The flower box had been a well-intended gift from one of Mom's friends. However, since it was obviously designed to fit the windows of a brick-and-mortar house, rather than the sort on their cozy mobile home, it had been left buried in Mom's closet, dusty and unused. Decorating it for Mal to use at camp was an inspired last-minute idea - he'd probably need something to hold whatever little bits and bobs he'd collect or want near his bed, and the brackets on the back would hook over a head or footboard just as well as a windowsill. They'd printed, colored and cut out some of Dr. Seuss' best drawings and glued them onto the sides of it - one of his twisting and intricate buildings on one side, a meadow full of friendly critters on the next, and the last was a pond shaded by colorful trees. It looked completely awesome, and what made it better was that they'd made it together. It was exactly the right sort of thing for the occasion, Mal thought. A precious and sentimental thing, but not in the obvious and sappy way that'd make it uncool, and make anyone make fun of him for it. His Mom was super good at stuff like that.
The next morning they got up early, had a big breakfast, and loaded up the car for the long drive to camp. As they turned onto the highway, Mal couldn't help but worry and wonder what life would be like there. A couple of his friends at school had been to summer camps, and reports varied between them being fun and full of adventure to being veritable lion's dens of bullies staffed by ineffective adults and apathetic teens. Would the staff there be good to him? Would the food be any good? Would he have to share a bunk with someone super weird, or mean?
Would all the kids there be struggling to control dangerous powers, like him?
"So, you excited for camp, kiddo?" his mom asked, breaking his train of thought.
"I guess," he replied halfheartedly. Excitement was a word for it. A few more choice words would have been "anxiety," "dread," and "resignation".
Her son's lack of enthusiasm definitely didn't escape Harriet's notice. All it took was a glance to see the worry on his face and cement her hunch that he was more apprehensive than anything. "What's the matter, hun - you wanna talk about it?"
Mal stayed glumly quiet, watching the guardrails and trees zip past his window. He hadn't told his mom the extent of his fears yet - he didn't want to bother her with them - or find out she agreed with some of his worries.
Harriet plowed ahead with gentle relentlessness, hoping to get Malakai to talk. "I'm sure there'll be all kinds of cool kids to meet there, Mal. And you saw the sites - loads to do. Hiking, nature study, arts and crafts..."
"... Learning how not to accidentally kill people with your weird brain powers," Mal added dully, then suddenly realized he'd actually said that out loud. Oh god, what if she hadn't realized how dangerous he was, what would she think of him now, what if she unbuckled his seatbelt and rolled him out onto the highway to stop him from sabotaging her driving. It took some mustering of courage to turn to look at his mom, who, despite her growing worry, kept her eyes on the road as she pulled over. Oh no, he thought, she's really going to do it. She's going to leave me on the side of the road and make me walk the rest of the way to camp and I'll be eaten by coyotes or bears, either before or after I starve to death or die of exposure. I'll have a shallow forest grave and no mourners, and the world will be safer for it.
While Mal was thinking all that, Harriet was doing some thinking of her own. She knew her son had a tendency to worry, and while some of his fears were irrational, a growing number of them were perfectly reasonable. It was a lot harder to soothe these ones away sometimes, especially when they were as serious as this. Choosing her words carefully, Harriet finally turned to Mal in the back seat.
"Mal, sweetie... I'm not gonna tell you what you can do can't be dangerous. It's very mature of you to realize that, and worry about other people's safety."
Here it comes, Mal thought miserably.
"But," Harriet continued in a firmer tone, "the things that have already happened are not your fault, and you haven't hurt anyone. What you did was found out about the camp so you could learn how to control it better. And I know you'd never hurt anyone on purpose. You're a good egg," she concluded, gently bumping his shoulder with her first.
"Now, you want a juice box, kiddo?" She asked, popping the trunk.
"Yeah," he replied with the barest trace of a sniffle.
She took her time getting it, did some stretches, had a juicebox herself. Gave Mal a little private time. When she got back in the car, he'd mostly gotten himself together again, and accepted his drink with a quiet "Thanks, mom."
The rest of the ride to Murmuring Pines was pretty uneventful. Before he knew it, they were slowly pulling into the parking lot, drifting past other cars, campers, and parents with a glacial slowness. Some of the councilors - professors? agents? Mal wasn't sure what to call them - were standing at the far end, greeting and organizing the whole lot. When they finally got parked, Mal and his mom pulled his rolling suitcase and lovingly decorated window box out of the trunk and went to meet the camp staff and say their goodbyes for the summer.
As the adults had their small talk, Mal suddenly became acutely aware that this would be the last time he'd see his mom for three months, unless she came up to visit some weekend or something. He wavered on that thought, half wondering if it wasn't too late to back out, but his mom knelt down and pulled him into a hug.
"Write as often as you want, and you can call my cell any time you need me - and I mean any time," she said, pulling back. "Morning, noon or night, at home or on the job. Alright?"
"Alright," Mal mumbled back.
"Good luck, Mal -" and he was so glad he was so glad she used his name instead of something else in front of the other campers - "and have some fun, okay?"
"I will, Mom," he told her, nodding.
"See you later, alligator," she said with a smile, turning back to the car.
"In a while, crocodile," Mal mumbled after her as he stood and watched her pull out of the parking lot.
