Bears Don't Take Vitamins

My summer at Camp Pinecrest was supposed to be transformative. Instead, it was just awkward. I was the kid who sat on the edge of the swimming dock, legs dangling in the water, pretending I wasn't terrified of what lurked beneath. Meanwhile, everyone else was cannonballing and showing off like they'd all been born with gills.

"You coming in or what?" called Maya, this girl with sun-bleached hair and the kind of easy confidence I'd been trying to fake all summer. She'd already branded me as "the thoughtful one" — code for "weirdly quiet."

"Just... soaking up some vitamin D," I lied, gesturing at the sun like it was a legitimate health strategy.

She laughed, and something in my chest did that stupid flip thing. "You know you could just say you're not feeling it. No pressure."

That was the thing about Maya — she saw right through everyone's BS. Including mine.

The real humiliation happened later that night, when I was sneakily checking my phone behind the mess hall. I'd brought a fifty-foot ethernet cable from home because my parents had this whole "digital detox" philosophy they didn't seem to apply to themselves. I was crouched in the shadows, desperately scrolling through Instagram, when I heard something crunch through the trees.

A bear. An actual bear, like twenty feet away, rummaging through the garbage bins like it owned the place.

I froze. Human instinct says run, but apparently my instinct said "become a statue." The bear glanced my way, and I swear it looked almost bored by my terror. It grabbed a discarded pizza box and lumbered off, leaving me shaking against the wall, cable still clutched in my hand like some kind of magical totem.

The next morning, I was weaving this terrifying bear encounter into something cooler, braver, when Maya found me.

"I heard about the bear," she said, sitting beside me on the dock. "Scary stuff."

"Yeah, I handled it, though," I started, but she was already shaking her head.

"You don't have to perform with me, Leo." She bumped my shoulder with hers. "I think it's kind of badass that you survived a bear encounter while trying to sneak internet access."

Something clicked. Maybe it was the near-death experience, or maybe I was just tired of pretending. But for the first time all summer, I didn't have to manufacture anything.

"I brought a fifty-foot ethernet cable to summer camp," I admitted. "It's ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous," she said. "It's resourceful. Also, bears definitely don't take vitamins, so you're still ahead of the game."

I laughed, and this time it was real. When she suggested we go swimming together — like, actually swimming, not just dangling our legs — I found myself saying yes without even thinking about it.

The water was cold. I still wasn't the strongest swimmer. But for the first time, I didn't care who was watching.