Every year in the spring, the fifth graders of Beecher Prep go away for three days and two nights
to a place called the Broarwood Nature Reserve in Pennsylvania.
It's a four-hour bus drive away. The kids sleep in cabins with bunk beds.
There are campfires and s'mores and long walks through the woods.
The teachers have been prepping us about this all year long, so all the kids in the grade are excited about it—except for me.
And it's not even that I'm not excited, because I kind of am—
it's just I've never slept away from home before and I'm kind of nervous.
Most kids have had sleepovers by the time they're my age. A lot of kids have gone to sleepaway camps,
or stayed with their grandparents or whatever. Not me. Not unless you include hospital stays,
but even then Mom or Dad always stayed with me overnight. But I never slept over Tata and Poppa's house, or Aunt Kate and Uncle Po's house.
When I was really little, that was mainly because there were too many medical issues,
like my trache tube needing to be cleared every hour, or reinserting my feeding tube if it got detached.
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