by Molly Booth
It wasn’t that satisfying. Whatever, Ben. Get to lunch, talk to Bee about what you heard at breakfast. She’d know what to do.
But lunch was a nightmare.
If Camp Dogberry had a gossip magazine, then Claudia and Hana would’ve been on the front page. In line, Sophia and Wallace talked about Hana’s mystery guy (guess she really took my outburst to heart). I passed Ellie, Dave, and Rachel whispering in hushed tones about Claudia’s broken heart. Gossip happened at camp, but something about this seemed especially off.
This gossip had a slant: Claudia wronged, Hana the wronger. Amid the bustling, in the corner, Donald and Claudia sat at a table, purposefully not looking my way. A couple younger counselors and CITs surrounded them, talking in excited, hushed tones.
Those. Assholes.
They were doing this. They were not only feeding the gossipflame, but putting their own spin on it so that Hana was the bad guy.
The screen doors slammed open and in walked Bee and Margo, escorting a group of campers. They showed their kids where to get food, where to sit. Bee’s single-minded concentration on the campers shouted her anger loud and clear. Margo looked around nervously, glancing at the evil table in the corner.
I tried to get near Bee, to warn her, but she artfully avoided me by offering to replenish the napkin baskets. I sat down with my sisters instead, for the Layla and Ava recap of life at home.
“And that’s why Mom won’t let us make a fourth cat elevator.” Layla sighed.
“How are we going to be engineers?” Ava demanded. “Where’s the support for the sciences in our house?”
Nessie jabbed a thumb at me. “Mom’s paying for Ben to go to doctor college, doofuses. Stop almost killing the cat and you’ll get support.”
I laughed; she shot me a small smile. I hoped she understood what I’d said earlier. I wasn’t mad at her, I just didn’t want her to forget that gossip could hurt people.
Lunch ended. I ran outside without staying to help clean up. There was too much on the line—I waited at the side entrance, nearest Luna, where like magic, Bee appeared, slamming open the door.
“Hey!”
“What!” she yelled, then saw it was me. “Fudge nuggets, Ben, what are you doing?”
“Can we talk now?”
“I need to get to class.”
“Please?” I knew she was early. She was always early.
She sighed and threw up her hands. I motioned for her to follow me, toward the back of the building where we’d have some privacy. As soon as we got there, I realized this was the spot where everything had gone wrong between us last summer. Don’t let it happen again.
Standing across from her, I saw she didn’t look much better than I did. Sleepy eyelids, braids hastily bunched, no earrings. Not exactly typical Bee.
“Look, you were right,” I explained. “Claudia and Donald shut me out all weekend, they’re still shutting me out, and I think—”
“This isn’t about you, Ben.”
“Can you let me finish?”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms. Clearly she was still skeptical.
“Everyone knows,” I said, lowering my voice. “I’ve heard it all morning, all through lunch. The story’s that Hana cheated on Claudia, and Claudia’s heartbroken, and Hana’s an asshole. And I’m not telling them that, and I’m assuming you aren’t.”
Bee sighed a sigh so large I swear it blew my hair back. “I know…I heard some of it this morning.” She paused, then raised her eyebrows at me. “But wait, aren’t they your friends?”
“Not if they’re doing this!” I tried not to yell. I gestured at Dam, at the general camp. “This is—crap. It’s unforgivable.”
“It’s socially and morally reprehensible,” she spat out in agreement.
The mutual anger brought us a step toward each other. Up closer, I saw in her eyes that something else was wrong.
Her face softened, her arms went from crossed to lightly intertwined. She started talking, on her own this time. “I’ve spent all weekend messed up about it. It feels like everything’s…” She sighed. “Everything’s fallen apart.”
She looked so vacant, so tired. I wanted to hug her so badly. Turns out, she did, too, because suddenly she was pressed up against me, and my arms circled around her.
“I didn’t want to write you off,” she whispered.
“Please don’t,” I said, squeezing her. “I promise I’m on your side.”
“Her side.”
