“Shut up,” he yells, and I think maybe he’s going to kick me or try to stomp on me or something, but I also think maybe he’s going to just freak out and start crying in front of everyone. And that makes me laugh harder, because I suddenly get it that, oh my God, he’s just like Tilly. Except, of course, that Tilly doesn’t have a penis—and that’s such a bizarre thing to think that I just keep laughing and it feels like there’s no way I’m ever going to stop. I’m laughing when Candy sees me lying on the ground and comes to ask if I’m okay, and I’m laughing when Scott comes over to grab Lincoln, who’s started to hit me with these sad weak punches that barely even hurt.
I laugh until there are tears running down my face and my nose is all gross and slick with snot. And if there’s any chance that maybe I’m crying about some other thing entirely, it doesn’t even matter, because who would ever be able to know for sure? Nobody, not even me.
• • •
The week of the Fourth of July is a little less busy than usual, because we only have two Guest Camper families instead of three. I overheard my dad talking to Tom about it; I guess they didn’t get many people signing up, because it was a holiday week, so Scott decided to charge more money for it and call it a “special intensive workshop retreat” or something like that. But other than the fact that there are fewer people than usual, we don’t seem to be doing anything differently.
The Fourth is on a Wednesday this year. On Tuesday, after dinner, I’m on my way down to the lake, because Scott said we could have a Moonlight Swim, when I run into Ryan’s mom, Diane, who’s looking for Henny Penny. She gets out of the henhouse fairly regularly. I think maybe she’s smarter than all of us, or maybe we’re just not as good at building things as we think we are.
“I’ll look for her,” I say. “I know all her hiding places.”
I drop my towel on the ground and head toward the woods. Sometimes Penny wanders in there. It’s dusky out, and the sun is starting to go down, but it’s still light enough that I don’t need a flashlight.
I walk past the point where the path ends, past the place where the stupid thing with Lincoln and Ryan happened, and I continue through the trees, making soft little clucking noises as I go. Right when I’m starting to think that I should turn around, because she’s obviously not here, I search the trees to my left, and my eye catches on something that’s a royal blue kind of color. It’s not like I’m paying much attention, but my brain notices that that’s not a color you usually see in the forest. I stop walking, and look for a minute, trying to figure out what it is.
And suddenly, my heart is beating fast, and I want to get back to camp as fast as I possibly can. Because I think maybe there’s something hiding out there in the woods, after all.
• • •
By the morning, I’ve pretty much calmed myself down. It’s a tent; I’m pretty sure that the thing I saw in the woods was a tent. I don’t know why it got me so scared—people go camping, it’s not like a supernatural occurrence. And maybe it even belongs to somebody here at camp. No reason to get freaked out.
It is kind of a mystery, though, and because it’s the Fourth of July and a holiday and everything, it seems like it might be fun to investigate it. After breakfast, we have some free time, and Tilly and Candy and I head into the woods.
At first, I get us all a little bit lost, because I can’t remember exactly which way I went when I was looking for Penny (who we found behind the dining hall, by the way). But eventually I recognize some of the trees that I walked past.
It’s a hot day, even in the forest, where there’s more shade. It doesn’t really feel like a holiday. I don’t even know if we’re going to get to see any fireworks.
We keep walking, but I’m starting to figure out that the tent’s not there. I retrace my steps a little, until I’m sure I’m in the right place, but no. Nothing.
“I swear it was here,” I say, but I don’t sound too convincing.
“Maybe it was just someone camping, and they left,” says Tilly.
“Weird place to camp,” says Candy. “The closest water is the lake, and to get there, you’d have to walk through all our cabins and everything.”
“Maybe you imagined it,” says Tilly. She’s not really joking, exactly. It’s just that whenever something happens that doesn’t have an easy explanation, she starts looking for ways to make it work.
“No,” I say. “I didn’t imagine it.”
“Or maybe it was a dream,” said Tilly.
