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I knew "Hoody" before I knew his first name was Chris, back when he and Seth Kircher wore plastic spoons behind their ears and greeted each other in Arabic, and I had had a hyperactive little girl named Emily in cabin Schaffer, who scooped powdered Kool Aid into her mouth by the fistful and who broke the hearts of Midi-Ones everywhere in a "Summer Lovin" hamjam. But I had never known their sister till the summer I was Rover. Camp counselor romance is a crazy thing -- there's not really time for anything else besides helping to color swim reports or holdover weekend tetherball games. Maybe you can switch with someone's O.D. to spend an hour trying to fit real conversation between wiping up mysterious puddles from Morning Star's floor or ordering a Lourdes' resident to run around the cabin seventy-five times, while at the same time dealing with the farting crisis in Mercy. But there's usually not a lot of time to talk. And Head Counselors seem to be fairly adept at quelching any other opportunities that might arise. Which is why I couldnt believe it when the head counselor came up to me stuttering one Sunday. "Would you, um, mind terribly, if... if we put you in Kimber with Kara Hood this week?" My Rover positions before this had primarily been to fill in Junior Boys cabins when their counselors (R.D., man, I'm not naming names) had nervous breakdowns or couldn't stand the wet, soiled swimsuits on their pillows another day. Once I was placed in Fischer just as a young, frightened lad emptied his bowels on the cabin floor. "Kimber would be fine," I said. I still owe that guy a favor.
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