“Her side.” As I said, I realized the thing I’d seen in her eyes, the other thing that was wrong. I pulled back. “Bee, where’s Hana?”
Her chin quivered. “Emergency therapy session.”
“Shit,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. Those crapheads, if they had any idea—”
“Don’t you dare say anything,” she fired back.
“Of course not,” I said, quietly. I felt my chin quivering back. “I’m just, I’m so sorry–”
“I have to get to class,” she said, squeezed my hand, wiped her eyes, and took off.
That evening, after evening games, for the first time, I used my activity leader privileges to skip the nighttime sing-along. I sprawled out in Luna, with a camp map and a notepad, planning out Wednesday’s event. For a couple years, I’d had a secret idea for how to win Capture the Flag. It was dirty, it wasn’t nice, and it didn’t follow most of the rules. When last year was my last year, I’d put the idea away forever.
But plans change.
And Claudia was going down.
TUESDAY MORNING SHONE through the window of my cabin. Mom had talked me into sleeping there. I know she thought I’d get up with everyone else, change, go down to the water early. I didn’t. I slept in, and then I watched the campers get up with Bee, go to the shower, come back, grab their things. I couldn’t imagine doing all of that, going to Dam, hearing their voices again.
“Hana cheated on Claudia.” “Claudia’s better off without her.” “Thought she was nicer than that.”
It sounded just like school.
“Do you actually think Chris was into her?” “It’s just kind of pathetic and sad.” “I didn’t want to say anything but…”
It was back; it was back; it was back.
The sun warmed the cabin and soon the air became thick and stuffy. I sweated through my sleeping bag. Kamile, a CIT, came to find me—I knew I was missing my first class. I pretended to be asleep. She said my name a few times, loudly, but didn’t have the guts to shake me. She left.
I fell half-asleep. The gray in-between sleep.
“Hana?”
I opened my eyes. Bee’s face hovered so close to mine, I groaned.
“Let’s go to the house, okay, sweets?”
I tugged sweats and a T-shirt on over my clammy skin. I felt like the third day of a terrible cold. Bee walked me around back, through the woods to get to Big Bat. I guess I wasn’t fit for the campers’ innocent eyes. I took some sick pleasure in that—See, Mom? I can’t go back to work.
At the house, Bee led me up the stairs to the shower and handed me a towel.
This was all so familiar.
This time I actually showered, I think. I was wet, then I was slightly less wet, then I was back in my sweats and my Messina Squids swim team shirt.
I wandered downstairs, paused on the last step, around the corner from the living room.
“You have to fire them!” Bee’s voice hissed.
“What I have to do is take care of your sister.” Mom’s voice, much calmer. “She needs to see Louisa again today.”
“Yes, definitely,” Bee replied. “And you have to fire Claudia and Donald.”
“We’ve talked about this.” They had? “I can’t fire people over a romantic dispute, Bee. Especially if it happened at a nonexistent party.”
“But, Mom, they’re bullying her. They’ve got the whole camp talking about her. It’s the Chris thing all over again.”
“Sometimes people talk about you—”
“Preaching to the i
rate choir, here, Mom.”
“—and then they stop. It’ll pass. You know that, Hana knows that. Like you said, she’s been through this before. Everyone’ll get bored by the new session.”
“She didn’t get out of bed this morning.”
“It’s a breakup, Bee, that’s kind of normal.”
“It’s not normal!”
“I know you’re scared, but we’ll get Hana in to see Louisa again this afternoon, and we’ll talk to her about getting back on the water tomorrow.”
Yeah, right.
“Aren’t you even worried about what happened last time?”
I bit my fist to keep from screaming. I was causing so many problems. Again.
“Bee! That’s enough! I think you know I love Hana, and I’m concerned for her.”
They must’ve moved to a different room, because the conversation morphed into angry muffles. I tiptoed back to my room, pushed in earplugs, climbed into bed, and hoped I would dream of kissing Claudia.
“VANESSA! HAVE YOU decided?” Sophia demanded, as we deposited compost. “Are you Team Claudia or Team Hana?”
