The guy turns away and shouts, “Danny! Some girl’s here to see you.”
“Who is it?”
“How should I know?”
“Redhead?” asks Danny. He sounds hopeful, and I realize he thinks I’m Val.
“No. Some kid.”
A few seconds later Danny appears on the other side of the screen. “Hey, it’s you again! Emmy, right?”
“It’s Izzy, actually,” I say.
“Oh, sorry. You here to extort me for more frozen treats? Is Val with you?”
“No, she’s eating dinner,” I say. “And I’m not here for Popsicles. But do you have any Marshmallow Fluff in there? And peanut butter? And chocolate syrup? And toaster waffles? And leftover bananas?”
“No waffles, but I think there might be a few jars of Fluff in the pantry,” Danny says. “There’s chocolate syrup and peanut butter for sure, and we’ve got a ton of bananas that are about to go bad. Why? Do you guys want to cook something during Cabin Group tomorrow?”
“No,” I say. “This can’t wait till tomorrow. Listen, I know this is a weird question, but . . . if I needed to make about a hundred chocolate-peanut-butter-banana-Fluff sandwiches after everyone goes to bed tonight, do you think you could help me make that happen?”
CHAPTER 27
For the second night in a row, I sneak out the back door of Willow Lodge after everyone’s asleep. It’s a lot scarier walking through the dark alone than it was with nine other girls—I jump at practically every sound—and I kind of wish I’d recruited a few of my friends to help me out tonight. Mei and Lexi and Josh all probably would’ve done it. But it wouldn’t be fair of me to pawn any of this work off on someone else. This is a project I have to do alone.
Danny’s in the kitchen when I arrive, and there’s a welcoming golden rectangle of light splashing out of the screen door and onto the grass. He’s got Spanish music playing through an iPod dock, and it makes me feel at home. “Hey,” I say. “Is this Ximena Sariñana?”
“Yeah,” he says, obviously surprised. “You know her?”
“My aunt’s obsessed with her. She plays this album all the time.”
“It’s cool if you want to put on something else,” Danny says. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff on my phone.”
“No, leave it. I like it.”
There’s a huge pile of ingredients on the butcher block island in the center of the room: Fluff jars, Hershey’s syrup bottles, an enormous, half-used vat of peanut butter, six loaves of bread, and a pile of bananas speckled with brown. Everything I need to craft the perfect apology. “This is great,” I say. “Thank you so much for helping me. Are you going to get in huge trouble?”
“I hope not,” he says. “It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Tomorrow’s the last day of camp, and we can’t donate leftover stuff to the food pantry if it’s already been opened. So we’d have to throw out pretty much everything but the bread, anyway.”
“Well, if you do get in trouble, tell them it was all my fault, okay? Tell them I held a knife to your throat and forced you.”
Danny laughs. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but I appreciate the thought. I hope this friend of yours is worth it.”
“She is,” I say. “She definitely is.”
“So, where do we start?”
Assembling the sandwiches would go a lot quicker with two people, but I feel like this gesture will mean more if I do everything myself. So I tell him all I need him to do is put each finished sandwich in a Zip-loc bag. He tries to argue with me at first, but he must sense how much this whole thing means to me, because he gives in pretty quickly.
The first couple of sandwiches take a while, but soon I fall into a rhythm. Peanut butter on one side, Fluff on the other, sliced banana and a liberal drizzling of chocolate in the middle, so the bread won’t get soggy. I cut the sandwiches diagonally—the only acceptable way—and with each stroke of my knife, I think, I’m so sorry, Mackenzie. Please forgive me. My mom once told me about this book she read where a girl could taste the emotions of the people who prepared her food, and I hope that when Mackenzie eats one of these, she’ll know exactly how I feel.
Danny’s asleep on the butcher block island by the time I finish hours later. I poke him awake, and he helps me pack the sandwiches into boxes and carry them to the lawn outside Maple Lodge. I thank him again for helping me pull this off, but he’s too tired to form sentences, so he just waves his hand like “don’t mention it” and trudges off to get a few hours of sleep. Once I’m on my own, I pull out my flashlight and the reference drawing I made during Free Time, and I get to work.
