Chapter 69 Let's Get to Work

Chapter 69 Let's Get to Work
The realization hit them like the first warm breeze of spring. With the scholarship reforms finally solidified and the legal dust settling, the emergency housing in the McFarland Wing was no longer a necessity. The "Open Door" had worked so well that the students were integrated, the families were at peace, and for the first time in two years, the vast, historic wing had plenty of room for its rightful guardians.
"Wait," Willow said, pausing with her coffee mug halfway to her lips as she looked around the grand common room. "If the scholarship suites are all transitioned and the new dorms are finished... why are we still trekking back and forth to the Faculty Tower every night?"
Puck grinned, leaning back in his chair and kicking his boots up on the edge of the mahogany table. "I’ve been waiting for someone to say it. I’m tired of the drafty hallways in the North Tower. This place has better heating, better views, and," he gestured to the kitchen, "much better snacks."
The decision was unanimous. Within the hour, the "Oversight Committee" had officially reclaimed the McFarland Wing as their permanent residence. They weren't just administrators anymore; they were the heartbeat of the building.
Franklin and Leo kept their suite, which had already become the de facto headquarters for the Dorset-Sterling transition. Willow and Puck moved into the spacious sun-drenched rooms overlooking the gardens, where Willow could keep an eye on her seedlings from her own balcony.
And for Dean and Echo, it meant the end of the long, late-night walks back to the faculty quarters. They moved their lives into the primary Master Suite—the very room where the McFarland legacy had begun, now filled with Dean’s discarded flannels and Echo’s stacks of community proposals.
As they stood in the middle of their reclaimed room, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and the familiar scent of old books and fresh cedar, Dean let out a long, relieved sigh. He flopped onto the bed, stretching his long arms out across the quilts.
"You okay, Dean?" Echo teased, leaning against the bedpost and watching him with a soft smile.
Dean let out a low, rumbling laugh, his eyes closed in contentment. "I’m more than okay. Do you realize what this move actually means, Echo?"
"That we’re closer to the files? That we can keep an eye on the 'Open Door' at night?"
Dean opened one eye, a mischievous glint dancing in the iris. "No. It means I get exactly fifteen more minutes of sleep every single morning. No more trudging down that hall at 6:00 AM just to meet with everyone for the early briefing. I can just roll over, see your face, and hit snooze one more time."
Echo laughed, climbing onto the bed beside him and propping herself up on her elbow. "Fifteen minutes, huh? That’s your grand vision for the new McFarland era?"
"It’s a vital part of the budget," Dean murmured, pulling her down until she was tucked against his chest. "Rest is a resource, Proctor. And I plan on utilizing it."
The next morning, the "Ask" from the summer camp was laid out on the table not by a cold messenger, but by a group of friends who had simply walked out of their bedrooms in their pajamas and robes.
There was no "trudging" anymore. There was just the sound of a teapot whistling, the scratching of pens on the new beach cleanup proposal, and the comfortable, lived-in hum of a home that was finally, truly open.
"Alright," Echo said, looking at the clock as the others wandered in. "Dean’s fifteen minutes are up. Let’s figure out how we’re going to get a barge into Camp Wolverine without sinking the Academy’s reputation—or the barge."
The name of the camp where they had served as counselors was Camp Wolverine.
It was the place where the "Starting Four" had first really seen each stepped outside the rigid social hierarchy of the Academy. Back then, they were just the Wolverine counselors, wearing those faded navy and gold staff shirts, guiding younger kids through canoe races and campfire stories while secretly navigating their own complicated alliances.
When the group pulled up to the main lodge on Saturday morning, the nostalgia hit them like a physical wave. The "Wolverine" banner was still hanging over the mess hall, though it was slightly tattered from the storm.
Puck jumped out of the lead van first, looking up at the towering pines. "It smells exactly the same. Pine needles and lake mud."
Dean stepped out beside him, stretching his arms over his head. "And woodsmoke. I think I still have my counselor whistle in a drawer back at the Wing."
"Don't you dare blow that thing, Sterling," Echo teased, stepping out with a clipboard in hand. "We have fifty students arriving in five minutes. We're here to lead, not to relive your 'Head Counselor' glory days."
The shoreline of Camp Wolverine was a disaster. The storm had pushed a massive tangle of driftwood, broken dock planks, and lake weeds right into the shallow swimming area—the very spot where they used to teach the kids how to do the "Wolverine Splash."
Franklin and Puck were already hauling the heavy rakes out of the back of the equipment truck. "The barge is coming in at the North Point," Franklin called out. "We need to clear the heavy timber first so the students can get to the smaller debris."
Willow and Miri headed toward the edge of the water, where the lilies had been crushed by the floating logs. Willow was already assessing the damage to the shoreline plants, her "Wolverine" spirit coming out in her fierce determination to save the ecosystem.
As the first bus of Academy students pulled in, the "Big Six" stood together on the dock. They weren't just the Oversight Committee anymore; they were the Wolverines.
"Alright, listen up!" Dean’s voice boomed across the beach, that natural authority returning effortlessly. "We’ve all got our gloves, and we’ve all got our assignments. This water is going to be freezing, and the mud is going to be thick. But this camp is where some of the best summers in this valley happen. Let’s make sure it’s ready for the kids."
Echo looked at him, a proud smile tugging at her lips. She leaned in and whispered, "Nice speech, Head Counselor. Maybe that fifteen minutes of extra sleep really did work."
Dean grinned, grabbing a heavy-duty rake. "Wolverines never rest, Echo. Let's get to work."