The director’s face changed.
Trent stood.
“This is being blown out of proportion.”
Priya looked at the paper.
“What did the crossed-out part say?”
Mason whispered, “About the showers.”
Trent froze.
Nobody spoke.
The director slowly looked up.
“What about the showers?”
Mason stared at Trent.
And suddenly sleeping outside was no longer the most serious thing anyone in that office wanted explained. 👇
Mason’s fingers tightened around the edge of the chair. The director did not repeat the question. Priya stayed beside him, close enough to help without touching him.
Trent answered first. “This is absurd.”
The director looked at him. “I asked Mason.”
Mason stared at the black lines crossing his letter. He had written the words in pencil. Trent had covered them with marker, but one sentence was still faintly visible near the edge.
“He makes us take cold showers,” Mason whispered.
Priya’s face changed. “What do you mean, makes you?”
“If somebody talks back. Or is slow. Or complains. He turns the hot water off and makes us stay under until he says we can get out. Sometimes in our clothes.”
Trent shot to his feet. “That is not what happens.”
The director stood too. “Sit down.”
“They come back muddy. We rinse gear. He is describing normal camp cleanup like punishment.”
Mason looked at Priya. “He calls it reset time.”
Priya asked, “Has it happened to you?”
Mason nodded. “Yesterday.”
“Who else was there?”
Three names came out before Mason could lose his nerve. Boys from Cabin Seven. One had cried. Another had asked to write home. Trent had taken his letter too.
The director’s voice became flat. “Trent, give me your keys and staff radio.”
Trent laughed in disbelief. “You are suspending me because an eleven-year-old is mad about being corrected?”
“I am removing you from contact with campers while I find out why a child was locked outside for two hours, why you are editing letters home, and why multiple children may have been subjected to punishment in the showers. Keys. Radio. Now.”
