by Mere Joyce
“You can dip it in the soup to soften it up,” Meera says. She hasn’t eaten anything. Her meal has been pushed to the side. Instead she’s reading the guidelines for our leadership project.
Katrina isn’t eating either. Her arms are folded on the table, and she keeps staring across the room at a boy with shaggy blond hair. Every time he looks back at Katrina, her whole face goes pink.
“Okay, here are the rules for our project,” Meera says. She glances up from her sheet to see if we are listening. We already heard this in orientation. But I give Katrina a nudge, and we both focus on Meera anyway.
“The counselors said they would answer questions about the project tomorrow when they post who is on which team,” Sarah reminds her.
“Yes, but I want to make sure I have time to come up with questions,” Meera replies. “Where was I? Oh yeah. It looks like this year’s project will take place at a farmers’ market. Each team will be in charge of designing a stall to showcase or promote local food sources.”
“But we’re not farmers,” Katrina says.
“We don’t have to sell food,” Meera says. “We just need to showcase local foods in some way. How we do it is completely up to us.”
“I hate that,” Sarah says. “How are we supposed to come up with an idea when our only guideline is that we can do whatever we want?”
“I think we’re supposed to be creative,” I offer.
“Yeah, but we only have eight full days after tonight. And at least half of that has got to be preparation time.”
“We need to have our ideas ready by Tuesday,” Meera says. She runs a finger along the page as she reads. Her green nail polish stands out against the white page and its black text. “And whatever we decide, we have to charge money for it.”
“My cousin does tarot readings,” Katrina says. “She’d be great at a market!”
“Are her tarot cards themed like food products?” Sarah asks.
“No,” Katrina mumbles. She looks down at her soup bowl. Then she tenses. Her cheeks start to turn pink again. But this time it’s not because of the blond-haired boy.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as she glances over her shoulder.
Katrina shakes her head. “Nothing.” She faces forward and changes the subject. “So we’ll be in five teams of four, right?” she asks Meera.
“Yes, that’s right,” Meera says, nodding. “Each team will have a budget and access to some supplies for free.”
“And the money we raise goes to the food bank,” Katrina says. Her back stiffens again, but she doesn’t look behind her. “Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Meera says again.
“Well, it’s better than taking care of snotty-nosed kids all day,” Sarah says.
“You never know. Your group could decide to sell vegetable-shaped toys or something,” I say with a smile.
Sarah laughs. “This bunch isn’t up to building their own toys. I think I’m safe from having to play one of Santa’s elves.”
“Yes,” Meera muses, “but you could set up healthy-snack sessions. Tell parents how they can use local foods for snacks and have the kids help make a snack to take with them.”
“That’s a great idea, Meera!” Katrina says.
Meera smiles. “It could work.” I can tell she’s already planning the details in her mind. She even grabs the notebook she brought with her. She jots down a few notes.
Sarah makes a face. “I hope we’re not on the same team,” she groans.
A sniggering noise catches my attention. A few seconds after it begins, something hits my back.I look down at the floor by my feet and see a balled-up piece of bread. There are several other balls of bread nearby. Ones that must have hit Katrina. No wonder she’s been acting so strange.
I raise my eyes to the table of boys behind us. Four of the boys I don’t know. One of them I do. Austin meets my gaze. With a laugh he speaks to one of his new friends.
“Nice throw,” he says, “but next time try a target that’s not so hard to miss!”
Now it’s my turn to blush. Even at a retreat meant to teach us about community spirit and cooperation, it has taken only one afternoon for Austin to turn some of the boys here into bullies.
My face is hot as I turn back around and try to act like nothing is wrong. But it’s too late. Meera and Sarah, sitting across from Katrina and me, both heard what Austin said.
“Boys are so immature,” Sarah says, scowling.
Meera shakes her head before returning to her notes.
“It’s no big deal,” I mutter. I glance down at my mostly untouched dinner. I pick up my spoon, then lower it back to the bowl.
