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“Hello?” Kevin said, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes. June blinked and set down her suitcase. “The new director? Still an old stoner?”
“Uh, not exactly,” June said, cursing her complexion as she felt the heat in her cheeks rise, betraying her actual thoughts.
“What does that mean?” Kevin said, looking at her through the corners of his eyes. June looked around the living room, avoiding his assessing stare. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide. “He’s hot, isn’t he?” Kevin accused.
“I mean, objectively, I guess, well, yes,” June sputtered. Kevin and June had become best friends through sharing a classroom wall and surviving each other’s triumphs and tragedies throughout the past five years, especially when it came to June’s dismal love life and Kevin’s courtship and eventual engagement to his now-husband.
“Are you going to hook up with him?”
“That is wildly unprofessional,” she replied with a haughty air.
“When have you ever cared about that, especially this year?” Kevin replied skeptically. June pulled a face, but Kevin’s comment had cut deeper than he probably intended. June wasn’t her best self this year, and having her best friend so close to her in school meant that June spent most of her time complaining when she wasn’t with students. That was another reason June was looking forward to time away this week: to disconnect from her students, take that break, and hope that distance made the heart grow fonder. And that distance could help June write cover letters that would get her hired somewhere else, away from the overwhelming demands of her job and her daily emotional breakdowns.
June looked around the small cabin - a couch, a fireplace, a tiny kitchen, with four bedrooms scattered around the central room. Kevin and June had decided in advance to not be roomies after Kevin had insisted that June purchase him industrial strength ear plugs so he could “actually sleep this year”, claiming that June’s snoring could be heard through any wall.
Kevin berated June for her snoring as they chose their rooms, the other three teachers lagging behind them and finding the other rooms afterwards. He was googling the symptoms for ‘deviated septum’ as June unpacked her belongings - only comfy clothes for camp week - and slipped off her Birkenstocks and began to slide on socks and hiking shoes.
“Are we still on for our hike?” Kevin said, looking up from his own backpack full of too many clothes. June nodded and pointed to her shoes.
“Leave your phone? I just want some time to talk,” June asked.
Kevin nodded, then sighed. “Actually, we can’t. You know we have to be reachable if something goes wrong.” June rolled her eyes.
“I just want some tiny moment when I’m not worried about a kid doing something stupid. I already heard whispers on the bus of kids bringing phones and vapes and I just can’t handle it.” June took another deep breath, tying her last shoelace. She reached down and picked up her metal water bottle, covered in stickers her students had given her throughout the years. Filling it up in the sink, June took a sip before putting the lid on, enjoying the shock of cold and the clean taste of the mountain water.
“I know, I know,” Kevin said as they walked out of the door, sliding on his sunglasses. “I don’t know what I would have done this year without John, honestly. He’s been such a fucking rock for me.”
“Please, continue to remind me that I am painfully single,” June said, shoving Kevin in the arm.
“You’ve got me!” he protested.
“Your John’s now!” she replied. “And that’s great. You deserve all the happiness. It would just be nice to come home once and have someone there that isn’t Netflix or my vibrator.” Kevin made a disgusted face. “Oh shut up, I’ve heard so much about your shit that you can hear mine.”
Kevin chucked, tousling June’s curly red hair as they turned around the lake on camp and headed towards the trails that lay just beyond. The camp was small, in a valley between two mountains which were covered in aspen trees that were just beginning to bloom in the spring. The mornings would hold a lingering chill in the air, the days would be warm and sunny, and the nights would be cool as well. June took in the familiar layout of the camp, a place that she had returned to each year of her teaching career with new groups of students, helping to create what her graduating seniors often called one of their favorite weeks of their school. This year was different - of course, what wasn’t different about this school year - but she worried about students enjoying this. Everything took so much convincing and even the smallest things were battles to get students to complete. Would they enjoy this week?
