I shook my head to clear it. “Oh, I know,” I said. They must have thought that I’d been judging them. “And it’s not a big deal. I was just thinking you could try—”
“You were thinking?” someone asked. That someone sounded like Brooklyn. “I didn’t think artists knew how to use their brains.”
CHAPTER 5
If Brooklyn was auditioning for the role of Mean Girl at a Summer Camp, she was doing a great job. I’d dealt with haters in the past, but she took it to the extreme. Still, the best way to deal with critics was to simply ignore them, so I pretended not to notice.
But that was the wrong thing to do.
No sooner had I tried to weave around her than she grabbed me by my sleeve. “Did you hear me?” she demanded. “Or are you also deaf?”
I glanced down at her hand, which was still attached to my right sleeve, then back up at her face. “There’s nothing wrong with being deaf.” I took hold of her wrist and calmly pinched a pressure point. She couldn’t help but let me go. “Or being artistic.”
I tried to walk away again, but apparently, Brooklyn wasn’t finished.
“I know what you’re doing,” she replied, “and it’s not going to work! Did you think you could just waltz in here and be the cool kid on the block? Just because they’re treating you like some kind of major general doesn’t mean you really are!”
The math nerds shrank away from Brooklyn, but I finally turned around. You could only take so many jabs before you had to launch your own attack.
“It’s not my fault I’m interesting.”
“Is ‘interesting’ your word for ‘dumb’?”
Now that was a low blow. Why did everyone assume I was a moron? Math was my second-best subject, but I wasn’t about to admit that. I didn’t want her to think I was lying (or, worse, that she’d gotten to me).
“Are you done?” I asked.
She’d been smirking like a chimp who’d just thrown a turd at its zookeepers, but that made her scowl again. “Not quite,” she said threateningly as her hands tightened into fists.
I crouched instinctively, my muscles tensed to spring. I felt exposed without my foil, so I’d have to improvise. But I hadn’t come up with a plan when a door opened behind us and Director Verity appeared.
“Brooklyn, Esther!” she barked. “What in the name of Euclid are you doing?”
Brooklyn flinched, then dropped her fist. “Nothing, Director Verity.”
“It didn’t look like nothing.” She stuck both hands on her hips. “I insist that you apologize!”
Brooklyn’s nose crinkled, but Director Verity was deadly serious. Her nostrils were practically smoking.
Brooklyn blinked and mumbled, “Sorry.”
She didn’t sound very sincere, but I didn’t call her on it. I only had to keep my head down and survive the next few hours.
Director Verity leveled a finger at Brooklyn. “If I ever hear you threaten one of your fellow number crunchers, I’ll send you home, you understand?” When Brooklyn nodded, she sighed. “Now take your dinner to your room. You’re not welcome on this floor for the remainder of the evening.”
Brooklyn started to argue, then wisely changed her mind. After glaring at me one last time, she sharply spun around, grabbed a grilled cheese sandwich from the kitchen, and tromped up to her room.
As soon as she disappeared, Director Verity set her sights on Mr. Pearson (who’d drifted out of the kitchen). “Where were you while this was happening?”
Her tone should have curled his nose hairs, but Mr. Pearson only shrugged. “Making dinner,” he replied.
Director Verity looked around. “And Mr. Sharp? Ms. Gutierrez?”
“We were cleaning up,” the female counselor said. She and Mr. Sharp had just appeared. “We came as soon as we heard shouting.”
Director Verity sighed. “All right.” Then she set her sights on me. “My apologies, Esther. I’m afraid we’re all on edge today.” She looked me up and down. “Did she hurt you in any way?”
“I’m fine,” was all I said. If I could take on Hector and Samantha, Shepherd Vale’s resident bullies, I could handle one math nerd.
After Director Verity retreated to the kitchen, the rest of us followed. The others tried to cheer me up, but I was tired of pretending. I just wanted to go home.
As if in answer to my prayers, Toby rumbled down the stairs, took one look at my face, and asked, “Rough day?”
I collapsed onto the nearest bench. “That would be one way to put it.”
