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This one time, at summer camp... No seriously, it was summer camp, and I was 12. There was this core group of us whose parents worked and we went there all day, everyday, from the last day of school to the first. By the end of the summer (the 9th summer in a row for most of us,) we were getting pretty bored of archery, crafts, all that stuff. One day my two best friends and I began entertaining ourselves by writing a soap opera involving all the camp regulars in a spiral notebook one of them had brought. Stupid stuff, like Kid A and Kid B were married, and they had Siamese twins who were Kids C and D stuck together, but Kid A was secretly in love with Kid E, who'd awoken from a coma and didn't remember anyone, etc. etc.
Anyway, as it progressed throughout the day, the notebook got passed around and added to extensively by other campers. I swear to you now as I swore to the camp director at the time, I hadn't seen that notebook since lunch break, but apparently it turned explicitly pornographic at some point, involving kids, counselors, and the old couple who ran the place.
Of course it had to be that same old lady who found the dang thing and read it. And when she demanded to know whose notebook it was, everyone kept quiet except this one bitch named Lindsey who proudly declared it belonged to me and my two friends.
I think they must have known it wasn't really us, because there were a dozen distinct handwriting samples in that thing, but we weren't snitches, so we refused to name anyone else. They yelled at us long enough to make the other two cry--not me though, I just glared back with what I hoped were beady, defiant eyes--but they didn't even tell our parents about it in the end. I told myself that they were secretly proud of me for not crying.
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