Spells & Sleeping Bags #3 (2 page)

Of course, at first I balked at wearing any kind of uniform, but these aren't too bad. A little boring, but not awful. The shirt says Camp Wood Lake in bubbly white and orange letters, and underneath there's a cute drawing of a girl and a boy in a white canoe. The shorts just say Camp Wood Lake across the butt. The glossy
Welcome to Camp
brochure explained that we'd have to wear it only today and during any out-of-camp trips. The brochure came with a funky DVD that flashed images of all the camp amenities (tennis courts, lakefront, arts and crafts, indoor swimming pool) while playing set-the-mood camp songs, like Green Day's “Time of Your Life” and Frankie Valli's “Stay,” in the background.

Some of the seats in the middle are empty. I look for a place where Miri and I can sit together. Thank goodness she's on this bus. Imagine if I were all by my lonesome and had to sit by myself! I'd be known all summer as the girl who sat alone because no one wanted to talk to her. Just as I'm about to scoot into an empty seat, a tall brunette sitting three rows back stops talking to the two girls behind her, turns her head, and waves at me.

Huh? I look behind me to see if she's motioning to someone else. Nope, just me. Unless she's a nutcase who waves arbitrarily. Or maybe she's just done her nails and is air-drying?

“Hi, there,” says the girl, looking into my eyes. “You can sit with me, if you want.”

I am dumbfounded. The girl is smiley and not at all loserish-looking. Her layered curly dark hair is tied into a low ponytail, bangs clipped back, showing off clear skin, bright eyes, and a big smile. And she's friendly. “Sure,” I say, plopping myself down next to her on the sticky leather seat, my knapsack at my feet. Perfect! Miri can sit in the empty row across the aisle. It will be just like we're sitting together . . . except not.

“I'm Alison,” the girl says.

“Rachel,” I tell her.

“Trishelle and Kristin,” she says, motioning to the two girls in the row behind her.

“Hi,” I say, not believing my luck. I've been on the bus for only thirty seconds and I've already met three people! Trishelle has long highlighted hair and is wearing a lot of makeup. I'm talking foundation, bright pink blush, heavy lip liner, and a thick ring of eyeliner. I hope it won't melt right off her face. Next to her is Kristin, whose cropped blond hair, tiny features, and pearl earrings (which my mother would never in a million years have let me bring to camp) remind me of a Connecticut housewife. “What bunk are you guys in?” I ask.

“Fifteen,” Trishelle and Kristin say simultaneously. “You?”

“Fourteen.”

“Me too,” Alison says with a big smile.

Wahoo! This nice girl who invited me to sit with her for no reason is in my bunk!

“Rachel!” my sister calls. “I got us a place up here.”

I turn to see Miri claiming the front row. “Mir, I'm sitting back here. Come join us,” I say, pointing to the empty row next to me.

Instead of skipping over to me—come on, Miri, get with the program!—my sister glares my way. “I'd rather stay in front in case I get nauseous. It's less bumpy.”

There is no way I'm budging from this spot. “All right, but I'm right back here if you need me. My little sister,” I explain to my new friends. New best friends? Soon-to-be best friends?

“So,” I begin, “is this your first—”

I'm interrupted by the blue-lipped Janice, who has motioned to the bus driver to close the door and is now looking nervously around the bus. “You're all here, right?” Janice then points at each of us while silently counting. “All right, you all seem to be here. Everyone ready?”

“We're ready,” announces Trishelle.

Janice's blue lips stretch into a half smile. “Ready to start the summer?”

The girls around me all holler and applaud.

“Then let's get this bus rolling!”

As the driver pulls onto the street, the girls cheer. I feel like cheering a bit too, but I don't want to look weird. Ah, what the heck. “Yay!” I pipe in.

I lift my knees into the fetal position and place the soles of my pink sneakers against the back of the seat in front of me. “Is this your first year too?” I ask my new BFF.

“No way,” Alison says. “My ninth.”

“Wow.”

“I know. I started going when I was seven. My older brother had been going to Wood Lake for years, and I begged my parents to let me come as soon as I was old enough.”

“Were you in the starter program? My stepsister is doing it next month.”