Sarah looks at Katrina and me. Then she looks down at her own soup bowl.
“Well, this is too cold to eat anyway,” she says. She removes her spoon and stands up. My eyes go wide as she picks up the bowl and starts to leave the table.
“Sarah, don’t,” I warn.
She doesn’t listen. She walks toward the table of boys, and I stare down at my dinner. I don’t want to watch what she’s about to do. If anything happens and Austin thinks I was involved…
“Looking to get a second helping?”
Katrina and I both swivel around at the sound of a counselor speaking. Sarah is frozen in place behind Austin, her bowl raised above his head. She must have circled around the table and snuck up on him from behind. Part of me is sad her prank has been interrupted. Why should the counselor stop Sarah from humiliating Austin? No one stopped Austin from humiliating Katrina and me. Still, I’m relieved Sarah didn’t get to go through with her plan. I wouldn’t want her getting kicked out of here on our first day.
“Just thought I’d see if anyone wanted my leftovers,” Sarah says brightly. She gives the counselor a wide smile. Then she returns to our table with the bowl still in hand.
Austin glares at me. I turn away. I try not to grin at Sarah as she returns. That was pretty awesome. Even if I really wish she hadn’t done it.
“That was almost brilliant,” Meera says.
Sarah smirks and shrugs her shoulders. “There’s plenty of time left in the week,” she says.
I sigh, pushing my dinner away from me. The metallic smell of canned soup is making me feel sick. It doesn’t even matter that Sarah didn’t get to pour her soup over Austin’s head. The fact that she tried makes my knees tremble under the table.
It’s our first night here, and Austin is already annoyed with me. How can I make him forget I exist if my cabinmate won’t let him do what he wants? I am envious of her bravery. But I am worried she is going to end up getting me more than a few angry stares.
Chapter Five
I go straight back to the cabin after dinner is over. We have free time, but I don’t want to risk any more incidents involving Austin or his gang.
The others return fairly soon after I do. Sarah complains that there are too many bugs out for March. She reeks of bug spray. Meera says she wants to work on her snack-stall idea. Katrina says there is no point in staying out when everyone else is inside.
Before long we are all talking about our projects again.
“How much money do you think we will raise?” Katrina asks. She sits cross-legged on her bunk, braiding her curly hair. But it’s a challenge. With each twist of the braid, at least one or two curls escape.
“Depends on what you end up doing for your stall,” Sarah says. She paces the small space between the bunks.
“But what if we only raise, like, fifty bucks?” Katrina asks. “What if we don’t make enough money?”
I shrug. “Any amount helps. A food bank can do a lot with fifty dollars.”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Katrina agrees. She finishes with her hair and sits back against her headboard.
“If I get overruled,” Meera says from her top bunk, “will one of you use my idea? I’m working too hard for it not to be used.” She has her phone out. She has been looking up snack recipes since she got back to the cabin.
&nbs
p; “You never know, we could all be on the same team,” I say.
Katrina smiles. “That would be nice.”
“Yeah, but it’s not very likely, is it?” Sarah says. She stops pacing and puts her hands on the hips of her pink pajama pants. “They will probably want us to mingle with the other kids.”
I sigh. She is right, but I wish she weren’t. Sarah doesn’t want to work on this project with Meera. But I think this whole week would be a lot easier if the four of us were all on the same team.
“Working with some of the boys would be nice too,” Katrina says with a smile.
Sarah starts pacing again. She stops after only a couple of turns. “I can’t focus on the project,” she exclaims. “I’m too hungry.”
“No kidding,” I say, thinking of our disappointing dinner.
“There’s a grocery store down the road,” Katrina says. “I saw it on the way here. Tomorrow I’m going to get some snacks, if I can figure out how to get back there.”
“That’s fine for tomorrow,” Sarah says, “but what about right now?”
“We could sneak into the kitchen,” Meera suggests. She puts away her phone and climbs down from her bunk. “Lots of food in there.”
