The Familiar (5 page)

8

I remember hearing this quote somewhere, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” As I awake on the first day of the biggest challenge of my sixteen years of existence, this seems to say it all.

Dressed in faded camo shorts, a black tank top, sneakers, and just the right amount of black eyeliner; I finally feel like I’m ready for battle. Mom is in the kitchen making cheese, tomato, and cucumber sandwiches, and I scrunch my nose. The idea of going into battle eating dainty finger sandwiches just doesn’t seem right. I grab a yogurt and some juice from the fridge and alternate between spoonfuls and sips while she finishes up.

She points at the sunlight streaming in through the window. “It’s a beautiful day for a drive. We got lucky.”

I look outside and realize she’s right. Except I’d much rather be spending this glorious day swimming in the bay with Andy. The sea is glistening like a silvery sequined gown, and the trees are gently swaying, as the breeze whispers sweet nothings. I exhale deeply, knowing this is the last time I will see this view for a while, so I take in as much as I can while eating my yogurt.

The sandwiches are finally tucked neatly in their brown paper bags and to drink, there’s an old-fashioned thermos of iced green tea. I carry my pathetic little bag, dragging my feet as I head out to the truck. I look back at the house once more and then load my stuff into the back. We strap on our seatbelts and Mom puts the truck on drive while I blast my favorite playlist in an effort to drown out my sorrows.

We ride through town, Mom concentrating on the road, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel firmly, as if it’s her first time behind the wheel. But fifteen minutes later, by the time we’re on what appears to be a small scenic highway, she seems to have the hang of it. I look out the window, watching the farms, houses, forests, and fields whizz past. I wonder about the people living in these places. Are they all normal? Are some of them like me? I’m completely mesmerized by the scenery, and an hour passes before I even remember Mom is in the car with me. She is focused on driving, keeping the truck perfectly aligned between the lines, her brow furrowed as if she’s deep in thought.

“Mom, is there anything else I should know before we get to camp? I’m still feeling pretty clueless.”

She lowers the music, and continues looking straight ahead. “Well, everything I know is from what your father and other shape-shifters have told me… Of course, I was privy to some information while growing up, since it was the elders who established Camp Chameleon.”

“Camp Chameleon? Sounds like a lizard ranch or something,” I say with a chuckle.

She switches over to the slow lane before answering. “Yes, I realize it sounds kind of silly. But it’s just meant to symbolize the kind of powers familiars possess. The powers to adapt at will to any environment around them. If you think about it, chameleons really
are
amazing creatures.”

“Huh. Never thought I’d ever be compared to a lizard,” I say sarcastically.

She side-glances for a quick second before focusing her gaze back on the road. “Sorry… You have every right to be upset. Normally, you would have had more time to prepare for this. But I wanted to wait for signs and symptoms to develop, and they came so late and so suddenly, there wasn’t much of a chance to soften the blow.”

“That’s rather unfortunate for me, I suppose,” I say, making a face.

“Sweetie… I know you will make the best of it. I’m sure you’ll catch up in no time.”

I look out the window, trying hard to process it all. Everything I was transfixed in before is now just a blur as I ponder on what’s ahead instead of what’s outside.

“I guess I have no choice but to suck it up.”

Mom smiles wittingly, and as I focus my attention on the road, I know that she’s probably reminiscing about the past. I turn the music off and lean my head on the back of my seat, hoping the jumble of thoughts will quit spinning in my mind. But it doesn’t work, and all I can think about is what this school will be like and if the others will be anything like me.

Then, my thoughts drift to Andy. I can’t help thinking about him again, wishing he could somehow take this journey with me. He’s probably the only person who knows that I even have a competitive streak, a trait I developed when we were kids, challenging one another at biking, skateboarding, swimming, and climbing trees. In the summer, we would hang out at the beach, diving from the high boulders, seeing who could swim out further or who could hold their breath underwater the longest. A lot of times, I won fair and square, but I know that sometimes Andy would hold back and let me win just because he enjoyed watching me gloat. I never let on that I knew what he was doing, because I guess a small part of me appreciated the gesture. Something tells me that life at camp will probably be a lot more complicated than what I’m used to.