Twenty minutes later, the lawn in front of Mackenzie’s cabin is covered in one hundred and three ChocoNanaFlufferNutter Delights, spelling out I’M SORRY in gigantic letters. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to win Mackenzie back, but I finally feel like I’ve done my best for my best friend. I sit down next to the S, pull the hood of my sweatshirt up against the chill, and settle in to wait for morning.
I mean to stay awake all night as a punishment for being an awful friend, but I can’t help it—I fall asleep almost immediately. The sun is all the way up when I jolt awake to the sound of Lauren’s voice. “Mackenzie? Your . . . um . . . Izzy’s out here.” I hate the way she pauses. She was obviously going to say “your friend Izzy” and then thought better of it.
Mackenzie appears in the doorway in her seahorse pajamas, and I peel my face off the grass and scramble to my feet. Her eyes widen as she takes in my message on the lawn. I feel like I should have a boom box on my shoulder like in one of those cheesy old movies, or at least some sort of grand, eloquent speech prepared. But I fell asleep before I could come up with anything like that, so I guess the sandwiches will have to speak for themselves.
“I brought you something,” I say, because I can’t just stand here in silence like a weird creeper.
“Are those . . . sandwiches?” she asks.
“ChocoNanaFlufferNutter Delights. One hundred and three of them.”
“Where did you get a hundred and three sandwiches?”
“I made them,” I say, like that’s a totally normal thing to do in the middle of the night. “Want one?”
Mackenzie starts to smile as she comes down off the steps, and I hand her the nearest sandwich. “Are you going to have one too?” she asks.
“Can I? They’re yours.”
“Of course. I can’t eat a hundred and three sandwiches by myself.”
“Okay.” I take one, and we open our bags. I let Mackenzie take a bite first, and then I dig in.
“Not as good as Midnight Snack at Sweetwater,” I say.
“Not bad, though.” Mackenzie takes another bite. “It’s kind of a good breakfast food, actually.”
We chew in silence for a minute, and then I say, “Listen, I’m really sorry. About everything. In case that wasn’t clear from the fact that these sandwiches literally spell out ‘I’m sorry.’ I should never have ditched you to hang out with Roo and Lexi and Ava. Having you as a friend is so much better than being in charge of a prank war. And I shouldn’t have used your pranks without giving you credit, even if you said I could. I know I made you feel like you weren’t important, but I think you’re really, really important. Like, the most important. And I miss you so much, and I want everything to go back to how it was before. So can we just . . . make that happen? Please?”
Mackenzie’s quiet for way too long, staring down at her half-eaten sandwich. “Thanks for saying all of that,” she finally says. “But . . . I don’t think so.”
My stomach twists a little, but I guess I shouldn’t have expected it to be that easy. “I’m not saying you have to forgive me right this second. You’re probably still supermad. I screwed up, and I get that. You can think about it as long as you need to. But you’ll forgive me sometime, right? Sometime soonish?”
“It’s just—Here’s the thing,” Mackenzie says. “I don’t really want things to go back to how they were before.”
“You don’t? Not ever?”
She sighs and fiddles with the earpiece of her glasses. “No, it’s not— I’m not saying I don’t want to be friends with you. But things are kind of different now, after this summer, you know? Like, when we first got here, I was . . . I mean . . .”
She stops and shakes her head quickly, like she’s trying to erase her words. She always does that when she realizes she’s started a story in the wrong place and wants to try again. We had a counselor at Camp Sweetwater who used to call her the human Etch A Sketch, and I smile a little at that memory.
Mackenzie takes a deep breath and starts over. “Okay. So, you’re, like, this amazing person, right? You’re funny and smart and brave, and you make friends in two seconds, and it’s not even hard for you. You’re not scared of anything. And I’ve always just been, like, there. Hovering in the background. Like I’m your sidekick or something.”
I can’t believe Mackenzie thinks I treat her like Roo treats Lexi. “You’re not in the background!” I say. “That’s ridiculous. You were never my sidekick. We do everything together.” I swallow hard. “I mean, we did everything together.”
“Do you know how people at home introduce me when you’re not around?” Mackenzie asks. “They say, ‘This is Izzy’s friend.’ ”
“Well . . . you are my friend.”
