Bitch Factor (10 page)

”—all flights closed into Denver
…” The radio faded in loud again, no change in the weather spiel, except for one
cheery announcement: “…
record storm sweeping the upper Midwest… worst blizzard in more than a decade.”

Dixie loosened her death grip on the wheel and tried to relax, but the caffeine keeping her awake had racked her nerves. She felt like a piano wire stretched to the snapping point.

Anyone who can rappel a three-hundred-foot cliff
, she told herself,
has no business freaking out at a little ice on the road
.

Once, you rappeled a cliff. Once. And lost your breakfast as soon as it was over
.

To be truthful, she didn’t even like driving in heavy rain. During a flash flood in Houston, the Mustang had hit a sheet of water on the freeway and Dixie found herself whipped around, heading back the way she’d come, wrong way in one-way traffic. After righting the car, she pulled off the freeway for ten minutes, shaking. That split-second loss of control had turned her backbone to jelly.

Barney Flannigan had schooled her to view such episodes as challenges, never to accept defeat. She could hear his lyrical brogue as if he were sitting beside her. “Never say ‘can’t,’ lass. Tackle the fear head-on. Grab it by the horns, and don’t let go till you best it.”

She’d mastered roller skating, but never learned to
enjoy
it. After the hydroplane incident, she continued to drive on rain-slick streets, but never without the familiar churning in her stomach. This ice was a hundred times worse, and now was not a good time to test her grit.

Dixie didn’t want to consider Dann’s suggestion to let him drive, but she hadn’t seen another vehicle since the truck’s taillights disappeared, which seemed to confirm that the highway was closed behind them. If it was also closed ahead, then they were already stranded and it didn’t matter what she decided. But if Dann stood a better chance of getting them to a town before the road closed, maybe she should let him take the wheel.

Hidden behind a false wall separating the trunk from the backseat was a small arsenal. She could retrieve the .45 and cover Dann while he drove. For that matter, a shiv was tucked
right here in her boot. She’d never use it unless backed into a corner. She hated knives. She had to admit, though, they were better than guns in close quarters—except for the psychological advantage of a gun, which wasn’t to be sneezed at.

Then again, maybe she was merely psyched after that close call with the deer. If Dann could handle the road at thirty-five miles an hour, she could, too. She was better acquainted with the Mustang’s idiosyncrasies.

It would help if the cussed wind would let up.

She pushed the needle to twenty.
Okay, so far
, she thought. Which reminded her of the idiot who fell off a skyscraper and halfway down yelled to some people looking out a window, “I’m all right, so far.”

Ignoring the dread churning in her gut, she pushed the needle to twenty-five. Dann hadn’t said a word since his comment about driving. But his anxiety crackled through the air, fueling her own tension.

The folks at the diner had called it close when they said dark would come by four o’clock. In daylight, the driving snow was worse than a thick fog. Now that the sunlight was fading, visibility ended just past the front bumper.

At twenty-five miles an hour, her teeth were clenched so hard her jaw hurt, her fingers felt welded to the steering wheel, and her stomach felt like getting stuck in her throat. When she thought about going faster, panic rose like bile. But at this speed they wouldn’t make Sisseton for another two hours. She pressed the accelerator and watched the needle inch toward thirty.
Okay, so far
.

Then the right front tire hit an ice slick. The car whipped into a sickening spin.

Jerking her foot off the gas, Dixie steered into the turn, counting two revolutions before the car shuddered to a stop.

Sweat drenched her clothes. She sat without moving, her forehead on the steering wheel. When she could no longer stand the churning in her stomach, she opened the door and vomited.

Courtney watched the summer rain making ribbons outside the camp bus window and wondered if Ellie felt as gloomy as she did. Probably not. Ellie would already have met half the kids on the squeaky old bus.

Courtney had never worried about meeting people when Betsy was around. Being two years older, Betsy knew just about everyone. Now Courtney would be the new kid all by herself.

When everybody teamed up, she would be the odd one out, the one nobody picked. The stupid snobs wouldn’t even realize she was an ace player. She’d have to sit on the bench until one of the camp counselors noticed and made the team let her rotate in. THEN she’d spike a volleyball over the net or hit a home run or shoot the winning basket (fat chance), and her team would wish they’d let her play sooner (yeah, right).

