Read Online Trying to Float by Nicolaia Rips - Free Book Online Page A

different setting, it will be easier to make friends. Winter Valley was perfect for this: there were plenty of group activities, and the kids slept together in log cabins.
    My class trip to Winter Valley was scheduled for February. Though I didn’t much like the cold, I was thrilled. It was all I could think about. I read about the trees and animals that I would see, how to build a fire and make friendship bracelets. I had been collecting magazines on “country living” for years, hoping that one day my parents would move us to a woodsy place.
    â€”
    I had asked my parents to come on the trip as the chaperones, but that was never going to happen. My father, though still young, gave the convincing appearance of having been around for a couple of centuries, and on the rare occasion that he left his armchair, could be found at the nearest café. My mother had also refused. Her idea of traveling was to places like Tashkent or Bamako, not Winter Valley with a group of kids.
    My mom packed me a bag full of my favorite clothing, all of which could have doubled as maternity wear. As I boarded the bus, full of expectation and clothed in T.J.Maxx’s finest, my parents waved good-bye to me from the street.
    On the bus sat my classmates, a couple teachers from the school, and Doris’s mom, our chaperone.
    As soon as we left the parking lot, the kids started singing “I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry. As I joined them, something came out of my mouth along with the notes and words.
    As an infant, I had suffered from motion sickness. For this reason, when Mom and I traveled, she would make a point of avoiding buses, boats, and long car rides. So careful was she that I’d forgotten that I even had the problem.
    What this meant was that in addition to my voice that morning I was able to contribute to the song the masticated contents of my last meal. I spent the rest of the trip with my head in a plastic bag.
    â€”
    As soon as we arrived at Winter Valley, I raced off in search of a bathroom.
    When I returned to the bus, my classmates were gone. I waited, but the gentlemen who I had assumed had been assigned to carry my bags to the cabin did not appear. Full of the camping spirit, I took hold of my new pink Hannah Montana bag and, with the assistance of a previously unknown strength, rolled it up the hill to Chief True Eagle Cabin, my assigned residence.
    Inside, I was greeted by Doris’s mom. She walked me to the one unoccupied bed at the very back of the room. It was the only single bed in a room full of bunks.
    Where, I wondered, were the reading chairs, duvets, and hand-painted wallpapers that I’d seen in the country living magazines?
    There were only gray walls, metal bunk beds, and a muddied beige carpet. Doris’s mom sensed my disappointment.
    â€œFor your information,” she lectured, “Chief True Eagle was not interested in trivial things.”
    â€œCould you find me a chief who was?”
    â€œHere is your bed,” replied Doris’s mom, and then she turned to leave.
    I interrupted her departure.
    â€œExcuse me. Do you smell something?”
    Doris’s mom sniffed. An expression of disgust flooded her face.
    After the deafening sound of a certain bathroom appliance, one of my classmates emerged from a door not two feet from my bed. I realized then why my bed had remained unoccupied.
    Did I mention that it was snowing? It was the type of snowfall dense enough to make snowmen or throw snowballs. This snow overwhelmed the cabins, trees, and everything beyond until nothing was visible.
    Snow like this hadn’t been seen at Winter Valley for over a decade. So amazing was it that the staff of the camp, after a dinnertime discussion with the parents and teachers, decided that the next day we would all go snowshoeing on a nearby mountain. Everyone was excited.
    â€”
    At exactly eight o’clock the next morning, we gathered at the edge of the camp. The sky was