“Don’t be gross!” I insisted, dumping oatmeal-french-fry-mayo mush onto the pile.
“I’m Team Claudia,” she said. “Hana was such a jerk the other day about the party. She totally blew us off.”
“But—”
“And if she cheated on Claudia, that’s super crappy.”
“Yeah,” Wallace agreed.
Had she? I wanted to ask. How did we know that for sure?
Ben’s comment had hit me hard. And I hadn’t told anyone about that weird conversation I’d overheard on Friday night/Saturday morning. How many people might hate me if I did?
For once, this didn’t seem like any of my business. Especially since I was just starting to get a handle on my CIT life. Get up ten minutes earlier than you want to, always keep extra Band-Aids in your pockets, and never let them see you flustered. My seven-year- olds felt a lot more manageable this week, which was good, because Margo was super out to lunch. Like, more than usual. I felt like I was running our group without her.
I snuck up behind Layla and Ava on the way to campfire. Layla screamed, and Ava turned and hugged me. I’d missed them so much, the stinkers. This was a much better week.
On the way back to our cabins, though, I heard two girls from Connie’s group, the eleven-year-olds, talking.
“Can you believe that?” one asked the other.
“At camp?” the other gasped.
“On the volleyball court.”
“Wow, what a slut.”
My mouth dropped open. I turned around and fell back with the little kids, grabbing the hands of the two who were already homesick. My heart pounded in my ears, I barely heard them singing “There Was a Great Big Moose.” I felt my voice echo their verses, while my thoughts were decidedly un-mooselike.
A slut?
Really?
Campers knew about this???
The littles brushed their teeth, which was a massacre, we tucked them in, and Margo sang to them. Then we went out onto the porch, like usual, me with my book, and Margo with her phone. But I couldn’t read.
Was it gossiping if you just went straight to the source?
“Margo?” I bit my lip.
“Mmm?” Margo asked, eyes glued to her screen.
“Can I talk to you about something?” I whispered.
“Give me a sec, darlin’….” She sent another text and then looked up and smiled at me. “What’s up?” Was I imagining things, or was her smile not reaching the freckles on her cheeks?
“I, umm, I heard a camp rumor.”
“Okay, Nessa.” Margo laughed. “You need to be a little more specific.”
I must’ve looked stricken, because she gave me a pat on the knee. “Spill, sweetie!”
“I heard this thing about Hana.”
Margo sighed as big as the moon. “Oh, that, yeah—don’t listen to that. Hana’s not a slut, or whatever. Slut is actually a not-real word, because women should be allowed to express their sexuality, too.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said quickly. “But what I need to tell you is that I overheard Bobby and Connie talking on Friday night.”
Margo’s head tilted.
“About that night?” I said. “They said a lot of things, but they kind of made it seem like…like they’d tricked people into thinking it was Hana and some guy on the volleyball court.”
“The volleyball court.”
“Yeah. They said that you and Bobby had been down there.” I winced saying the words. “And I think that maybe John told Claudia it was Hana and someone else? Or something?”
Margo set her phone down. She paused. I held my breath, waiting for her to explain this.
“That’s not true,” she said, finally. “None of that is true. You must’ve heard wrong.”
“But they said that John liked Claudia.” I was determined to get it all out. “And he does, doesn’t he? That’s what Rachel said that Connie said last summer.”
Margo’s face went so pale, her freckles disappeared. “I need to go to the bathroom.” She stood up and hopped off the porch. Then she turned back. “Just don’t…don’t repeat this, okay? I’ll take care of it.”
I paused, then nodded.
“Great.” She turned back to her phone, her fingers moving like lightning across the screen.
I had done it. I’d told someone. Someone who could do something. But I didn’t feel any better.
I THOUGHT I knew what Hana was feeling. Well, not exactly, because nobody can exactly be in someone else’s shoes. But I remembered feeling that stuck, and dark, and hopeless.
