The Summer I Went Feral

The first thing I noticed when my iPhone died at Camp Whispering Pines wasn't the lack of notifications. It was the panic. Like, full-blown spiraling. What if someone posted something important? What if I missed a meme? What if the world literally ended and I was the last to know because I had no signal and a dead battery?

"You'll survive, Maya," my counselor said, handing me a schedule. "Trust me, it'll be good for you."

Spoiler: it was not good for me. At least not at first.

My hair—usually my one reliable feature, curls perfectly tamed with products I'd spent years perfecting—had gone full frizz monster in the humidity. I looked like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket. Repeatedly.

Then came the bull.

I was supposed to be on a nature walk but had wandered off to find a spot with better signal (there wasn't one). I found myself face-to-face with an actual bull, staring me down like I was personally responsible for all his problems.

I froze. My phone-brain couldn't process this. No one had ever posted about what to do when a bull looks at you like you're dinner.

"Hey buddy," I squeaked. "Nice... horns?"

The bull snorted. I slowly backed away, my heart hammering like I'd just chugged three espressos. I made it back to camp sweating like crazy, but somehow? I felt alive. Like, actually alive, not Instagram-filter alive.

That night, sitting around the campfire, someone whispered they'd seen a bear near the lake. Suddenly I was wide awake, adrenaline still pumping from my bull encounter.

"Bears are actually pretty chill if you don't bother them," this guy Ethan said, roasting a marshmallow. "Unlike some people here."

He was looking at me.

"Sorry about almost getting trampled," I said, touching my frizzy hair self-consciously.

"Nah," Ethan grinned. "That was kind of legendary. You faced down a bull. What did you do?"

"I told him he had nice horns."

Everyone laughed. And in that moment, hair wild, phone dead, adrenaline still buzzing, I realized something weird: I was having more fun than I'd had in months. Maybe years.

The bear never showed. But something else did—the real me, the one who didn't need filters or likes or perfect hair. The one who could survive a bull and maybe, just maybe, actually like it.

When my parents picked me up two weeks later, I didn't immediately reach for my phone. I made them wait while I said goodbye to everyone, including Ethan, who slipped me his number on actual paper.

"In case you ever want to go feral again," he said.

I grinned. "Already planning on it."

My phone charged eventually. But some things, I realized, don't need a signal at all.