“What if we get caught?” Katrina asks.
Sarah scoffs. “Who cares about getting caught? The more important question is, what would we eat? We all had the food. It wasn’t exactly awe-inspiring.”
I bite my lip and look around at my cabinmates. “Well,” I say slowly, “I could make us something.”
“Ooh, yes!” Sarah claps her hands together as she hurries to the door. She grabs a flashlight from the window ledge and shoves her bare feet into her sneakers. Then she turns back to wait for the rest of us.
“You cook?” Meera asks.
My heart is pounding. I have never offered to cook for anyone but my family before. I never expected I would be cooking at the Young Leaders Retreat.
“She is great,” Sarah says before I can respond. “You should have seen her lunch.”
I get up and throw a sweater on over my T-shirt. Not that I’ll need it. My face is so hot from embarrassment that a snowstorm would feel like a warm summer breeze.
“I doubt they will have the ingredients for chicken salad, but I’m sure I can come up with something,” I say. My face cools down. I love cooking, and I like these girls. This will be fun.
Meera smiles. “Great!”
She and Sarah lead the way, and Katrina trails behind me. We sneak out into the night, following the path from our cabin. We don’t have to worry too much about being seen. There is no one around. The counselors must not be concerned about us breaking the curfew rule. Either that or they are over keeping an eye on the boys’ cabins.
It is easy to make it around the well-lit campground. We pass an empty beach and cross over a wide expanse of lawn to reach the dining hall. We don’t see a single person. I’m a bit disappointed. I had imagined rebellion would be more thrilling.
The dining hall is locked. Meera pulls a bobby pin out of her braid. She snaps it in two and uses it as a pick.
“My parents have sent me to camp every summer and winter since I was four,” she tells us. She holds one half of the pin in place at the top of the keyhole. “Can’t say I haven’t learned some useful skills along the way!” She pushes the second half into the bottom part of the lock and carefully turns it back and forth. It takes only a couple of jiggles before the lock unlatches.
Meera pushes open the wooden door and slips the pins into her pocket. She acts like it is no big deal. I’m impressed by how easy she made it look. I’m also curious to know how many other locks she has picked over the years.
“You have to teach me that,” Sarah says as we step into the dark dining hall.
Meera nods. “Later. For now, let’s eat.”
Chapter Six
“Do you think they will notice the missing food?” Katrina asks.
“Not if we clean up,” Meera replies as we walk into the kitchen. “If they don’t suspect anyone has been here, they won’t be on the lookout for missing items. And if they do notice, they will probably think they miscounted.”
“Besides, if we do get caught, we can tell them we were practicing our leadership skills,” Sarah adds. She hops onto the prep counter. “You know, taking charge to eliminate our unnecessary hunger.” She keeps her flashlight on so we don’t have to turn on the main lights. “The worst they will do is put us on kitchen duty. If they let Jenny cook, that might not be much of a punishment anyway.”
Sarah’s comment catches me off guard. I laugh so hard I double over. “You have never even tasted my cooking!” I say. “You only saw my sandwich and said it looked good.”
“Oh, it tasted good too,” Sarah says. “I could tell. And the faster you cook something now, the faster I can prove I know what I’m talking about.”
There is not a lot to choose from in the kitchen. But I do find stuff to make pancakes. I whisk the dry ingredients. Meera cracks in an egg while I add milk and melted butter. Sarah slices some bruised peaches we got from the walk-in fridge into a bowl. I cover the fruit with butter and cinnamon. Then I spoon it onto the hot griddle next to the bubbling pancake batter. When the pancakes are done, I load up the plates Meera set out and then top them with the cooked fruit. I squirt a bit of canned whipped cream on each pile and drizzle syrup over everything.
Everyone digs in, standing right there at the counter. No one says anything for a few mouthfuls. Then Katrina declares, “These are the best pancakes I have ever eaten!” She licks whipped cream from her fork.