June and Kevin kept a decent pace, quietly hiking and not talking much, adjusting to the altitude. Every once in a while they would stop, grab a sip of water, chat about nothing, point out a cool tree, but mostly June was left alone with her thoughts. June’s brain was preoccupied, but not with a delightful daydream or anything like that. She was looking forward to taking a break from trying to get students to write more than three words in a sentence and avoiding the eye rolls as she tried to animate herself while reading a book aloud to get kids excited.
It wasn’t as if there weren't any students who didn’t love her class - they still hung out in her room between breaks, stayed after school to gush about the newest book they were reading, came to her for advice with their relationship and friendship problems. Those small victories had, before the pandemic, been enough to sustain her in her career. So what if the administration had been breathing down her back about state test scores if kids genuinely loved reading? So what if she made less money than all of her friends from undergraduate, who were able to settle down in houses and have children and lives? She had fun at work, and for a decade, that had been enough. But June was tired of fighting apathy in her students, tired of fighting the entitlement of parents who doubted her expertise at every turn, tired of fighting her budget and credit card bills every month she was able to just eek by. What would it be like to quit work at 5 pm and just go home? What would it be like to close a computer and not stay up hoping that a favored student would have enough to eat, and wouldn't be hit by their guardian? What would it be like to have a job where any mistake didn’t feel like it would have long-term consequences for a vulnerable young mind?
Kevin and June reached the top of the mountain, slower than they were used to, and shrugged off their backpacks. From the viewpoint at the top (“Peek Point” as the camp cutely referred to it), you could see the entirety of the camp spread below, the students just pinpoints clumped together on the green grass. The centerpiece of camp, other than the network of trails that ran all over the mountain June and Kevin had just climbed, was a small lake, Lake See, a T-shaped dock jutting out into the clear blue water, gentle waves washing on shore. Behind the dock was the dining hall, an old sturdy log cabin that had been built probably before June’s parents had been born, the camp office an addition on the side. A set of ten rectangular cabins curved in a semicircle to the right, a large campfire circle and amphitheater at each end. Further on the left was where the teachers were staying, in between the climbing tower, ropes course, and the archery range.
Her thoughts shifted direction: Was it still worth all of the effort that June put into organizing this trip, fundraising, collecting permission slips and medical forms? It had been a no-brainer in the Before Times, but had the world changed so much that trips like this were, for lack of a better phrase, a waste of time? Were screens and snippets of videos just the way of the future and was fighting it making June a stick in the mud, unable to keep up with the world, some kind of educational Luddite? Or did it matter that they were able to give kids this space to explore and try on a different way of living?
“Do you ever think that we’re trying to do something that doesn’t work anymore?” June asked Kevin, unzipping her backpack to remove two granola bars. She tossed one to Kevin. He opened it and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.
“What do you mean? That’s a vague statement. Do you mean education? Hiking? Camp? Reading actual books instead of ebooks and audiobooks?”
“You know ebooks and audiobooks are real books,” June huffed.
Kevin laughed, “I know. I also knew it would piss you off. But actually, what do you mean?”
“Taking kids out here? Like, the world isn’t going to go back to some time that we’re nostalgic for. The world has changed - cell phones and TikTok aren’t going anywhere and I worry that we’re just fighting the inevitable by bringing kids out here.” June’s thoughts and fears spilled out of her mouth.
“But don’t adults pay to do this?” Kevin countered. “Go on technology-free retreats, go camping. Don’t we all wish we weren’t hounded by the constant alerts and emails?”
“But we choose to do that, and we knew the world before cell phones,” June sighed. “I don’t know. It was such an ordeal to get kids here, and I feel all I’ve heard is complaining.” Just then, a faint cackle of laughter and cheers echoed up from camp. Kevin looked pointedly at June. “Okay, and that one bit of laughing,” she admitted, rolling her eyes.
“You’re in a weird spot,” he admitted. “I know this year has been hard, but there's no reason to throw the baby out with the bathwater. Things are weird right now, for our kids, yeah, but especially for you. Just roll with what comes this week and maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for out here.”
