Campfires, Cliques And An Iota Of Empathy

• Katherine Baker, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2019

I'm glaring at the embers of the fire. To some extent, it reflects how I feel. Wow, that was dramatic. I glance at my almost dead phone. It's 8:39 pm. Colossal mistake listening to music on the trip here. My battery’s exhausted, leaving no charge for fake texting when I’m in dire need of it. I bet Josie's having a rave, chained in bed, while I'm captive at the year 7 camp. OK, so maybe she'll be suffering, but that's nothing compared to what I'm about to face. I look beyond the glowing ashes to see the Devil's incarnate rapidly approaching. That is; the dazzling, willowy, part-time model Clementine Singer, who happens to dictate the world. In her tow are Lydia, Shelly and Belinda, who Josie and I refer to as the elites.

"I wonder how she's going in her bubble," Clem drones. I can rather feel than see five pairs of eyes leering, when Lydia, Clem’s favourite of the clique blurts out a comeback.

"They get by if you give 'em something to eat," she snickers, before erupting into laughter that resembles the honk of a goose. This is followed by raw damper flung at my head. My eyes are burning, and hot tears are welling. Feeling the cold dough on my scalp, and the hot flush on my cheeks, I hastily rip the dough from my hair and thrust it in the blaze. The fire eagerly hisses as the damper is consumed by the flames.

"Hazel, kids in Africa would die for that food," Nina screeches, followed by more sniggering. They're huddled close by the log I was sitting on. Ignoring her comment, I sit furthest from the elites. Any technique to evade further humiliation is essential.

I’m unequivocally livid. Why does it have to be me, sitting by this campfire at Greenpatch Reserve, surrounded by these critical girls? My only friend just had to severely lacerate her neck in time to miss camp. It’d been our plan to do everything together. We'd be sitting here, fortified by each other. I wouldn't care about the cruelty and judgement of the elites. But without her, I feel alienated and introverted. I don't concur with this clique, nor do I want to.

I've always known that I'm a misfit. My parents have conversed privately about my "concerning social situation." They accused me of adhering to Josie disproportionately. I finally understand what they meant. I’m like a disconsolate recluse. I stand up, and disregarding the hoots and hollers from the elites, commence the arduous power walk to the dorms.

I need a distraction from that sheer mortification. I start pondering gifts for Josie. Would a necklace still be appropriate for someone neck lacerations? My thoughts are interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. It’s Selena, a timid girl I am yet to speak to. Her eyes are diamonds, shining with anticipation. She looking at me with such compassion and concern, but not in a patronising way. I think it’s called empathy.