Second Time's the Charm

by Melissa J Morgan

  “And, um, what’s her real hair color?” Perry chimed in.

  Nat looked down. She still had a rainbow of brightly colored candy resting in her cupped palm. But no one was paying any attention to the game anymore. Guess I’m off the hook, she thought. Tori had distracted them all when she started in like a deranged gossip columnist.

  She popped the chocolate in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Lucky me.

  “Yeah, Natalie!!! Woo-hoo!”

  Nat could hear Jenna, Jessie, and the rest of her teammates screeching at the top of their lungs as she flew around the bases. First, second, third . . . she thought, the breath rising up in her chest rapidly. Keep going.

  She was—she could hardly believe it— rounding home plate! In her whole life, Nat had never won a round of sudden-death kickball, and she herself had never kicked a homerun. This was . . . this was amazing. Camp was way awesome the second time around!

  She sprinted home, taking care to tap the plate as she sped past it.

  “Did I make it?” she gasped, grinning and wiping the sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand.

  “I’ll say!” Alyssa exclaimed, whistling in admiration. “Who are you, and what have you done with Natalie?”

  Natalie shrugged modestly. “I know, I know, it’s incredible. It’s all about focus and energy,” she said, sounding like one of those motivational athletes you always saw on TV just after she’d won an Olympic medal or whatever.

  “Seriously, Natalie—it is incredible,” Eric, the new sports counselor, chimed in. “I mean, aren’t you the girl who would duck every time the ball came near her last summer?”

  “Yup,” Chelsea snapped. “Looks like she finally managed to get the basics down. Only a year too late. Impressive. Not.”

  “Whatever, Natalie, we’re totally impressed,” Lauren said, waving her hand at Chelsea dismissively. “I can’t remember the last time I had a homerun.”

  “Not during this game,” Chelsea said. “And, anyway, while you were all fawning over Natalie, Anna struck out. We’re in the field.”

  The girls took their positions as 4B came off the field and up to bat. A few of them clapped Natalie on the back as they passed by, saying, “nice one,” or “awesome job.” Natalie wasn’t used to getting praised for her sports skills. She understood, finally, why Jenna and Alex would get so amped about soccer matches. A girl could get used to being MVP.

  “What’s my position again?” Tori asked, looking confused. “God, I am, like, allergic to sports. I take Pilates with my mother—that’s it. And once a month we go on a twenty-four-hour juice fast. It’s totally the latest thing in L.A.”

  Natalie clucked her tongue sympathetically. She wasn’t into any crazy fitness trends—a juice fast sounded completely gross—but she knew what it was like to be totally sports-averse. “Trust me, I understand. At home I am either Rollerblading with my best friend in the park, or I’m camped out in front of the TiVo. No organized sports for moi. We’re outfield, remember? It’s nice and easy. If and when a ball even makes it out here, chances are, someone will go for it before we do. And even if no one does, we’ve got plenty of time to brace ourselves.”

  Tori smiled gratefully. “Sounds perfect.” She frowned. “How close am I allowed to stand to you?”

  Natalie laughed. “You’re fine where you are.”

  “Right, right,” Tori said, nodding. “We want to look like we’re trying, huh?”

  Nat nodded her head, giggling. “Definitely.” As she said it, though, she felt a trickle of sweat run down the back of her leg, no doubt left over from her spontaneous burst of major-league talent. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she just wanted to look like she was trying, or if she wanted to actually try. Trying had been. . . kind of fun. More than kind of.

  “Who’s up?” Tori asked, squinting into the sun.

  “Um . . . it looks like . . . Lainie is up?” Natalie guessed, as a petite girl with white-blond hair stepped up to the plate. “I have no idea whether she’s any good or not. Brace yourself.”

  Lainie yanked on the ends of her ponytail, tightening it, and prepped for the pitch. She was normally a bubbly and vivacious girl, but she took this game very seriously, and her usually easygoing expression was currently replaced by one of sheer determination.

  Jessie stepped up to the pitcher’s mound with an equally fierce look. She leaned forward and rolled the kickball with perfect precision. Natalie tensed; obviously she wasn’t exactly an expert on the subject, but judging from Lainie’s posture . . . she was going to kick the ball at a certain angle . . . and it would probably travel . . . in a particular direction . . .

  Slam! The ball came soaring toward Natalie, who raised the flat of her hand up to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. Here we go, she thought. She knew she could catch the ball if she could line herself up with its trajectory. “I got it,” she said, stepping backward and outstretching her arms. “I got it!”

  The ball sailed toward her in a perfect arc. It landed forcefully, the rubber edging scraping against her fingernails. I’ll need to file those again later, Natalie thought wildly. “I’ve got—”

  “She’s got it!” Tori shrieked, running toward Nat.

  Which was when it happened.

  It was like a bad dream, like a movie set to slow-motion. One minute, Natalie was hugging the kickball to her stomach like precious cargo, and the next second, Tori, who up until now had been loudly cheering from a peanut-gallery perch three steps or so away, was hurdling toward her . . .

  And then she tripped.

  Tori tripped on a rock, or a twig, or some other form of . . . nature . . . strewn across the field, and stumbled forward.

