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It was baffling how ignorant the counselors were.
Clem supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. The problems Crystal and he faced existed for summers, but the adults acted as if they were the root of their own misery. Banning them from sharp objects was the same as giving their bullies a get-out-of-jail-free card. In the end, Clem was the one with the problem, not Bobby when he punched him, not Kitty when she demanded his arrowheads, not Maloof when he extorted him, and certainly not anyone else who wronged them.
Throughout it all, they strained themselves to spread cheer. They kept up their happy facades. Even if Clem wanted to make others grin, their retribution stung all the same. Summer camp was a far cry from the agony of his home life, and Clem wondered if he was meant to be grateful when Benny only tormented him through infantile insults that still made Crystal weep.
Clem drummed his fingers on the table, the empty space of the lodge looming around him. Only Chef Cruller flipping burgers filled the silence. He held his face in his hand, dull gaze focused on the hunched-over cook mumbling to himself. The persistent scrapping of his spatula on the unlit stove and the slapping of even colder patties hitting it was better than listening to the spiteful reflections spiraling in his head.
He wasn’t a fool. Clem saw the world for what it was. Cruller claimed to have been stationed in camp to “keep the little spoonbenders from killing each other.” But Cruller also turned his back on Clem, raking leaves, cleaning canoes, or observing from his special station. (Clem was observant, eerily so according to Franke. He liked watching people and knowing their patterns. Chloe examined others out of curiosity and Milka for tools to use against them, but Clem’s observations gave him a chance to protect himself if the little ants marched his way with harassing intent. It allowed him to uncover Cruller’s secret, the older agent only sniffing at him when he caught Clem in the tree trunk poking his head out to marvel at the hidden facility.)
Cruller glanced at him, scoffed, then went back to his burgers. “Told those hungry mouths the burgers ain’t ready, but they still wait. Sheesh! Leave a man to cook in place, will ya? It isn’t even time for supper, and they’re hounding me.”
While Clem liked spreading merriment, Cruller’s grumbling was like venom. Clem had only greeted him upon arrival and was met with rejection. He couldn’t afford anything at the store, which was hardly a cause for agitation. (Not that he had been able to, yet, because certain campers stole his arrowheads.) Still, Clem sighed and swung his legs out from under the bench. It was almost time for levitation class, in which he was still horribly failing, unable to manage his thought bubble for more than five minutes on a good day.
Ultimately, the world was a cruel, dark, unforgiving nightmare until the dear, merciful release of death claimed him.
“Sup, my broski?”
Clem jarred back to reality, thoughts dashed by a tone as chill as ice. His shoulders hitched, and he swallowed down a yelp. He blinked as if the boy in front of him would vanish like a mirage. But when Quentin remained put while levitating two cups of hot cocoa, Clem plastered on a familiar grin and brought his hand up in a wave.
“Oh, h-hey, Quentin! Sorry, I totally checked out and didn’t realize you were there! Hahaha!” He paused, pushing down his nervous laughter. “Um, how long have you been here?”
“Not too long. I just came over.” Quentin cocked his head toward Cruller. “He didn’t notice me while I whipped up two cocoas in the kitchen. Want one? It’s got little marshmallows.”
When Quentin lowered a cup into Clem’s hands, it did, indeed, have little marshmallows swirling in the dark mix. Aromatic chocolate wafted around Clem, the scent subtly sweet. “For me?” he asked, glancing at Quentin. “Seriously?”
“Of course, man.” Quentin sat next to him and lifted his free finger. A slow stream of cocoa rose from the drink, and he sipped it gingerly, not spilling any of it. He sighed and smacked his lips. “See, I came in through the back door. I said hey to you, but you didn’t answer. You seemed like you were thinking about something big.”
Clem’s muscles tightened. For him to have been so careless was a grave mistake. Had it been anyone other than Quentin, he would’ve received immediate disparagement. His painted smile twitched as he said, “Oh! Oh, oh, I’m sorry. My brain, uh, well-” He sharply tapped his forehead. “-I just get wrapped up in my thoughts.”
“No need to apologize, dude.” Quentin also tapped his forehead. “I didn’t want to disturb your super smart contemplation, so I booked it to the kitchen and made my specialty. Figured you’d like to share a cup of choco joe with ol’ Q.”
“Choco-? Oh, like chocolate coffee?”
“But it’s really hot cocoa.” Quentin moved his finger from side to side, the cup shifting in mid-air. “Too much caffeine ruins the taste, not that I’ve ever had chocolate coffee.”
As Quentin spoke, Clem carefully sipped. He was hit with the striking taste of strong, soothing chocolate. It was as if whatever powdered mix Quentin used wasn’t a cheap brand Oleander had bought with what little pocket money HQ tossed the camp’s way. He hummed, the marshmallows pleasantly gooey as he swallowed, and he pointed at the cup, asking how Quentin could have made it.
“Exactly as the package says but with a dash of milk,” he proudly said. “Particularly, soy milk. It brings out a massive killer kick for the chocolate.”
“Soy, huh?” Clem watched the marshmallows sway and snickered. “Well, okay! That sounds about right to me!”
“Definitely, dude! So, wanna kick it with me and share a drink?”
Quentin held out his cup, shaking it slightly. He was friendly and open, a complete reversal from Clem. His smile was pure, unlike the cracked mask Clem glued together. Not a hint of deceit or malice was identifiable.
Clem knew there were kind children in Whispering Rock. Quentin was the nicest of them all, the one who wore his heart on his sleeve. And Clem sighed out his contempt, gently clinking their mugs together.
Clem lowered his voice. “I appreciate this. Thanks, Quentin.”
“I’m always happy to make hot cocoa for a homeslice,” Quentin said, and he closed his eyes, savoring his drink.
Clem decided being late to class was for the best as he sat next to Quentin, drinking in his warmth and the calming cocoa. And for a brief moment, his thoughts subsided.