Free Breaking Point by Lesley Choyce

Chapter One
    It was raining when I arrived at Camp Mosher on the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia. Buckets of rain falling from a gray dead sky. I regretted my decision to come here. It was my choice. I could have been warm and dry up in the Valley in the so-called Nova Scotia Youth Facility in Walkerton. But I’d been there before and hated the dorks who were in charge.
    So when they gave me the chance to go somewhere else, I jumped at it. Camp Mosher, just somewhere short of the end of the earth.
    I got off the stupid bus, and as the other kids ran for the building, I just stood there in the rain and got soaked. I looked around. Nothing but trees, rocks and water. Lots of water. They had told me this would be different. That it would be tough. I’d have to learn about survival, about wilderness. About myself.
    Don’t get me wrong, I knew that was a pile of crap. And I’d never really had any interest in boats or camping or idiotic stuff like that. I just thought the deal was either three weeks here or ten weeks back in Walkerton. So here I was. I felt the rain soak all the way through my jacket and pants. I was cold and I was drenched, and I could see I’d made a big fat mistake.
    That’s when some big asshole came up behind me, smacked me on the back and started pushing me toward the building. “They say turkeys are so stupid, they don’t know when to get in out of the rain,” he said as I tried to elbow him without turning around.
    I thought about running just then. I didn’t deserve to put up with this.
    But I had nowhere to run to. Hell, I didn’t really even know exactly where I was, except that I was on the coast of Nova Scotia, far from Halifax. Far from anywhere.
    I turned around to look at the goon who was on my case. He was the size of a football player, and he had on some kind of rain poncho with the hood drooped down over his face. I guess my hands had automatically cramped up into fists, because the goon flipped his hood down and looked me in the eye. “Cameron, right?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. He was big. Way out of my league.
    â€œYou like it out here?” he asked, an edge in his voice.
    â€œWhaddaya mean?”
    â€œYou like the rain?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Maybe I do.”
    I thought he was gonna shove me or drag me inside or something. But he didn’t. “Okay for you, buddy,” he said, flipping his poncho hood back up. “But this isn’t the shopping mall. You’re gonna have to stay dry if you want to survive.”
    And then he walked away.
    I began to shiver. And that’s when I looked to the inlet, saw the kayaks and canoes. There were even a few paddles. I thought all I’d have to do was run to the water, grab a boat and get the hell out of here.
    Instead, I walked toward the main building, feeling like a loser, like I had nothing left of me.
    Inside the building, I found myself in some kind of dining hall with shiny wood walls like you’d see in those old movies about kids going to summer camp. The windows were all steamed up. Some kids were walking around. Some were sitting. I recognized some of them as the losers who had come here on the bus with me from Halifax. But then I realized that there weren’t just guys. There were girls here too. They must have arrived ahead of us on another bus. They were all sitting at tables on the other side of the room.
    I just stood there dripping water on the floor. I didn’t know which I hated more—standing out in the rain, or standing here inside the door with all those eyes looking at me like I was the biggest loser in the place. Again, I was ready to just turn and run. That was my style. I was a runner. When I found myself freaking out in school, or when the shit hit the fan, or when I’d do some idiot thing that was about to get me in big trouble, I’d spin on my heels and run. That’s the way I’d saved my ass a dozen times,