"all the world is mad."

That night, she thought idly about him as she heard the quiet snorts of her sleeping campers in the dark. Those idle thoughts carried over into unconsciousness, and she dreamed of him. The setting was murky, nondescript; CJ was playing real music on his tiny red guitar keychain while a graduation ceremony went on behind him. He had just asked her what type of cigarettes she had when her alarm went off, and she felt wakefulness drip into her brain, down her spine, into her limbs. She propped herself up on her elbows, yawned a crater, and thought - I DON'T smoke, Dream CJ.

---------------------------------------------

As they left the dining hall that morning, Hayley watched with amusement as a trio of newly pubescent boys swaggered deliberately in the path of some of her own female campers; the girls smiled back and whispered amongst each other as they walked past, sly as ships in the night. Hayley smiled to herself and kept pace a few feet behind with a few other counselors, participating minimally in a discussion about that night's evening event, an amateur dance contest, generically dubbed "MTV Night." Hayley's campers, ages 12 and 13, had already selected some synthesized, packaged top forty tune that couldn't be distinguished from the other radio drivel, and they had already begun work on elaborate choreography the night before. She had tried to manage the planning so to minimize arguments, like counselor training had taught her to do, but found that three of her campers were already avid dancers and had taken the reins of the project with gusto. Hayley was happy to step aside and let them lead the charge. Back in the cabin, she didn't even have to suggest that they practice their routine before one of the girls had the CD player queued and ready to launch. The girls all fell into line while Hayley stood at the doorway to the back porch, arms crossed and fascinated by the enthusiasm they exhibited.

All but one. Shea, a softspoken but not entirely shy girl, hung to the outskirts of the group, going through the motions of the routine but clearly not giving it half the effort as the others. Her kicks weren't as high, her claps weren't as ferocious, and the smile on her face was forced, strained. She looked like she was baring her teeth for a dentist cleaning, not preparing for one of the most anticipated events of the camp session. Hayley cocked an eyebrow at Shea, who looked back at her hopelessly and dropped her arms at her sides.

"Shea!" barked Tina, the ringleader of the dancers. "What are you doing?"

Hayley stepped in. "No, Tina, it's fine," she said. "I just need to talk to Shea outside for a minute, that's all."

Tina stood with her hands on her hips and a huffy expression on her face as Shea darted out the back door. Hayley followed her, and the two stood out by the railing, overlooking the treeline, taking solace from the synthesized music.

"So, Shea, what's up?" Hayley inquired. "Don't like the dance?"

The girl shook her head. "No, it's not the dance. It's just..." She looked up at Hayley and shrugged. "The song just really kind of sucks."

Hayley smiled widely, then burst out laughing. "Oh, Shea," she said brightly, sinking down to sit with her back to the cabin wall. Shea copied her move, and Hayley slung her arm around the girls shoulders. "Between you and me, that song totally sucks."

The two laughed together for a moment and looked out at the thick forest view that sat beyond the porch. Shea looked contemplative and questioning, but Hayley waited patiently while the girl decided what she wanted to say. She finally turned to Hayley and said, "You like rock music, don't you?"

Hayley nodded. "Mostly, yeah."

"Like...like Mom and Dad rock music, or like...rock rock music?" Shea gave her head a little headbang to emphasize her point.

Hayley laughed again, delighted by Shea's presence. "Well, some Mom and Dad rock is okay, but yeah, almost everything I listen to is rock rock," she replied with a similar headbang.

Shea nodded wisely. "I can tell. My sister and brother like that stuff a lot. You remind me of them. They go to concerts all the time. I wish I got to go with them."

"Well, how come you don't?"

Shea shrugged. "My mom doesn't want me to, and I don't think they do either. But sometimes when they're not home, I sneak into their rooms and steal CDs. I return them pretty soon, so they don't notice. And I try to take a different one each time. But I really like them, a lot."

Hayley asked Shea to name some bands and Shea began to rattle off a number of underground punk bands on the tips of her fingers as casually as she'd recall the alphabet. They ranged from melodic to hardcore, from progressive to flat-out rebellious, and Hayley didn't even attempt to mask her surprise. Asking Shea to hold on for a minute, she ran into the cabin, retrieved a binder from underneath her bunk, and brought it out to the back porch, sliding into a cross legged position next to Shea. She opened the book across both their laps, and inside were pages upon pages of ticket stubs, pressed beneath laminated plastic with every pocket-induced fold and wrinkle preserved perfectly. Shea ran her fingers over the stubs, wide-eyed, and Hayley told her stories every time her finger lingered on a particular show-stub. Here was the time she sneaked backstage by grabbing the back alley door before it shut and locked, diving over a staircase railing to avoid being spotted by the bouncer guarding the exit. Oh, that show? That was the time her car battery died while parked downtown and the drummer from that particular band brought the tour van over to give her a jump. And this show? She was front and center for that show, and got pulled onstage to dance for the encore by the keyboardist who had been smiling at her the entire night. Shea asked if she knew any bands personally and Hayley almost said yes, with CJ in mind, but no, she didn't really know him yet, did she? So instead she shrugged, said sort of but not really, and kept telling stories, but now she told them with CJ looking over her shoulder, listening intently, nodding in agreement and smiling with approval. As the two flipped through the pages, Shea's admiration grew noticeably childlike, marvelling at the huge ticket stub collection Hayley had managed to amass. Her reactions to Hayley's stories were met with wider eyes and breathless "wows," and Hayley fed off her captive audience. She told her tales with growing fervor and enthusiasm, fondly reliving the memories of her younger, rebellious days while imagining CJ's impressed face with every name-drop and run-in she could recount. When the binder had no more pages to boast, Shea shut the book and Hayley leaned back on the wall, feeling a strange, weary exhilaration. Shea looked over and said "I hope I'll have stories like that to tell someday."

"I hope you do too, kid," Hayley replied. "You know, you don't have to do the MTV night thing if you don't want to." She glanced over toward the younger girl with squinty eyes and the shade of a smile. "I'll just tell the others that your ankle is bugging you or something."

Shea tilted her head, pursed her lips, uncurled her legs from the Indian style and said "Yeah... that'd be good."