Camping Reservations: Body of Lies

For weeks, Sarah, Shelley, and Beth had talked about, plotted, and planned every move they would make at Camp Wallhalla. They had listed their wardrobes in minute detail, bought bathing suits in coordinating colors, and secretly stashed a myriad of essential beauty products to try out during free time. And since love and summer camp went hand-in-hand, they had also each staked a claim on a boy. Sarah selected Connor, Beth chose Jeff Ingleside, and Shelley was fairly certain that she would pick Jason Thompson though she was leaving her options open. As the day to leave for camp got closer, Beth received her welcoming packet with instructions about what to bring and what not to bring. The next day, Shelley’s packet arrived. Sarah waited two more days before asking her mom to please call the camp’s main office and find out if her information had been lost in the mail. That was when the nightmare officially began. “What camp are you talking about, Dear?” asked her mother absentmindedly as she flipped through the newspaper. Sarah threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “Mo-ther! What have I been talking about for like six weeks? Camp Wallhalla’s Teen Scene Week! Remember? I asked about it weeks ago and gave you and Dad the application. You said it was fine for me to go. Is this coming back now or what?” Mrs. Williford looked up. “I don’t think that I like the way you’re talking to me, young lady. Yes, I do seem to recall that conversation, but that is the last I remember hearing about Camp Whatever you call it. Anyway, I didn’t send the application off. You know your dad handles the bills, but I’m sure he sent it off,” she said casually, turning her attention back to the newspaper. A sense of foreboding overcame Sarah. This was not good. This was definitely not good. But, she would not panic- yet. For the next three hours, Sarah nervously paced the floor in her room frantically awaiting her father’s arrival home from work. Finally, she heard the car door slam. She raced down the stairs and slung the front door open. “Well, well” said Mr. Williford, somewhat taken aback by his daughter’s abrupt greeting. “To what do I owe this surprise? The last time you were waiting for me at the door was when you were about seven and still sweet as sugar! Come give your daddy a big hug, and let’s see if you’re still as sweet!” he said, dropping his briefcase and holding out his arms. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” sighed Sarah, stepping into his outstretched arms ever so briefly, then stepping back into the foyer. “Now, I’ve got to know. Did you send off the application to Camp Wallhalla’s Teen Scene Week? You should have mailed it over a month ago. Please, please, please tell me that you mailed it. Otherwise, my life is over.” “Ah hah! I should have known there was a motive behind this greeting. For a fleeting moment I though you were glad to see dear, old Dad just like in the olden days.” He sighed dejectedly as he stooped down to retrieve his briefcase. “Dad, this is no time to reminisce! Did you or did you not mail that application?” she asked, her exasperation obvious. “I have no clue what you are talking about, Sarah,” he announced as he walked down the hallway. “Why don’t you ask your mom? She usually handles all of your extracurricular activities, not me.” That was when utter, total panic officially set in.