“Nah, that's new.” She gives me a big smile. “So how did you hear about Wood Lake?”

When I was dating Will Kosravi (don't blame me for going out with the older brother of the love of my life; blame a love spell gone wrong à la Miri), he happened to mention that he was going to Wood Lake for the summer, and I happened to mention it to my stepmom, who was trying to get some alone time with my dad and decided it would be ideal for Miri, Prissy (my stepsister), and me to go off to camp. “Through someone at school,” I answer, not quite ready to spill my heart. She might be my new BFF, but I've known her for only ten minutes. “Is your brother still at camp?”

She shakes her head. “Not anymore. He's twenty-three and in med school.”

“That's a big age difference.”

“Half brother,” she explains. “His dad got remarried to my mom.”

A divorce in the family! We have something in common besides being in the same bunk!

“It sucks that he's not here, actually. He was head staff. Hey, your sister is motioning to you,” Alison tells me.

I look up, and indeed, Miri is frantically waving. “What's wrong?” I call to her.

Come here,
she mouths.

Five minutes,
I mouth, holding up five fingers, then turn back to Alison. “Sorry.”

“Well, it was great when he was here. Our bunk never got in trouble for anything. Last year we were raiding the kitchen, and Abby, the head of Koalas, caught us, but my brother begged her not to rat us out.”

“Lucky. What was your brother head of?”

“Waterfront. Swimming and boating.”

Although I'm intrigued by the idea of boating, I'm not really looking forward to the swimming part of the summer. I mean, I know how to swim, sort of, if you count cooling off in my dad's pool after suntanning. And I can hold my head underwater for at least six seconds. That has to count for something, right? At least I have two cool new bathing suits, a funky black and white one-piece and a sexy orange bikini. I also brought an old stretchy one-piece that belonged to my mom, which I am only planning on wearing when I have no other options, because that's like sharing a used tissue.

Anyway.

“Your sister is trying to get your attention again,” Alison says. “Is she okay?”

She's certainly giving me a cramp. A cramp in my style. “I'll be right back,” I tell Alison, then carefully maneuver my way down the center of the bus and into the seat next to Miri.

She is an alarming shade of green. “I don't feel well. I think I might—”

And that's when she throws up all over herself, the seat, and me.

Suddenly, the entire bus is silent. And then choruses of “Gross!” and “Nasty!” echo through the vehicle, turning my sister tomato red.

“You okay?” I ask, mortified for the two of us.

Her lips are trembling like she's about to cry. “Would it be too obvious if I disappeared?” she whispers.

“Yes,” I whisper back.

“Oh, no.” Janice has jumped up to inspect the atrocity. “We have a puker. Stop the bus!” she orders the driver. The driver turns off the highway and pulls into a gas station. My cheeks are burning up, but it's not because of the heat. This is
excruciatingly
embarrassing. I can't believe Miri did that.

We mope our way into the gas station's scummy, egg-scented bathroom. Once we lock the door, Miri takes off her shirt and carries it over to the sink.

“Is it coming out?” I ask, stripping off my own shirt and wiping it under the faucet. Meanwhile, I study my reflection in the mirror. “Do you think my boobs are growing?”

She looks up from her rinsing. “Your left boob looks bigger.”

“Bigger than what?”

She peers closely. “Than your right one.”

I adjust my shoulders and then take another look. Omigod, she's right. My boobs are finally growing! Yay! The left boob is definitely bigger than it was the last time I measured. (Not that I measure often. Only every day or two.) I've been wishing for bigger boobs for forever. I mean, is it fair that I'm an A-cup and my little sister is a B? I think not. Wahoo! But how did I not notice this when I was in the shower? Wait a sec. “Why isn't the right one growing too?”

Miri shrugs. “That's what I was wondering.”

Oh God. Oh, no. Panic washes over me like acid rain. Not that I know exactly what acid rain is, but I know it's bad. “How can one boob grow faster than the other? They're supposed to grow at the same rate! One arm doesn't grow longer than the other! One leg doesn't grow longer than the other! One foot doesn't—”

“Actually, lots of people have different-sized feet.” Miri wiggles her own sneaker-clad foot as if to prove her point.

