The Boy From Summer 2023

“Please, Mom. Please. I'M BEGGING YOU, PLEASE! Just this once!” Dahlia begged, holding up the brochure like it was the golden ticket to her future. “It’s a music camp. I’m literally made for this!” Her mom looked up from chopping onions. “Dahlia, you won’t even sing Happy Birthday at family parties. What do you mean this is made for you?” Dahlia rolled her eyes dramatically. “That was literally years ago!” “That was two weeks ago, sweetie,” her mom replied sarcastically. Just then, her older brother peeked into the kitchen with a snack in his hand and zero concern in his soul. “I agree. Send her away so I can finally be an only child again.” Dahlia threw a dish towel at him. “Nobody asked you!” He just grinned and walked off like he’d won the argument. Ugly ass rat. “Come on, Mom,” Dahlia said, picking up the towel and turning back to her. “You’ve never even been away from home that long,” her mom reminded her. “I’ll survive,” Dahlia said dramatically. “C’mon, you always say I need to get out more. This is me... getting out.” Her dad poked his head in from the hallway. “How much is this camp again?” Dahlia smiled sweetly. “Not important.” Despite all the sass, eye-rolls, and price tags, her parents said yes. “Fine, but you better take this seriously, okay? I don’t want to waste any money,” her dad said. “Deal! Ack! I’m so happy! Thank you both so much!” Dahlia said, hugging them tightly. A week later, Dahlia was standing at the gates of Lure Music Camp, with an overpacked suitcase, a journal full of confidence, and enough energy to short-circuit a soundboard. The moment she stepped out of the car, it hit her: not just the heat, which felt like someone had aimed a blow dryer at her face, but the camp itself. It stretched out in front of her like a movie set she hadn’t auditioned for. The buildings were old but charming, with wooden planks that creaked under footsteps and vines that looked like they were trying to swallow the place whole. Tall pine trees shaded, winding gravel paths that curved in weird directions. Everywhere she looked, people already seemed to know where they were going. Campers bustled past, hauling guitars, dragging luggage, and laughing like they’d known each other for years. A corkboard near the entrance was covered in flyers: “Group Jam at 6 PM,” “Vocal Training Room A,” “Music Theory Madness.” Everything about it excited her...at least, at first. Until it didn’t. By Day Three, Dahlia already wanted out. The excitement she’d used to convince her parents had fizzled into pure regret. Everyone around her seemed to have a plan—tutors, reserved practice rooms, and established friend groups. Some even brought their own microphones, and recording gear like this was their second home. The tutors were always busy. The other campers were either lost in lessons or locked into tight-knit groups. Dahlia just looked… lost. She tried joining a few sessions, starting conversations in the mess hall, even smiling at the girl in the bunk across from hers. Nothing clicked. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing. She didn’t. By the end of the week, she’d had enough. She was done faking it. “This isn’t for me,” she muttered into her pillow, staring up at the bunk above her. That night, she texted her mom. > Dahlia: Hey mom, I miss you so much! Mom: Hello, sweetie, I miss you too. Dahlia: Great! Since you miss me, can I come home now? Mom: Already? Sweetie, you begged for this. Dahlia: Yeah. I know, but I regret everything. I don’t even have any friends here. I tried, but they already have their own groups. Mom: Hmm... okay, fine. But your father won’t be happy about this. He’ll pick you up on Sunday. Dahlia: Yey! Thank you! See you soon! Mwah! It was decided. She was leaving. On Saturday afternoon, she finished packing her things. “Alright, all done. Goodbye to this boring camp, I guess,” she muttered. With nothing better to do, she decided to take one last walk, a final look at the lake, the dusty paths, and the silence of a camp that just wasn’t for her. That’s when she heard it. Music. Laughter. A full-on jam session is happening somewhere nearby. Curious, she followed the sound and found a group of teens crowded into a side room near the old rec center. They were singing, playing guitars, clapping off-beat, and somehow still making it work. It was loud and chaotic and full of life. She didn’t mean to stare, but she just stood there, eyes wide, taking it all in. “Hey!” Dahlia flinched so hard that she nearly dropped her phone. She looked up to see a guy walking toward her, casual and smiling. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, raising both hands in a peace-offering way. “It’s okay... you can come in if you want.” “Uh... I was just hearing all the noise…” she said awkwardly. “It gets pretty loud in here,” he replied with a half-smile. “You new?” “Kind of? I’ve been here a week, but I just found this by accident,” she admitted. “A week?” He raised an eyebrow. “And you only found us now? That’s tragic.” Dahlia let out a small laugh. “I was gonna leave, actually.” “What? Why?” She shrugged. “It’s been kind of... meh. Everyone’s got their own thing. I just got bored.” He nodded knowingly. “Yeah, camps can be like that. But this...” He gestured to the noisy room. “This is the fun part. No tutors, no pressure. Want me to introduce you?” She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.” “Cool. I’m River, by the way.” “Dahlia.” “Dahlia,” he repeated, smiling. “Nice. Come on. I promise no one bites.” She hesitated for a second longer, then followed him inside. The room wasn’t anything fancy—walls covered in old posters, chairs scattered, and sheets of music lying on the floor like part of the décor. Someone played a slow tune on the keyboard, while others hummed or chatted quietly. “You can hang out here,” River said, gesturing to an empty couch. “Or wander. We don’t do seating charts.” “This is cool,” Dahlia said, taking it all in. “So… this happens every day?” “Pretty much. Just music, different people hosting, pretending we know what we’re doing.” She smiled, starting to feel less awkward. “If you want, you could host sometime. Make newcomers feel welcome,” he added. “Oh, thank you. So, who’s hosting now?” she asked. “That would be me,” River said with a grin. He looked at his phone and sighed. “I gotta step out for a bit, something about a missing amp cable. Don’t let anyone steal your snacks or your soul while I’m gone.” “Noted,” Dahlia replied, smiling back. “You’ll be fine,” he said, pausing at the door. “And hey… glad you didn’t bail after all.” Dahlia blinked, caught off guard by the kindness. “Me too,” she said quietly. The moment lingered for a second before River nodded and slipped out. As she stood there, still unsure what to do with her hands, a girl approached her. “Hey!” the girl chirped. She wore a faded green hoodie two sizes too big and had a soft, genuine smile. “You’re new, right?” “Yeah. Just walked in.” “I’m Rose,” the girl said, extending her hand. “I saw River bring you in, so you must’ve passed the unofficial vibe check.” Dahlia laughed. “Well, good to know. I’m Dahlia.” “Wanna sit with me? You look like you’re trying to figure out where not to stand.” “It’s that obvious, huh?” “Painfully. But don’t worry, I was the same on my first day.” They found a spot on the couch, and just like that, Dahlia wasn’t standing alone anymore. The room buzzed with soft guitar strumming, bits of laughter, and the sound of someone tuning a ukulele. For the first time all week, she didn’t feel out of place. As she settled beside Rose, she began to relax. Rose had this calm energy—like she’d seen it all before. “You seem like you know your way around here,” Dahlia said, sipping from a plastic cup of fruit punch. Rose smiled. “I’ve been coming here every summer since I was thirteen. Camp lifer, basically.” “Seriously?” Dahlia asked, wide-eyed. “And you still come back? That’s… commitment.” “It grows on you,” Rose said with a shrug. “The people, the late-night music, the stupid drama. At some point, you start coming back for the stories.” “I can barely survive my first week, and you’re over here collecting seasons like it’s a Netflix show,” Dahlia teased. Rose laughed. “You’ll get it. Just wait.” Before Dahlia could respond, a shriek pierced the music room. “YOU BACKSTABBING b***h!”