Haddencroft 12

Dean scuffed along the darkened path, finally catching a glimpse of the flashlight beams partially revealing the girls faces as they turned toward him. With the wine bottle tucked under his arm, he paused, reaching into the pocket of his sweatshirt, deftly shaking one of Phil’s cigarettes from the red and white box directly to his lips. Far from a stranger to the pleasures of smoking, Dean flicked one of the safety matches over the sandpaper strip on the pack, the flash briefly illuminating his face as he lit the cigarette. As he approached the girls he dramatically blew a smoke ring that drifted through his flashlight beam and into the still air of the night. The girls looked up, expectantly, stopping their conversation in mid-sentence.

Now fully awake with adrenaline flowing, Joanne quickly came to the realization that she’d screwed up. Erroneously assuming that all her charges were fast asleep, she had let her guard down. Pissed off that she couldn’t go to the party with the others, shed allowed herself the luxury of some cheap wine and a short nap, when she should have been on duty. Her mind raced as she scrambled for her flashlight. Her first thought was Dean, of course. He’d snuck in; stealing her wine while she was sleeping, taking off into the darkness to who knows where. She knew Dean all too well, having dealt with him the previous summer, falling victim to his devious charm, always regretting giving him a second or third chance. She could see it now, dragging Dean back to his cabin, puking drunk on her wine: then having to explain her lapse.

Slipping on her errant sandal, she bolted out the door, letting it slam, shattering the silence of the humid summer night, running to Dean’s cabin, just a few yards away. Quietly, she opened the screen door of the cabin, letting her flashlight beam travel over the bunks. All were occupied with sleeping campers except Dean’s. His empty sleeping bag lay on the floor, along with empty potato chip bags, empty candy wrappers and his dirty clothes.

Now panicked, Joanne turned on her heels and ran in the direction she had last seen the flashlight beam as Dean had fled. She ran to the path and the sign’s fluorescent letters came into view. The words “Fire Circle” glowed back at her as she paused briefly, gathering her thoughts.

Patty and Jenny greeted Dean like an old friend, which was funny because they usually regarded him like a slimy snake that had found its way into their sleeping bag. After a brief spout of bragging about how he’s scored the smokes and the wine, the three sat on the wooden benches together, savoring the secrecy of the meeting.

Dean could barely contain his excitement at the prospect of finally seeing what had been promised. The warm, turgid feeling in his loins made him dizzy. The blood supply normally dedicated to his adolescent brain had been diverted elsewhere.

Jenny was a bundle of mixed emotions. While she wanted to flee in embarrassment over the pending scene, she was so curious; she became frozen, virtually glued to the wooden log bench in anticipation.

Patty was oblivious to all of this, wanting it all to be over with so she could simply enjoy her smokes. The aspect of having some real alcohol in addition to the smokes was an added bonus.