“Well, anyway,” I say, “it’s not here anymore.”
“Maybe somebody was filming a movie, and they had to film a camping scene . . .”
“Tilly,” I say. It gets annoying sometimes. “I really doubt there was a film crew out here. Whoever it was . . .”
Candy stops me from talking by putting a finger in the air. She looks like she’s listening for something. And then I hear it, too: leaves rustling, just a little. And then a branch snaps.
We all turn around, the three of us. There’s a man—someone I’ve never seen before—walking toward us. I let out a little scream, not because he seems particularly scary, but because I’m so surprised. Tilly grabs my arm, and we’re both ready to run if we have to.
The man raises his hand in a wave. Candy’s leaning forward like she’s trying to see better, and then she takes a few steps toward the man.
“Daddy?” she says.
The man smiles the kind of great big smile that almost turns into laughing. “Candy,” he calls out.
He opens his arms, and she runs into them.
• • •
Tilly and I stand there awkwardly while Candy and her dad have their reunion. Before they’re even done hugging Tilly asks, “No offense, but why are you here? I thought you and Diane were divorced.”
Candy’s dad pulls away from Candy and turns to us and smiles. It’s a weird smile, not mean, but just the way people look sometimes when they’ve just met Tilly and don’t really get her yet.
“Uh, yeah,” he says. “Candy, do you want to introduce us?”
“Yeah, sure,” says Candy. She’s beaming and holding on to her father’s arm. “Dad, these are my friends Tilly and Iris. Guys, this is my dad, Michael McNeil.” Her voice has that formal kind of tone that you get when you have to use your parents’ real names.
“His last name isn’t Gough?” asks Tilly.
“No,” says Candy, sounding annoyed. “Neither is mine.”
“What about Ryan and Charlotte?”
I nudge my elbow against Tilly’s arm a couple of times, because I don’t think Candy and her dad want to explain their whole family history right now.
Candy’s dad is looking around, like he’s making sure no one else is coming. I think maybe he’s nervous. “Hey,” he says. “Do you guys like fried dough?”
“Oh my God,” says Candy. “That would be amazing. You would not believe the healthy crap we’ve been eating here.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Tilly says, “but I’ve never had it. It’s like a funnel cake, but flat, right?”
Candy’s dad makes an exaggerated face like his eyes are bugging out. He seems nice. “You guys’ve never had fried dough?”
We shake our heads. “Oh my gosh,” he says, shaking his head. “We have got to remedy that ASAP. I am taking you guys to Weirs Beach.”
Candy lets out a little shriek, and Tilly says, “Yes! Score!”
We’ve been hearing about Weirs Beach ever since we got here. Seems like most of the Guest Campers either go there before they get to Camp Harmony or else right after they leave. There’s a boardwalk and bumper cars, pizza and arcade games and mini-golf. It sounds so fun.
“Okay,” I say. “Let me just run and tell my mom.” I didn’t even think I was hungry, but now I’m thinking about cotton candy and whatever that funnel cake thing is, and I can’t wait. My mouth is actually water
ing.
“Well, wait just a sec,” says Candy’s dad. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, but I have a feeling that if you tell your parents, they’re not going to let you go.”
“You want us to just go, without telling anybody?” asks Tilly. I can see her thinking about it.
“He’s right, though,” says Candy. “They’ll never say yes.”
“Yeah,” says Tilly. “I guess they wouldn’t.”
“How long will we be gone?” I ask.
Candy’s dad shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be long. I’ll drive you back and drop you off whenever you want.”
“They probably won’t even notice we’re gone,” says Tilly.
I sigh. “I don’t know.” I sound so whiny, like a little kid. But I’m afraid we’ll get in trouble.
Candy’s dad reaches out a hand toward my arm, but doesn’t quite touch it. “Hey, Iris,” he says. His voice is serious. It’s nice that he paid attention to my name and remembered it. He says, “It’s totally okay if you don’t want to go. It’s completely up to you.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know . . .” I hear Candy sigh. Ugh, I hate this. Now it’s like I’m the baby who’s messing things up for the older kids. God, it’s hot. I wipe some sweat away from my forehead.
