I had never gone camping before. 

That wasn’t entirely true. My parents were fond of structure even when it was summer vacation. They weren’t the type to allow me and my brother to run rampant around the house unsupervised or watch cartoons in our pajamas all day. Instead, the promise of “building character” and “being one with nature” sent us straight to summer camp every year, without fail.

But this time was different.

The ground was cold and hard. My insulated rubber boots crunched with finality when an occasional bit of frosted grass crossed my path. From the lake, an army of teenage girls in brightly coloured windbreakers and canoes overhead, were starkly out of place amongst the autumn colours of Algonquin Provincial Park.

Like I said, I had never gone camping before, not like this.

We put the canoes down to make camp. I found myself staring at the very intimidating looking pine trees and further back into the wilderness beyond. It all felt incredibly big, and I, incredibly small.

I wanted to be anywhere but here.

With any luck I would sleep for the whole week and be back on the bus to the city in no time at all. 

Just as quick as my last thought, I felt a hand squeeze its way between tightly my crossed arms. Suddenly, a girl was standing beside me. She stood confidently, as if she had always been there, her arm linked with mine. 

“Want to share a tent?” she said.