Summer on the Short Bus (21 page)

“You little turd. That's not funny! I was about ready to give Quinn a beat down myself.”

“You'd do that for me?” he says, offering a smile that would
make most girls weak in the knees.

“Well, I would have a minute ago, but now I'm not so sure. What are you doing out here? Doesn't Rainbow call the camp police if you're not at breakfast at seven sharp?”

“She pretty much lets me do my own thing. Besides, she's not here anyway.”

“Where is she?”

“Pete said she had to run into town for something. I'm not really sure. But she's actually the reason I'm out here waiting for you.”

“Okay . . .”

“Quinn and I were talking this morning—” He stops suddenly and looks at me with a serious face. “We're fine, by the way. Me and him. Nobody's going to kick anybody's ass.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

“Anyway, Quinn asked if you told me about what's going on with Rainbow. I told him you mentioned something the other day but never really filled me in on it—so he did.” His smile slowly fades, as his blond brows cinch up in the center of his forehead. “Is it really bothering you as much as Quinn says?”

“At first it wasn't a problem until I would actually see her—that whole out of sight out of mind thing. But now . . . I don't know how to explain it. It's like she's got the inside track on me and I'm clueless as to how, or why, for that matter. If a relative stranger knew all kinds of personal stuff about you, wouldn't you want to know why?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “And that's exactly why Quinn and I have come up with a plan to figure it out.”

Breaking into Rainbow's private office in search of personnel files is hardly what I would consider a
plan
, but it's what my dreamy, future-engineer boyfriend and too-sweet, nonambulatory friend have come up with, so I guess we'll have to make it work.

While they're busy concocting their ridiculous scheme, I help clear the breakfast dishes and slide tables to the side of the room in preparation for my first group rehearsal.

Over the course of the last week, I've become perfectly comfortable with my two assigned campers and hardly notice when I'm responsible for all five girls. But with the boys added to the mix, I'm feeling a little anxious.

“Don't forget to have fun,” Dr. Pete says quietly, passing through the room with a box of supplies in his arms.

Have fun. Right.

Heaving my deepest breath, I step forward. “All right, everybody, let's Vogue.” As quickly as the words leave my mouth, James raises an oven-mitted hand into the air. “What?” I say.

“Wh-wh-what's a Vogue?”

“It's not a thing, James. It's a kind of dance.”

“Liiike the ruuuumba?” Meredith says. “I know thaaaaat one. They dooooo it on
Daaancing with the Staaars
.”

“It's nothing like the rumba,” I say. At least I don't think it is. “It's more like—”

“The f-f-fox-trot?” James asks.

“No. They don't Vogue on
Dancing with the Stars
. It's something Madonna made up. It's just a series of slow, specific movements. Like you're unfolding yourself. How can you guys not know this? I thought you watched TV.”

“It's like this,” Claire says. And before I can beg her not to, she's belly down on the dirty floor, wriggling about like a sausage trying to work out of its casing.

“C-c-c-cool,” James says.

“Soooo cooool,” Meredith adds.

“No, it's not!” I try to act as a human shield and position myself between Claire and her very captive audience, but it's no use. She's moving surprisingly fast. “That's not cool at all,” I say, pointing toward Claire with a grimace. “That's not how you Vogue. It's nothing like that.”

Try as I might, my objections are lost among the cheers and taunts of, “Vogue! Vogue! Vogue!” that now fill the room.

“Ugh. You've got to be kidding me,” I mutter, dragging a tired hand through my hair as I collapse into the nearest chair. “How the hell am I going to do this?”

Two hours later, I'm shuffling my way back to the bunkhouse, hunched over in pain.

“This is going to be such a train wreck,” Fantine says.

I stop shuffling and look up to find her gawking at the campers ahead of us, each one doing their best Madonna-like moves. Despite the pain, I burst into another fit of laughter. Once we got past the whole Claire fiasco and they watched the “Vogue” video, things started to improve. But not by much. Witnessing their attempts to frame their faces and move their uncooperative bodies around like supermodels is probably the funniest thing I've ever seen.

“I told you!” I manage to say between laughs, gripping my side. “I had to watch that for two hours. Do you have any idea how sore my muscles are after laughing like this for two hours?”

“I'd have shit myself. I'm not kidding. That's just . . . just . . .”

“Insane?”

“No,” she says, a broad smile stretching across her face. “It's perfect. This is what it's all about. Having a good time. Not caring if you make a fool of yourself.”

“Well, we've definitely got the fool part down. I have to go onstage with them—I'm freaking Madonna! Do you know how stupid I'm going to look?”

“Not as stupid as you're going to look when you're Gwen Stefani,” she scoffs, raising a dark brow in my direction. I wish I could disagree with her but I can't. I
am
going to look stupid. “Oh, hey, Colin and Quinn told me about the plan. I think you're asking for trouble, Cricket.”

