Camp Rolling Hills

by Stacy Davidowitz

  “Have fun finding your underwear, princesses!” Melman teased.

  “Oh, we will. And once we do, you’re gonna wish you had never started this war!” Dover shouted back.

  “You started it, cheese-brain,” Sophie laughed.

  “Ignore her, Major Dover,” Play Dough said.

  Rick gave the guys time to disappear over the hill before he confronted Bobby. “Well . . . ?”

  “What? I’m not giving anything back until I have my iPod.”

  “You of all people . . . ,” Slimey said sharply, folding her arms over her chest.

  “I had to take something!”

  “You know how much that locket means to me.”

  “Yeah, but the guys—”

  “Take responsibility for your actions, Bobby.”

  “Why don’t you take responsibility? You stole my iPod!”

  “Because I was mad at you!”

  “You stormed out on me! You made me look like an idiot!”

  “You ACTED like an idiot.”

  Bobby supposed she was right—he should’ve never pressured her to go backstage—and here he was, acting like a jerk all over again. He was tired of being the bad guy. “You know what? Here—just take your locket. I was gonna give it back, anyway. I only took it in the first place to keep it safe from the guys.” He flung Slimey’s necklace at her, and she caught it against her stomach. “Now you never have to talk to me again!”

  Bobby fell to the ground, buried his head in his hands with shame, and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t pretend it was sweat anymore. It was obviously dumb tears he wished would just stay put. Rick squatted down by his side.

  “Sara and I are gonna let you two have some alone time to figure this out.”

  Bobby gave him a look that obviously meant No, please don’t leave me alone with her, but Rick got up anyway.

  Bobby put his head down and picked at the grass. Slimey knelt down slowly. He wasn’t looking at her, but he could tell out of the corner of his eye that she was looking away. They sat in silence for what felt like eternity plus a bunch of boring Social Studies classes.

  “Hey. Here,” Slimey said with a cracking voice, her hand outstretched, offering Bobby his dad’s iPod.

  “You had it on you?” he asked with surprise, taking it from her slowly.

  “I snuck it to Arts and Crafts. To hear some of the songs.”

  “Why?”

  “Because even though I’m mad at you, I still . . . like you.”

  Wait—you do? Bobby wondered if he’d heard her right.

  “And I want to know more about you. You can tell a lot about a person by what songs he listens to.”

  Slimey already knew more about him than anyone else at Rolling Hills. He wondered what else she could possibly discover about him through his music. “So, what did you learn?”

  “That you have an old-school iPod with really old-school songs . . .”

  Bobby smiled. “I know. It’s a twenty-gig, second generation. It’s my dad’s old one with all his favorite songs.”

  “That makes sense. I mean, I get why listening makes you think of him.”

  “Yeah, except, like, there’s this song on here—‘Michelle,’ by the Beatles. Every time I hear it, it reminds me of when we played the marshmallow game together, ’cause, I dunno, it was the last song I listened to before I fell asleep that night. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

  “No, it does.”

  “ ’Cause I just think of— I mean, it makes me think of you. And then there’s this other one—it’s called ‘Layla.’ I was listening to it when you came over to talk to me on the bleachers.”

  “You think about all those times?”

  Of course I do. I like you, Slimey. I wanted to be your boyfriend, remember? He lowered his eyes to the iPod. “It’s cheesy, but most of the songs on my iPod make me think of you.”

  Slimey’s cheeks turned a shade of pink, and even though Bobby couldn’t see his own face, he could feel it turning reddish, too.

  “Bobby, did you really take my locket to protect it?”

  “Yeah. Play Dough was gonna take it. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “What about my Midsummer Dance dress?”

  “It was pretty . . .”

  “That’s why you took it?”

  “I didn’t take it. I was lookout the first time.”

  “Oh.” Slimey looked down and picked at the grass just like Bobby had been doing a minute ago. He could tell she felt bad for thinking the worst of him.

  “Is that why you took my iPod? Because you thought I took your dress?”

  Slimey looked up at him with her dark, apologetic eyes. She tried to say something, but she couldn’t make the words come out.