That January night that my mom took us all to Camp Dogberry wasn’t the first time I’d gone there that year. My mom didn’t know this, but I’d run away a few months earlier, Thanksgiving night two years ago. Tim’s family came over—they’re terrible, even compared to him—and they stressed him out so badly he roared at Ava at the dinner table, and the twins both burst into tears. Ava’d interrupted grace, or something stupid like that. I started to snap back, but my rotten “grandmother” said, “Can’t you just stop?” Like it was my fault—like I had been the one who’d started this. But my mom caught my eye from across the table, and I knew whatever I did was going to make it worse for her. Head pounding, I’d apologized. The kids made it through dinner silently, and none of us stuck around for dessert.
It was late. I told my mom I’d take my sisters for a drive so they’d fall asleep. All the girls had been car babies, and the hum of the road could still conk them out. I whispered I had my phone with me. She clearly had her hands full with our charming extended Tim family.
I had a secret thought, though. What if I took them and drove away and never came back?
The girls blinked tears as Nessa and I wrestled them into their pj’s and coats. I grabbed all our toothbrushes, just in case. I tucked the girls in the back seat of the car, and we pulled out of the driveway. After a couple rounds of camp songs, the twins fell asleep, and twenty minute later, Nessa fitfully drifted off to an audio book. And then I jumped on the highway.
I only stopped once, for gas—paid to fill the tank. A few hours later, we took the Messina exit, followed the brown signs with jaunty white lettering, and let the road slowly give way to dirt and gravel.
Camp Dogberry’s parking lot looked strange in the off-season. Empty, no check-in tent. It didn’t matter, though. The minute I pulled in, a sense of calm washed over me.
I thought about driving through and up to the main house, but seeing Bee felt like way too much. And though it would be great to see Nik and Andy, I couldn’t have explained why we were there without someone getting suspicious, or getting in touch with my mom.
And it’s Thanksgiving, duh. They might not even be there.
The parking lot it was, then. The girls were still fast asleep. I left the heat on and braced myself for the cold outside.
The air bit but didn’t feel s
o bad. I jogged over and sat down on the ground, right where the white tent would have stood. Where I checked kids in and out every summer; where I got checked in and out every summer.
What if we just stayed here? Vanessa, Ava, Layla, and I could learn to adapt to the winter camp temperatures. We could grow long white hairs all over our bodies, sturdy paws, thick black noses, slowly transform into polar bears. Maybe my mom could, too, if she ever actually left Tim.
Tim couldn’t turn into a polar bear. You knew just looking at him.
The water on my eyeballs got hard and sticky. I blinked. Was it really that cold? I tried to move my fingers; they creaked in protest.
But the block of ice in my chest had started melting. It didn’t feel great, but it felt better than before. Despite the sharp air, I could breathe.
Eventually, I stood up and went back to the car. I turned around and drove straight home. Nessa and I carried in the little girls, tucked them in their beds. Tim yelled at me for being gone for so long. Once he finished and stormed off to watch TV, my mom thanked me and kissed me goodnight.
I’d gone to bed that night feeling something more than despair. Hope. Summer was only six months away. Surely we could exist until then.
THIS WAS THE most dysfunctional week of camp, ever. Half our staff wouldn’t speak to one another anymore. I had to squash a newsletter poll of “Team Hana or Team Claudia.” I kept sending CITs to Monarch or Turtle instead of going myself. Claudia and Donald probably thought I was scared of them, but really, I was scared of my parents. I knew that they would kill me if I blew up.
They already wanted to kill me.
I woke up Wednesday morning: Capture the Flag. The air stuck to my skin. Scorcher in the making. I wrapped my blue bandanna over my braids and slipped out to Big Bat to check on Hana.
I walked in on a confrontation in the living room, my little sister in her sweats, snuggled defensively on the couch. Not dressed, curly hair matted. This was off to a good start.
“I’m leaving,” she said, with the force of someone who’s repeated themselves again and again.
“Pumpkin,” Dad sighed, “I don’t even know if Aunt Beth can take you for a whole summer.”