He sat down next to me and awkwardly patted my shoulder. I scooted away as if he’d shocked me. He still looked like Toby, but maybe they’d sucked out his brains and replaced him with a shoulder-patting cyborg.
“Who painted Guernica?” I asked.
“Pablo Picasso,” he said. “Why?”
With a heavy sigh, I scooted back. “No reason,” I said glumly, plopping my chin into my hands.
He tilted his head to the side. It looked like he was wondering if he should address my issues, but since I didn’t usually have issues, he probably didn’t know how to ask. “How’s your room?” he asked instead.
“Pink,” I said. “How’s yours?”
“Fishy,” he replied.
“Do you mean that literally or metaphorically?”
He shrugged. “Take your pick.”
I couldn’t help but snort.
“I’ve already tried to call your mom, but the storm’s still interfering.” His massive forehead wrinkled. “I hope she isn’t worried.”
“Oh, she’s worried,” I replied as I whipped out my own phone. I waved it over my head, but it couldn’t find a signal. “Yeah, my phone’s not working, either.”
Apparently, this news didn’t surprise him, because he changed the subject. “I was thinking about rescuing your duffel.”
“I don’t see the point,” I said. “We’ll be out of here by morning. My clothes will be dry by then.”
He started to say something, then changed his mind at the last second. “You’ll want your sketchbook, though, won’t you?”
I narrowed my eyes. Toby didn’t usually start something unless he meant to finish it, but then, I did want my sketchbook. Maybe it was best not to overanalyze.
I glanced out the window. “Is it safe to go out in the storm?”
“Safe enough,” he said. “Do you want to come along?”
I didn’t think, just nodded. Even if he was acting weird, I still trusted Toby more than I trusted anyone, and if I didn’t get out of this lodge, there was a good chance I’d explode.
“We’ll go after dinner,” he replied, then got up to get his food. Mom would have hovered for a while, tried to get me to discuss my feelings, but Toby gave me room to breathe. It was one of his best qualities.
Once he was halfway through the line, I got up to get my food. The counselors served the grub, but since it was only grilled cheese and tomato soup, there wasn’t much to serve. Ms. Gutierrez greeted me by name and asked if I was enjoying my summer as she ladled soup into my bowl, but Mr. Sharp ignored me as he gave me my sandwich. His glasses reflected my uncustomary scowl.
Director Verity overcompensated by giving me two handfuls of crackers. “I trust you’ve settled in?” she asked, though it sounded less like a question and more like a command: If you haven’t settled in, there are going to be consequences.
I swallowed, hard. “Yeah, sure.”
I tried to sneak away, but Director Verity cut me off.
“I’m sorry again about Brooklyn. Her father was recently transferred to the Air Force base near Layton, so I strongly suspect she’s still trying to adjust.” She sent me a sideways glance. “I hope the other number crunchers have made you feel more welcome?”
This sounded like a loaded question, too, and the last thing I wanted to do was get the other math nerds in trouble. “Oh, yeah, they’ve been great.” Angeline bordered on suffocating, but I decided not to mention that. “And the digs are pretty sweet.”
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br /> Director Verity looked around. The stainless steel practically sparkled. “They are pretty sweet, aren’t they?” She gave me a third handful of crackers. “We may not be as large as Camp Vermeer, but what we lack in enrollment, we more than make up for in heart.”
Of course, one of her math nerds had just tried to assault me, but I didn’t point that out, just let the director have her moment. Once it had gone on long enough, I said, “Well, I should probably go. I think my soup is getting cold.”
She blinked. “Oh, yes, of course.”
I retrieved one of the crackers that had fallen off my tray, then headed over to the dining room. Whistler was eyeing me like I had Swiss cheese for brains, and though it looked like Munch and Marshane might have been saving me a seat, they were now arguing so loudly I didn’t want to interrupt. I would have been lying if I’d said their rejections didn’t sting, but before I could decide how I was going to respond, Angeline leaped to her feet.
“Hey, Esther, over here!”
