Spells & Sleeping Bags #3 (16 page)

What the—

Bzz! Bzz! Bzz!
I open my eyes to see . . . a cluster of bees above our heads.

You've
got
to be kidding.

Raf's eyes flutter open and then widen to the size of tennis balls when he sees the tornado of insects around our heads.

We jump apart. He starts swatting the air, which can't be a good idea. They start stinging. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! My neck, my arms, my legs . . . Raf's neck, Raf's arms, Raf's legs . . .

What did I do? How did I manage that? I need the bees to stop! Stop! Stop! They're not stopping. I knew the woods were dangerous! I need a spell. Yes, a spell! I scream:

“Stupid, annoying bees,

It's time for you to freeze!”

It suddenly gets cold, the buzzing comes to a halt, and the bees fly away.

Ow, ow, ow. Don't cry in front of Raf, don't cry in front of Raf. . . .

“That was so weird,” he says, his face white. “And painful. Did they get you?”

I lift my swollen arms and swallow my tears. “Yeah.”

He lifts
his
swollen arms. “Me too. What did you say to those bees?”

“Huh?” Oh, no! My hands get even sweatier. This could be bad. Really bad. What if he figures out I'm a witch? Or even worse, what if he thinks I'm a weirdo who talks to insects?

“You screamed something at the bees about them being annoying, but I couldn't hear too well because of that buzzing.”

Phewf. “I was just scared, that's all,” I say, and the next thing I know, I start crying.

“Aw, poor Rachel,” he says, putting his arm around me. “This sucks, huh? I think they got my earlobes, too.”

As the tears pour down my cheeks, I see that his adorable earlobes now resemble oversize cherries.

I start laughing. I can't help it. It's too ridiculous. And now Raf is laughing too.

And I know just what will make our pain go away. A kiss. A big fat juicy—

“And one of the bastards nailed my lip,” he adds.

Of course it did. Kiss postponed . . . yet again.

Raf and I return to the infirmary.

This is the second time in a week that I've been here. Witchcraft can be hazardous, that's for sure. While we're sitting on the bench outside, waiting for Dr. Dina, I declare that I should just move in.

“Ow, stop making me laugh,” Raf says. “It hurts.”

“It hurts to move.” My hands and arms are already starting to look like I've got a bad case of chicken pox. The only good thing about this bee disaster is that it's kind of like announcing to the whole camp that we're an item. You can't get any more obvious than matching bee stings from the lookout. Tee hee! It's like getting matching tattoos or hickeys or—dare I say?—wedding rings.

If only we
were
an item. Now I have to wait for his lip to heal before we can seal the deal. Hello, annoying. I wonder if there's a heal-and-seal spell in Miri's
A
²
.

“Have you ever been stung before?” I ask.

“No. You?”

“Yes. It hurt this time too.”

He laughs. “Ow. I told you to stop doing that.”

“Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! It ith now the end of free play. Pleathe protheed to your evening activity. Koalath to Upper Field. Monkeyth to the rec hall, and Lionth to the gym.”

“We're going to miss the activity,” I say.

“It's okay. Someone will tell them where we are.”

A few minutes later, Dr. Dina pokes her head out the door. She looks surprised to see us. “You again?”

“Me again.”

“I might insist that you start wearing a helmet.”

Hardy har har.

“And you, too?” she asks Raf.

“Yup.”

She studies our stings. “They got you good. What did you do, kick a hive?”

“Not exactly.”

“Sure looks like it. I've never seen so many stings. Good thing you're not allergic.”

Raf sighs. “Lucky us.”

After scraping out the stingers with a scary-looking metal blade, Dr. Dina washes the affected areas, gives us each ibuprofen and ice packs, and then asks us if we want to call our parents.

We both nod. Now that I'm in pain, I kind of miss my mom. She'd know how to make it stop. She'd at least know a spell that would make it stop.

I go first.

Ring, ring, ring.

“Hi! You've reached Carol, Rachel, and Miri. We can't come to the phone right now . . .”

I hang up. I don't want to leave a message. It will just worry her.

“Can I try my dad?” I ask Dr. Dina.

“Of course,” she says.

My dad doesn't answer either. I try to swallow the lump that's lodged itself in the back of my throat.

My parents aren't exactly at home pining for us, are they?

Raf goes next, and of course his parents are home and thrilled to hear from him, bee stings and all.

For the first time all summer, I feel a wave of homesickness. I miss my mom. And my dad. My room. My nonlumpy bed. I even miss my mom's cooking. Okay, not really, but I do miss the sound of her voice.

Once Raf is done, the doctor sends us on our way. Our slow way, since we can barely walk.

Halfway up the hill, we bump into Mitch. “I was just looking for you,” he says.