“That’s not the point, though. I don’t want to be ‘Izzy’s friend.’ I want people to know who I am separate from you.”
“Come on, people do know who you are,” I say. “They just also know you’re my friend. Is that really so awful?”
“No, but that’s not all of who I am, and people seem to think it is. You seem to think it is, a lot of the time.” Mackenzie twists the corner of her sandwich bag. “Fighting with you is horrible, and I don’t want to do it anymore. But . . . maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that we spent some time apart, you know? I’d never done anything on my own, because you were always there taking over, so I assumed I needed you for everything. But it turns out I can totally do stuff by myself, and I can make my own friends, and they know me as me, and that’s . . .” She shrugs. “It’s kind of great, honestly.”
I once saw a movie where a bull charged straight into this bullfighter and stabbed him in the stomach with its horns. Mackenzie’s comment makes me feel exactly like that bullfighter. I don’t realize I’m crying until a tear drips off my chin and splashes onto my sandwich.
“Sorry,” Mackenzie says, but it’s not “sorry” like, I didn’t mean it. It’s “sorry” like, I wish the truth didn’t upset you.
“I never tried to keep you from doing stuff,” I say. “I was just trying to help you.”
“I don’t need help, though. I don’t need you to protect me all the time, or talk for me, or tell me what I think about things. I know what I think. I’m not five.”
“Well, I still need you.”
“You don’t, though. You had your own stuff going on, like, the second we got here. Stuff that had nothing to do with me. And it was awful when you started ditching me all the time, but I tried really hard to be okay with it and leave you alone. But then when I made some friends and started doing stuff on my own, you got so mad. It’s like it was okay for you to have everything, but you only wanted me to have you.”
I remember all the times I thought Mackenzie was holding me back. It’s so weird to hear that she thought the same thing about me.
“It’s okay with me if you have your own stuff,” I say. “You can do whatever you want. But can we have some stuff together again? It doesn’t have to be all the stuff.”
She finally looks straight at me, and she must see in my eyes that I mean it, because she nods. “Some stuff would be good,” she says. And then, slowly and tentatively, she holds out her pinkie. I’m so grateful that I grab on a little too hard, and she flinches, but she doesn’t let go.
We’re silent for a minute, and then she asks, “What are we going to do with all these sandwiches?”
“Huh,” I say. “I didn’t actually think about that. Give them out at flag raising?”
“If Doobie sees, won’t you get in trouble for sneaking into the kitchen at night?”
I shrug. “What’s she going to do, send me home? It’s the last day of camp.”
“I guess.” Mackenzie takes another bite, and then she smiles. “Thanks for making them for me.”
“I wish they’d had toaster waffles,” I say. “These don’t really taste right on bread, do they? And they’d be way better if the peanut butter were crunchy.”
“Sure,” Mackenzie says. “They’re not perfect. But this is a good start.”
CHAPTER 28
The second I get to Rock Climbing that morning, Doobie shows up to fetch me. She sits me down in her office and gives me a long, boring lecture about sneaking into the kitchen at night and how “all choices have consequences.” I’m scared she’s going to ban me from the camp forever, but it turns out all I have to do is come back during Free Time and spend an hour and a half sitting silently and “thinking about what I’ve done.” I ask if Danny’s going to be in trouble for helping me, but she won’t tell me. I hope he uses the knife-to-the-throat excuse if she tries to fire him.
It’s time for Water Skiing by the time she lets me go, but I’m basically a zombie—a wet lawn doesn’t make a great bed—and I keep falling asleep in the back of the boat. It’s clear I’m not going to make it through Ultimate Frisbee, so Val says I can go back to the cabin right after lunch and take a nap. It’s sad that I’ve basically missed my entire last day of activities, but the sandwiches were totally worth it. I barely manage to take my shoes off before I fall asleep facedown on top of my sleeping bag.
I wake up what feels like three seconds later to the banging of the screen door. “What time is it?” I ask Mei when I spot her near the foot of our bunk.
“Two thirty,” she says. “Better get up, it’s time for Cabin Group.”
