Melissa Camp Quotes

The flowers themselves were strong and hardy. They filled the green with color and thrived on Camp Lakeview's land. Together. They spent the summer, and every summer thereafter, swaying lazily in the breeze, frozen in time.

Jenna nodded, wiping tears away with the back of her hand. She leaned toward David and they hugged again. "I was never okay with losing you," she said quietly. "You know that, right?

I guess this is it," Chelsea said. "The beginning of good-bye.

But as much as life is sometimes about knowing what you want and going after it and finishing, maybe other times it’s about slowing down and shutting up and waiting. There’s not always a clear beginning and obvious end. Sometimes we’re in the middle . . . and it’s okay to camp out there for a while.

Following Alyssa, they all walked over to the green clearing in front of the mess hall. It was where they'd held most of the all-camp activities, like games. Jenna sighed, remembering all the good times she'd had there---the gossip, the giggles, the crazy conversations.

Eliza had never seen Alex quite so happy and relaxed. She shook her head and laughed at the incongruity of it all: Imagine General Washington's famous aide-de-camp taking the time to stop and admire the birds. "One day, Alex, when you tire of being a soldier, we will spend all of our days just like this, watching birds and taking in the sun, surrounded by children of our own. You'd like that, wouldn't you, my love?" "Eliza, you and the Pastures have already taken a perfectly fine soldier and turned him into a lovesick pup. And at this moment, on this very day, there's nothing and nowhere I'd rather be.

As more kids piled on and the bus started up, she stared out the window at the place where she'd done so much growing up. When she'd first come to camp, she couldn't believe she was setting foot on Camp Lakeview, or any camp grounds at all, for that matter. Now she couldn't believe she was leaving.

Okay.First things first. Three things you don't want me to know about you." "What?" I gaped at him. "You're the one who says we don't know each other.So let's cut to the chase." Oh,but this was too easy: 1. I am wearing my oldest, ugliest underwear. 2.I think your girlfriend is evil and should be destroyed. 3.I am a lying, larcenous creature who talks to dead people and thinks she should be your girlfriend once the aforementioned one is out of the picture. I figured that was just about everything. "I don't think so-" "Doesn't have to be embarrassing or major," Alex interrupted me, "but it has to be something that costs a little to share." When I opened my mouth to object again, he pointed a long finger at the center of my chest. "You opened the box,Pandora.So sit." There was a funny-shaped velour chair near my knees. I sat. The chair promptly molded itself to my butt. I assumed that meant it was expensive, and not dangerous. Alex flopped onto the bed,settling on his side with his elbow bent and his head propped on his hand. "Can't you go first?" I asked. "You opened the box..." "Okay,okay. I'm thinking." He gave me about thirty seconds. Then, "Time." I took a breath. "I'm on full scholarship to Willing." One thing Truth or Dare has taught me is that you can't be too proud and still expect to get anything valuable out of the process. "Next." "I'm terrified of a lot things, including lightning, driving a stick shift, and swimming in the ocean." His expression didn't change at all. He just took in my answers. "Last one." "I am not telling you about my underwear," I muttered. He laughed. "I am sorry to hear that. Not even the color?" I wanted to scowl. I couldn't. "No.But I will tell you that I like anchovies on my pizza." "That's supposed to be consolation for withholding lingeries info?" "Not my concern.But you tell me-is it something you would broadcast around the lunchroom?" "Probably not," he agreed. "Didn't think so." I settled back more deeply into my chair. It didn't escape my notice that, yet again, I was feeling very relaxed around this boy. Yet again, it didn't make me especially happy. "Your turn." I thought about my promise to Frankie. I quietly hoped Alex would tell me something to make me like him even a little less. He was ready. "I cried so much during my first time at camp that my parents had to come get me four days early." I never went to camp. It always seemed a little bit idyllic to me. "How old were you?" "Six.Why?" "Why?" I imagined a very small Alex in a Spider-Man shirt, cuddling the threadbare bunny now sitting on the shelf over his computer. I sighed. "Oh,no reason. Next." "I hated Titanic, The Notebook, and Twilight." "What did you think of Ten Things I Hate About You?" "Hey," he snapped. "I didn't ask questions during your turn." "No,you didn't," I agreed pleasantly. "Anser,please." "Fine.I liked Ten Things. Satisfied?" No,actually. "Alex," I said sadly, "either you are mind-bogglingly clueless about what I wouldn't want to know, or your next revelation is going to be that you have an unpleasant reaction to kryptonite." He was looking at me like I'd spoken Swahili. "What are you talking about?" Just call me Lois. I shook my head. "Never mind. Carry on." "I have been known to dance in front of the mirror-" he cringed a little- "to 'Thriller.'" And there it was. Alex now knew that I was a penniless coward with a penchant for stinky fish.I knew he was officially adorable. He pushed himself up off his elbow and swung his legs around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "And on that humiliating note, I will now make you translate bathroom words into French." He picked up a sheaf of papers from the floor. "I have these worksheets. They're great for the irregular verbs...

