Camp (15 page)

Nancy threw the question at us the moment we opened her door. “So why didn’t you tell me you had another problem with Rory?” She stood by the sink as we settled on her bed.

“Not to worry, Nance,” Erin said. “It wasn’t so bad. We’re fine.”

“That’s not the point. The point is Rory can’t be allowed to hurt Amy, to hurt anyone. You should have called for a counselor. You should have told Patsy. You should have told me.”

“But—”

“No buts, Erin. Now I want to hear from Amy. Why didn’t you tell me there’d been trouble?”

“I couldn’t tell you, ’cause if I did, you would have talked to Rory or punished her or something. And I was scared that would make things worse because then she’d try to get even with me for telling.” The rest I kept to myself. Telling would have gotten Rory in trouble—not enough to get her sent home, but maybe enough to ban her from the social. Telling might have ruined our plan. And even though I wasn’t sure
Lion
would work, it was all we had, and I was glad we were going ahead with it.

Nancy said she had no choice now. I couldn’t look at her when she told us she would have Patsy stay around the cabin during rest hour. Rory would blame this on me. I was sure of it. She’d believe I had told someone about the trunk. And Patsy would blame me too. There’d be no more time off after lunch. No more time for herself.

“You know, Amy,” Nancy said, “if you want to keep playing on the edge of a volcano, that’s your business. But remember: If you don’t call for help before the lava flows, it might be too late.”

Erin outfitted me for the social in madras Bermudas and a pale blue blouse. As she and Donnie fussed over which top worked better—pale blue or navy—I realized Rory had been right about one thing: What I wore didn’t matter. I wouldn’t have a good time no matter what. No matter how many boys might ask me to dance, no matter which girls might stay with me on the sidelines. I’d be looking over my shoulder until we’d say “Lion.” I’d be waiting for Rory to trip me on the dance floor or pour bug juice on my head. I’d be checking over that same shoulder on which my mother would be sitting, criticizing my outfit and telling me I’d be dancing more if only I had worn the dress.

“So we’re down to the wire, Ame,” Erin said, “and I think the light blue’s better on you.”

“Definitely the light blue,” Donnie said.

“That’s fine. Really good.” I pretended to care. “Thanks, you two. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, good thing you won’t have to find out.” Erin lowered her voice to a whisper, though no one else was in Bunk 10. Rory’s group had decided to do manicures in my cabin, where Patsy probably hovered over them. And Paula was off somewhere with Fran and Karen. “The only one we’ll be without is Rory,” Erin went on. “I still think ol’
Lion
’s gonna work.”

We gathered in The Lodge before the boys got there. My gang devoid of makeup. No black-ringed eyes, no goopy lashes. Our sole concession, Pink Pearl lipstick, the trademark of our tribe. Paula had passed it around when we dressed in Bunk 10.

Rory’s band flaunted poufed hair and polished nails. War paint on their faces: powder, blush, mascara, eye shadow. Markings of the enemy.

We faced each other from opposite sides of the fireplace while younger seniors milled around the room, dodging folding chairs that lined the walls as if reserved for wallflower were written on them. Mr. Moose stared down on the space where the bear rug used to be.

“Well, lookie here,” Rory said, revving up for battle. “No red dress, Amy?”

The moose eyes seemed to shift, finding mine, challenging me to speak. I looked down, avoiding Rory’s stare, avoiding Mr. Moose.

“I’m talking to you, Amy Becker. Where did you dig up that faggy little outfit?”

I searched for Patsy. I wanted her to intercede. She had to be in The Lodge. She had walked us there.

“Y’all are mighty quiet,” Patsy had said to Erin and me on the path from senior camp. “Anxious about the dance, I suppose. But there’s nothin’ to be nervous about. Why, you two look so nice I’ll bet those Saginaw boys just won’t get enough o’ you gals.”

We hadn’t admitted we were nervous, not even to each other. But I knew we both were—our jitters having little to do with the Saginaw campers and everything to do with Rory.

“I asked where you got that faggy outfit,” she said again. From the corner of my eye, I caught Andy and Jed coming into The Lodge. Andy gave me a private wave, I thought, his hand not much higher than his hip.

“Amy’s outfit?” Erin answered for me as I watched the boys head toward Aunt Helen at the refreshment table. “I lent it to her.”

Rory looked me up and down, then studied Erin and barked a laugh. “Guess I could’ve figured that out.”

“Well, at least she didn’t wear the dress her mother sent,” Robin added, setting off giggles that snaked through her group. My stomach tossed around the meatballs I still tasted from dinner.

“Wouldn’t have mattered if Amy wore that dress,” Rory said once her gang settled down. “No one’s gonna dance with her anyhow.”

The Saginaw bus silenced them for a moment as it coughed its way to the back of The Lodge. Rory pulled Jessica by the arm. “They’re finally here. Come on, Jess.”

Aunt Helen darted from behind the refreshment table, where she had readied plates of cookies and pitchers of bug juice for Andy and Jed to serve. “You wait right where you are, dear,” Aunt Helen said to Rory, then glanced at the rest of us as if she just noticed we were there. “Honest to goodness, don’t you all look nice. Very nice, Robin honey.” Robin jerked back when Aunt Helen reached to fluff her hair.

“You have to excuse my mother,” my cousin announced as my aunt moved away. “She’s such an idiot. I hate her.”

It amazed me that Robin could say that aloud. Think it, yes. Didn’t I think how I hated my mother when she told me to fix my hair, when she warned Charlie not to spill his milk, when she gave my father “the look”? But I never said it to anyone.

