"It smells funny."

"I have to pee."

I stifled a laugh as I watched the noisy kids from Oakland spill out of their old, yellow school bus, their voices an indistinct chorus, becoming distinct as they stepped outside into the fresh, mid-morning air. Standing with the wranglers, we welcomed fifteen boys, fifteen girls, all twelve or thirteen years old, plus six adults. It looked like the adults were two adult leaders, giving orders and carrying clipboards, and four chaperones.

This was a seriously racially diverse group, probably reflecting the melting pot demographics of the East Bay. The kids looked shiny and new, wearing fresh jeans and clean tennis shoes, compared to the five of us program staff, who all had a little trail dust on us from riding horses early that morning.

A few of the kids were carrying cell phones and either taking a selfie or texting away. The rest were chatting with their friends.

Once outside, and assembled, the kids put away their phones per their leader's loudly-spoken instruction, quieted down and moved warily, out of their element, but curious. I could see their young faces taking in the ranch buildings, the animals in their corrals and pens, and the landscape of rolling hills, orchards, vineyards, and fields. If I had to guess, I was pretty sure, without asking them, that none of them had ever been on a farm before.

As they had been stepping off the bus, I had been waving enthusiastically at each of them exiting the bus, and now that they were all together, I took over for the group of wranglers, yelling cheerfully, "Hello! Welcome to the Headlands Ranch! I'm Marie!"

"What the fuck is this shit?" I heard from one of the boys, a tall African-American with a very precise haircut, beautiful, dark smooth skin, and a grouchy look on his face.

"I have to use the bathroom," whined an ponytailed Asian girl, the only one of the group wearing cowboy boots over her pale jeans.

"Ohmigod it smells," said a redhead with freckles in a bored drawl, wearing clothes that were a little too big. She held her nose. "It smells bad."

Guess they could smell the horses. I didn't think that horses smelled all that bad, but I suppose you had to get used to it first.

"What, there's no WiFi here?" complained a Hispanic boy, very sharply dressed, in a button down shirt and skinny jeans. A few others looked panicked about this.

I ignored them all and kept talking.

"I am so glad all of you are here. Let's first show you to the bunkhouse so you can set up for your week here, and then our wranglers, Janine, Stephanie, Jimmy, and Hector, will take you to meet your horses."

"Cool," said a small African-American girl with a shy smile, her hair in three thick braids.

A few other kids smiled at me and I was instantly charmed by the combination of their enthusiasm for the farm with their inexperience due to their urban background. I also wanted to learn all of their names immediately so I wouldn't be calling them "you, with the face, over there." After they got settled in, we were playing a name game.

A tall, handsome, bald man with caramel-colored skin and dark eyes, wearing well-fitting jeans and a plaid button down shirt, came up to me and said, "Nice to meet you, Marie. I'm Maurice Jenkins, and I run the Bay Area program for these guys."

"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking his warm hand.

"I'm the boys' group leader," he continued, "and Tricia Pham," pointing to a petite woman with amazingly cool, dark jeans and a fluttery top, "is the girls' group leader."

I shook her hand, too, and introduced the wranglers to them and to the chaperones, whom I also met.

We managed to get the kids matched up with their luggage, which had been piled in the back of the bus, as well as in compartments underneath, and they hauled their oversized bags, sleeping bags, and pillows to the bunkhouse.

The second the kids stepped inside, it was mayhem, with them scrambling to find the rooms, with their friends, that they wanted to be in. After getting them situated, which took a surprisingly long amount of time, I had everyone meet up at some outside picnic tables. We went around to each person individually, and I learned most of their names by playing a game where we said our name and our favorite food. When I said my favorite food was quinoa, there were a few groans. I guess they were aligned with Will about that.

I took the group on a tour, and showed them the chow hall, where they met Cookie, who boomed a greeting and asked if any had any eating restrictions. One was kosher, which Cookie said that he could accommodate to some degree, although he only had one kitchen and one set of dishes, and three girls were vegetarian, which made Cookie glare at me for some reason.

Then we headed over to the barns, the stables, and the corrals, to divide up in groups for each wrangler, and for them to meet their horses. As we were walking over, Will pulled up from his rounds around the ranch in his now again mudcovered truck, and hopped out, sauntering over to meet the kids, Trixie at his heels.

He looked mouthwatering, in a faded, tight blue t-shirt that showed every ridge of his torso, and his usual jeans, belt-buckle, and boots. He was wearing his trucker hat and his hair curled underneath it, sticking out at the bottom.

I heard Tricia Pham breathe out "Oh. My. God."

I called out, "Everyone, this is Will Thrash, a genuine rancher, whose family has owned Headlands Ranch for four generations."

Will looked at all the kids and gave them a half-smile. Jeff, one of the Asian boys, wearing a basketball shirt, petted Trixie. Will spoke to all of them in his low rumble. "Welcome. Glad you're here. Hope you like ridin'." Then he looked at me. "I know Marie does."

I hoped that his wink at naughtiness would go over heads of everyone.

It still made me hot.

We spent the rest of the morning organizing the kids into their groups, assigning them to the wranglers, and having them meet and pet their horses. Then it was time for lunch. Will sat with me leaning against me as much as he could without being obvious—or at least I hoped we weren't being obvious. Then he left to go meet with some visitors who looked like they were from the city. I wondered if they were the developers that he was so worried about earlier.