Without so much as glancing at the others, I crossed the dining room and sat down next to Angeline. I expected her to launch into a recap of Math Genius, since she couldn’t possibly have heard about my run-in with Brooklyn, but somehow, she had.
“Brooklyn’s a piece of work,” she said, crumbling crackers into her soup. “Just because you don’t do math doesn’t mean you can’t do math.”
“Who said I don’t do math?” I asked.
Angeline grimaced. “I meant you don’t do math for fun. Everyone does math at school. And I bet you’re great at long division.”
I was a pro at long division, but that had nothing to do with it. The fact of the matter was, these math nerds didn’t respect me. They might have followed me around and invited me to sit with them, but in the end, Brooklyn was right. They didn’t see me as an equal; they saw me as an artist.
The only way to prove them wrong was to solve the First Problem.
CHAPTER 6
Solving the First Problem without the math nerds’ interference wasn’t going to be easy. If they knew what I was up to, they’d probably want to help. But I couldn’t impress them if I let them solve it for me. I had to solve it on my own.
I was turning in my dishes when Angeline crept up behind me and offered to show me some dance moves. Thankfully, I’d already committed to help Toby get my duffel, so I had a ready-made excuse. Except when I caught up with Toby, I told him one of the math nerds had offered to teach me how to calculate the square root of two using nothing but toothpicks.
I figured Toby would see through me, so I didn’t try to sound convincing, but he didn’t even arch an eyebrow. That made me feel guilty—ever since he and Mom had accidentally locked me in their ice cream parlor and I hadn’t eaten myself sick, they’d trusted me implicitly—but it wasn’t like I was about to break the law. This was practically homework.
As soon as Toby headed out, I made a beeline for the stairs. Most of the math nerds had retreated to the common room, so as long as I steered clear of Brooklyn, the second floor was mine. At the top of the stairs, I automatically turned left, then wheeled around at the last second. I’d never bothered to find out what was at the far end of the bridge that stretched across the dining room, and now seemed like a good time.
It turned out to be two bathrooms, one for girls and one for boys. I couldn’t speak for the boys’ bathroom, but the girls’ one was much bigger than the bathroom I’d changed in. Seven sinks lined the left wall, and seven stalls lined the right one. The showers were around the corner. Everything was bone white or sage green and one-hundred-percent spotless. Either Director Verity had an army of maids at her disposal, or Camp Archimedes didn’t get a lot of use.
I holed up in the third stall, which was barely lighter than a cave. After giving my poor eyes a few minutes to adjust, I perched on the edge of the toilet and pulled out the wad of napkins I’d stockpiled during dinner. Since I always had a pencil (or, more often, a paintbrush), I had something to write with. It was time to make some magic.
The first thing I did was write the problem down from memory:
You walk into a room with three sets of balanced scales.
On the first scale, two red balls and one blue ball balance with two yellow balls and a one-pound weight.
On the second scale, four red balls and a one-pound weight balance with one blue ball and one yellow ball.
On the third scale, one red ball and two yellow balls balance with one blue ball and one yellow ball.
How much does each ball weigh?
The second thing I did was chew on the end of my pencil. It was what I always did when I was working something out, and this was the most important problem I’d ever had to solve.
I was still chewing on my pencil when the bathroom door swung open and a pair of combat boots appeared. Instinctively, I tucked my feet up, sticking my arms out for balance, but if I was about to be discovered, there was nothing I could do. I didn’t notice I’d stopped breathing until the combat-boot-wearing newcomer chose another stall.
If I’d paid closer attention to everyone’s footwear, I would have already known which of the girls wore combat boots. Since I hadn’t paid attention, I was forced to work it out while the newcomer did her business. They looked too small for an adult, and since I doubted they were Angeline’s, they had to be Brooklyn’s.
A lump of acid clogged my throat. If she found out I was in here—if she found out what I was doing—she’d probably tell the other math nerds. I wasn’t afraid of her right hook, but I was afraid of failing.
I didn’t want to prove her right.