“No, no, no. Isn't there a spell we can use to even them out?”

“You know what Mom said about using boob spells before you've finished puberty. You could really mess up your body. Your hormones are already whacked out enough. I'm sure the other one will grow eventually.”

“But what if it doesn't?”

“Then you'll have two different-sized boobs.”

I think I might cry. “It's not fair!”

“It's not
that
much bigger than the other one.”

“Yes, it is.” My life is officially over. I mean, come on! Camp is all about bathing suits. People are going to
see
my deformity.

“Yeah, it's huge. So big it's practically another person. Let's call her Melinda.”

How can she joke during a crisis like this? Hmm. “Why Melinda?”

“I don't know. It rhymes with Glinda?”

“Too confusing, I'll get them mixed up. Let's call her Bobby.”

“Bobby is a boy's name.”

“Get with it, Mir. Boys' names are very trendy for girls these days.”

“Great. I'll change my name to Murray.” She continues scraping at her shirt and then sighs. “It's not coming out. I should try a clean spell from
A
²
.
”

Miri is referring to
The Authorized and Absolute Reference Handbook to Astonishing Spells, Astounding Potions, and History of Witchcraft Since the Beginning of Time,
which we renamed
Authorized and Absolute
(hence the
A
²
). I do not yet possess my own copy.

“Really? Let me try it.” Now's my chance to practice a real spell, a
published
spell, and not some limerick I made up on the spur of the moment.

“Now? People are waiting for us, and your magic hasn't been that dependable. . . .”

What is she talking about? “My magic is just fine, thank you very much.”

She raises an eyebrow. “So you were purposely levitating your knapsack out there?”

“Oh, shut up. Come on, just tell me the spell.”

“You're so difficult,” she grumbles. “Just touch the stain with a drop of soap. Then pour some salt into your left hand. Turn the hot water on with your other hand and let it wash over the salt while you repeat three times ‘Mark upon these robes be gone.’ ”

“Miri, I don't have any salt on me.”

She reaches into her knapsack and pulls out one of those skinny-minny restaurant salt packets. “A witch always carries around salt. It's, like, the miracle ingredient.”

Yay! Problem solved. Almost. I can't believe it; I'm about to do my first real spell! Of course, I've been using my raw will all over the place, but since my mother hasn't given me my much-deserved copy of
A
²
,
I haven't yet tested an existing spell. She wouldn't let me begin my training earlier because she wanted me to focus on studying for my finals, and since I can't train from camp, she insists I wait until fall, when she will zap me up my very own copy of the book. So you can understand how excited I am about performing this spell. It's my very special rite of passage. Kind of like a bat mitzvah. A bat mitzvah in a gas station bathroom.

Hands trembling, I dab the soap on our shirts and then on the shorts we're still wearing. Then, after I rip open the packet and dump the salt in my left hand, I turn the water back on and say:

“Mark upon these robes be gone,

Mark upon these robes be gone,

Mark upon these robes be gone!”

The power boils from somewhere deep inside me, through my arms and into my fingertips. The room gets really cold. And then, suddenly . . . our clothes are spotless! Yes! Yes, yes, yes! They're clean and they're . . . tie-dyed? Huh? The three colors in our outfits have somehow merged and turned into swirls on our clothes. Oh, man, is my magic cool!

“Oh, no,” Miri whines. “I knew I should have done it myself.”

“Give me a break, we're going to look awesome.” The uniforms are far less boring now. People will think that we just happened to have extra camp outfits in our knapsacks and that we're über-creative.

“We are not. We'll look like we're wearing psychedelic pajamas. Yikes! Look what your butt says!”

“What?” I turn around and try to stare at my behind in the mirror. Instead of saying Camp Wood Lake, my shorts now say Oodle Wamp Ack. As does my shirt. As does Miri's. Oops. “Can you fix it?”

We hear a honk.

“There's no time,” she says anxiously. “I don't know how, and
A
²
is in my duffel bag. At least people will be so busy trying to read your T-shirt, they won't notice your misshapen breasts.”

Gee, thanks.