Page 23 of Full Out Fiend

“The bug spray my grandma packed issostinky. I hate it. Sheneverbuys the right kind.”

Rule number two at Camp New Hope: all feelings are valid, and outbursts are rarely about the topic at hand.

“Have you ever used a bug spray you do like?” I try.

She nods, but keeps her eyes cast down on my Crocs. They’re bright yellow, and I’ve put all sorts of stupid emoji charms in the holes. I figured if I was going to perform the role of camp nurse for two whole weeks, I needed the proper footwear. Next year, I’m going to buy these suckers in every color.

“What did that one smell like?”

“Coconut,” she replies instantly. “Coconut and pineapple. My dad always used it when we went to the beach to keep the no-see-ums away.”

“I see…”

I tap my pen on my notepad, racking my brain for some sort of workaround. I know I can’t “fix” everything for the kids that come to Camp New Hope, but the whole point of a bereavement camp is to let them be kids while they’re here. If there’s something I can do to ease the burden of grief, even just for the week…

“Oh! I know just what we need!”

Her eyes track my movement as I sort through the various bottles and tubes in one of the first aid kits.

“This,” I declare triumphantly. “Okay, here’s the deal, kiddo.” I grab my rolly stool and bring it over to her, lowering it all the way so we’re almost eye-to-eye.

“We’re going to clean all these bug bites, then apply anti-itch cream. I’ll give you dye-free Benadryl tonight so you don’t scratch. Then you have to promise me you’ll use the bug spray your grandma packed.”

“But—”

“Ah, ah, ah! Promise me, Sophie. Even if it’s stinky! Wehaveto keep you under the legal limit.” I cup one side of my mouth, then whisper, “My job’s on the line here, kid. If someone finds out I let you get this close to forty bug bites…” I shudder dramatically. “I don’t want to be sent home for not being a good nurse.”

She eyes me skeptically for all of three seconds before she nods seriously.

“Once you’ve got the bug spray situation handled, come see me tomorrow. You can use a little of this on your arms and neck to get rid of the stinkies.”

I pop the lid off the container of solid coconut oil and hold it up so she can take a whiff.

She inhales and smiles. “It smells like coconut!”

“So do we have a deal?”

She holds out a small hand—there’s dried paint along her knuckles, dirt under her nails, and at least five inflamed bug bites—and I shake it before reaching for my gloves and the anti-itch cream.

--

A swift knock draws my attention away from my phone. The volunteer coordinator, Maggie Clark, sticks her head around the doorframe for her nightly check in.

“You need anything? More food? A night off?”

I’m off the clock each night at eight, but I haven’t left the campgrounds since I arrived ten days ago. I have a private room—a single unit at the end of the boys’ lodge—and I’m committed to staying here for the duration of camp, even though my legs are about six inches too long for the bottom bunk.

I don’t trust myself to be on call if I left. I can sleep anywhere, and I rarely wake to the sound of my phone going off. I’d be too worried to fall asleep at home, afraid I’d miss a call.

“I’m good,” I insist through a yawn. “My notes are updated, and everyone’s set for tonight.”

Maggie nods once and smiles.

“You’re doing a great job, Fielding. The kids love you, and we’ve never had a full-time first aid person willing to stay for the duration of camp. I hope you don’t have any intention of being a one-hit wonder around here. I know this is a condition for med school, but it’d be great to not have to worry about filling this position next year.”

I inwardly preen but school my expression so she doesn’t know the compliment went to my head.

“You’re asking for an early commitment for next season?”