Spells & Sleeping Bags #3 (10 page)

Morgan winks at me. “Hope you're not shy, Rachel.”

Huh?

We begin the trek to Upper Field.

“This is where the kitchen staff sleeps,” Alison says as we pass some blue cabins. “But they're all in the mess hall now, preparing for dinner. These are the boys' showers, and then around the bend are the girls'.”

Blume is lounging on the steps. “What up?” he asks.

“Hey, Alison, it's your new boyfriend,” Morgan whispers.

Alison turns bright red.

“If Blume's here maybe Raf is too,” Poodles says. “Rachel, wanna sneak in?”

Morgan makes kissing noises.

“Shut up,” I say, but smile at the same time.

“What's the story with you two?” Carly asks.

“Good question.” Sigh. “What about you guys? Any romances I should know about?”

“I still think Alison should go out with Blume,” Morgan says.

“Not interested,” she responds as she pushes open the door to the shower room.

“Crap, someone's using them,” Poodles says.

The waiting room for the showers is pretty bare. Gray walls, hooks, and lots and lots of steam.

“It's bunk fifteen,” Alison says, putting her pail down on a bench. “I hear Cece.”

“How many of them are in there?” Poodles asks, and then peeks into the steamy room. “Hi, girls. Almost done?”

“We just got here,” Cece says, more snarkily than necessary. “We'll probably be a while.”

“What's her problem?” Carly asks.

Alison shrugs, bewildered.

“You'll have to wait,” someone else says in an extra-nasal voice.

Liana.

Poodles rolls her eyes. “It's too hot in here. Let's wait outside.”

I don't really want any boys to see me in my bathrobe. But standing in the steamy room is clearly not an option, so the five of us pile back outside, pails in hand. Ah, that's better. Except now we're pretty much facing the Upper Field baseball diamond, where some of the Lion boys are congregating. Not playing but hanging out. While we're in our bathrobes. Our not-so-sexy grandmotherly bathrobes.

“This place is making me miss my nice, simple shower at home,” I say.

“The pool showers are the best,” Alison says wistfully. “Last year my brother let us use them all the time.”

“Showers are the one bad part of camp,” Poodles says. “But I swear, you get used to it.”

“By the second month,” Morgan grumbles.

“Do you miss home yet, Rachel?” Alison asks.

I take in a nice, deep breath of fresh air. “Not really.”

Morgan leans against the railing. “Remember how homesick I was when we were Koalas? I used to cry all night.”

“You weren't the only one,” Alison says. “Anderson used to cry through every meal.”

“Has anyone else wondered what's up with his hair? It's like he's just discovered gel. He uses a bottle a day.” Morgan glances down at her watch. “What the heck is taking them so long? They've been in there forever.”

“I think he's cute,” Carly says.

“Who? Anderson?” Poodles asks.

“Yeah. Did you see how built he got over the year?” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “He's been doing his sit-ups. And his chin-ups.”

“You going to go for him this summer?” Morgan asks.

“Maybe.”

Morgan laughs. “Remember, no kissing.”

“Oh, shut up. If you're going to say dumb things, I'm so going to yank your towel,” Carly threatens.

“Go ahead,” Morgan says. “Then maybe the guys will see what I've got going on.”

“You're such a perv,” Carly says.

“Yeah, and you're a prude,” Morgan says. “Do you know who else is looking kind of cute this year? Colton.”

“It's the accent,” Poodles says. “Who doesn't find cowboys sexy?”

“I don't,” Alison says.

“We know, we know, you like nerds,” Morgan says, shaking her head.

“Maybe we should fix him up with Cece,” Poodles says. “Speaking of Cece, what is taking them so long?” She opens the door and screams, “Can you guys get a move on?”

We hear laughing inside the shower.

“They are so annoying.” Carly sighs. “They'd better not use up all the hot water.”

Hot water, huh? Maybe I can hurry them along . . . by concentrating. Hard.

And then: “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

And then: “It's freezing!”

And then: “What the hell?”

Wahoo! It worked! I did it! You see, Miri? My magic worked exactly the way I wanted it to. I am full of control. I am like control-top panty hose. I am a witch-superstar. Go, me. Ten seconds later, all six girls pour out of the shower, cursing. “There's no hot water left,” Natalie says, her glasses still foggy.

“You guys are screwed,” Molly says.

“Try getting here faster next time,” Cece says, running her tongue over her braces.

Alison blinks in surprise.

“Better luck next time,” Trishelle, the last one out, says. And I don't know how this is possible, but she already has eyeliner on. Maybe it's a tattoo?

“Now what are we going to do?” Morgan cries.

Hmm. I didn't really think that far ahead.

“Let's go in,” Poodles says. “Come on, we've done it before.”

The shower room is a small white space with six showerheads but no dividers. So we're all going to shower together. Terrific. How do I do this without staring? Look at the floor. Look at the floor!

I know I said I was comfortable at camp . . . but not this comfortable.

Each of the four girls chooses a shower. I take the one in the corner and try to turn it on. And try again. And again.