“First off, it's not my plan,” I say, wincing in pain as I straighten my posture. “They're the dumbasses who thought breaking into her
office was the best way to get the information.” She raises her brow again, but this time it's taking on an entirely different meaning. “I
do
have a right to know how she knows all this private stuff about me.”

“Damn, girl. Relax. I'm not saying you don't have a right to know. I'm just saying that breaking and entering might not be the best approach. You could always just ask her. Did you ever think of that?”

“Of course,” I say. “But after the way she treated me and Quinn yesterday, I think that bugging her about something she's obviously trying to keep secret would only piss her off more.”

“Okay, there's some truth to that,” she says. “But what about your dad? He's not saying anything either?”

“I haven't talked to him. Last I heard he was staying in Spain a few more days.”

She holds my gaze long and hard. “Just make sure you're careful, okay? By some miracle you made it through the barf-o-rama without getting all of us fired. We don't need to tempt fate again.”

“I know,” I say. I know. . . .

TWENTY-THREE

“N
o way.” I shake my head furiously. “There's no way in hell I'm

doing that.”

“Pleeeeeeease?”

I station my hands firmly on my hips, preparing for the ultimate showdown, but find myself melting like a stick of butter in the sun beneath Meredith's big doe-eyes.

“Ugh, fine,” I concede, with little attempt to hide my annoyance. “I'll wear the stupid bra. But I swear, Meredith, you're going to owe me big. I want VIP seats at your next Olympic medal ceremony. Better seats than you give your own mother.”

“Oh thaaaaank you, thaaank yoooooou!” she sings, spinning her neon chair in a circle. “You're going tooooo love it. I proooomise!”

Meredith wheels her way back to the wardrobe table, where Jamal, Colin's favorite camper, is needle and threading something shimmery, when Quinn strolls through the doorway with a smoldering grin on his face.

“Hey, how's rehearsal going?”

“It depends on who you ask. Considering I just agreed to wear
a cone-shaped bra made entirely of black velvet and tongue depressors, I'd say it's going pretty bad. Meredith would say otherwise, though. What's up with you?”

“Rainbow's council meeting is set for tonight. Colin said he and Fantine would take the kids down to the lake after dinner so we can do what we need to do.”

This is the night he's been planning for the last three days. The night Rainbow will be off-site at the Western Michigan Disabled Camping Association meeting for at least two hours, leaving her office unattended. The night I will finally learn the truth about her.

“Okay,” I say. “And Aidan's on board for being the lookout?”

“Yep,” he says coolly. “Everybody's good. It'll be perfect.”

“I hope so.”

“Wow!” a familiar screeching voice calls from the doorway. “You guys are working really hard in here, aren't you?”

With the subtlety of a hurricane, Rainbow tromps into the room, surveying the costumes and backdrops the kids are working on, while Quinn and I assume our newly adopted Rainbow-is-near position. We hold hands and prepare for public scrutiny.

“It looks like you're really taking ownership of this thing, Cricket,” she says. “I take it you've decided on the final performance?”

For the past few days, Rainbow has said little more to either of us than one or two words at a time. Quinn notices this, too, and gives my hand a prompting tug.

“Uh . . . yeah,” I say. “We're doing ‘Vogue.'”

“Oh!” she says excitedly. “I love that song. I hope you borrowed a DVD from Sam. You know he knows everything about Madonna. He's like an encyclopedia.”

“I did,” I say skeptically. “And I downloaded a few things onto my phone . . . but I'm still not sure it was the best idea.”

“Well, I think it's a great idea,” she says, laying her speckled hand on my shoulder like it's a natural occurrence. I have to force myself not to scream. “And I'm sure all the parents are going to love it. Right, Quinn?”

“Definitely,” he says, all chill and unflustered. “From what I hear, all the kids think it's cool—even the boys, which is saying a lot. I'm not sure I would've been up for a Madonna stage act when I was fifteen.”

“Well, the world will never know.” She laughs, finally removing her clammy hand from me. “Well, I better leave you guys to it. I've got a ton on my to-do list to get ready for the parents on Saturday night. We want to make sure everything runs without a hitch, don't we?”

I nod, completely dumbstruck, while Quinn offers another bullshit response about the sanctity of maintaining punctuality. Rainbow laughs like a hyena again, before turning on her worn sneakers and heading out into the afternoon heat.

“What the hell was that?”

“I have no idea,” he says. “She was like a totally different
person. Maybe she's got an evil twin locked in her office and the real Rainbow only gets to come out under a full moon.”

“That would explain a few things,” I say. “But I think we would have known it wasn't really her. In the movies, the evil twin is always the hot sexy one.”

“The one who wears a tongue-depressor bra?”