Two kinds of people camped out in the New York Public Library so late at night. There were the scholars: Caffeine-addled college students. Obsessively meticulous PhD candidates. Ambitious academics angling for tenure. And then there were the people who had nowhere else to go: People who sought solace in the comforting musk of old books and the quiet sound of other humans breathing, turning pages, and stretching in their creaky wooden chairs. People who wanted to know that they weren't alone while being left alone. People like Echo.

enslaved person is given a new name and a new identity as a whore.”19 A nine-country study by a team of clinical psychologists headed by Melissa Farley found that 68 percent of sex slaves suffered symptoms of post–traumatic stress disorder. The study concluded that, “existing in a state of social death, the prostitute is an outsider who is seen as having no honor or public worth. Those in prostitution, like slaves and concentration camp prisoners, may lose their identities as individuals, becoming primarily what masters, Nazis or customers want them to be.”20

Parsons stood on the edge of the dock at Camp KooKoRomo. She’d left her fishing gear—borrowed as an excuse to check out the lake—near the tall grass. If she jumped into the water and pretended to drown, would the counselors send her home? Camp will be good for you, Kat. You’re too young to be stuck on the farm with a couple of old fogies. So instead of being with her grandparents, whom she loved, or visiting

My husband is in another camp. He could be called a “time optimist.” While he’s fairly consistent with how quickly he gets things done, he always thinks he can do it faster than he can because he loses track of time passing. Nor does he remember his past experiences with similar projects. But I do, and after twenty years of waiting for him, I simply add 30 percent to his estimate, lessening our conflicts over time.

If Jenna could get on the committee, she could make sure that it was the best social/dance/whatever in the history of Lakeview. And she could help them avoid the classic mistakes. Like Kenny G.! “This is so cool!” Grace said,

Sometimes having a good imagination really stinks, Jenna thought.

Jenna,

A campfire blazed on the sand, the lake shone in the moonlight, and the stars twinkled high overhead. All around them the woods were black as pitch. There wasn’t a sound except for the crackling of the fire, the chirping crickets,

Alex just didn’t get it. They were all down about something. Natalie was worried about Simon, who hadn’t come to talk to her during free period that day. Grace complained about her parents, who were making her read The Jungle Book. Chelsea whined that she needed a nose job (she so didn’t—her beak was as cute as a Barbie doll’s). Jenna said that Adam was driving her insane because he kept asking about her bunkmates without telling her which one he was interested in. Brynn didn’t know how on earth she’d memorize all of her lines in time to perfect the voice she would need in order to deliver them.

On Wednesday morning, Natalie woke with enough time to shower. She had somehow figured out how to drag herself out of her bed even amidst the morning chill so that she could get herself together before flag-raising. Maybe it was a survival instinct. After all, this was the wilderness, wasn’t it?

camp is—” “—the time for new experiences, I know,” Natalie said,

We circled back and pulled up next to Tiffany, who was standing on the sidewalk sobbing right where we’d left her. Tiffany got back in the car. I saw her face for an instant before she climbed back into her seat. Tears covered her cheeks, her eyes were red, and the sides of her mouth were slack with fear and humiliation. She was a shadow of the girl who charged across summer camp to save me from the swim counselors.