"C'mon guys! Are you two still gonna go through with this?!"
It was June third: the day Fiorella Aguilar was unwillingly scheduled to leave for Camp Clear Spring. Even now, at the airport just in front of the TSA lines, Lela was still convinced that her parents would come forward and tell her this was just a scare to ensure she wouldn't pull another stunt like the one that had gotten her in trouble in the first place. Unfortunately, it seemed like this wasn't going to happen.

"Lela, we have already talked about this. You're going to Camp Clear Spring, and that's FINAL" Marina sternly told her daughter, crossing her arms in front of her while her husband Giovanni nodded alongside her. At the Aguilar-Rodriguez household, it was Marina who had the reins of discipline. Meanwhile, Lela kept her beautiful face in a furious scowl.

"God! I make one stupid little party, and you guys are sending me off to a forest in Gringolandia for the whole summer?!" Lela shrieked, not caring in the slightest that people were turning their heads in the direction of the little scene she was causing. Her parents gave nervous glances around, afraid that someone they knew would recognize them. “I think this is a little too extreme.”

"Mija, we have overlooked waaaaaaaay too many things throughout all these years. It's time you finally face the consequences of your actions," Giovanni told his daughter in an expressionless voice. “Trust me, this is not the big deal you’re making it out to be.” He looked at his two-toned gold Rolex and back at Lela. "Now, off you go. You don't wanna miss your flight."

"Puñeta! Me voy pal' carajo entonces!" Lela spat at them, stomping her foot in the floor and huffing away to the TSA line without bothering to look back or even say goodbye to her parents.

The flight to LA was long but rather entertaining one for Lela. With her rose gold earphones on, she spent the whole trip listening to music with the volume as loud as it would go while ignoring the disapproving looks the old woman next to her was giving her. Even with the music, Lela couldn't keep her nervousness on check. She was quite the confident, social butterfly, so going away to a summer camp should be a breeze, right? But still, she was always afraid that people wouldn't like her, or that she'd get made fun of for the noticeable accent in her English. The thoughts plagued her all the way through the trip, and the nervous butterflies in her stomach only intensified when she felt the thud of the airplane's wheels hit the LA ground.

Even when she was only dressed with jean shorts, a salmon sleeveless Tie-front crepe top and light salmon ballerina flats, she didn't get cold during her trip. Her Pandora charm bracelet hung delicately on her left wrist, while a gold crown-shaped ring and a golden zirconia bow ring of the same brand adorned the index and ring fingers of her right hand. Small diamond studs and dangling cherry earrings adorned her earlobes, and a thin, delicate gold necklace with a red cherry charm hung from her neck. Her layered brown and blonde hair was completely loose and fell past her shoulders, blow-dried to perfection. Her face sported a natural makeup with earth-toned eyeshadow (can you say Tartelette In Bloom eyeshadow palette?!) and a metallic rose-colored liquid lipstick. The fact that she was going away to a camp in the middle of nowhere didn't mean she wasn't gonna look good: you never knew when you would meet a potential babe.

Lela arrived at LA on the scheduled time. She knew there was supposed to be a bus that drove the kids to the campsite, but with the amount of luggage she was carrying and the fact that she wasn’t about that bus life she knew that was a no-go. Instead, Cherry decided to have a cab take her to the camp. When the taxi dropped her off at the address, Lela had been unable to hide her surprise. Camp Clear Spring looked nothing like those creepy camps they showed in the mainstream media. The place was stunning: acres of beautiful greens (not that she didn't have those at home, of course. Puerto Rico had mountains and trees everywhere you looked), great-looking wooden cabins, a lake... She could even hear the faint murmur of a river nearby. And the 80 degree weather? Pure bliss for a Caribbean girl like herself who was used to nothing below 90 during the summer-autumn months. Lela took another moment to take in her peaceful surroundings before pulling out her watermelon-cased iPhone from her pocket. She scrolled through her inbox until she found the email the camp had sent her with the instructions.



The new question was: where the fuck was the main office they spoke of? This one answered itself, as with a simple look around her surroundings Fiorella noticed a campsite map a few steps away from the entrance. The bronde woman quickly scanned said map, found the place she was looking for and quickly made her way to the Main Office. Along the way, she was cursing herself for over-packing as she dragged the ginormous metallic rose gold suitcase, the biggest tan and gold gym bag the online store sold and her light salmon quilted Karl Lagerfeld bag.