When I look up, the scenery seems to be changing as we journey uphill through the mountains. The countryside is covered in bright green trees and occasionally a rustic wooden cabin peeks through the foliage. The sky is the picture perfect shade of baby blue and the cottony clouds are sparse, allowing the sun to shine down full force. After driving for a while through the winding roads, a glassy lake begins peeking through the bright green foliage. The surface of the water shines like an expansive oval mirror – smooth and still. The truck slows down and turns into a small gravely dirt road, the large tires crunching on the stones and twigs in its path.

“We’re almost there,” Mom says excitedly.

I crane my neck in an attempt to peep through the tangle of trees. We approach a clearing where the road ends abruptly. Formidable rock formations surround us, and on one side, a small waterfall cascades into a shallow pool.

I squint at Mom confused. “Uh, are we lost?”

She shakes her head and opens the door of the truck, leaving it ajar as she approaches a magnificent tree that extends far into the sky, surpassing the others in the area. Its trunk is twisted, the roots seem embedded in the rocks, and its branches lean down almost touching the surface of the water. She places both hands on the trunk and after a few seconds a bright white light surrounds her body, this time it emanates a cool, almost frosty radiance. As fast as it appears, the light vanishes; the tree, rocks, waterfall, and pool disappear with it. A paved pathway materializes, wide enough for a vehicle to drive through. Where the large tree once stood is a pristine white sign with gilded gleaming letters that read: “Camp Chameleon.”

She hops back into the truck excitedly.

“See? We’re here!”

9

Mom’s enthusiasm is contagious, tiny tingling bursts traverse up and down the back of my neck as I peer over the dashboard, anxious to see what’s up ahead. The truck rumbles past the sign and proceeds up the pathway. The journey is longer than I expect and it’s a good ten minutes before we see the camp up ahead. I was anticipating simple wooden cabins with picnic tables, recreation areas, and pine trees dotted in between, but instead a foreboding structure stands in front of me, perched on the side of a mountain. Somehow it manages to look quaint and eerie at the same time; its white walls and rust colored roof look simple enough, but upon closer inspection, the many columns, intricately designed balconies and windows, as well as the magnificent turrets that adorn the corners, make for a much grander façade. The mansion-like main house is the largest of the structures. It’s flanked by smaller guesthouses built in a similar architectural style – with verdant forests and rocky gray mountains on both sides as well as the large oval shaped lake in front.

“That’s the camp?”

Mom chuckles. “I know it doesn’t look like much of a camp. I guess the name is a bit understated.”

We twist and turn past the never-ending rows of pine trees, until we reach the grand entrance of the main structure. Strangely enough, it seems like the truck is the only vehicle there and I wonder if we’ve arrived early.

“Are we the first ones here?”

Mom giggles at my naïveté. “No, everyone else took the quick route – via the portal. We’re probably the last ones here.”

We park near the entrance, and I grab my meager belongings from the back. As we approach, the giant wooden doors slowly open, revealing a throng of people inside a grand lobby. There are lots of kids, parents, and other adults wearing sleek black uniforms. Drinks and finger foods are being served; the overall mood seems quite merry. A woman in her late twenties approaches us. Her bright red hair contrasts her black uniform.

“Hi, Hazel. I’m Sabrina Geller, one of the head counselors here at Camp Chameleon. You’ve been assigned to my dorm, so I guess that means you’re stuck with me for the next few weeks,” she says before leaning in for a friendly hug. When she pulls away, she gestures for her companion, a younger guy also in uniform, to take my belongings.

“Jonathan will take your things to your room for you.”

I hand him my stuff. “Thanks, nice to meet you, Sabrina. This is my mom, Maven.”

Sabrina eagerly shakes her hand. “Yes, I have heard so much about you, Maven. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Sabrina leads us to the front desk, a polished mahogany counter with elaborate flora and fauna themed carvings at the base. “After registration, feel free to grab some refreshments and mingle with the others. In a short while, the welcome ceremony will commence and parents will have to say their goodbyes.” She nods with a smile and walks away, leaving us at the registration desk.

