Spells & Sleeping Bags #3 (15 page)

“Oh, come on, I see him with his kids. He's fun! They love him.”

And then there's silence. Now would be a perfect time for us to kiss.

Okay. Now.

Now.

“So,” he says.

“So.”

We're both quiet. Blood rushes up, and I'm light-headed.

He turns to look at me. His eyes are like brown paint. His fingertips lightly graze mine, and my hand is on fire. He leans in close and—

Bam!
Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Something hits me in the forehead. I might have screamed out loud, because Raf jumps up and says, “Are you okay?”

“I don't know,” I say, head spinning. “What was that? Have I been shot?”

He bends down and rolls something off the seat and into his hand. “A soccer ball.”

“That's what hit me?”

“Yeah. That was so weird. It came out of nowhere. I don't think anyone's even around.” He looks into the distance. “Hello?” he shouts. “Anyone there? Someone has to be there!”

No answer.

Not that I'm surprised. Because I know the truth. I did it. I did it again. I jinxed myself. What is wrong with me? I touch my palm to my throbbing forehead. “I don't feel so good.”

He places his hand on top of mine. “It must have really hurt. Let me take you to the infirmary.”

No! Not the infirmary! “That place is right out of a horror movie.”

He laughs. “Dr. Dina is cool. Don't worry, I won't leave you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I'll protect you from the bogeyman.”

It's not the bogeyman I'm scared of. It's an out-of-control witch.

Me.

“O thus be it ever, when free men shall stand . . .”

Alison pats me on the head during the national anthem. “Poor Rachel.”

“Poor me,” I echo. Woe is me. It's the next morning, and I'm standing at flagpole with a massive bluish bruise on my forehead. “I'm hideous.”

“You are not. You can barely see it. We'll cover it with some makeup, and presto, it'll be gone.”

“I've already covered it with makeup. This
is
post-makeup.” Sob.

“Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just . . .”

The only silver lining in this misadventure was that Raf proved to be a total sweetheart when the going got tough. He paged Dr. Dina for me, then sat with me for forty-five minutes before I was told that I was concussion-free. I spot him across the circle and give him a tiny my-head-still-hurts wave.

He makes a sad face and waves back.

“Did you get the kiss at least?” Alison asks.

I'd shake my head, but it hurts too much. “No.”

“O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!”

“I've never seen any two people have so many problems hooking up,” she says. “You guys are cursed!”

“Walk, don't run, to the dining hall!” Anthony orders.

And I'm the one doing the cursing.

I spend the next few days pressing ice packs against my forehead and practicing my megels. I even practice megeling the ice pack but stop after I accidentally drop it on my forehead, which gives me another headache. But despite the ice pack–dropping, I'm getting better at it. Really. Miri thinks I'm getting better too.

We agree to meet at two in the morning, this time in the mess hall.

“Why here?” Miri asks when I show up ten minutes late.

“More places to hide if we have to.”

She yawns. “We should do this during the day.”

Get with the program, missy. “We can't meet during the day. We'll be seen.”

She rests her cheek against the table. “So? Big deal?”

Is she crazy? “Hello? Do you want the entire world to know you're a witch?”

“What's the difference?”

“People will treat you like a freak.”

She closes her eyes. “They already treat me like a freak.”

My heart breaks a little. “Still?”

“I don't care if they like me or not. It's not like I'm Miss Popularity in the city. But the girls in my bunk are so obnoxious. Whatever. They're really not worth my time.”

“Maybe you should put a like spell on them or something.”

“I don't like playing with people's feelings. You know that.” She snaps her eyes open and sits up straight. “But if they knew I was a witch, they wouldn't mess with me. They wouldn't dare! They'd be too scared of me.”

Her eyes glow in the dark.

At the moment, I'm a little scared of her too.

“Obviously you need to find someplace even more secluded,” Alison says. She lobs the tennis ball over the net.

I would love to hit it back to her, but unfortunately I can't get my racket to connect with the ball. I also can't get my lips to connect with Raf's. In the past few days, despite my attractive purple forehead, Raf has wanted to spend time with me. But even so, we can't seem to make the lip connection. For instance, there was the time we were swimming in GS, and as soon as he made the lean, a humungous wave knocked him over.

Where does a wave come from? We were in a lake!

“Go to the lookout!” Poodles screams from one court over, where she's playing with Carly.

I bend down to pick up the ball and try to position myself the way that Lenny, the tennis instructor, showed me. “Where's the lookout?”