  Now Bobby felt guilty that she felt guilty, since he’d started the whole fight when he asked her to go backstage. “You know that night at the dance?”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “For what? I’m the one who messed up big-time. I shouldn’t have let Play Dough or anyone else get in the way.”

  “That’s true. I just kinda wish I hadn’t gotten so mad. It’s just that what our friends were all trying to do was . . . forced, you know?”

  “Yeah. Jamie can’t like me like . . . like how maybe you like me, because Jamie and I have never talked alone.”

  “I know! Right? But me and you. We click. I’ve told you things I haven’t even told Melman.”

  “You have?”

  “Don’t tell her that.” Slimey stuck out her pinky finger. Bobby gave her a clueless look. “Hook your pinky to mine and shake.”

  As their pinkies collided, Bobby could feel the electricity he’d felt when they were slow-dancing at the Midsummer Dance. But instead of it feeling amazing, like last time, now it just felt wrong. If Slimey was going to let herself trust him after what he’d done, he knew he’d better tell her the whole truth about himself. She might think he was a freak and never talk to him again, but better that happen now than later. He unlocked his pinky and scooted back.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Slimey, I really want to be honest with you, so we can start fresh.”

  “All right . . .”

  “You know how I once told you it’s OK to show you’re sad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And I said how I’m bad at hiding how I’m feeling?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I’m bad at it for a reason.”

  “Because of your stuff with your parents?”

  “Well, yeah, that’s part of it, but also I have . . .” He could feel his chest collapsing inward, his heart pounding a million miles per hour, his face getting hotter and redder.

  “What do you take for it?”

  “What?”

  “Or do you just see a therapist?”

  “Oh. I—well, I—” Slimey had caught him completely off guard. How did she know? “I used to go to a therapist, but then it wasn’t working that good, so I started taking these blue tablet things that help me not freak out.”

  “Do you take them at camp?”

  “I almost did. My mom sent them up a few days ago, but I didn’t want anyone to ask why I was going to the infirmary after breakfast, so I haven’t taken them yet.”

  “Why don’t you just tell the truth? Are you that afraid of what people might think?”

  “Yeah, I have anxiety over it.”

  Slimey laughed, which eased Bobby’s chest of some of the tightness.

  “I’m confused. Did someone tell you?”

  “No. It’s just that you said you can’t hide your feelings, and it makes you feel weird, and you’re bad at it for a reason, so I put the pieces together. It’s not like you’re the first person to have anxiety. My mom gets it. Ever since my dad passed, she’s been on all sorts of pills.”

  “But if getting upset isn’t weird to you, why do you hide your sadness at camp?”

  “I dunno. It makes people feel awkward or bad for me. They try to under
stand, but they can’t. And sometimes there’s someone who comes along who does understand, and it feels amazing. But if that person lets you down, you hurt even more.”

  “Like how I hurt you?”

  Slimey bit the inside of her cheek and averted her eyes, which told him the answer was yes. A wave of guilt and regret crushed Bobby. The way he’d acted at the Midsummer Dance was a jerk move, but to Slimey, it had been upsetting on a whole other level. She’d trusted him with personal stuff she didn’t even tell Melman, and once she opened up—once he encouraged her to open up—he’d hurt her all over again.

  “But it’s OK,” she continued. “Camp is the place I go to get away from all that.”

  All Bobby wanted to do in that moment was hold her, tell her everything was going to be OK, promise to never hurt her again, and swear he’d be there for her whether she was happy or sad.

  “Slimey?” She looked deep into his eyes, and even though they weren’t touching, the electricity was working just the same. “I’m so sorry. If you’ll forgive me, I promise to be there for you. So you don’t have to be the strong one all the time. I can be the strong one, too. Sure, I might have a panic attack in the middle of it, but—”

  “You already are.” Slimey inched toward Bobby like she was going to whisper something in his ear.

  He leaned forward, but instead of a whisper he felt a gentle touch on his cheek. Did Slimey just kiss me? Did SLIMEY just kiss ME? DID SLIMEY JUST KISS ME?!

  She drew back with a smile, stood up, and walked away toward Anita Hill Cabin. “See you later, Bobby,” she said over her shoulder.