When Lela was near the main office, she noticed a few people walking around. Their T-shirts visibly identified them as staff, and they all seemed to be either busy or rushing off somewhere. Out of sheer luck, she noticed a tall, willowy young woman with long blonde hair exiting what Lela imagined was the main office.

“Um, excuse me?” Fiorella called out while giving the counselor a polite smile, a slight accent noticeable when she spoke. She took a few steps further in the direction of the camp staff member, who had stopped in her tracks to wait for her, before continuing. “Hi, good afternoon! My name is Fiorella Aguilar, and I read in the email that I was supposed to report to the Main Office for check in…" she trailed off, biting her lip nervously at the serious expression of the woman in front of her. “So um, here I am.”

“Well hi there!” the blonde said excitedly with a heavy southern accent, shooting Fiorella a bright smile. “I’m Kristen, and welcome to Clear Spring! I assume y’all wanna know where y’all be stayin’, right, sugar?”

“Very much,” Lela replied with a pleading look, waving a hand towards her obnoxious amount of luggage.

Kristen let out a tinkling laugh after glancing at the luggage. “Alrighty then! Let me have a quick looksie at the chart to see what’s your cabin at, dear,” she told Fiorella, turning her attention to the folder full of papers she’d been holding all this time. After a few seconds of scanning, she found the Latina’s name on the list. “Ah, here we go! You’re down in Cabin 13, Miss Fiorella! Would you be a darling and follow me, please?”

The tanned skinned girl nodded eagerly, quickly gathered her belongings and trailed off behind Kristen, dragging her suitcase behind her until reaching the cabin with a number 13 painted in red ink across the door. The cabins were cute at best but rather small, which made Fiorella question how the hell were they supposed to comfortably fit four people plus their luggage in a room that was the size of her bathroom. Pushing the unwelcome thoughts aside and putting on a fake face, she thanked Kristen for helping her, and made up some excuse so the counselor would back to her duties and not linger around to force her to meet with the rest of the campers. Taking advantage of having arrived after her cabin mates, Fiorella quickly settled on the one free bottom bed on the left side of the room. She placed her luggage neatly against her bed’s wall and pulled her phone, earphones and a magazine from her handbag before settling herself on the bed. Lela closed her eyes for a moment and smiled, feeling instantly comforted by the fluffy pillow and the plush mattress. Blasting music and catching up on the latest celebrity gossip seemed like a good way to pass the time before others arrived and took away this last moment of privacy and solitude.

Fiorella had been so wrapped up in her music and the juicy contents of her gossip magazine that it wasn’t until some rando grabbed onto the sides of the bunk bed and launched himself to the top bed that her attention was caught- but not in the best way. The brunette let out a scream of both horror and surprise, eyes wide in disbelief at the events unfolding in front of her. What the fuck was this guy doing in her cabin?! Or, better yet: why in the hell did he just throw himself on the top bunk of her bed like some sort of deranged creep?! With no possible answer to these questions, her uneasiness grew when the head of this psychopath of a man suddenly appeared hanging upside down from the top bunk, looking straight at her with an impish grin.

Even while fearing for her safety, there was no denying that Mr. Rando was an attractive one. The brown hair was styled impeccably, the eyes had a playful nature to them, the lips were full and juicy and pretty much asking to be kissed… And the birthmark right beside his bottom lip on the left side of his face? Hot. As. Fuck. Lela was much too used to the common, boring looks of the male population of her own country (not to mention their exasperating fuckboy attitude), so it was quite refreshing to be exposed to a whole new world of new pretty faces to look at -or, who knows, maybe even indulge in. However, his weird-ass behavior wasn’t doing him any favors of getting in her good graces, and the first words he said to her only dug his own grave even deeper.

“So what are you in for, Chica? Trafficking cocaine from below the border?”

It took all of Fiorella’s self control to not roll up her magazine and swing it right at at Mr. Rando’s stupid, now much less attractive face. So not only was this dude a creep, but also a racist scumbag. The young woman couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his ignorance. She’d heard stories about how some people in the States could be racist cucks, but she’d thought that wouldn’t be an issue in a place as progressive as California, and that people of her own age group and generation would be less prone to this dumb, toxic behavior. It really sucked to be wrong.

“I’m Puerto Rican, not Mexican, gringo pendejo,” Fiorella spat angrily, giving the young man a scathing glare. Her usual friendly demeanor was long gone, replaced by a mixture of anger and annoyance. “And why I’m here is none of your fucking business. So unless you want me to report you to whoever’s in charge of this place for being a racist creep, I suggest you get the hell out of my cabin and go find your own.”