I’m a rumpled mess, my eyes feel sticky, and my mouth tastes like a moth flew into it and died. I fumble my way into the bathroom, brush my teeth, and redo my braid. When I come out, Val has arrived, and she calls for our attention. “The closing campfire always runs late, and we probably won’t have time for Cabin Chat later,” she says. “I thought we could go sit somewhere nice, like the amphitheater, and do it now. What do you guys think?”
Everyone agrees, and we head outside. The amphitheater is beautiful at this time of day, all shady and cool and quiet. We sit in a circle in the center of the stage, the scene of our karaoke defeat, and the trees and tiers of stone steps surrounding us feel protective, like they’re trying to hug us. I’ve only been here a few times, but a pang of sadness goes through me when I think about how I won’t see it again until next summer. A few days ago I wouldn’t have thought this was possible, but I’m really going to miss Camp Foxtail.
When we’re all settled, I expect Val to ask a cheesy question like she did during our first Cabin Group, one that’ll make Roo roll her eyes. Maybe it’ll be something about accomplishing our goals or about our favorite thing that happened at camp. But instead she says, “I thought we’d do something different today. And I apologize in advance if it’s too sentimental, but you guys know how I am.”
Petra sighs. “Cheeseball McCheddar, right?”
“Correct,” Val says. “Guys, this has been my very best summer at Camp Foxtail, and you ladies have been such a big part of that.”
I bet Stuart has been a bigger part, says an annoying little part of my brain. I tell it to shut up.
“And so,” Val continues, “I made you each something to express my appreciation.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out what looks like a stack of paper plates, and I’m kind of intrigued even though I don’t want to be.
“Lexi Silverman, please stand up,” Val says, and Lexi gets to her feet. “I hereby present you with the Most Likely to Be Taylor Swift’s Best Friend Award. Taylor is a huge inspiration to young girls, and the way you conducted
yourself with such poise, kindness, and selflessness during Color Wars showed us all that you have a lot of the same qualities. Plus, you both sing and dance so well. I’m sure you two would get along great.”
Val turns the top plate around. It’s decorated with swirly cursive handwriting, cutouts of Taylor Swift’s face from magazines, and Lexi’s name in silver glitter. I wonder where Val got more glitter. I thought I’d used it all up.
Lexi’s eyes widen, and she takes the plate reverently. “OMG,” she breathes. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She throws her arms around Val, who hugs her back, and she looks so happy that it’s hard to feel jealous.
Val has made a paper plate award for each of us, which must’ve taken forever, and each one is perfectly suited to its winner. Mei gets Most Likely to Develop Superpowers, because she climbs so fast it’s almost like she’s levitating. Bailey gets Most Likely to Win the World Cup, and Hannah gets Most Likely to Win an Oscar for Special Effects Makeup. Summer gets Most Likely to Manage a Presidential Campaign, and Roo gets Most Likely to Take Over the World. Everyone laughs, but I can see how much it means to her. I wonder if she’s freaking out about going home, where she won’t be in charge anymore. Ordinarily, that’s how I’d be feeling right now. But after this morning, I’m kind of excited to go home and spend some quality time with my best friend.
My award is last, and my heart starts beating faster when Val says, “Izzy Cervantes, please stand up.” I get to my feet and force myself to look my counselor right in the eye, and she presents me with the Most Likely to Become a Criminal Mastermind Award. My paper plate is decorated with pictures of ninjas and spies and a cartoon bank robber, which makes me laugh. “Thank you for fearlessly leading us through the prank war, Iz,” Val says. “You are much funnier and cleverer and more creative than I’ll ever be, and I had so much fun watching you work your magic. Thanks for letting me be part of it.”
The compliments soothe the sting of betrayal I’ve been feeling for days, and I’m suddenly afraid I might cry. Val holds out her arms for a hug, and half of me wants to run away, to fight against believing that she cares about me in case I get drawn in again. But the other half wants to hug her back and breathe in the smell of her shampoo and sunblock and moisturizer, so that’s what I do. When it comes down to it, I’m pretty sure Val does care. It’s possible to care about more than one person at a time. She made mistakes, and she hurt me, but I made much bigger mistakes this summer, and the people I hurt still managed to forgive me. So I say, “Thank you,” and Val says, “Of course,” and then we both pull away. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough.
Willows vs. Wolverines Page 21