  Bobby followed her with his eyes, just as he’d followed her after she’d stormed out of the Social Hall during the dance. But this time, the hotness in his face felt awesome. He tried to say something really cool or nice or sweet or smart or anything, really, but he was too stunned to speak. Instead, all that came out was a high-pitched squeak.

  Her ponytail swooshed as she turned around.

  Say something, Bobby! “Yeah, you . . . you too,” he stuttered.

  Slimey nodded with a big smile and skipped down the hill, glowing even from behind.

  TJ: Good morning, Camp Rolling Hills! Just a few brief announcements before we launch into this beautiful day.

  Captain: TJ, they need you right now!

  TJ: Yours truly will be joining Nurse Nannette in the infirmary to tend to the brave little boys of Bunker Hill Cabin who were singed by last night’s fireworks.

  Captain: On behalf of our entire staff, we apologize. They were supposed to explode in the sky.

  TJ: But worry not: Nurse Nanette tells me the Bunker Boys will be back to playing games and NOT LISTENING TO THEIR COUNSELORS soon enough.

  Captain: You . . . don’t have to include this incident in your letter home if you don’t want to.

  TJ: Instead, you can ask your parents for a donation of underwear for the stinky boys of San Juan Hill Cabin. They smell really bad.

  Captain: Please do not ask for donations of underwear. That’s . . . strange.

  TJ: You’re right. Take the day off from letter-writing!

  Captain: That’s not what I—[feedback squeal]

  Slimey was tucked beneath her covers, shirt over her nose, inhaling the shallowest of breaths. The Anita Hillers were halfway through Rest Hour and stuck with the wretched smell of dead fish that had been seeping into the cabin walls, their clothes, and, grossly enough, their hair over the past six days. They had tried to seek haven in the infirmary, but it was currently taken up by the stomach flu-ed Tyler Hillers and the lice-infested One Tree Hillers. When that plan failed, Melman suggested sleeping outside, but it had been pouring all week.

  Slimey imagined the war would have fizzled out naturally if only TJ hadn’t endorsed a search for the San Juan Hill guys’ underwear, spreading the challenge to the entire Boys’ Side for a prize of free Canteen for a week (that’s how bad the San Juan Hillers stunk). The mass scavenger hunt had escalated the battle to crazy heights, and the Captain had been trying to rein in Boys’ Side over the last two days, cracking the whip on any and all raid business.

  But Play Dough had still managed one last prank. And when Jenny had harassed him about it in the Dining Hall, all he’d said was “As long as we’re boxer-less, the war’s still on!”

  It was official. The San Juan Hill boys and the Anita Hill girls were at a standstill. The girls had the boys’ underwear, but they also had a rotting fish hidden somewhere in their cabin. There was nothing left to do but compromise. Miserable, the girls listened to Sara bawl out Rick on the front porch.

  “Really, Rick? A dead fish?”

  “You’re the one who initiated a treasure hunt, Sara.”

  “Since when is dirty underwear treasure?”

  “Oh, it’s treasure when you have six twelve-year-olds walking around with no underpants on!”

  “We’ve looked everywhere. You gotta get it out!”

  “I thought we weren’t allowed in the girls’ cabins.”

  “Just get the stinking fish, Rick!”

  “Not until you give back the underwear. Is this about Todd?”

  Sara let out a scream of frustration, but Slimey knew that Rick was right. This wasn’t just about the fish. Slimey thought back to the heart-to-heart she’d had with Sara on the Anita Hill porch steps right after Bobby had given back her locket.

  “You forgave him, just like that?” Sara had asked, biting her nails. “You were able to just let it all go?”

  Slimey had smiled. “Yeah. Holding a grudge hurts more, I think.”

  Sara had considered this. “But what if the grudge is justified? Like, what if he embarrassed you and dumped you and then bragged to his friends about it?”

  “Todd bragged to his friends about dumping you?”

  “I dunno. Probably. Guys are the worst.”