“That one has been broken for years,” Alison says.

I try another one. Nope.

“That one too,” she says. “You can share with me. Oh God, it's cold. I can't believe how obnoxious the bunk fifteeners were! What is up with them? Plus I can't believe they used all the hot water.”

Morgan flips her head over so that the water gets her hair but not her body. “How rude.”

Alison runs into and out of the water in two and a half seconds. “So cold! Ah! Your turn, Rachel.”

I step under the stream of water and scream, “It's freezing!” Come on, raw will, you can do it! Make it warm again! But no go. What is wrong with my magic? Why is it so unpredictable?

“Hey, Rachel, did you know that one of your tits is bigger than the other?” Morgan asks.

I think I want to die.

“Morgan!” Alison shrieks. “You're ruder than bunk fifteen!”

Morgan clamps her hand over her mouth. “I just noticed! I couldn't help it!”

“What are you staring at her boobs for?” Carly asks.

I step out of the cold water and cross my arms in front of my chest. “You're right, my boobs are developing at weird speeds.” Just like my powers. “It's embarrassing.”

“At least you have one boob,” Alison says. She puts her arms up in the air. “I don't have any!”

“My boobs are different sizes too,” Carly says. “My left one's a B, and my right one's a C. But Michael never complained.”

Morgan laughs. “Oh, you're such a big talker. You think we're really going to believe you're not a prude anymore?”

“I was never a prude!” Carly insists, rinsing the shampoo out of her hair. “Blume has spit crust!”

“Sure, sure. And you're really a sex goddess in disguise,” Morgan says. “Look, I'm sorry for staring, Rachel. But I was trying to understand what Will saw in you that he doesn't see in me. Maybe he likes uneven boobs. Do you think I should stuff
one
of my cups?”

7
DANCING QUEEN

On my second camp morning, not only do I remember to brush my teeth, I wear my pajama bottoms to flagpole.

But my day gets worse soon after that.

First, at cleanup I have bathroom, which is majorly vile. Wearing plastic gloves, I rinse the toothpaste blobs and strands of hair down the sinks and dump the individual stall garbages into the main one on the porch. Then I have to restock the toilet paper and soap.

After that, Deb tells us we have dance for our first activity.

That's when I know the end is near.

I look like I'm being electrocuted when I dance. Instant anxiety sets in.

I follow my bunkmates to the rec hall with a heavy heart. After the dance specialist leads us in a warm-up, she puts on some R & B music and tells us to “dance” an activity or chore.

I have no idea what she means.

“I'll start,” says Poodles. She snaps to the beat and then says, “The Sweep!” Suddenly, she's grooving to the music, miming the chore of sweeping, somehow making it look like a hot new dance move.

Everyone claps. I panic even more.

“Look at me, look at me!” Morgan sings, waving her hands from side to side while shaking her butt. “My new move is . . . the Window Washer.”

“Go, Morgie!” Poodles hollers while the rest of the girls cheer in approval.

Wait a second. Her arms are stiff and she looks ridiculous. Could it be? Is it possible that Morgan has no rhythm? Yet they're all cheering her on anyway?

“My turn!” Carly lifts her knees in slow motion to the beat. “I call it the Climbing Man.”

She can't dance either—yet there's more cheering and hollering.

Alison joins in, performing a series of kicks that would make the A-list fashion-show girls at my school cringe in horror. “The Soccer Player!”

Now even I'm cheering. Then, before I can chicken out, I say, “The Doggie Paddle!” and proceed to shake my butt and pretend I'm swimming. And they're still cheering! They are! I beam and throw myself into the moves wholeheartedly.

I quickly deduce that out of the five of us, only Poodles can actually dance, while the rest of us look absolutely ridiculous. But as during yesterday's soccer game, we don't care. Instead, we make a game out of how bad we are.

And this is a game I can win!

“Rachel, you're hilarious,” Alison howls as I try my hand at the Making the Bed and then the Brushing Your Teeth.

“Hey,” Carly says over the music. “Speaking of toothbrushing, does anyone know why there were fifty toothbrushes under our table yesterday?”

La, la, la. I distract her with the Garbage Dumper.

I'm in such a good mood from dance that I don't even mind when Rose later puts me in the lowest swimming group, which is essentially remedial swimming. We learn how to flutter kick, which is basically holding on to the dock and kicking.

Gee, thanks.

Then we have newcomb ball against bunk fifteen. I had never heard of newcomb ball, but apparently it's a camp sport that's a lot like volleyball except easier, because you can catch the ball before lobbing it to the other side.

“Damn!” Poodles says as the ball slips through her fingers for the second time. Bunk fifteen keeps whipping the ball over the net.

We've been playing for only three minutes and we're already losing five to zero.

“What is up with you guys?” Alison asks the other side. “I've never seen you so competitive.”

“There's nothing wrong with wanting to kick your butts,” barks Kristin, her hands on her hips. She's somehow managed not to lose her pearl earrings. If they were mine, they would be at the bottom of the lake by now.

It's Natalie's serve and she hurls it straight at me.