  Directly into Natalie, to be precise. Natalie yelped and staggered backward, dropping the ball.

  “SAFE!” Eric called, extending his arms out in front of him in a gesture that Nat assumed meant the same. She wasn’t sure; she could barely see from her position flat on her back with Tori tangled up in front of her.

  “Safe?” she repeated, sputtering a little bit.

  “Yeah.” It was Jenna’s voice, coming from somewhere above her. “Sorry, Nat, that was a good catch. You tried. I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks,” Natalie said as someone—probably Jenna—pulled Tori off of her. “Ooof. Not that it helped anything.”

  “It was amazing, though, seriously,” Jenna said.

  “I love this new team spirit thing you’re working. If you keep this up, you’re going to get the MVP award at our end-of-camp banquet.”

  “Yeah, I’ll, um, hold off on telling my mom to clear a place on the mantel,” Natalie joked, standing gingerly and dusting the grass off of herself. “God, I’m a mess.”

  “You’re fine,” Tori said, leaning forward and picking a blade of grass out of Natalie’s hair. “Well, now you are.” She frowned, peering down at her fingers. “I, on the other hand, broke a nail. Darn it.” She shrugged. “Well, I guess sports aren’t my thing.” She giggled to herself and wandered off, apparently completely unconcerned with the fact that Lissy, another 4B-er, was stepping up to the plate to kick.

  That’s just it, Natalie thought, frustrated. Sports aren’t my thing, either. At least, they weren’t before this morning. And it looked like they wouldn’t be anytime soon—again today, anyway. Not that Nat cared.

  Or did she?

  By lunchtime, all thoughts of her fall from athletic grace were gone from Natalie’s mind. She had seen Simon at the waterfront, and he’d told her he would stop by during the siesta period after lunch. Now Nat’s biggest concern was how she was going to scribble a postcard to Hannah before he showed up.

  “What did one snowman say to the other snowman?” Perry asked as the girls kicked along the dirt path that ran from the bunks to the mess hall.

  Natalie looked at Alyssa and shrugged. “We have no idea,” Alyssa said.

  “Freeze!” Perry screamed, adopting a Charlie’s Angels pose and laughing maniacally.

&nb
sp; “Very mature,” Chelsea sniffed.

  Nat smiled. Okay, it was a stupid joke, but whatever. At least Perry was always upbeat and energetic—which was more than anyone could say for Chelsea.

  “Hey, aren’t those your friends from last summer?” Tori asked, pointing.

  Natalie and Alyssa looked off into the distance, where Tori was pointing. Indeed, Alex, Brynn, Valerie, Sarah, and Grace were marching together in a Rockettes-style kick line, chanting. Natalie opened her mouth to say hi to her friends but realized they were too involved in their chant to hear her. As they drew closer, the words to their little cheer became clearer:

  “Hey, 4A: Save your toilet paper ’cause we’re going to wipe you up!”

  They’d clap heartily through linked arms after each rendition, growing progressively louder.

  “Whaaaaaa?” Jenna murmured incredulously, almost more to herself than to anyone else. “That’s crazy!”

  “People are starting to notice what they’re saying,” Jessie said nervously, tugging at the tips of her pigtails. Inter-bunk rivalries were not uncommon and generally were all in good fun—but as other campers started to ogle the two sparring bunks, Natalie and her friends flushed with embarrassment.

  “All right, kids, break it up,” Andie shouted, waving her arms like a particularly friendly train conductor. 4C acquiesced, but only after a minute or two more of stubborn catcalls and hollers. “Does this happen at Lakeview often?” Andie asked her campers, bemused.

  Jenna nodded. “Oh, yeah. You know, rivalries. I think they’re starting up because half of our old bunk is in 4A, and half is in 4C. So it’s like, us against them. And 4C is going to have to pay.”

  Andie smiled mischievously. “I like the sound of that,” she said. “A lot.”

  chapter FIVE

  It took only a few days for Natalie to find her feet and truly settle into the camp routine. Every morning, the girls were woken at the crack of oh-my-god, and were given twenty minutes to get down to flag raising. That was twenty minutes total, for the collective group, as Nat had learned the hard way the summer before. She was extremely proud of herself for having considerably pared down her a.m. regimen. A quick shower, a tug of the hairbrush, and she was done.

  At flag raising, the entire camp did just that, with Dr. Steve, the camp director, leading them all in calisthenics and a few cheesy songs. He also made announcements, if there were any to be made. Then it was time for breakfast—or what passed for breakfast, anyway. After breakfast, all of the campers returned to their respective bunks for chores. They then traveled as a bunk to sports and instructional swim, broke up for electives, met for a specialty (sports, art, wood-working, photography, ceramics, newspaper, or nature), and then had lunch. After lunch was siesta, where they were free to do as they pleased as long as they remained in or near the bunk and were quiet enough to give their counselors a break. After siesta came another bunk activity, free swim, and then finally, their last elective. They had some more free time before dinner, followed by evening activity. It was amazing how leisure activities could fill up a whole day so quickly.

