Campfire Cookies (11 page)

Lucy and I picked up our bridles in the horse barn as always, then walked the short distance to North Corral to catch our horses. Mine was a palomino mare called Sunshine, seventeen hands high with a star on her forehead and a sock on her right foreleg. To me, she was beautiful. I even liked the warm-hay-and-dust smell of her.

There is something comforting about a horse. It's big. It's solid. It's reliable. It counts on you for food and
grooming. You count on it to carry you around. Even that time last year when Katinka bit me, I didn't blame her. I had been saddling her, squeezing the cinch around her middle. How would you like it if someone did that to you?

That day I found Sunshine in a cluster of horses near the center of the corral. I walked carefully around their swishing tails to avoid getting kicked, then came up on her left and tossed the reins over her neck.

“Good morning,” I said. “Sleep well?” Sunshine nuzzled me and blinked her big eyes. “Okay, open up now.” I clicked the bit against her front teeth till she parted them and clamped down. After that I pulled the bridle over her ears and buckled the straps. “Ready? Let's go get a saddle on, whaddaya say?”

I gave a gentle tug to lead her out of the corral. Meanwhile, all around me campers were doing the same thing—bridling their horses and taking them out the gate and down the hill to be saddled. Among them was Jamil. His horse was a bay called Zippety, which lived up to its name, always walking fast near the head of the line on trail rides.

I took one breath for courage, then launched into small talk. “So, Jamil, how are things in Silver Spur Cabin?”

If I had said, “So, Jamil, aren't those zombies I see by the fence?” he could not have looked more surprised. In fact, he turned his head to see if I was talking to someone else. Then he must've remembered he's the only Jamil at camp. “How do you know I live in Silver Spur Cabin?”

I knew for about two hundred reasons. Because we were both ten-to-elevens. Because we had been at camp three weeks. Because I don't keep my head buried in a feed trough the way the average clueless boy does.

Most of all I knew because Lance was his counselor, and I was trying to fix Lance up with Hannah.

None of those answers fit in with my small-talk strategy, though.

“I guess I know because Vivek's my friend, and he's in your cabin too,” I said.

Jamil said, “Oh,” but I thought he sounded suspicious.

By this time we had joined the parade of campers and
horses walking down the path to the horse barn. Since we were walking together, we ended up tying our horses side by side. Then we went in and got currycombs and brushes.

You have to groom the horse before you saddle it. That's what they teach you at Moonlight Ranch.

“Vivek is friends with a lot of girls,” Jamil said as we worked.

Woot!
That was small talk, right? All of a sudden, this was going
much
better than expected. Too bad I couldn't think of a better reply than, “Uh-huh.”

“He's friends with that Lucy girl too,” Jamil went on. “Do you know her?”

“Yeah. We're in the same cabin. She's right over there.” I nodded toward Lucy, who had come down the hill ahead of us and was already saddling Spot.

“Yeah, I saw her.” Jamil stood on tiptoe so he could look over his horse at Lucy. “She's really, uh”—he paused—“brave.”

“You mean about the coyote,” I said. “I know.”

After that I was out of things to say and still no
closer to Lance's love life. Was I going to have to take desperate measures? Mention my fictitious older boyfriend? Maybe. But first we had to return the combs and brushes and lug out blankets and saddles.

Western-style saddles are heavier than the English kind, and last year I had a hard time hefting mine over the horse's back. This year it's easier. I know I'm taller, and maybe I'm stronger, too.

Since this was Jamil's first year at camp, Cricket, a seven-eight-nine counselor, came over to help him thread the latigo through the cinch rings and then make sure the cinch was tight enough. If it wasn't, the saddle would slide off.

I have to admit it made me feel a little bit superior that I didn't need any help.

How you mount a horse wearing a Western saddle is you stand on the horse's left side facing its tail, put your left foot in the stirrup (otherwise, you end up standing in the air backward, and I'd rather not say if I know that from personal experience), and step up into it while swinging your right leg over the horse's back.

One thing you never ever do is grab the saddle horn. That marks you as a tenderfoot for sure. Instead, you hold the reins and the horse's mane in your left hand and the cantle of the saddle with your right.