  Slimey had bitten her lip, wanting to tell Sara she was being silly, but she didn’t want to make her feel bad. “Not all guys are like Todd. And even if he did brag to his friends, it doesn’t mean they thought it was cool. They probably think he’s dumb for dumping you.”

  “Like Rick? You think he thinks Todd is dumb?”

  Slimey wasn’t sure about that—Rick and Todd were best friends, after all. But she could tell Sara needed this. She’d nodded a yes.

  “Yeah. You’re totally right. That’s why Rick’s been so nice to me—because he feels bad I dated his dumb friend! ‘Poor, pathetic, dumped Sara,’ he’s probably thinking.”

  “I don’t think that’s why Rick’s nice to you,” Slimey had said. “He probably just thinks you’re really cool.”

  Sara had looked at her inquisitively. “Who are you, Slimey? How am I getting the best advice ever from a twelve-year-old?”

  As the fight outside reached record levels, Slimey came back to reality. She pulled her covers up to her eyes as Rick and Sara scream-ranted at each other. It appeared Sara hadn’t taken the heart-to-heart as much to heart as Slimey had hoped.

  The fight sounded like:

  “Oh, yeah? Well, my boys haven’t had a clean pair in over a week. They won’t participate in any activity other than your nonsensical hunt. They’re obsessing over all of it, and it’s driving me crazy. The clues are meaningless— it’s like you wrote whatever arbitrary rhyme popped into your head. It’s ridiculous! I am so close to hauling myself to Walmart and buying them all some fresh pairs.”

  “My girls will not sleep in Anita Hill tonight—I promise you that. Sophie’s been so off the wall, she’s been keeping her EpiPen in a ready-to-stab position, duct-taped to her thigh! And even though you thought you were being all noble when you left my stuff alone, unfortunately dead-fish smell infiltrates everything. So you’re gonna need to get whoever did this back here to remove that stinking thing before I—”

  Before you what, Sara? Slimey twiddled her thumbs for a few seconds, expecting Sara to speak up, scream out, stomp back inside, even. But all her ears registered was silence. She pulled her
shirt down from her nose and cocked her head in the direction of the front door. “Does anyone know what’s happening?”

  “I dunno. Maybe they died,” Jamie answered, pulling herself up from under Jenny’s covers, where they’d been cuddle-spooning.

  “Doubt it. But still, something is up . . . ,” Melman said, hopping down from her top bunk and venturing toward the window. The J-squad and Missi followed.

  “OMIGOD!!!” the J-squad screeched, their noses pressed against the glass. “Jinx! Double jinx! Triple jinx!” They broke into laughter and then coughed from the penetrating fish taste in the air. Normally, Melman would have given Slimey a They deserved that look, but ever since the raid, the J-squad had been a smidge more tolerable. A smidge.

  “Sara and Rick are ‘Sa-Rick’?!” Jenny grappled through her cough.

  Slimey crawled out from her bottom bunk. As she peered out the window, she was totally stunned by what she saw. Sara was pushed up against the porch railing by Rick’s body. His hands were holding her cheeks, her arms thrown around his neck, their lips meshing.

  A grin crept across Slimey’s face. When she was giving Sara advice to not close herself off to all guys, she’d never in a million years imagined it would come to this. Well, to each his own— something her dad had always said when someone did something “out there.”

  “Omigod, I knew it the whole time,” Jenny bragged, grabbing one of her hidden spare phones to take a picture.

  “Oh, really?” Sophie said nasally, an earplug up each nostril. “Swear on Georgina Whitefoot’s grave?”

  “Who?” Jenny used all her strength to pull the window up. “We don’t care that you two are making out. We really don’t. But, please, can you get this freakin’ fish out of our cabin?”

  Sara and Rick awkwardly untangled their bodies. “Oh, hey, Jamie,” Rick said, flustered.

  “It’s Jenny.”

  “Sara had a . . . a . . . I think her wisdom tooth is infected. I was just checking it out for her. My dad’s a dentist, and—”

  “Your dad’s a park ranger. You told us last summer.”

  Sara smiled uncomfortably and slapped Rick on the back of the head. “I got you, girls. Don’t worry.” She looked him sharply in the eye. “Rick?”