@Lady Arya@Ducksworth

Max had been about to reply to Piper when she heard a loud thud, and looked behind her to what was a very strange scene. Most of the room hadn't reacted yet, some kids had turned their heads. Apparently, one kid had cut himself doing something or another, Max thought she'd saw him grab a knife when she had walked in. The kid who had cut himself was apparently being attended to by another kid, taller and rambling about something. Max couldn't really hear what they were saying over the noise coming from all other corners of the room. Stick a bunch of kids in a room and it's bound to be a bit noisy. Especially since there were approximately ten different conversations happening at the same time. Max kept looking around for the source of the loud thud, which appeared to be another kid that had...face planted the floor? Huh, maybe he didn't handle blood so well.

Max shook their head and looked back at Piper, "I guess we should consider ourselves lucky for choosing painting. Only cuts we're gonna get are paper cuts. Though, I got this one between my fingers once...nasty. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy,"

They shook their head again and sighed, turning their attention back to the paper in front of them, wondering what to paint. They still hadn't even made a single brush stroke. Some crafts time this was turning out to be, though, she wasn't surprised. She was just simply not a crafty person, why couldn't their mom have sent them to skateboard camp instead. Was skateboard camp even a thing? Max wasn't sure, but they already missed the feeling of the board underneath their feet, the feel of the wind in their face. There was just something serene about riding a skateboard while the music blared in your ears as you whipped around the pavement and just enjoyed life. It was the one place Max felt nothing could touch her, nothing could hurt her...well, except her own stupidity or lack of awareness. She'd hurt herself plenty of times just not reacting fast enough.

Max turned back to look at the kids that were bleeding, and then sighed. She had bandaids in her bag, she really should offer them..

"Be right back, don't let anyone steal my seat," She said and then sighed softly, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder and walking over to where the boy lay on the floor. She reached down and grabbed his arm, trying to help him into a standing position.

"It's alright, I got ya. Take it from someone who has fallen off their board many many times, you're gonna be fine. But ya can't just lay there forever," She said and then smiled softly, rolling her eyes in a playful manner. "I've got bandaids in my bag. Do ya want rainbow or tye-dye?"

Barely inside the door, Matt took another step into the Recreation Cabin when one of the other camp counsellors, a girl in a yellow shirt, hurried toward Brody and pointed back at the tables.

“That’s your crew,” she said with a relieved chuckle. “JJ’s got a gash in his arm, and Dexter just found out he doesn’t like the sight of blood.”

Before she could finish, Brody was already moving, weaving between the tables, off to check on the boys.

Matt stopped beside the empty spot on the bench Brody had pointed out for him and watched the commotion unfold. Unsure what else to do, he slipped his left hand into his baseball glove. With his right, he began working the baseball into the pocket of the worn leather mitt, squeezing, pushing, and twisting, the way he always did when he was thinking or worried.

He studied the scene in front of him. The younger boy with the cut was already being looked after by an older camper and that girl with the skateboard, the one he had noticed earlier.

Another boy was lying on his side nearby, a counsellor offering him a paper towels for his nose. Brody had his full attention on him and Matt watched as the boy's eyes slowly opened before squeezing shut again a second later. If it had been the first time Matt had seen something like this, he probably would have been worried. Bloody noses weren't that uncommon but last summer, one of his teammates had collapsed in the outfield during a baseball tournament. Heat stroke someone said. Then, just a few months ago, one of the girls in gym class had taken a dodgeball to the head and crumpled to the floor. Everyone had said it was a concussion.

Now, watching the boy on the floor, Matt noticed him rubbing the back of his head. He couldn't help wondering if this kid had a concussion too. Holding the bloodied cloth to his nose, Matt knew the boy had to be suffering right now.

Restless and needing something to do, Matt started wandering around the cabin. He knew enough to stay away from the huddle of campers and counsellors that had gathered around the injured boys, so instead he drifted from table to table, sizing up the other campers, checking out the art projects spread out in front of each and every one of them.

He chuckled to himself when he spotted one boy sketching the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. When the boy glanced up, Matt smiled.

“That's really good. Raphael’s the best.”

At another table, a couple of girls sat weaving brightly coloured strands of thread into friendship bracelets. Matt recognized them right away, the girls at school were always making them for one another.

Off to the side, he noticed another camper, a red-haired girl, probably about his age. She was looking out the window, but it wasn’t her that caught his attention. Matt’s eyes moved instead to the painting she had been working on at the easel.

He had been impressed by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle drawing earlier, but this was different. The painting was detailed in a way that made him pause. He remembered something his teacher had once said about real artwork having “intricate details,” and he knew this was exactly what she meant.

He leaned a little closer, studying it more carefully. The brushstrokes weren’t messy like his would have been, and there weren’t any drips of paint running down the page. Not a single stick figure. Not even a bird that looked like a V in the sky.

“Wow,” he said quietly. “That’s… really really good.”

He hesitated, then added softly, “Like… way better than mine.”