When we were all astride our horses and circling them around by the barn, a kid named Theo asked, “Where are we going anyway?”

Three counselors were leading us that day, Cricket, Matt, and Gail. Cricket answered, “Cider Creek Wash. How does that sound?”

“Sure!” “Where again?” “Do we get to canter?” asked various campers.

“These horses have a full day ahead of them,” Matt said. “We'll have to see.”

Morning riding lasts from nine fifteen to noon, but the actual on-your-horse part is about ninety minutes. The counselors pick a destination four miles away and a route that loops around. Sometimes we have time to stop and go for a canter in a safe flat place where the horses won't trip. Other times we're just sightseeing.

I have noticed that some horses trudge like hauling a person is a pain, but Sunshine isn't that way. She likes having a kid aboard. She lifts her hooves neatly, arches her neck, raises her head, and moves her ears alertly to hear the sounds of birds, the breeze, horses' hooves, and human conversation.

By this time, I had recovered from the sore thigh muscles that go with riding a horse when you haven't in a while. I tried to ride the way I'd been taught: sit up straight, square my shoulders, flatten my tummy, allow my lower body to move in sync with the horse's gait.

Leaving camp, I admired the rugged and rocky landscape, so different from what I'm used to at home. The scenery where I live in Pennsylvania is dominated by gray sky, green trees, and black asphalt. Here in the high Sonoran Desert, the rocky earth was pink and gold, the sky a brilliant blue, the grasses and cacti sage green. Because the air was so clear—very little moisture and no pollution—the colors seemed to glow. Looking around, I couldn't help but feel happy, which made me feel confident, too.

Surely I could find out whether Lance had a girlfriend.

I touched my heels to Sunshine's flanks so she'd catch up with Zippety. “Hey, Jamil,” I said, suddenly inspired. “So, uh . . . in Silver Spur Cabin . . . do you guys have any, like, decorations on the walls?”

“Such as party decorations?” Jamil said.

“More like pictures, I was thinking. You know, photos of your family or maybe your special friends from home?”

“I have a picture of my new nephew on my phone, but—of course—no phone,” said Jamil. “I still can't even believe that. I'm always patting my pocket.”

I said, “Oh, I know,” to be friendly, but really I was used to being without it by this time. “So, no photos for decoration, huh? What about Lance?” I forged ahead. “Does he have photos of
his
special friends, like, uh . . . maybe on his bureau or anyplace?”

Jamil turned his head to look at me. “That's a weird question.”

I bristled. “No, it's not. It's small talk.”

“Whatever,” said Jamil, “but why do you care about Lance's pictures?”

“I don't!” I said, and then I had nothing else to say, so what did I do? I kept talking. “Our counselor, Hannah, has photos,” I said, which was a lie, but Olivia had encouraged me to be creative, right? “I just wondered if having photos was a normal thing for counselors.”

“No idea,” said Jamil. “Hey, aren't you in the same cabin as that other crazy girl, Grace?”

“Grace isn't crazy,” I said, but then I remembered her yelling at Olivia in front of everyone at lunch.

“Says
you
,” Jamil said, and I could tell he thought I was crazy too, like it's some kind of Flowerpot Cabin thing.

I decided to try a more usual question. “So, where are you from?”

“Why?” Jamil said.

“I'm from near Philadelphia,” I said.

“And that Lucy girl is from California, right?”

I looked around. “You can talk to her yourself, if you want. She's right over there.”

“No, no, that's okay,” he said hastily. “I wouldn't want to bug her or—”

“Hey!
Lucy
!” I called.

“Oh, jeez. Now you're
yelling
,” he said.

Lucy rode up on my left. “Jamil wants to talk to you,” I said.

“Hey, Jamil,” Lucy said.

“Hey,” Jamil said.

“What do you want to talk about?” Lucy said.

Jamil was very tall for a kid our age, but now he slumped down like he wanted to be as small as possible. “Just, like, uh . . . where you're from and all,” he said. “I mean, I heard about you and the coyote. I guess you're really brave.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said. “I guess you're really brave too.”

