Growing Pains

by Denin Koch

I fumbled for cash, returning my debit card to my wallet. That way my parents wouldn’t see this purchase among the other charges on my online checking account. They wouldn’t approve.

Summer Camp Altar Call

by Josh Mosey

Eyes closed, head down, I waited. I heard shifting chairs, shuffling feet. I risked a peek at my shoes. The kid to my left was gone. To my right, there stood a boy from a different cabin.

If he goes, I’ll go I decided.

He stayed. I stayed.

Together we waited.

It was the final morning at Lake Ann Baptist Youth Camp. Decision time.

Chasing Bears

by Harrison Birkett

Over the course of my first summer I saw seven bears. I remember, because I counted. Most of those times I didn’t see anything more than the big, furry shadow of the beast as it sprinted through the woods. I’m sure that at least one of the sightings was really just a noise I chased, but I counted it anyway because I was eighteen and needed to sound tough.

The Table

by Elena Sorensen

“My leg hurts bad so get off the table!” A pause. “Also, no offense, but you look like a rabbit.”

I gazed at Carly Karlson. Blonde, Swedish-Lutheran stock. Daughter of Flat Rock Covenant Church’s Pastor Rick Karlson.

Carly had the right kind of face for her chin-length bob. Sharp, pretty features. My own ordinary blond hair looked lank and the wrong kind of messy for lack of a good shampooing for three days. I couldn’t help that I’d forgot to pack it. She looked me as though I was a bug stuck to the bottom of her white Keds. There were traces of blue at the corners of her mouth from her Blue Razzberry blow pop.  

Bowlful of Light

by Karen Bjork Kubin

It was during the Hard Time. I bought myself a pair of earrings, and to an outsider maybe that seemed like a simple act, but to me it was a symbol of who I wanted to be. I bought them because they were beautiful but also because of their shape: bowl-like—open, fillable, generous. They were small but also bright, capturers and reflectors of light. Circles, and therefore whole, but imperfect—like all things that have life.

Pining

by Sandra Marchetti

I held his wrists as we stood near the campfire and I whispered, quite seriously, “If I can do it, so can you.” That was the last time we spoke at teen camp.