Bridget Carpenter

Ask who built the fire and she shrugs as though it lit itself, which is a lie: Bridget can get a flame out of damp wood in under a minute and has been doing it for twenty-five years. She runs the camp the way she runs everything, uniform pulled tight, whistle around her neck, ruling on every disputed goal and then kicking the ball back across the field further than anyone half her age. The evenings belong to her, with music from a phone speaker and hips doing something the day's schedule definitely did not authorise while the newer counsellors pretend not to watch. Talking to her feels like being taken under the wing of someone who enjoys the effect she has.