Maybe she should fake a two-week stomachache.

“Your first year?” The girl in the next seat was rummaging through a knapsack. She pulled out a Snickers bar and peeled it like a banana.

“First year at Camp Cade,” Courtney answered. “Last year I was at Donovan.”

“Baby
camp. I graduated from there two whole years ago.”

The girl had hair the color of tomato soup, and a crooked front tooth. Courtney hoped she also had a mouthful of aching cavities.

Turning back to the window, Courtney wondered if fate had purposely seated her beside the Camp Toad. Why couldn’t her seat mate be another new girl, someone to team up with and share all the first-day blunders?

“Ooh swmem?”

“What?” Caramel and chocolate had stuck the girl’s teeth together, garbling her words.

“Swim
. Will you go out for the swim meet?”

“No.” Actually, Courtney was a good swimmer, better even than Betsy, but she didn’t want to encourage the Camp Toad. “I don’t much like swimming.”

“Just as well. I’m going to win again this year.”

“Again?”

“Sure.” The girl rolled the last bite of candy to the back of her mouth, then crumpled the wrapper and dropped it on the floor. “In last year’s meet, I beat out everybody. Even the third-year girls. Now I’m even faster.”

Courtney hadn’t been swimming since last summer at Daddy Jon’s house. He’d taught them all to swim, her, Betsy, and Ellie, when they were little. Sometimes she wished Mama were still married to Daddy Jon, even though he wasn’t her real father. Her real father went away when she was almost two years old. Daddy Jon was Ellie’s real father. He had adopted Courtney and Betsy. Now he and Mama were divorced and the girls spent every other weekend with Daddy Jon. Daddy Travis was okay, but older and never any fun.

“Tennis,” the Toad said. A glob of chocolate had stuck to her crooked tooth. “If you play tennis, we could double.”

“I haven’t played much,” Courtney admitted. She’d never played tennis in her life, but the girl seemed to be making an effort to be friends, and Courtney wondered if she had misjudged her. “I catch on quick, though.”

“Tough. You’ll have to find another partner. I’m a star player. A beginner would drag my score down.”

QUEEN TOAD, Courtney decided, turning toward the window. The rain had stopped. They should be getting close to Camp Cade. She wondered if Ellie’s bus had arrived at Camp Donovan.

One of the second graders had promised to look out for Ellie, but Courtney had a bad feeling about this summer-bad enough that she’d given Ellie her lucky penny. Inside Ellie’s camp book she had written Daddy Jon’s telephone number. Daddy Jon was a good person to call if you got scared.

Listening to the other girls’ chatter, Courtney missed Betsy so much, she felt as empty as a shriveled-up balloon. She wished she could take back all the mean things she’d ever said and somehow let Betsy know she’d done a pretty good job of being a big sister. Courtney wasn’t sure she could ever measure up.

She wished, also, that she could take a BASEBALL BAT to the car that killed Betsy. She’d like to BUST all the windows and FLATTEN all the tires.

Even more, she’d like to BASH Mr. Parker Dann.

Ellie wriggled into her shorts, slipped her arms into the red camp shirt, and squeezed it over her head fast. She
hated
getting caught inside.

She smoothed the wrinkles over her tummy and scraped with her fingernail at a spot of something yellow. Mama would say to wear a clean shirt, the blue one or the white—both had CAMP DONOVAN on the front—but Ellie liked the red one best. She’d worn it every day since camp started.

Rubbing her eyes with a fist, she tiptoed to the door, praying she wouldn’t awaken the other girls in her cabin. She’d woke up early so she could beat Anna to the flag. Yesterday, Miss Bower’d said the person who got to raise the flag to the top of the flagpole had to be an early bird.

Easing the door open, Ellie started down the steps. Then she remembered Courtney’s lucky penny.

No,
her
lucky penny. Courtney said she could keep it, and today Ellie needed lots of luck.

Creeping back to her bunk, she tripped on her untied shoestrings and made a loud thump. She crossed her fingers that Anna wouldn’t wake up. She and Anna had argued last night about who would get to do the flag today. Ellie knew in her heart that she could do a better job. Anna would probably
drop the flag halfway up, and then they’d have to
burn
it. Everybody knew it was very bad luck to drop a flag.

