Spells & Sleeping Bags #3 (12 page)

“Bunk fourteen, time to get up!” Janice says, stomping across our floor. Then she disappears into the cubby room and into bunk fifteen. “Bunk fifteen, it's time to get—” Audible gasp. “What happened to you?”

We all jolt up in bed, smiles on our faces.

“There's something on my face!” Trishelle shrieks.

Kristin: “Mine too! What is it, what is it?”

Cece: “It's red!”

Liana: “Well, it's all over my three-hundred-thread-count pillowcases.”

“Now we're even,” Poodles says.

They try to scrub the paint off, but without a proper shower, they are forced to go to flagpole with multicolored faces.

“They look like Teletubbies,” Morgan snorts at breakfast over her stack of pancakes.

“Girls,” Deb admonishes, “I hope you didn't have anything to do with this.”

“Us?” Poodles innocently bats her eyelashes. “Why would we do such a thing? Pass the maple syrup.”

Of course, bunk fifteen knows that it was us—not that they can prove it. They keep glaring at us from their table.

“We got them good,” Morgan says.

Alison bites her lower lip. “And now we'd better watch our backs.”

8
CHOPPY WATERS

It's Thursday, a few days later, and Alison and I are lying across the bow of a sailboat, legs stretched out as the wind whips through our hair and the sun kisses our skin. I can't believe I've been missing out on sailing my entire life! What else have my parents deprived me of?

After handing us life jackets, Harris, who is as über-hot as my bunkmates have described and in fact has a cleft in his chin that reminds me of a superhero in a comic book, divided up the Lions who had chosen sailing and then sent us out in boats.

Luckily for Poodles, Harris has chosen to come with us, sending the others (who include gelled-out Anderson; immature, nose-stuffing Brandon; and a few younger Lion girls I recognize from Miri's bunk—but no Miri) out with some of the CITs.

And now our boat is up and running, sailing across the glorious lake.

But the best part of sailing?

Raf's elective is windsurfing.

I literally cannot take my eyes off him. Partially because he's wearing bright yellow swim trunks but mostly because I watched him take off his shirt and expose his dark and smooth six-pack of a stomach. Fine, it's more like a four-pack, since he's only fifteen, but still. It's a lean, mean Greek-god-machine four-pack. Not that he's Greek. Actually, I don't know what his ancestry is. With a name like Kosravi, I always kind of assumed Russian.

“Coming about!” Harris calls as the boom swerves to the other side of the sailboat, turning us around. Alison and I cling to our seats, trying not to slide off.

Since we're now heading straight for the windsurfing section, toward my Russian-Greek four-pack, I suck in my stomach and strike my most enticing pose.

He's waving at me! Sure, his upper torso is now covered by his life jacket, but I think I just saw his arm muscles ripple.

A gust of wind emerges from nowhere (a gust of wind, my beating heart, whatever) and tilts the sailboat dangerously onto its side. We all shriek as the cool water splashes our arms and legs. A growl echoes over the lake and I check out Colton, who has just fallen face-first off his board into the water, thanks to my little magical burst.

“I'm okay, y'all!” he hollers.

“Ouch,” I say. “That looked like it hurt.”

“Have you ever tried windsurfing?” Alison asks me.

We lean down as the boom swings around again. “Nope.” Sounds scary. It's a good thing dolphins are restricted from doing it. Then again, how much more dangerous can it be than flying around on a broomstick?

“Canoeing?”

“Nope. I'm not so boaty.”

“No worries,” Poodles says from the other side of the boat. “You'll learn.”

The sight of Raf maneuvering his sailboard distracts me. He seems genuinely in control of his sail, like it's a part of him. He's working the sail like it's a dancing partner and he's taken the lead.

I wish he'd look at me. Why isn't he looking at me? Look at me, Raf, look at me!

Look! At! Me!

And that's when another gust of wind, this one resembling a baby hurricane, sends him flying off his board, sideways, into the water.

“Did you see that?” Alison asks. “Poor Raf.”

See it? I caused it!

Raf splashes around and then pulls himself onto the dock. This time he looks right at me—and gives me a sheepish smile.

Aw, he's embarrassed! How cute!

That must mean he likes me.

While Alison takes the sun for the rest of the period, Poodles and Harris flirt (“You're sooo funny, Harris.” “You're so cute, Poodles.”), and I ogle Raf. Of course, I ogle him discreetly. Very unobviously.

“You've got it bad,” Alison says.

“Very bad,” I admit.

“Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! It ith now the end of thecond afternoon activity. Pleathe protheed to the back of the kitchen for thnack.”

It's the next day, and Poodles, Alison, and I leave the A&C and head to Lower Field.

I spot Miri waiting in line for her snack and frowning. She's not going to make friends if she looks so miserable all the time.

“Try to pretend you're having fun,” I tell her.

“Why? I'm not.”

“What's wrong?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

I put my arm around her tiny shoulders. “What happened?”

“Do you care or do you just want to butt into line?”

“Both?” I tickle her side. “Oh, come on, Miri, lighten up. Aren't you having a little fun?”

She shrugs. “It's okay.”