The flushing of the toilet snapped me back to the moment, and I realized how bad it smelled. I had no idea how I hadn’t noticed it before. I draped my arm over my nose, but that didn’t really help.
As soon as the bathroom door swung shut, I launched myself out of my hiding place and bolted for the window. The rain hadn’t let up, but I wrenched the window open anyway, then pressed my face against the screen. The air smelled like spring water tasted, bone-achingly cold but still refreshing. It only took a few deep breaths for my head—and nose—to clear.
I was still sucking oxygen when a lightning bolt arced across the sky. Though the sun hadn’t yet set, the cloud cover made it murky, and with a not-so-distant ridgeline looming over Camp Archimedes, our corner of the mountain was already wreathed in gloom. But the lightning bolt beat back the darkness, and for a second, maybe less, I could see everything clearly: the rocks, the trees, the hill sloping up behind the lodge. And the furtive-looking figure creeping through the pouring rain.
I ducked down instinctively, digging my nails into the ledge. Goose bumps scuttled up my arms, but I scrubbed them out at once. Just because there was a ghost with the same name as the camp didn’t mean I’d seen a ghost. Besides, ghosts weren’t even real. It was probably just Mr. Pearson taking out the trash or something.
But if that was the case, why was he prowling around?
I counted to fifteen, then snuck a peek over the ledge. I couldn’t see him anymore, but that didn’t mean he’d disappeared. I eyed the last spot I’d seen him for another couple of minutes, then, when he didn’t reappear, finally let myself relax. Unfortunately, it took my pulse a few more minutes to slow down.
Another lightning bolt arced across the stormy sky, and I noticed that the window that belonged to the locked room had been left open a crack. Adrenaline surged through my veins. I still wanted to find out what Director Verity was hiding, and there wouldn’t be a better place to work on the First Problem. If I got really lucky, I could score two hits with one lunge.
I took another look around the room. It also had a sliding door with a balcony attached. They must have wanted it to match the other windows on this wall. My heart started to pound as I returned the napkins to my pocket, then slid the screen out of the way and climbed onto the balcony.
The rain had slacked off a little, but the floor and railing were still soaked. Luckily, I hadn’t
put my shoes back on, so my feet were sure to stick. While I flexed my toes to warm them up, I carefully plotted my descent. Whatever moron had designed this lodge had cleared away the trees in the immediate vicinity, so there was no way to climb down, but a foot-wide ledge ran the full length of the lodge and wrapped around the inside corner. It was probably supposed to be decorative, but it might as well have been a sidewalk for my tricky feet (though Sasha would have called it “my spectacular footwork”).
After drawing a deep breath, I climbed over the railing and slid onto the ledge. It actually ran into the balcony, so I didn’t even have to stretch. The ledge was slipperier than I’d expected, but I didn’t let that stop me, just curled my toes around the edge and pressed my back into the wall.
I’d nearly reached the inside corner when another lightning bolt bathed the landscape in pure white. It was so beautiful I couldn’t help but stop to stare—until a raindrop landed in my eye and the thunder nearly knocked me flat. After regaining my balance, I bypassed the first two windows, but halfway between the second and the third, my foot slipped out from under me and I went down, hard. My hip hit the ledge first, but my momentum rolled me over. As I scrabbled for a handhold, it was all that I could do not to tumble off the ledge.
I bit my lip to keep from crying out. My hip was going to be black-and-blue, and I’d probably lost a few more toenails, but this was no time to freak out. Brooklyn’s digestive system might have been distracting her, but I figured she would hear me if I cut loose and screamed.
Since I was already dangling from the ledge, I decided to let go and take my chances with the drop. It was longer than I’d thought, so when I finally hit the ground (or something closer to the ground), I couldn’t help but lose my balance. At least the bushes broke my fall.
After picking myself up and brushing off the leaves and muck, I stumbled over to the window. For a second, I worried that I’d imagined the whole thing, but the window was still open (and it didn’t even have a screen). I pushed it open wide enough to admit one cold, wet girl, then threw one leg over the windowsill and boosted myself up.
The Multiplying Mysteries of Mount Ten Page 4