I can't believe this!Too much information all at once. This is like the condensed expression of morse code or semaphore signals.
I've counted 341 excruciatingly long days to be with Z, my best friend, soul mate, twin separated at birth! Not sharing a room?
Camp is ruined.
Do expect your editor to be close-reading your work. Don't expect your child audience to.
The woman at the registration table glares at me through her emerald eye shadow. "Cannot change roommate. Go to orientation, Edie Tan. You're late already."The woman is likewise speaking as though she's being charged per word; she sounds robotic. (How do you look at someone through your eyeshadow? Maybe under instead.)
I drag my luggage out to the hallway, my jeans heavy and soggy from sploshing through the monsoon storm. My inside feels just as sploshed and heavy and soggy.That's much better. Interesting details. A sense of personality, and humor.
Z and I were roommates at last year's camp, our first. When I arrived at our room that first day, she ran to help me with my luggage and tripped. I jumped out of her way, jabbing the doorframe with my funny bone, and then fell over my luggage on top of her. As we untangled ourselves, Z sang, to the tune of the 1812 Overture: "Oh I can see that you're another Clum-Klutz"
"Yes, let's go celebrate and eat kumquats!" My response came as naturally as saying "Who's there?" to a knock-knock joke.
We stared at each other, stunned,'to see her my neck has grown a foot'? Is this a misprint?
This was the person I'd been waiting for; the person who breathed music and craved giggles the way I did.
And that was just the beginning. We found out we had an instinct about each other. Sometimes all it took was a shared look for us to understand an entire joke and burst out laughing.
We're a two-piece puzzle that finally found each other.
When camp ended, we promised to hone our telepathy by transmitting our thoughts every night across 500 miles. I don't know if stuff like that works, but I do know that I've been waiting so long to see her my neck has grown a foot.
Now that I'm finally at camp, I find out we're not sharing a room.'Shrimp form'? Some good details here, but also a few rocky bits. I'd read on, but I think this would really benefit from a good edit before it's submitted.
Oh, I know I'll see her around but it isn't the same. She's a violinist, I'm a percussionist; we're at different tutorials and we sit far away from each other in the orchestra. Sure, we can eat together, but our post-midnight, talk-about-everything sessions are what made camp stupendous, magnificent, unmatched by anything on earth. I sit curled up outside the door and cradle my throbbing head in my hands. Maybe I'll just remain here till I fossilize so millions of years from now archaeologists can have some fun studying a human in shrimp form.
What monsoon was that at the beginning? Is this band camp in Thailand, or something?