“I got it! I got it! I got it!” I say as I hug the ball into my chest. Yes! I did it!

“Way to go, Rachel!” my team cheers.

Now all I have to do is throw it back over the net. The incredibly high-looking net.

It's time for a little magic.

It's time to fly!

Newcomb ball, reach for the sky!

And then I throw.

And the ball goes up. And up. Way up.

Over the trees, over the mountains, and then a distant splash.

“I think it landed in the lake,” Trishelle says, rubbing her eye and smearing black eyeliner down her cheek.

“Nice going, Rachel,” Cece says. “Now what?”

My face feels hot and my neck feels hot and now my arms . . .

Zap! Rush of cold!

“Careful!” Alison shouts as the newcomb ball net tips over and crashes down on the bunk fifteen girls, trapping them beneath the mesh.

Whoopsies.

Deb and Penelope declare the game over.

“We were raided!” Morgan shrieks.

We wake up the next morning to find our beds and bodies tangled in toilet paper. My pillowcase is covered in shaving cream. Should I be concerned that I dreamed about eating ice cream?

“This is so gross,” Poodles says, trying to comb the mess out of her hair. “How could anyone be so immature?”

Our bunk has been totally trashed. Our shelves have been emptied, and our stuff is lying on the floor, covered in toilet paper and sticky orange and pink string. It looks like Times Square on January 1.

“Do you think it was the boys?” Carly asks.

The boys? In our bunk? At night! How adorable!

“No, I bet it was
them.
” Morgan juts her chin out at the wall separating us from bunk fifteen.

Less adorable.

“They wouldn't do this to us!” Alison exclaims. “They're our friends.”

“They haven't been acting like our friends,” Poodles grumbles.

Suddenly, we all realize how quiet the other side of the cabin is. And then we hear muffled laughter.

Oh yeah, it was them.

Of course they deny it. Naive Deb doesn't believe they would do that to us, and since we can't prove anything, we get stuck cleaning for most of the morning.

“We have to get them back,” Morgan says, stuffing her foamy sheets into her laundry bag.

“We will,” Poodles says. “But not tonight. We'll do it when they least expect it.”

“This is so lame,” Morgan says the next day as she opens the rec hall door for evening activity. The rec hall is an old wooden room with rafters on the ceiling and the names of campers graffitied all over the walls. “It's a sing-down, I know it.”

I, on the other hand, do not think it's lame. I don't think it's lame because Raf is on the other side of the room. Evening activity is the best, because it's either the whole camp or the entire Lion unit.

“Rachel!” I look up to see Miri beckoning me to her.

In a minute,
I mouth, then follow my bunk to a bench in the corner. As soon as I sit down, Janice, green pen in mouth (that can't be good), flicks the lights on and off. “Settle down, everyone,” she says. “Sit with your bunks! It's time for a sing-down.”

“Told you,” Morgan mutters, taking a seat.

“Here's how it works. Every bunk gets a—”

“We know how it works!” interrupts Blume, looking extra-scruffy in a sweatshirt with its sleeves ripped off. His bunkmates laugh.

Janice starts pacing up and down the room. “Not everyone knows, Blume. Now be quiet, please. As I was saying, every bunk gets a pad of paper. I'm going to say a word or an expression or a theme, and together as a bunk, you write down as many songs that contain it as you can. Then each bunk will have a chance to sing one of the songs. Remember, if you repeat a song someone else has sung, you're automatically disqualified. Last bunk standing wins.”

“What do we win?” Blume asks.

“Glory,” says his counselor. “And for being a pain in the ass, you get to be secretary.”

His bunk laughs again.

All of the Lion unit is here. I spot Miri sitting with the rest of bunk two, but she's slightly behind them. Aw, Mir. Why isn't she making friends? I'll have to give her a pep talk. She has to be friendly and outgoing, and she can't be afraid to put herself out there.

“All right, get ready,” Janice says. “The songs have to have a color in them. Got it? You have two minutes, starting now.”

No time to worry about Miri; must think of songs. I huddle with my bunkmates. Deb plays secretary.

“ ‘Brown Eyed Girl,’ ” Carly whispers.

Poodles: “ ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’ ”

Alison: “ ‘Yellow Submarine.’ ”

Me: “ ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road?’ ”

Deb scribbles it down. Yes! I got one!

We throw out a ton of songs before Janice announces that our time is up and that bunk five will go first. The boys' counselors gather them and count, “One, two, three!”

“Brown-eyed girl. You, my brown-eyed girl!”
they shriek in disastrous voices.

“Damn!” Deb crosses out our number-one song.

We're going clockwise, so next up is bunk fifteen. “Ready, girls?” Penelope asks.

“It was an itsy bitsy, teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini,”
they sing. Kristin shakes her butt. Liana tosses her hair.

“Bunch of jerk-offs,” Morgan mutters.

“Bunk two, you're up,” Janice announces.

The girls from Miri's bunk lean in together. Well, all except Miri.
“Baby beluga in the deep blue sea!”
they sing.