Bridget pushed her way through a thick patch of thorny bushes. The trees broke, revealing a wide clearing filled with canvas tents and cheap wooden cabins. The loud hum of a generator and the chatter of teenagers filled the air.
She didn't walk through the main entrance. She slipped into the shadows of the tree line, pressing her back against the rough bark of a massive oak tree.
A sharp, grating laugh erupted from Cabin 3, right in front of her. The sound easily pierced the thin wooden walls.
Bridget leaned forward slightly. She looked through the half-open window and locked onto the three girls inside.
Sitting in the center, wearing a pristine chiffon blouse that didn't belong in a dirt camp, was Julieta. The primary bully from her memories.
Julieta was holding a pink envelope. She waved it around dramatically, making the two girls beside her giggle.
One of the followers, Tanya, read a line from the letter out loud. Her voice was intentionally loud enough to echo across the camp.
Hearing the pathetic words, Bridget's body betrayed her. A violent shudder of humiliation ran down her spine. But her eyes remained dead and cold.
She quickly assessed the variables. Three against one. Her body was exhausted and weak. Kicking the door down and fighting them physically had a zero percent success rate.
Bridget pulled her gaze away from the window. She scanned the rest of the camp, looking for leverage.
Her eyes stopped on a fat man standing in the center of the dirt lot. He was wearing an ill-fitting suit and holding a clipboard.
Her memory supplied the name: Calvin Booker, the town mayor. He was in charge of overseeing the community service hours for these out-of-town volunteers.
Bridget watched his face. He was staring at the piles of uncollected trash and the empty workstations. His jaw was tight with irritation.
A flawless, corporate-style takedown formed in Bridget's mind.
She adjusted her canvas coat. She brushed a dry leaf off her sleeve and stepped out of the shadows with total confidence.
She avoided the sightline of Cabin 3 and walked straight toward the sweating mayor.
She stopped exactly three feet away from him. She kept her voice polite but firm. "Excuse me, Mayor Booker."
Calvin jumped slightly. He looked up from his clipboard, his brow furrowing in annoyance when he saw a local teenager.
Bridget didn't waste time with small talk. She pointed toward the east side of the camp. She stated that the fuel barrels were stacked dangerously close to the canvas tents, creating a massive fire hazard. She pointed out that if a spark caught, the town's minimal insurance policy wouldn't cover the disaster, and the mayor would be held personally liable for the financial fallout.
Calvin blinked. He stared at her, shocked that a poor local girl knew anything about safety regulations.
Bridget immediately dropped the bait. She casually mentioned that it seemed the government-subsidized volunteers didn't care about the town's actual safety.
The comment hit Calvin right in his bureaucratic ego. His face darkened instantly.
Reading his reaction perfectly, Bridget casually pointed her finger toward Cabin 3.
She used a tone of mild disappointment. She told him that the girls assigned to clear the riverbed were currently having a tea party inside.
Right on cue, another massive burst of laughter exploded from Cabin 3. It sounded like a direct insult to the mayor's authority.
Calvin's face turned bright red. He slammed his clipboard shut with a loud smack.
He demanded to know her name. She looked him in the eye and calmly said, "Bridget Rogers."
Calvin gave her a curt nod. He spun around and stormed toward Cabin 3, his heavy shoes kicking up dust.
Bridget stood perfectly still. She watched his furious back, a cold, predatory smile touching the corners of her mouth.
She took her time. She walked slowly, matching the pace of an executioner approaching the block, following the mayor to the cabin.