She felt around under her pillow until her fingers closed over the penny. Pushing it deep in her shorts pocket, she hurried back to the door and down the steps. When the door banged behind her, she kept going.

Across the yard, Miss Bower, her blond hair scraggly from sleep, was leaving the Chow Barn, where everybody ate meals except when they had a picnic. Miss Bower had a coffee mug in one hand and the flag box tucked under her arm. Ellie raced across the damp ground to the circle where everyone gathered to salute the flag. Miss Bower was settling into her camp chair to drink her coffee.

“My goodness, Ellie. Aren’t you an early bird?”

“I came to do the flag.”

“Oh…” Miss Bower nodded, but Ellie could tell by the way her smile faded that it wasn’t a yes nod. It was the sort of nod Mama used when she said, “I see.”

“I won’t drop it, Miss Bower. I promise.”

“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t mean to, but it’s an awfully big flag for such a little girl.”

“I’m not so little anymore. See, my hands are big.” Ellie spread her fingers wide to make her hands as big as possible. She heard footsteps pounding behind her.

“Miss Bower! Miss Bower!”

It was Anna.

“Look!” Ellie clenched her fist to bunch up the muscle in her arm, as she pushed up the sleeve of her camp shirt. “I’m strong, Miss Bower.”

“That’s not a muscle,” Anna jeered, offering both arms. “Look at these.”

Just then, the bell rang, calling everybody to the circle.

Ellie had to admit that Anna’s muscles might be a
teensy
bit bigger than her own. Anna was already six and
a half
, as tall as second-year girls.

“But, Miss Bower,” Ellie argued, “you told us only
early birds
get to do the flag. I was the earliest of anybody.”

“Yes, that’s true, Ellie. I did say that, didn’t I?”

Ellie nodded helpfully.

“That’s not fair, Miss Bower. Ellie’s the youngest kid in camp. Us older girls should get to go first, and
I’ve never
done the flag.”

Miss Bower wrinkled her forehead. “I don’t recall your ever asking before, Anna.”

“No, ma’am, but I still—”

“Well, Ellie was the early bird this morning. Maybe you can get up earlier tomorrow.” When Anna started to object, Miss Bower put up a hand. “Meanwhile, it takes
two
girls to unfold the flag and keep it from touching the ground while I fasten it to the flag hoist.”

Behind them, Ellie heard cabin doors banging, feet pounding, as the other girls gathered around the flagpole. Miss Bower opened the box, took out the flag, and handed it to Ellie.

“One girl holds the end while the other girl unfolds.”

Anna pushed forward and grabbed the unfolding end. Ellie had to just stand there while Anna flipped the folded part over and back until it was stretched between them.

“Now, open it wide,” Miss Bower said, standing and moving to the flagpole. “Ellie, you hand me the top corner.”

Ellie knew the blue part sprinkled with stars was the top. Reaching to hand Miss Bower the metal ring in the blue corner, Ellie felt a tug. The flag slipped through her fingers. She grabbed quick, heart thumping furiously, and caught it before it touched the ground. When she looked up, Anna was grinning.

That grin was too much.

“Butthead,” Ellie whispered, with her most ferocious glare. She had learned the word from Courtney, but this was the first time she felt like saying it to anybody.

When Miss Bower finished hooking the flag to the rope, she made Anna step back. Then Ellie pulled hard on the rope, and the flag traveled a little way up the pole. It was heavier than she expected. She looked at Miss Bower, hoping she hadn’t noticed that Ellie had raised the flag only a few inches.

Bracing herself, Ellie tugged harder, the muscles in her arms straining with the effort. This time the flag moved a little easier. Hand over hand, like she’d seen the older girls do, Ellie pulled the flag to the top of the pole, where it snapped and waved in the wind. Then Miss Bower tied it off and everybody said the Pledge.

Ellie had only learned the Pledge since she came to camp. She wasn’t sure what all the words meant, but she said them in her biggest, most important voice.

Afterward, the bell rang again, calling everyone to breakfast. While the other girls ran past, Ellie looked up at the flag flapping back and forth and couldn’t stop smiling. She bet Courtney hadn’t got to pull up the flag on her first time at camp.