Camp, the week of Planned Spontaneity. Part I

Each year, I am stunned by all the crazy surprises and memories that get packed into my week at Clydehurst camp. Every single year, I think I know what to expect, until those expectations are blown out of the water and replaced by things I couldn't imagine and will remember forever. This year was no different. I don't even know how to begin the description of the week, so I'll start at the beginning; on the bus ride up, Rachel and I ate peanut butter, chocolate chips, and raspberries. Rachel and I became friends last year on the way to camp, so we celebrated one glorious year of friendship with the best portable food ever, peanut butter. Getting to camp was no big deal, saw some old friends and finally got the cabin I had always wanted to stay in. Before bed, when we were waiting to brush our teeth in the bathroom, Rachel and I chose that moment to become infamous. We made our counselor think up a story on the spot so that we could bust out our interpretive dance moves in our sports bras and pajama pants in the middle of the cabin floor. Our dance was complete with start and end poses, individual and group bows, and stage presence. A tradition was born, and we decided to do a dance every night. Later that week we would be known by most of the staff as THE interpretive dancers, and we even did a show or two for the two staff members who did nightly cabin checks. Another tradition, though not formed by us but by the camp, and maintained for the health of the campers, was night meds. It's exactly what it sounds like; meds, at night, for those who take meds at night and remembered to bring their pills. Night meds is where Rachel and I met many of our friends, including Timmy. We met Timmy on Sunday night, but we really didn't become friends until Monday evening, so I'll come back to that. On Monday we took the hike to Trinity falls, where Mikaela, Rachel, and I held hands and dunked under the freezing falls of icy mountain run-off. On the wet hike back down, I twisted my ankle. Badly, and it made one of those liquid-y popping noises that you never want to hear. I kept walking on it until after lunch, when it began swelling, so I got it wrapped up. That evening was July fourth, so we found our new friend Timmy and ate watermelon and watched fireworks. Then night meds, then interpretive dance, then bed. Tuesday was fun but  non advantageous, other than cramming my swollen ankle into my sneakers to play Capture the Flag, and of course, another dance. Wednesday came, and I thought it would be just another day. However, after another fun day, I was feeling a little queasy before dinner. I ate anyway and was told it would just settle. I was walking with Rachel down to chapel when The Sick hit us like a semi. We made a bee-line back up the hill to our cabin and then took turns barfing up lunch and dinner. That night, when everyone was out staying up late and having a grand time, Rachel and I learned friendship in its truest form, while we held each others hair back and vomited a minimum of ten times each. It was that night that we also learned what a true friend Timmy was. I would say Mikaela too, but we already knew how wonderful that girl is. Anyway, he risked trouble of many kinds to be our friend that night. First he stood on our porch, which is against the rules of the camp, and secondly, he risked getting what we had, which would have kept me off of any ones porch, especially on such a fun night. This concludes part one. Please read part two.