Alison approaches the net and points to the path behind the tennis shack. “About halfway up the mountain. Just follow that path. It's like a ten-minute walk.”

“It's private and really romantic,” Poodles tells us, then hits her ball into the net. “Damn! What's wrong with me today?”

Carly waves her racket over her head. “Why don't you try concentrating on the game?”

“Rachel,” Poodles continues, “just tell him you heard it's nice and ask him to show you the way.”

Wait a sec. “You think he already knows where it is? Who exactly has he been going up there with?”

Alison laughs. “Oh, relax. We all used to go up there as kids.”

I just don't know if I can try again. I mean, why do I have to keep setting it up? If he likes me, shouldn't he try to set it up too?

“Oscar! Oscar! Oscar!”

Oscar steps out of the kitchen and bows to his cheering fans in the dining hall.

“Oscar! Oscar! Oscar!”

Apparently, every time the camp chef makes his famous lasagna for dinner, we give him a standing ovation.

“Oscar! Oscar! Oscar!”

He waves to the adoring crowd and then disappears back into the kitchen.

What can I say? The lasagna is delicious. I help myself to a third serving.

“Hey, Rache,” says Raf, strolling up to our table. “Do you want to go on a hike during free play?”

“Hike? I'm not much of a hiker.”

Poodles kicks me under the table. “Where are you going to hike?”

Raf's cheeks turn red. “I was thinking about the lookout.”

Aha! The lookout! Yes! He wants to make out! It's about time.

“Sounds fun,” I say. The make-out part, anyway. Not the hiking part. Maybe tonight will be the lucky night?

“Great. I'll swing by your bunk to get you.”

Yes!

“You stack, Rachel!” everyone screams.

Huh? I look up to see fingers on noses.

Damn. Missed the ball on that one. Not bad, though. My record is pretty good. I've stacked only seven times all summer. Morgan's at twenty-three. Poodles has never stacked. She's, like, the world's best freezer, and she's always the first one to spot pig.

After a watermelon dessert, I quickly toss the plates and then rush back to my bunk to prepare. First I brush my teeth. (Oscar is quite liberal with the garlic in his lasagna.) Then I rush past Cece into the cubby room and debate. What does one wear on a make-out hike? Do I aim for cute or athletic?

I put on my shortest black shorts and a bright green top. Then I temporarily remove my top and put on another layer of deodorant, just in case. Not too sure about making out, but I know that hiking can get vigorous.

I model for Alison, who's lying in her bed. “How do I look?”

“Spectacular. Did you put on your bug spray?”

“Not tonight. I need to smell delicious, not like eau de Off!”

“Well, hike 'em dead!”

“Thanks! You okay?” Her face looks kind of pale.

“Yeah,” she says, rubbing her temples. “I have a tiny headache.”

“You'd better rest up. I heard that tonight's evening activity is capture the flag.”

“Will do.” She pulls her covers over her shoulders. “Have fun.”

I pass Morgan on the porch, and she wishes me good luck.

From the steps, I watch Raf climb the hill. “Ready?” he asks.

“Let's go.”

Side by side, we walk to the tennis courts and then toward the shack.

“There are steps right behind here,” he says.

“Great.”

We chitchat up the hill. Maybe hiking isn't such a good idea. I'm already all sweaty. Even my hands are sweaty. Or maybe that's just nerves. I almost trip over a rock, but Raf catches my arm and steadies me.

We keep walking.

Are we there yet?

We walk some more.

Now are we there yet? I don't ask, since I don't want to be the annoying kid in the back of the car. This is the longest ten-minute walk I've ever been on.

“Want some water?” Raf asks, waving a bottle.

Finally, our mouths shall make contact! Though indirectly via a water bottle. I take a sip and pass it back to him. “Thanks.”

We walk a few more minutes before he gestures to a ledge and announces, “Here it is.”

Whoa! I knew we were coming to a lookout, but I didn't realize how much of one. I look down from the ledge. The entire camp is laid out below us like an oil painting. The bunks, the lake, the mountains, the woods . . . And the sun is setting over the lake, turning it a fiery shade of red. Wow.

“Nice, huh?”

“Beautiful.”

He reaches over and takes my hand.

This is perfect. I'm so glad this will be the spot for our first real kiss. So what if I'm sweaty and my hands are clammy? It's beautiful, and we're alone, and there's a sunset!

He turns away from the view to look at me. And then, still holding my hand, he leans toward me.

Now! Now! Now! He closes his eyes. I close my eyes and feel his breath on my face.

And that's when I hear the buzzing.