Alexey

Maru enters the camp grounds and heads toward the buildings. The area is already bustling with activity: all three squads are standing around. His squad is in the oldest one, even though there are only eight of us here. Cliques are chatting everywhere, some greeting each other, some just standing off to the side, and a couple of smaller squads are giggling and pointing fingers at each other.

For most, it's summer, but for them, it's just a cell overlooking pine trees. His parents sent him to this boarding school a year ago, when his mental disorder and uncontrollable reactions to it were discovered. They found it easier to pay for his upkeep here than to endure his mental illnesses and delusions. So this camp is simply the state's way of housing children like him, out of sight, while teachers are on vacation.

Our counselor calls out to us. It's Alexey, a guy no more than nineteen. He looks like an ordinary student, but I immediately notice how he holds his back. He's not trying to be one of the guys or making friendly jokes to win us over. He understands all too well who stands before him. He knows that if he gives in now and lets us relax, this camp will turn into a war zone in two days.

"My name is Alexey, I'm your counselor," he says, and there's not a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Now we're waiting to be settled into our rooms, unpacking our things, and then we'll go to the common room and get acquainted. Is everything clear?"

Mark looks at him appraisingly, squinting against the sun. He's sure we heard him, and that, damn, inspires some semblance of respect. He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder and steps forward.