Candy’s dad is still leaning toward me, and now he smiles, just a little. “No pressure, but you know what else they’ve got there?”
He waits until I look up at him. I shake my head.
His lowers his voice to a stage whisper. “Snow cones.”
• • •
It’s strange to be in a car again. Candy’s sitting up front with her dad, and Tilly and I are in the back. It took us a while to walk to the road from the woods without going through camp, but Candy’s dad seemed to know his way.
“So were you actually camping out there?” Candy asks, as we’re putting on our seat belts.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve been here since Monday.”
“Were you spying on us?” asks Tilly. She sounds sort of excited at the thought.
He throws us a quick look, kind of apologetic. “Well, a little bit.” He pauses. “Not my finest moment, probably, but I’ve just been so worried.” He keeps his eyes on the road, but reaches across to Candy and squeezes her shoulder.
“Why were you worried?” she asks.
“Oh, you know,” he says. “I couldn’t get in touch with you or your mom, I hadn’t heard a thing from you in a month.”
“I sent you a letter,” Candy says. I don’t know why I never told Candy about the envelope I found in the trash. It just seemed . . . like something Scott would want to be a secret, I guess.
“Well, I didn’t get it. And you’re out here in the middle of nowhere with that nutcase . . .”
“What nutcase?” asks Tilly.
“Do you mean Rick?” asks Candy. Her voice is tight, like she’s ready to fight about this. It’s funny because I didn’t think she liked Rick much, but I guess it’s one of those things where you can make fun of people in your family, but other people can’t. Not even your real dad.
“No, sweetie,” says her dad. “Rick’s fine. I know we’ve had our differences, but . . . no, I’m talking about the head guy. Bean.”
“Scott?” I say.
“Scott’s a nutcase?” asks Tilly. Like it’s a factual question, like whether he has Italian heritage or something. Like if this guy says yes, she’s just going to take his word for it.
“Dad,” says Candy, with that irritated-teenager voice. It occurs to me that she must not get to do that very much: be annoyed with her dad. In addition to all the ordinary stuff, like not eating dinner with him every night, she also doesn’t get a chance to get mad at him because he’s telling lame jokes or he won’t let her go out after dark or whatever.
“Okay,” says Candy’s dad. “Maybe not ‘nutcase.’ I just mean that your mom and Rick are the ones who signed up to join this thing and go live in the woods with a bunch of strangers. It’s not something I picked, and I don’t have to trust the guy just because they do.”
“Why don’t you trust him?” asks Candy.
Her dad shrugs. “I’ve done some research. He’s not a doctor, he’s not a psychiatrist. Not that he claims to be, I guess. He just says he’s an educator, but still, where does he get the expertise? I set up a Facebook page a couple of weeks ago, when I couldn’t get in touch with you. It’s called Families Against Scott Bean, and it’s taken off like crazy. People have just been coming out of the woodwork. Turns out that this guy’s past isn’t as squeaky-clean as he wants people to think. Like he got fired from a teaching job for hitting a kid, and . . .”
“Hey, can I use your phone?” Tilly asks. She’s pointing at an iPhone sitting in the cup holder next to the driver’s seat; she’s already reaching out to take it.
Candy’s dad scoops up the phone before she can grab it. “Well, wait just a minute there,” he says. “What do you want it for?”
I can tell he’s thinking the same thing I am, which is: Is she thinking about calling Scott? Or maybe looking up that website?
But she says, “I just want to see if you have any good games,” and he passes it back to her, after taking a minute to put it in airplane mode. Like that would stop Tilly if she really wanted access to the Internet.