“I am?” Jamil said.

“Probably,” said Lucy.

From what I could see, Jamil and Lucy were going to get along great—or better than Jamil and me anyway. Since my first try at small talk hadn't gone so well, I
pulled back on Sunshine's reins to slow her down. This way, Jamil and Lucy could ride side by side while I tried to think up new questions.

As we rode on, the counselors pointed out landmarks, and Matt explained the differences between a butte, a mesa, and a plateau. Meanwhile, I fell in next to Kate, whose horse was a black named Lightning. I had heard she was homesick, so I asked if she was feeling better. I told her I was homesick last year at first too.

“I am feeling better,” she said. “Thanks for understanding. I think some people thought I was being a baby.”

“The weird thing is, when you get home, you'll probably miss camp,” I told her. “That's what happened to me.”

“Can I ask you something?” Kate said. “How come you guys call yourselves ‘the membership'?”

“Where did you hear that?” I asked, surprised.

“Brianna told us. No offense, but she thinks that proves you're all stuck-up.”

“We're not!” I said.

“Oka-a-ay,” Kate said. “So what does it mean, then?”

“I guess I see how it sounds bad,” I admitted. “But it's more like a joke we have than anything. Do I seem stuck-up?”

“No,” she admitted. “Not right this second anyway.”

“Want some sunscreen?” I asked, and one-handed, took the tube out of my fanny pack, then reached across and handed it to her. “I think your nose might be getting burned.”

Kate took the tube, applied a white blob to her nose, and handed it back. We were almost to Cider Creek Wash by then. There, we reined in our horses, dismounted, stretched, and ate apples and granola bars from the counselors' saddlebags.

“Now drink some water!” Gail commanded.

As always, somebody had to complain that the water in our canteens was warm, and somebody else had to make a joke about ice cubes and refrigerators in the desert.

“Drink up or shrivel up,” Cricket said. “Take your pick.”

Along with everyone else, I took a good long drink.
Then—to be on the safe side—I reapplied sunscreen too.

Lucy and Jamil stuck together on the way back to camp, so I talked to Kate some more and also to another girl, Mallory, who lived in Stirrup Dot Cabin.

Back at the barn, we returned our saddles and saddle blankets, rubbed down the horses, led them back up to the corral, and removed their bridles.

I patted Sunshine's rump, and she snorted.

“See you tomorrow!” I said. Then I looked around for Jamil. This was it, my last chance to find out what I wanted to know. When I saw him, he was still talking to Lucy. Why was she hogging him? Had she forgotten I had a job to do? That would be just like her.

On the path down to the barn. I caught up with them and cleared my throat. Lucy looked over and smiled. “Oh, hi, Emma. Are you getting a cold?”

“I'm fine,” I said. “Uh . . . so . . . Jamil . . .”

“Now what do you want to know?” Jamil asked.

The way he said it made me want to apologize for breathing air and occupying space on the planet, but I
couldn't afford to be snarky. “I have this seventh-grade boyfriend and he's not Jewish and—”

Lucy started to laugh.

“What?”
I scowled at her.

“Nothing.” She squelched her smile. “I'm sure that boy is nice. Doesn't he sound nice, Jamil?”

“Uh . . . right,” said Jamil.

What the heck? Did clueless Lucy even know she' d foiled my last chance to find out Lance's romantic status?

Worst of all, I'd have to tell Olivia and Grace that I'd failed.

I was fuming when I hung up Sunshine's bridle, and the second I got Lucy alone, I was going to tell her so, too.

Only that didn't happen.

I caught up with her on the way back to central camp, but before I could say a word, she did: “Lance doesn't have a girlfriend, Emma. He told his campers he used to, but they broke up right before he came to Arizona. So the coast is clear for Hannah.”

Here's something weird about anger. It stays around
even after its cause has gone away. So now I was left sputtering. “How did you find that out? You're not even sneaky!”

“I know I'm not, so I just asked him.” She sounded hurt. “I thought that you'd be happy.”

“I am,”
I snapped.