He laughed again. "You got this," he said, winking at me before strolling away.

Obviously, it made him happy that I didn’t want to give up. Now I just had to prove to both of us that I wasn’t going to disappoint him again. I twisted the doorknob and stepped back into the craft room. Several catcalls followed my entrance. Taking a deep breath, I turned to face the offenders.

“Shut it!” I demanded. They looked surprised at first and then grinned at me.

“Is that funny? I’ll tell you what, embarrass me like that again in front of Rick, and I’ll make sure every girl here knows you wet the bed at night. And I can be awfully convincing.”

You could hear a pin drop for a moment as I stared directly into their eyes. I knew they were waiting for me to flinch, but I maintained an unreadable poker face, all the while, trying to hide my shaking legs under my skirt.

“Works for me,” one of the boys finally answered, cracking first.

"Teach found herself some balls out there in the hall," a voice in the back called out.

"I want all the clay picked up in the next two minutes with a piece roughly this size in front of each of you," I said in a deadly serious voice as I held up a piece of clay the size of a softball. "Time starts now, or you can choose to ignore me and spend an extra rotation this afternoon with me instead of archery or canoeing."

Without hesitation, everyone jumped from their chairs and began picking up the mess of clay that was scattered about the room. I watched as they exchanged stares, trying to appear cool and unconcerned. "It's your pick. Of course, I have cute origami flowers picked out for the afternoon class that you might be interested in," I added, digging it in a little further.

"Hell no am I making some pansy-ass flower," Trent said, dropping down to the ground so he could pick up the offending balls of clay.

I turned away again, letting out a deep breath. It worked, I could do this, I thought gleefully.

"Nice job, teach," a small skinny boy said quietly beside me.

"They're a good lot, but just need a firm hand," he said wisely.

I fought the urge to laugh at his adult like choice of phrasing.

"I see. What about you?"

"I'm the good boy who’s always in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, running his finger over some angry looking scars that ran up the back of his left hand disappearing under the cuff of his worn flannel shirt.

"I see, so you're just a silent observer?" I asked, trying to hide my horror at the scars that marred his skin.

"Exactly," he said, grinning at me. "I'm Quinn," he said, holding out his hand so I could shake it.

"Kimberly," I said, holding out my own hand.

He laughed. "We all know who you are. I'm just relieved you pulled on your big girl panties and showed these lugs you're here to stay," he whispered conspiratorially as the others finally slid into their chairs.

I smiled at him, enchanted with his mature dialect. "Well, Quinn, you just remind me of that if it looks like I'm losing control again."

"Will do, teach," he said before pulling his own chair up to the table.

His words spurred me on as I instructed the now silent class on how to construct the lumpy ball of nothing into something that would inspire them. I forgot that I was talking to a bunch of unruly boys as I lost myself in my craft. Art had always been second nature to me, as natural as breathing. From as young as I could remember, I had used artistic tools to express my feelings, whether in pastels, chalk, watercolor or with just a plain piece of paper and a blunt pencil. I was always able to capture what was in my mind.

The hour flew by as the guys listened to me with rapt attention, trying to work the clay in their hands like I was mindlessly working mine as I talked. I had them line their various projects along the shelves before they exited the room and told them we'd continue the next day.

As the room emptied, I approached the shelves along the back wall to check out their first attempts. I couldn't help smiling when I saw several that looked to be the shape of a woman's breast, typical boys. They'd die if they attended some of the nude art classes I had been to. I wasn't a huge fan of nude art, but needed the exposure for my college applications, no pun intended. Continuing on, I grimaced at several unrecognizable shapes until I stumbled onto one that was the exact replica of a mountain lion. Reaching over, I picked it up and studied the detail in awe as I turned it over in my hands. The person who had created this had true talent. Clay wasn't the easiest material to work with, but somehow he gave the shapeless lump life that most artists spent their lives trying to perfect. Turning it over in my hands, I was shocked to see Trent’s name scrawled across the belly of the lion.

Trent the instigator had done this. The thought seemed crazy considering the way he had acted earlier.

"Hiding out, or contemplating death by clay?" Amy teased, coming into the room.

"Ha, an hour ago, I would have said both, but now...," I said, smiling crookedly at her.

"Hot damn, I mean, hot dog. It went well?" she asked with sparkling eyes.

"Not at first. I literally thought I was in hell, but one of the campers and Rick helped me pull it together," I said, linking my arm through hers as we headed out of the room toward the dining area.

"Really? Who?" she asked.

"Quinn."

"Aw, Quinn. That kid is freaking awesome," she said affectionately as she headed to the kitchen to grab the overflowing serving bowls for all the tables.

"He really is," I answered, juggling two heaping bowls of french fries. "He talks like an adult, but looks way younger than the other guys."

"He is," she said, balancing a glass pitcher of lemonade and a stack of glasses in her hands.

"Really?" I asked, heading back to the kitchen for more fries.

"Yeah, he's only twelve. Rick moved him up to the Eagle cabin last year."

"Seriously? The older guys didn't mind?" I asked skeptically.

"Nah, he could shame anyone with his sophisticated speech. Plus, they pretty much treat him like a mascot anyway."

"Is that why Rick moved him to the Eagle cabin?" I asked, confused at the wisdom of pulling Quinn from his own age group.

"Not really," she hem-hawed, looking uncomfortable.

"Amy, seriously, you're not going to hold out on me are you?" I asked, intrigued by her sudden secretiveness.

"I just hate being a gossip on something like this," she said quietly, juggling a platter of corn dogs.

I raised my eyebrows at her since we'd pretty much done nothing but exchange tidbits on everyone since I got here.

"Okay, I was trying to turn over a new leaf, especially when it comes to Quinnie. We all sort of love him here. Anyway, Rick moved him because he has ferocious night terrors and it was freaking out the younger kids."

"Night terrors?" I asked, confused over the term.

"Yeah, freaky dreams that make him wake up screaming like the hounds of hell are after him. Rick researched it a lot when Quinn first got here last summer and it's not all that rare. Anything can trigger them, but we're all pretty sure his stem from his asshole father. And no, I'm not apologizing for that one because I'm pretty sure Louise would agree with me," she said with venom in her voice.

"What would I agree with?" Louise asked, coming up from behind and startling us both.