We take a few steps forward as the line moves. “Where's the rest of your bunk?”

She shrugs. “Who cares?”

“Come on, Mir. Don't you like any of them?”

“They're kind of cliquey.”

“Miri, you have to try harder. I'm sure they'll love you if you give them a chance.”

She sighs. “I'll try. Will you come swimming with me at GS? I'm dying to go in but I have no one to swim with.”

“Um, Mir, you know I hate swimming.” So far I've spent all GSs avoiding the water and working on my tan.

Her forehead crinkles into little folds. “Oh, come on, it's so hot out. And I need a buddy to go in the water.”

“Ask someone from your bunk.”

She sticks her thumbnail into her mouth and starts to nibble. “Maybe.”

I push her hand away. “Don't! Your fingers are all grimy!”

“Hey, do you want to come check out my bunk at free play? You still haven't seen it.”

“I can't. It's Morgan's birthday, and Deb made us cupcakes. Tomorrow, maybe?”

“You're busy at free play, too? Aren't you going to spend any time with me at all?”

Oh, poor Miri. “You can come to the birthday party.”

We step up to the counter.

“Enjoy!” Oscar pours us two glasses of milk and hands over two chocolate chip cookies each. I only take one.

“Thank you!” we say in unison.

“They won't mind?” Miri asks me.

“I don't think so. Alison,” I say as I pass her in the line, “can we invite other people to Morgan's party?”

“Of course,” she says. “I already invited Will.”

I'm sure Morgan'll love that. “There you go,” I say to my sister, accidentally dropping my cookie into my milk and then digging it out with my fingers.

“Oh sure, my fingers are grimy, but yours are perfectly clean?”

Good point. I sadly let the cookie sink back to the bottom of the cup. “So you'll come to my bunk?”

“Yes. And I'm taking back my crystal.”

I was hoping to hold on to that for a while. Just in case. “Thanks for lending that to me, by the way.”

“No problem. That's what sisters are for.”

“Helping?”

She hands me one of her cookies. “Sharing.”

I'm on my way back to my bunk when I run smack into Raf. He's in navy swim trunks; a red beach towel is casually thrown over the shoulder of a thin white T-shirt.

“Hi,” he says. “Coming to GS?”

“Of course.”

He tugs on his towel. “Wanna be my buddy?”

Coming from his lips, the word
buddy
sounds like
girlfriend,
not just
swimming partner.
(A girl can dream, can't she?) “Sure!”

“Great,” he says while walking backward down the hill. “I'm just stopping for snack. See you on the beach in five.”

My mother's bathing suit, which I'm wearing under my clothes (because my better one-piece was damp from that morning), will just not do. I sprint back to my bunk, the milk and cookies jiggling in my stomach like change in a pocket, take off my clothes, and put on my sexy orange bikini, Bobby be damned! Maybe the sexiness will distract from the abnormalness? I pull shorts and a shirt over my suit, grab a towel, and run back down to the beach.

Yes! I'm going swimming with Raf!

“Bunk lines, everyone, bunk lines!” Rose screams through her megaphone as she does at the beginning of every GS.

“Okay, everyone, remember the rules of the beach. You must check in with a buddy and we'll give each couple a number.”

Ooh.
Couple.
I like the sound of that!

Sexy, shirtless Raf strolls over to me. “Ready?”

I strip off my shorts and shirt and cross my arms over my chest. No reason for him to get a view of Bobby if he doesn't have to. Hopefully, once we're in the water, he won't see anything.

We head to the check-in. “Do you both have your whale?” Rose asks, obviously forgetting our whole search-and-rescue experience.

“Yup,” says Raf.

Uh-oh. My blue bead burns into my skin like a scarlet letter. I cannot admit that I have my dolphin. I absolutely can't. I need to use my magic to turn the bead yellow. I stare at my wrist with all my might and think:

Turn yellow this second, you stupid bead!

Nothing happens. Maybe it would help if it rhymed. One more time.

Turn yellow so I can get into whale

And go swimming with this gorgeous
—

“Your bead looks blue to me,” Rose says. “I'm checking you into dolphin.”

Raf's eyes widen in surprise.

She exposed my secret before I had a chance to finish my spell! Which was going to end with the word
male
, in case you were wondering. I'm a rhyming machine.

Maybe I should become a rapper?

I'm too embarrassed to look Raf in the eye now that he knows my humiliating secret, so I walk ahead and dip my toe into the water.

“So, dolphin, huh?”

I turn back to see him smiling. “What's so funny?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He's still smiling.

“Then why are you smiling?”

He laughs. “I think it's cute that you can't swim.”

“It might be cute, but it's not funny.”

He laughs again. “It's cute
and
funny. I can teach you.”

“You're an expert?”

“No . . . well, a little. I'm up for my lifeguard badge this year.” He steps into the water. When I don't follow, he takes my hand. “Come on,” he says. “It's not that cold.”

Takes my hand. Takes. My. Hand. Takes! My! Hand!

Yowza! Electricity smolders through our fingertips. Not real electricity, obviously, since we're in a lake, and if it was, we'd be fried.