I’d already told her about my bunk, and the rocky start we’d had, leading into a pretty solid current situation.

George shook her head. “They don’t argue with you!” she said. “They just . . . it’s all on their sleeve. If they feel happy, they act happy. If they feel sad, they cry and need a hug. It’s so easy! Man, if I could deal with only seven-year-olds for the rest of my life . . .”

“You’d probably go crazy,” I filled in for her.

“Maybe. Eventually,” George allowed. “But for a week? This is living, Nancy. This is my ideal camp situation.”

Now George smiled as she turned to Bess. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she said, “but it’s awesome.”

Bess widened her eyes. “George?” She reached out and put a hand on her cousin’s forehead. George groaned and dodged away.

“I know,” she said, “embracing a bunch of seven-year-olds is maybe not expected for George Fayne. But it happened, and I’m not ashamed. I’m loving my bunk. How about you?” she asked Bess.

Bess tilted her head from side to side. “So far, so good,” she said. “I love my campers. They’re great. It is kind of a challenge, dealing with the whole group dynamic. Like, we had this whole battle today between the kids who are still super into Frozen and the ones who think Frozen is for babies.”

“Who won?” I asked. “I hope it was the over-it ones, or you’ll have to hear ‘Let It Go,’ like, two hundred times over the next six days.”

Bess snorted. “Next six days?” she asked. “You’re so out of touch, over there in ten-year-old land. I’ve heard it five hundred times today alone. Luckily, I like the song.” She began belting out her own version, but George quickly shushed her.

“How about you, Nancy?” Bess asked. I gave her an edited version of my adventures with the girls that day. Bess nodded. “Sounds like you and Maya are really gelling,” she said. “That’s great.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, glancing over to where Maya was sitting over on the other side of the circle with some other CITs. She was laughing and gesticulating wildly, clearly having a great time. “She’s terrific.”

Just then Deborah stood up and rang a cowbell she was holding, calling the campfire to order. “Campers, welcome!” she called. “I’m so happy to have you all here. I know that most of the campers are too young to remember, but some of the counselors and CITs may recall that at Camp Larksong, we always used to light this torch to symbolize the beginning of camp. The torch will stay lit all week, until we put it out on the last morning.”

She moved back so that we could all see a large, metal-based torch that sat up in a clear area several yards from the campfire.

“Miles, are we ready to light it?” Deborah asked. Miles moved out of the shadows, igniting a long butane lighter, the kind you would use to light a grill. Everyone grew quiet as he walked over to the torch.

Deborah closed her eyes and said, “With eager hearts and minds, we light this torch to symbolize all the good times, precious memories, and lifelong friends we will make over the next week at Camp Cedarbark. May this torch light our way to happiness!”

“May this torch light our way to happiness!” the campers—and counselors—repeated.