“Robin, have you seen your father?” Aunt Helen called now from the doorway of The Lodge.

None of us had seen Uncle Ed. Other than Aunt Helen, the only adults in the room were the counselors from Bunks 7, 8, and 10. They huddled by the piano as if ready for a sing- along. Nancy had said she would stop by, but the boys arrived before she did.

We stiffened—even Rory and Jessica, I noticed—at the sound of male voices as the Saginaw campers walked toward the front of The Lodge. Then heavy footsteps on the porch. Hearty laughter.

I sang to myself to steady my nerves and to drown out my mother, who had taken up residence in my head again.
I told you to wear the dress, Amy.
What came without thinking was the song we’d been singing in the dining hall since the first day of camp:

The boys at our socials will never be

Tall, dark, and handsome and six-foot-three.

The boys we call our own

Will wear glasses and braces and smell of cologne.

“Welcome. Welcome.” Aunt Helen greeted them with a chuckle. “Come on in.”

The boys clumped in groups as we did. They glanced around trying not to be obvious, taking in the room and the girls. Aunt Helen chatted with a couple of Saginaw counselors. She scanned The Lodge as she talked, looking for her absent husband, no doubt.

But then the music started, and I lost sight of her. Jed placed a 45 on the record player set up on a table by the refreshment area. As Bobby Lewis sang “Tossin’ and Turnin’ All Night,” boys broke from their friends to choose partners. I looked down as they checked us out.

Everyone backed up to make space in the middle of the room. Robin was the first to be chosen. She danced with one of the few boys who negated our song about socials. Even Aunt Helen noticed Robin’s catch. My aunt stopped flitting around and beamed at her daughter, joined now in the center of The Lodge by assorted seniors from every cabin. Soon half the campers were bopping around.

I didn’t see Rory in the mix of dancers. “Probably dragged Jessica outside for a cigarette when nobody asked them to dance,” Erin said. “Maybe your uncle will catch them smoking and kick her out for that. All our planning, and she’ll get herself in trouble before we put ol’
Lion
to the test. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Andy smiled at me when Erin and I walked toward the refreshment area, where younger seniors gathered.

“Hey, Amy,” Andy called over the “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” song. “I was hoping I’d be the first to ask you to dance.”

“Mr. B-Becker won’t l-l-like that.” Jed focused on a stack of 45s.

“But I don’t see him anywhere,” Andy said. “So put a record on and cover for me, okay?”

My heart pumped fast. I looked at Erin, eager for permission to leave her.

She smiled. “Go ahead, Ame.”

Andy clapped Jed on the back. “See if you can find the Big Bopper.”

Girls raised eyebrows as Andy came around from behind the table. He grabbed my hand and led me to the center of the room. The record started.

“Good. He got it. You ready, Amy?”

I couldn’t find words—not even a simple yes. Heat pulsed through me as our bodies moved in step to the music, in step with each other. Andy sang along to “Chantilly Lace.” He looked at me as he sang and we danced and the room spun around.

I didn’t see Rory work her way toward us. I didn’t notice Uncle Ed as he entered The Lodge, Patsy not far behind, as I would hear later.

“I told you nobody’d dance with you.” Rory’s words broke the spell. “Not a real boy anyhow. Just a pot-scrubbing twerp.”

“Well, I don’t see
you
dancing with
any
boy, Rory,” Andy hurled back. We kept moving, but in half-time now, our spirits zapped.

“It’s okay, Andy,” I lied, eager to keep the lion caged. And then it hit me, right on the Bopper’s last words. Andy was right. Rory wasn’t dancing at all. Our plan couldn’t work if she didn’t find a boy.

I had to talk to Erin, who came from one direction while Uncle Ed elbowed his way across the room from the other. “I don’t pay you to socialize with my campers, young man.”

The room quieted, even though Jed had put on another record. Andy’s eyes caught mine, then lowered in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Rory grinned as if she’d just won a contest—which she had, in a sense. Instead of us getting her in trouble, she had drawn Uncle Ed’s attention to me. And in that instant, when Andy stalked back to the refreshment table and Rory’s smile grew wider, something inside me snapped.

“We have to get her, and I don’t care what her father does,” I told Erin as we walked to the folding chairs. “We’ve got to get her with a boy, and fast.”

Erin raised her voice over Del Shannon’s “Runaway.” “Not to worry,” she said, patting my leg before she got up and scouted the room. I watched her stride across the floor, head high, shoulders back. Whatever Erin was about to do, she was sure it would work.

She talked to two boys, then pointed to Rory and Jessica. One of the boys laughed as if Erin had just told the funniest joke. The other didn’t look as if he found it amusing, but he smiled just the same. The laughing boy put a hand on Erin’s shoulder and reclaimed his composure. As he and his friend zoomed in on Rory and Jessica, Erin headed back to me.

“Mission accomplished,” she declared, “and I couldn’t have asked for a better song.”

The boy who’d been laughing pressed Rory tight as Connie Francis sang “Where The Boys Are.” The other one danced with Jessica.

“Now all we have to do is tell Jed we need more slow songs,” Erin said. “And then we say the word.”

Andy avoided my eyes as he handed me a cup of bug juice. “Sorry, Amy.” He shook his head. “I wish I could’ve kept dancing with you.”

Jed told Erin he had lots of slow songs. “B-but Mr. B-Becker might not want too m-m-many slow ones.”

“Yeah, but I don’t see him. So come on, Jed. A favor for a friend.” Erin put my bug juice on the table. She pulled me away before I could think of anything to say to Andy. “Time to get in position,” she said.