I told the kids that after lunch, we would go meet some of the other barn animals and learn how to care for the chickens, goats, and other animals, and then have a campfire that night. There was a definite mixed reaction. A few of the kids looked scared, including Truc, a quiet girl with a fringe of thick, dark hair, for whom English was clearly a second language. A few of the kids looked excited, like Janiqua, the sweet, shy girl with the three braids. And a few looked like they were too cool for campfires and animals, like Emma, the one in cowboy boots, Isabella, the redhead, who said that it smelled, and James, the tall, grouchy one. Enrique, the stylish one, was too busy looking at his cell phone when he thought no one was watching him, so I couldn't gauge his reaction.

Still, I soldiered on, with enthusiasm.

#

The campfire was a failure.

At first, the fire would not light. Between me, Jimmy, and Hector, we couldn't get it to start. I had no idea why, I was no expert in fire building. I guessed that the wood was too big, or something, but it just would not catch on fire. So Hector came back with a bottle of lighter fluid, which made the boys perk up, and Will grumbled about his insurance premiums and the cost of Worker's Comp insurance. He had been pretty sullen since his meeting with the suits, but had come by the campfire and stood in the back, leaning against a tree, watching me, but not participating.

The sun was down, the fire finally lit, but then it took too long for the tall flames to die down into coals so that we could roast marshmallows, so we didn't do that.

Then, the wranglers went to put away the horses for the night and the ranch hands were off for the evening, which meant that it was just me, Will, and Cookie, along with the adult leaders and chaperones. Cookie looked at me as if I was from another planet, amused by my tries at getting the group to do some traditional campfire activities.

I made an attempt to get the group to sing "Row Row Row Your Boat" in a three-part round, but I had to do it all by myself, because all of the adults said, "I don't sing." Will looked at me with a "no way in hell am I singing" look on his face. Thanks for the fucking support, asshat.

But these were kids. I mean, everyone knows it, right? My singing voice wasn't great, but what good was a campfire if you didn't sing around it?

It didn't work. They just stared at me.

Will put his hand over his mouth, chuckling.

That was not nice.

I blew out my breath and tried to get the kids to pick up their flashlights and play a game with them where we shined them all around and I made silly puns (like "What is it when you shine the light on your knee? A neon light!" "What is it when you shine it on your head? A head light?")

No one laughed at my jokes, except Cookie, who always looked like he wanted to laugh at me. I could see in the firelight that Will looked like he was trying not to laugh, with his hand over his mouth, which felt worse.

Yes, they were bad jokes but who cares? We were at camp. It was supposed to be campy. Ugh.

These kids just did not want to look uncool.

Will silently left in the middle of all this, clearly amused by my enthusiasm and the lack of response of the kids, and not helping in the slightest.

As he walked away, I saw him stifle a laugh as I tried, yet again, to get the kids to sing, saying "Come on everyone! Let's do this!"

Asshole. I needed help. I didn't need to be hung out to dry by the guy who wanted to get in my pants. Jerk.

After a few more attempts at group activities, I gave up, letting the kids just hang out around the campfire. Some took out their cell phones, while others chatted with each other. They seemed to like this better than an organized activity.

Tomorrow, I was implementing a no cell phone rule.

What a depressing end to the day. I wanted to make connections with the kids and have some fun. I did not want to be a freak show.

When the kids were finally in bed that night, I went to my bunk and crashed, tired, and for once not thinking about joining Will in his bed.

But I couldn't sleep. I was pissed.

I got more pissed the more that I thought about it.

Will should have set aside any embarrassment and supported me. I had needed help getting these kids to open up and he left me hung out to dry.

I texted Amelia.

Will just treated me like shit.

What?!  Honey. What did he do?

I had a bad first day with this group of city kids from Oakland and he just laughed at me and watched me crash and burn instead of helping to make it better.

You know what the right answer is, right? You need to talk with him. Guys can't read your mind and sometimes they don't know when they hurt you.

I sighed. She was right. Since she was in such a healthy relationship with Ryan, I didn't think twice about taking her advice. I got out of bed, put on flip flops, put my hair up in a messy bun on the top of my head, grabbed a hoodie, and headed over to Will's house.

When he opened the door, barechested, in sweats, he started to say, "Wondered if you were gonna come over-" but I pushed him inside, and started immediately talking to him in the hallway.

"I'm pissed at you. You treated me like shit tonight. Remember, last week, when Clarissa said your hair sang that you were loyal and fierce and true? Well it didn't feel like that. It felt like you were a jerk and an asshole. I needed some help and you didn't stick up for me. You treated me like I was the monkey exhibit at the zoo. Like I was something to laugh at and was embarrassing, but not something that should be supported. And you want me to go out with you, well this is why I won't. I'm just an amusing cunt to you, not girlfriend material. You don't say much, Silent Sam, so I watch your actions. And your actions tonight were shitty, Will."

He stared at me, his brown eyes intent, and then he reached over to brush my cheek. I flinched and brushed his hand aside and continued, "I was being laughed at enough by the kids and they were completely disrespectful. These are tough kids, Will. They don't know about camp life. I bet a lot of them are raised by a single parent or a grandparent or have family members on drugs or aren't doing well in school because they have no support and no role models. I need to do silly things with them. They need to see wholesome things. They don't need everything to be cynical."

Will let out a deep breath and put his head down. Then he looked at me.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes softening.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated sincerely. "You're right, that was a dick move. Fucked up. Didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't realize-"

And then the house started shaking, the pictures started violently moving on the walls, the lamps started skidding toward the end of the table, and I heard the crash of glass breaking.

Earthquake!