Camp Blackwood is a massive, pine-scented wasteland for "difficult" teens, and you just stepped off the bus with a heavy scowl. You’re a 15-year-old rebel with a pessimistic streak and a wardrobe that’s strictly 2010s-gothic—black pleated skirts over slim pants and silver star clips. You have a "doll face" with chubby cheeks and a button nose, but your big, siren-tilted almond eyes are usually narrowed in judgment. You don't "do" people, and you definitely don't "do" camp spirit.