The rest of the ride is just Tilly playing Angry Birds and Candy and her dad talking quietly in the front seat about people I don’t know. I watch the scenery out the window, which mostly doesn’t look familiar, even though I know I saw it all a month ago when we first got here. It’s kind of funny to realize that we haven’t left camp once in all that time; I hadn’t thought about it much. But I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in the same place like that for so long. I feel almost like claustrophobic in retrospect; now that we’re away from Camp Harmony, I don’t really want to go back anytime soon.
Finally the Weirs Beach sign comes into view, and I’m the first one to see it: blue with big white letters and a curvy red arrow made of lightbulbs. I bet it looks awesome at night when it’s all lit up.
Candy’s dad parks the car, and we get out. The parking lot is right next to the beach, which looks not all that different from the beach at camp, but nicer somehow. Wider and more festive, with lots of people swimming and stretched out on towels. Everything seems a little more colorful. There are people sitting at picnic tables, and kids playing with beach toys, even though lake sand sucks for building sand castles. For a minute, I wish that we had our bathing suits, but then I remember that we couldn’t go back to get them, because we didn’t tell anyone we were leaving. It makes me feel kind of scared. I look across the lake, at the ring of green trees all along every edge, and wonder where exactly my parents are, and whether they’ve noticed we’re gone yet.
“This way, girls,” says Candy’s dad. We walk past a random wooden gazebo sitting on some grass right in the middle of the parking lot, and go up a flight of stairs to the boardwalk. Tilly and Candy and I all stop and look around for a minute. It’s pretty crowded here, and we feel funny after not being anywhere public for so long. Tilly moves a little closer to me and nudges me with her arm. I take her hand and hold on to it as we start walking again.
“Okay,” says Candy’s dad. “I see pizza, video arcade, old-time photos. Looks like the food stands are down this way.”
He takes us to the fried dough counter and buys us all some. It’s really good, maybe even better than a funnel cake. Less crispy, more . . . well, doughy, I guess.
Then Tilly wants to go to the arcade, and Candy’s dad says, “Hey, you know what I’d like to do, Candy? Let’s get one of those old-fashioned pictures taken, like we did that time on the Cape, remember?”
So he gives me and Tilly twenty dollars to play games, and they go off to the photo place.
We finish eating, and then we’re thirsty, so
we buy some lemonade. By the time we walk away from the fried dough stand and head to the arcade, Tilly’s shirt is covered with powdered sugar. We stop for a minute, so I can help her brush it off, and when I’m done I see that we’re standing right in front of the vintage photo store. I look through the window, trying to see if I can see Candy and her dad, all dressed up. I love those old-fashioned dresses. But the store is totally empty, except for the guy behind the counter. Candy and her father are nowhere in sight.
chapter 31
Iris
July 4, 2012: New Hampshire
They’re not in the antique photo place, and when we walk back to the parking lot, the car is gone. I feel scared, all of a sudden, and kind of dizzy. I sit down on the hot grass, setting my paper plate and cup down next to me.
“Hey,” says Tilly, patting her pocket and leaving a smear of powdered sugar on her shorts. “I still have his phone. We can call him. Oh, wait . . .” She laughs.
“Tilly,” I say. I don’t think she’s getting it. “How are we going to get back to camp?”
“Well, Candy will probably tell them that we need to get picked up when she gets there.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if her dad is taking her back to camp,” I say. “He didn’t seem to think she should even be there.”
I can see Tilly start to panic. “Oh no, oh no!” she says, her voice getting louder until she’s almost yelling. Now she’s more freaked out than she needs to be. I get what my mom means about Tilly seeing everything in black and white, with no gray. “What are we going to do? What if we never get back to camp? What if we never see Mommy and Daddy again?”
“That’s just stupid,” I say. I’m feeling mean, but then Tilly’s face crumples up like a little kid’s, and instantly I regret it.
She starts crying (wailing, really), so loud that people are beginning to stare at us. “You don’t have to yell at me,” she gasps when she has enough breath for it. I didn’t really yell, but I guess that’s not the point.
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