When I joined the Scouts I imagined we’d make dozens of trips out into the wilderness. I figured we’d sleep almost exclusively in tents, or, on special occasions, we’d all snuggle up in sleeping bags, directly under the stars, warmed by a fire which we’d lit ourselves. There’d be ghost stories which we’d whisper to one another while pounding down the candies we’d smuggled into our rucksacks. Imagine my confusion, then, when on my first trip into the great unknown I discovered that we’d be staying in a hostel. Confusion became profound embarrassment when Scoutmaster Snow told us boys we were sharing rooms and needed to get into pairs. As the new kid on the block, I ended up with no one to share with. I was a little disappointed, but when Scoutmaster Snow told me I’d have to share with him, I felt a pang of absolute terror. Snow is by far the scariest Scoutmaster in our troop: he’s ultra serious, he doesn’t laugh at jokes, and there’s a rumor that he carries a gun.