“Me?” Raf asks. “Why? Everything's okay. I just spoke to mom and dad.”

“Not you. Rachel. Her counselors are wondering where she is.” He notices our ailments. “What happened to you guys? Why did you call the 'rents?”

“We had a run-in with some bees,” Raf says.

“Ouch. Listen, Rachel, you'd better head straight to your bunk.”

“Why? What about capture the flag?”

Raf raises his swollen arm. “I don't think we're playing capture the anything in our condition,” he says.

“Forget capture the flag,” Mitch says. “Go to your bunk. I just came from an emergency head staff meeting.”

“What happened?”

“One of the girls in your bunk is being sent home.”

“What?” I scream. “Who? Why?”

He shakes his head. “The tall one.”

The tall one? That's all he can tell me? Oh, no. Oh, no. It must have been Poodles. She got caught with Harris! I ignore my aching body and, clinging to my ice packs, sprint back to my bunk, hoping with all my heart it's not true.

12
SMOKE SCREEN

By the time I reach my cabin, I'm out of breath. My entire bunk is standing on the porch with Deb. No, not my entire bunk. Morgan, Carly, and . . . Poodles? It's Poodles! Wait a second. Where's Alison?

“Guys? What's going on?”

Poodles runs down the steps and throws her arms around me.

Ow, ow, ow. I'm in no shape to be hugged. “I don't understand,” I say.

“Alison got kicked out of camp!” she wails.

“I don't understand,” I repeat.

“She's with Janice in the office right now. Her parents are coming to get her tonight!”

“But why?” What could Alison have done to merit getting kicked out of camp?

“She got caught smoking in the bathroom,” Morgan says.

What? Impossible!

“That doesn't make any sense,” I say. “She doesn't smoke.”

“Apparently she does,” Morgan says.

“No, she doesn't,” I say adamantly. “She thinks smoking is disgusting! Where would she get cigarettes? It makes no sense.”

“We have to do something,” Poodles says. “Let's protest.”

Deb shakes her head. “There's nothing you can do. It's too late. Rose caught her red-handed during free play.”

“How?” I ask. What reason could the head of waterfront have to be in our bunk?

“She was outside the cabin and smelled smoke,” Morgan recounts, as though watching the scene on a screen inside her head. “She stormed into our bunk and ordered Alison to open the door. When she did, the stall reeked of smoke, and Alison had a pack of cigarettes with her. I heard the whole thing. I smelled the smoke, too.”

“If you smelled smoke, why didn't you make her stop?” I shriek.

Morgan shrugs. “Hey, don't yell at
me.
I wasn't the one smoking.”

“So she was smoking in the bunk,” Poodles says, her voice catching. “Big deal.”

Deb puts her hand on my shoulder. “You know what Anthony said. Any camper caught with cigarettes will be sent home immediately. No exceptions. It's dangerous. Bunks are flammable.”

“What about flatirons and kettles? People use those in the bunk and don't get booted out of camp,” Poodles argues.

“You shouldn't,” Deb says. “You're not supposed to.”

Someone has a flatiron here?

“Girls, you know it's not up to me,” Deb continues. “I'm just as devastated about this as you are. But rules are rules. There's nothing I can do.”

“Talk to Anthony!” I say, choking up. “He's your boyfriend, isn't he?”

Deb turns bright pink. “What gave you that idea?”

Um, I saw you making out in the CL? I know that a counselor dating the head counselor is probably not allowed, but there's no time for lying. “This is crazy,” I say instead. “Can't she get a warning?”

“I'm sorry,” Deb says, tears welling in her eyes.

I can't stop my tears from rolling down my bee-stung cheeks. “Don't we even get a chance to say good-bye?”

“Everyone said good-bye,” Carly says. “We helped her pack. Where were you?”

“In the infirmary.”

“Are you sick?” Morgan asks. “You look like you have measles.”

Poodles pats my shoulder. “Does it hurt?”

“I'm not sick; I'm stung.” At the moment, I'm too upset to feel the pain. “Can't I go say good-bye?”

“I'm sorry,” Deb says. “They told me to keep you all here.”

I don't know what else to say. I don't know what to do. I want to scream and yell. I just don't believe it. I
know
Alison. At least, I think I know Alison. And the Alison I know wouldn't smoke in the bathroom. She just wouldn't.

“This is so depressing.” Poodles is writing our names on the wall in permanent marker. She said she wants to make sure that Alison remains a part of the bunk forever. Or at least until they repaint.

The rest of us are in bed, quiet. The girls of fifteen are laughing and talking, not even caring that their old friend was sent home, but we're too miserable to speak.

“I wish they'd shut up,” Carly squeaks in her high-pitched teddy bear voice.