The process is painless and after a few minutes we are free to check the place out. I’m suddenly famished, so I wander off to the buffet set-up and score some mini quiches and a few cookies to munch on while Mom scopes out the room, presumably scanning the crowd for familiar faces. I follow her gaze, awed by the magnificence of my surroundings. The lobby is huge and the ceilings are high, almost like a cathedral. There are several wrought-iron chandeliers, as well as stone slab fireplaces so large that several people could comfortably stand inside them. Though the architecture is imposing, the décor is comfortable and warm. Cushy leather sofas with matching ottomans are hedged by upholstered armchairs, antique mahogany coffee tables, glass curio cabinets with ancient looking trinkets and the occasional table topped by a Chinese ceramic vase bursting with flowers. The floors are intricately tiled; the designs so painstakingly beautiful that only artisans from long ago could have created them. There are probably a few hundred people in the room and about half are kids more or less my age. I guess everyone looks pretty normal, and from what I can tell, the group looks as diverse as the United Nations.

While I’m devouring my snacks, dropping crumbs all over my shirt and on the floor by my feet, a girl with a halo of strawberry blonde hair, warm honey-brown eyes, and a sprinkle of freckles, sidles up to me. She beams when she catches my eye, a big grin plastered on her face when she spots the pile of crumbs on the floor.

“Hi there, I’m Louise,” she says with a thick southern accent.

“Hi, I’m Hazel. This is my mom, Maven.”

She catches me by surprise when she leans over and hugs me gregariously, then takes another bite of her cookie. “You must be a feline, right? I can tell from your aura.”

I’m immediately drawn to Louise, but I’m overwhelmed by her femininity, warmth, directness and enthusiasm. At the same time, those same characteristics make it pretty difficult to resist her.

Mom squints her eyes, scrutinizing Louise, as if she recognizes her. “You wouldn’t happen to be Rick and Betty’s daughter would you?”

Louise giggles. “Yup, that’s me! I guess it’s pretty obvious, huh?”

Mom scans the room. “Are they here? I haven’t seen them yet.”

Louise shakes her head. “Oh, sorry, I guess you didn’t hear what happened?”

“No, I haven’t really been in the loop for a while,” says Mom embarrassingly.

“They both died a long time ago when I was a baby,” Louise replies in a hushed tone.

Mom’s eyes shadow and she frowns. “I’m sorry, Louise. I had no idea.” Louise nods, the air silent between them for a moment.

“Aren’t these cookies delicious?” I blurt out, doing my best to change the subject.

Louise helps herself to another. “Yes, they sure are,” she agrees, smiling at me as she daintily catches the falling cookie crumbs with the palm of her hand.

Suddenly, what sounds like a hundred wind chimes softly echoes through the room. A middle-aged woman with dark hair, smooth olive colored skin, an elegantly sloped high forehead and a slim but solid build stands on a podium. She wears the same black uniform as the others, except for a bright golden collar and cuffs. The crowd quiets down, waiting for her to speak.

“Greetings and welcome to our new students! I’m Maya Hernandez, the new Director of Camp Chameleon. In a few moments, the students will be required to enter the auditorium, so I recommend that parents and guardians choose this time to say their goodbyes. I promise you that we will take good care of your children, and that by the end of the program, you will see that they are well on their way to reaching their full potential.” Maya smiles, then gracefully walks towards the auditorium, leaving everyone to hug and say their goodbyes before we have to part ways.

A more mature version of Louise approaches us. “Hey, little sister, I guess it’s time for our ‘See you later,’ huh?” she says, giving Louise an enthusiastic hug.

After a few seconds, Louise breaks away and gestures to us. “Lauren, this is my new friend, Hazel and her mom, Maven.”

Lauren reaches out to shake hands. “Glad Louise has already made a new friend. I hope you’ll take care of each other and, most importantly, have fun!”

“Sure, of course, we will,” I croak with a lump in my throat.

Mom reaches over and gives me a warm embrace and a kiss on the forehead. “Take care, Hazel, and don’t forget to call me once in a while… Even a text will suffice if you’re too busy.”

“Don’t worry Mom, I will. Please take care of yourself, okay?” Louise yanks my hand, pulling me towards the auditorium.

“Let’s go, Hazel. I don’t want to be the last one in there!” she says excitedly.

I look over my shoulder at Mom and Lauren waving goodbye as we walk away. When I focus on Mom’s face, the corners of her eyes glisten with tears, but I turn away and pretend not to notice. Seeing her so emotional only makes it more painful, and even though I swore I wouldn’t cry, a single tear falls down my cheek.