Willows vs. Wolverines
Page 22
“There’s one more treat I want to give you guys,” Val says. “The kitchen has agreed to let us have a few boxes of leftover Popsicles. Anyone want to come with me to get them?”
My heart leaps; if I volunteer, everything can be like it was before for a few short minutes. But that’s just a reflex. Things aren’t like they were before, and maybe that’s okay.
“I’ll go,” Roo says. “Anyone else? Ava? Izzy?”
I smile and shake my head, and then I sit back down between Lexi and Mei. “No thanks,” I say. “I think I’d rather stay here.”
* * *
After the sun sinks below the horizon, we gather at the fire pit for our very last all-camp activity. The campfire’s already blazing, shooting sparks up into the sky as the Willows take our places on an empty log in the second row. Mackenzie’s perched on the very end of the next log over with the Maples, and I make all my cabinmates shift to the left so I can sit next to her. Lauren’s on her other side, and for the first time ever she doesn’t look annoyed to see me.
“Hi, Izzy,” she says. “Thanks for the sandwich this morning. It was really good.”
I’m still not Lauren’s biggest fan, but I just say, “You’re welcome,” and Mackenzie smiles at me.
Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn around to find Josh sitting on the log behind us. “You better spend the next eleven months preparing some seriously epic pranks, because I’m not letting you off easy next year like I did this year.”
I laugh. “Oh, please. You know you’re no match for me. And anyway, you won’t be part of the prank war next year, even if I end up in Willow again. Won’t you be in Coyote?”
“Who cares about the official prank war? I’m talking about us. You round up a few girls, I’ll round up a few guys, and may the best man win.”
“The best woman, you mean.”
“We’ll see.” Josh leans forward and tucks a slip of paper into my hand. “That’s my e-mail. Let me know if you pull off anything really amazing during the school year, okay? Or just, you know, write to me about whatever.”
“Okay,” I say. “I will.” I smile at him and tuck the paper deep into the pocket of my shorts, where it’ll be safe.
Doobie gets up on a log in the center of the circle and leads us in the Foxtail Anthem, and then she does a little good-bye speech. It’s the normal clichéd stuff about how we’re the best group of Foxes the camp has ever had and how she’ll miss us, but it still makes a warm sense of belonging bloom inside me. The counselors have rigged up a screen on the far side of the fire pit, and when Doobie presses a button on her laptop, a battery-powered projector springs to life and starts showing Roo’s famous slide show. Our entire summer flashes before my eyes, set to a medley of peppy songs about foxes. Mei was right when she told me being in Roo’s cabin makes you a celebrity; there are way more pictures of us than of anyone else. There I am, posing with my arms around Lexi and Ava, wearing my dance costume over Val’s FOXY shirt. There’s Mei and me laughing in the mess hall after the spaghetti prank. There I am getting my hair braided by Val, leaping onto Stuart’s back in my Sea Witch costume, holding up my medal after Color Wars. I feel really lucky that Roo was around to document everything. Although she did sneak in that one photo of me with hot sauce all over my face.
When the slide show ends, a bunch of the counselors make their way into the center of the circle with giant drums. I look at Mackenzie like, What’s happening? and she shrugs. It’s nice to be able to communicate with her wordlessly again.
“Who is stronger than an ox?” all six counselors shout together.
“I am! I am! I’m a fox!” we shout back.
“Who here thinks outside the box?”
“I do! I do! I’m a fox!”
“Who’s as steady as the rocks?”
“I am! I am! I’m a fox!”
“Who’s more graceful than the hawks?”
“I am! I am! I’m a fox!”
I think about our first day of camp, when Mackenzie grumbled that this was the stupidest chant ever. Now my best friend and I have our hands up on our heads to represent fox ears, just like everyone else, and it doesn’t seem stupid at all. It feels exactly right.
The counselors sit down around the fire, place their drums between their knees, and start to play. The rhythm is simple at first, and we all clap along, chanting, “Foxtail, Foxtail, burning bright! You’re my heart’s one true delight!” Then a couple of drummers start taking off in different directions and banging out more complicated patterns. It gets louder and louder until I can feel the rhythm thumping in the center of my chest, stronger than my own heartbeat.
I’m so caught up in watching them that it takes me a second to realize nearly all the campers are on their feet. Lexi holds out her hand to me and shouts, “Come on, Iz!”
I stand up and give her my left hand, then hold out my right to Mackenzie, who springs to her feet and takes it without a trace of her usual hesitation. She grabs on to Lauren on the other side, and everyone starts moving in circles around the fire together. For a second I wonder if this is one last choreographed Foxtail tradition I haven’t learned, but everyone seems to be doing something different, swaying and hopping and shaking their hips to the beat. Lexi’s whipping her hair around, and it reminds me of the way we danced with Val after the spaghetti prank. I shoot Mackenzie a smile over my shoulder, and she beams right back at me as she bops her head and stomps her purple-sneakered feet in time with the drums.
I raise my face to the star-splashed sky, grip my friends’ hands tightly, and break into a dance that’s entirely my own.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It takes a summer camp to raise a book—wait, that’s how that saying goes, right? Infinite thanks to the following people:
Camp director (and editor) Amy Cloud, who sees the big picture in ways I can’t and makes my stories the best they can be.
Head counselor (and agent) Holly Root, who’s always there to soothe me when I wake up in the middle of the night, homesick and scared.
Camp nurse (and copy editor) Adam Smith, who bandages my writing’s scraped knees and medicates its poison-ivy-covered sentences.
All my camp chefs, the Aladdin staff, who work tirelessly behind the scenes to nourish my books and send them out into the world healthy and strong.
My cabinmates (and early readers): Caroline Carlson, Claire Legrand, Nicole Lisa, Jen Malone, Kayla Olson, Lindsay Ribar, Heidi Schulz, and Michelle Schusterman. Making lifelong friends is the best part of camp (and of being an author), and even on my darkest, most mosquito-bitten days, you ladies make it all worth it for me.
Camp groundskeepers—cover artist Angela Li and art director Jessica Handelman—who make my books look absolutely gorgeous.
Lifeguards Anna-Marie McLemore and Kim Baker, who blew their whistles when I swam out past the buoys. Thanks for answering all my questions about Izzy’s heritage.
Camp historians Lauren Magaziner and Danny Rooney, whose stories gave me so many ideas for this book.
My old stomping ground, Camp Echo, where I learned to ride a horse, shoot a target, paddle a canoe, and convincingly pretend I knew the lyrics to pop songs.
And my mom and sister, Susan Cherry and Erica Kemmerling, who wrote me letters every single day I was away. Knowing you were waiting for me at home made leaving camp much easier.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alison Cherry is the author of the YA novels Red, For Real, and Look Both Ways and the middle-grade novels The Classy Crooks Club and Willows vs. Wolverines. She is a professional photographer and spent many years working as a lighting designer for theater, dance, and opera productions. Like Izzy, she went to sleepaway camp in Michigan, where her favorite activities were horseback riding and archery. Visit her online at alisoncherrybooks.com.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Aladdin hardcover edition April 2017
Text copyright © 2017 by Alison Cherry
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Jacket designed by Jessica Handelman
Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia
The text of this book was set in Bembo Std.
This book has been cataloged with the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4814-6354-6 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-6356-0 (eBook)