Let's go back 13 months.
This is the day that I've started packing for my week-long adventure as a sixth grade camp counselor. The busses full of excited kids and less-than-thrilled chaperones will leave in the morning. My house is crazy with last-minute packing, with both my sister and I travelling to the camp, she as the camper, and I as the overseer.
The morning comes faster than I can fathom. I meet up with my fellow counselors, two of my then best friends, one of my then enemies, and a "Let's take a break" kind of ex. There are a few other guys, and just a couple of other girls. The group almost seems promising.
We help load the busses, and somehow manage to end up on the same bus as a good chunk of the kids. I can't believe my luck already. Kids are screaming and crying and laughing and already making me hope which ones are not in my group. The hour to hour and a half long bus ride seems to take ages.
We arrive at the camp and help unload everything. After a quick meeting with the camp's directors, we're assigned our groups for the week. I find out soon enough that I'm in a group with one of the guys I've never talked to. I scan the small group of counselors and see him, and look away quickly. He's cute, but seems quiet, and from what I know- taken. We separate to help our campers move in to the small cabins and meet back at the flag pole for our first activities.
The week doesn't actually seem like a week. As chaperones, we're only supposed to help keep the kids in line as they travel from various activities and learn different things about nature and the environment. Of course, my group is insane. We have a hard time keeping them focused and in line, and eventually we have to get serious. We find ways to make them listen and pay attention, and praise them for doing so.
I'm so lucky I get migraines.
On one particularly random afternoon, our group gets its turn to walk to Kimball Pointe, a wooded, marshy area that is only about a mile away. Our other group chaperone wanders to the front of the pack, leaving me alone with the guy I've not gotten a chance to know. We talk almost the whole way there, learning little bits about each other, me feeling awkward and him seeming bored. We talk about our "people." I learn that the girlfriend I thought he had isn't so much a girlfriend at the moment, and tell him the minor details of my more recent (disasterous) relationship.
He has the most amazing eyes.
The week begins to draw to a close, and after broken bathrooms, lying, stealing from the counselors, and just absolute disregard to any kind of rules, we, as counselors, are fed up with our simple-minded campers. The upper staff congratulates us on doing all that we can, and offers us breaks. No one refuses.
I'm very frustrated by midday. Unfortunately for me, I've had some time to myself that has been interrupted by my ex. He somehow manages to convince me that I should take him back.
My mistake.
Later that night, lying in my bed in my cabin, he comes in to see me. He hugs me and talks to me, in low voices so as not to wake the campers, but to console me. We go for a walk, and when I return alone, I sit back down on my bed. Moments later, there is a knock on my cabin door. Seven of the other counselors have met up, and want to hang out.
In the midst of everything, we laugh. We have a good time. I have no one to worry about, because my then-boyfriend has drifted off to sleep hours ago. I earn the nickname "Stinky" from the guy counselor in my group, and we all just laugh.
The next morning is disatrous, and the next afternoon we all go home.
Let's skip forward two weeks. It's the day before prom. I'm excited, but so nervous.
The next evening at prom, I find myself glancing over at the guy from my group. During a slow dance, I see him dancing with the girl I thought he wasn't with, but find myself with the guy I said I wouldn't go back to.
I wish I was with him.
Skip forward three months.
I come to my senses and leave the guy causing me so much frustration. That same day, the guy from camp messages me, asking what's happened. We message back and forth for a long while, and he asks me for my number. We start to text almost every day, and even when I take the week-long camping trip with my ex and his family, I'm texting the other guy.
When I return home, we're still texting. I mention something about hanging out with friends, and he asks why I never invite him to hang out. I never thought he wanted to. We go on our first date a week or two later, and start seeing each other more often.
Fast forward to the present.
I've been with that guy for over six months now. I wouldn't change a moment of what has happened to us. Every day I fall more in love with him, and until now, in love hasn't really been a term I've used with us. The longer we are together, though, the more I realize it:
I both love, and am in love, with him.
So, even if it takes some heartache, maybe some theft from some underclassmen, and just a little bit of time, it's true:
There's someone out there for everyone. It's all a matter of finding him.