“Told you I knew what I was talking about,” Sarah says with her mouth full of peach and pancake.
I shrug, trying not to feel too pleased. “It would be better with real cream and proper maple syrup,” I say.
Meera shakes her head. “No, it’s great,” she says. “Much better than what we ate for dinner. The others would be super jealous if they knew what we were doing. They would probably even be willing to pay you for this meal.”
“Hey, that’s an idea,” Sarah says as she picks a bit of peach from her braces. “You should cook at the farmers’ market. People always want to nibble while they’re shopping.”
“What?” I take a step backward and nearly burn my arm on the still-hot griddle. “No. I don’t cook in front of people.”
“You cooked in front of us,” Katrina says.
“That’s different,” I say.
“Why don’t you want to cook in front of other people?” Sarah asks.
I shrug my shoulders again and turn to start taking dishes to the sink. People tease me enough about my size without knowing how much I love cooking. I like the way I look. And I love the food I create. But it would be too easy to make fun of the big girl who feels most at home in the kitchen. I don’t want to be shamed about something I enjoy doing.
“Come on, let’s get these cleaned so we can get back to our cabin,” I say instead. The other girls are quiet for a minute. I can picture them sharing glances behind my back. But then they start helping me with the dishes. With four of us working, it doesn’t take long before everything is back where it belongs.
The kitchen has a rear exit that will lock behind us when we leave. But first we head back into the dining hall so we can lock the main door from the inside. As we pass one of the tables, Meera stops. She looks at something on the tabletop that we didn’t notice on our way in.
“What’s this?” she asks. She snatches up the paper.
“It’s the list of teams,” Sarah says. She stands on her toes to look over Meera’s shoulder. “Bonus! A good meal and early access to the list. Are we in the same group, Meera?”
“No, doesn’t look like any of us are together,” Meera says. She passes the list to Sarah. Sarah reads it over and passes it to Katrina. When she’s done she hands the paper to me.
“At least I don’t have to worry about making snacks for little kids,” Sarah says, giving Meera a playful punch on
the shoulder.
“There aren’t any boys on my team,” Katrina says with a sigh. “Do you think they would let us switch?”
“I doubt it,” I say.
I search for my name, and my throat goes dry. I would gladly take Katrina’s place. I would gladly switch with anyone. One other girl and two boys are on my team. And one of those boys is Austin Parks.
It almost looks like a mistake to see my real name listed on the sheet. Austin’s going to hate being my teammate. It’s not my fault the counselors put us together. But he is going to blame me for it anyway. Which means that after tomorrow, no one is going to know who Jenny Royce is anymore.
My name might as well be listed as Jelly Roll.
Chapter Seven
I don’t want to go to breakfast in the morning. I want to lie in bed all day and pretend I never saw the teams list. But I’m hungry. If I don’t eat something, my stomach will grumble all morning. I will probably get a headache too. Austin already gave me a restless night. I’m not going to let him cause me an aching head as well.
“You will never guess what we’re having for breakfast,” Meera says when I reach the dining hall. I’m the last one from our cabin to get there. I was the first to wake up this morning, but I was so slow that the others went ahead without me.
“Leftover sandwiches from yesterday’s dinner?” I ask through a yawn.
“No.” Meera smiles. “Pancakes.”
I look at her in surprise, and then we both start laughing. I wonder if pancakes were always on the menu for today or if a lingering smell in the kitchen inspired the chef.
This morning’s pancakes are soggy and bland. I would be complaining along with everyone else if it weren’t for the looks I keep sharing with my cabinmates. I nearly snort milk out my nose watching Sarah’s frown as she takes bite after disappointing bite.
Sharing a delicious secret with my new friends makes me feel a lot better. But once breakfast is over, the morning takes a turn for the worse.
We go outside and separate into our teams. I guess Austin didn’t bother to check the list ahead of time. I can see the disgust on his face as soon as he realizes we will be working together.