My bunk bed feels lonely with only me in it. Alison's bed has been stripped bare. Her cubby, too.

If only I hadn't gone hiking with Raf. I could have made Alison put out her cigarette as soon as I smelled the smoke. I would have made it rain on her if she didn't open the bathroom door. Hell, I made it rain once before. I can do it again. At least I could have warned her that Rose was coming. Or wished Rose out of the bunk.

If only I was a powerful enough witch to turn back time.

“Hey, why don't you take the lower bunk?” Morgan suggests.

“How can you even suggest that!” I snap. “That would be sacrilegious!” I flip over, trying to get comfortable. “What was Rose doing near our bunk, anyway? She never comes around here.”

Poodles drops her marker and it clangs on the floor. “Do you think someone told on her?”

I try to remember if any of them were in the cabin when I left with Raf. I might have seen Cece . . . but she wouldn't have done it. Shaving cream is one thing, but getting an old friend kicked out of camp?

I know Morgan was here, but she wouldn't have ratted Alison out.

Just my luck that I find a camp BFF and she gets kicked out.

I'm the one who feels kicked. Kicked in the butt.

We sulk through flagpole. We sulk through breakfast. We sulk through cleanup. Today I have sweep as well as Alison's dustpan, since Morgan, who's chore-free, claims she's too depressed to help. Sheesh. It's not easy doing both jobs. It's like playing softball and being expected to pitch and catch simultaneously.

Speaking of softball, we're scheduled for a game against bunk fifteen. Since it's the four of us against the six of them, it's not much of a game.

“One of your girls should play for our team,” Deb tells Penelope.

“Any of you willing to switch over?” Penelope asks her bunk.

“We don't need any help,” says Poodles.

“We're fine on our own,” says Carly.

Exactly. We can do it. I can do it. With a little help from my magic.

The bases are loaded. Liana's playing first base, Cece's on second, Natalie's on third, Kristin's catcher, and Molly's in the field. Trishelle, the pitcher, narrows her heavily lined eyes, purses her lips, and rolls her arm back and tosses the softball at me.

Now, the thing is, I am not a good hitter. And my seven thousand bee stings aren't going to help. But I don't care. I'm getting a home run. Now.

I focus all my raw will and—

Kabam!
The ball soars over all their heads, way over the roof of bunk three.

The girls of both fourteen and fifteen gasp. Deb whistles.

Morgan, Carly, and Poodles run home while Deb hollers her heart out.

I slide into home, accidentally knocking over Kristin.

“My earring!” she screams. “I lost one of my earrings!”

I'm too excited to care. Go, Team Glinda! We're going to win in honor of Alison!

My home run euphoria is short-lived. First we have to spend twenty minutes sifting through the dugout for Kristin's precious pearl, and then Liana and Trishelle switch positions, and Liana strikes us all out.

Meanness must be stronger than magic. That's the only explanation I can think of. Either that, or my megeling just hasn't been working.

In the next inning, all of fifteen's balls fly directly into wide-open spaces. Deb insists that both she and Penelope jump into the game to even it out, but it doesn't help. The balls start coming directly at me, and I keep dropping them. I try to use my magic to help me catch them, but nothing works.

They win nineteen to four.

We're silent during lunch. When Deb calls “freeze,” we ignore her, and each of us cleans up after herself.

Carly hangs her head. “I can't believe Alison is really gone. This is the worst summer ever.”

I'm starting to agree. I can't believe it. This was supposed to be the best summer of my life. It started out as the best summer of my life, so what happened?

The lunch meat loaf is burnt and tasteless, reflecting our mood.

“Cheer up, girls,” Deb tells us. “Tomorrow will be a better day.”

It can't get worse, can it?

Unfortunately, it can. And does. After lunch, it gets much, much worse.

It's rest hour, and Deb is handing out the mail.

“Morgan!” She tosses a beige envelope to Morgan. “Poodles and Rachel, you both got packages.”

Poodles gets her copies of
Entertainment Weekly
and
People.
I get a box of something called Summer Rain from Jennifer.

Huh?

Is it possible that this time Jennifer got me something normal, like perfume?

I read the label:
For feminine cleansing. A douche.

Ew, ew, ew. What is wrong with her? She obviously doesn't want us to be friends if she's trying to humiliate me in front of my bunkmates.

Directly into the garbage it goes.

After Deb is done distributing, she announces, “Bunk meeting!”

I'm lying on my stomach, writing Alison a letter. Or trying to. I don't know exactly how to start or what to say.
Dear Alison, What were you thinking? Why didn't you tell me you smoked? Are you an idiot? You ruined my summer.
I sigh, put down my pen, and roll onto my side to face Deb.