  Natalie was thrilled to be assigned to ceramics and newspaper for her free choices, both of which she got to do with Alyssa. As he had said he would, Simon had signed up for newspaper, too. Nat felt deliriously lucky—her BFF and her boyfriend—both in her elective! Newspaper was fast becoming her favorite activity of the day.

  Today, though, she was feeling antsy. It felt like Jesse, the new newspaper counselor, had been talking at them, rather than to them, for hours, rather than minutes.

  “Well, we’ve talked about how to write a catchy, captivating headline,” Jesse said. “You guys know that you have exactly three seconds to get your reader’s attention. So you have to be concise and punchy. It’s not easy to do. But that being said, a catchy headline is only as good as the article it . . . well, headlines.”

  Nat rolled her eyes. Could you say obvious? Jesse sure wasn’t being very catchy or to-the-point. Next to her, Alyssa giggled. Probably thinking the same thing I am, Nat decided.

  “Today we’re going to talk about interviews,” Jesse continued. If he noticed Nat and Alyssa’s little psychic side conversation, he was being nice enough not to call attention to it. “Interviews can range from anything like celebrity gossip, like Oprah and Jen, to hard-hitting news, like, oh, almost anything Mike Wallace does on 60 Minutes.”

  “Booorrrr-ing,” trilled one of the more obnoxious boys from the back row. Why he was even in newspaper, Nat had no idea. Maybe he’d been stuck with it, like she had with nature the summer before. The memory still made her cringe—but at least it had brought her and Simon together. The Great Outdoors is good for something—who knew?

  “Yes, well, obviously you’re entitled to your opinion, and of course, it’s all a matter of taste. But still.” He gestured to the long wooden table before him. “I have a bunch of samples here. Spin, Twist, Jane, Entertainment Weekly, Time, Sports Illustrated—”

  “—Woo-hoo!” Obnoxious and his friends chimed in. Nat rolled her eyes. Boys were so predictable. Thank goodness Simon could be counted on to be a tad more . . . couth.

  “You can take some time researching, and then pair up. I want you to work on interviewing each other. Whoever is best able to come up with a compelling interview will be asked to submit a piece—an interview—to the Visiting Day edition of our paper.”

  A small murmur of excitement rippled across the room. The newspaper came out twice over the summer—Visiting Day, and at the end-of-camp banquet. The Visiting Day paper was considered a bigger deal, though, because of how many parents were around to read it.

  When no one moved, Jesse looked at them all quizzically. “You can take some time researching,” he repeated. “Pair up.” When no one moved, he clarified. “Now. Would be fine.”

  The campers cracked up, then one by one shifted out of their benches and wandered semi-aimlessly through the newspaper office/shack, occasionally flipping through the samples that Jesse had laid out but mostly stealing sidelong glances at one another. Obnoxious easily found a partner—no doubt someone just as loud as himself, Nat decided—and some of the girls squealed quietly and ran toward each other, as well.

  “So are you gonna Barbara Walters me or what?”

  Natalie looked up to find Simon grinning at her. Immediately, her pulse quickened and her temperature shot up at least five degrees. He’d been sitting a few seats away and she had hoped, hoped, hoped he would come over and ask to be partners. “You know Barbara Walters has a habit of getting to the core of the issue,” Natalie warned, waving her index finger reprovingly. “I think she considers it a personal failure if she can’t get her guest to burst into tears onscreen.”

  She tapped her chin with her forefinger thoughtfully. “Oprah, Mike Wallace, Barbara Walters,” she recited. “Doesn’t anyone read the news anymore?”

  “Is that the resounding yes I was looking for?”

  Nat giggled and nodded shyly. “Yeah, I was thinking we could do at least one of the interviews in the style of a tabloid. You know, really trashy and pulpy.”

  Simon nodded. “Ah, high-quality. Maybe I’ll finally be granted that ever-elusive Pulitzer?”

  “Forget the Pulitzers! I’m thinking the Post. Sleazier. Hello! You know, like the British gossip rags,” Alyssa said, sidling up to Nat. “What do you say, partner?”

  The look on Alyssa’s face was expectant and earnest, and Natalie realized with a sinking feeling that her friend expected them to be buddies. And why wouldn’t she? They always had been before. Wasn’t that why they had signed up for newspaper together in the first place?

  Nat glanced a little bit desperately at Simon, who in turn simply coughed and stared off at an imaginary point in the distance. Coward. Nat was on her own.

  “Oh, ah . . .” Natalie stammered, feeling awkward. “I just . . . it’s just that I . . .”

  Alyssa’s gaze traveled from Natalie’s mortified, guilty expression to Simon’s a
voidant stare, and back to Natalie again. Her posture went rigid as she realized her mistake. “Oh, I got it,” she said. “Never mind.”

  “No, but—” Natalie said, panicking but not sure what she could really say or do. “Maybe we could triple up?”

  Alyssa peered at her friend. “Nat,” she said sternly. “There are plenty of people in this elective with us. I will find someone else. Do not sweat it.”

  Relief flooded Natalie’s veins. She adored Alyssa, of course, and would have had an amazing time working with her. But she seriously couldn’t pass up the opportunity to partner with Simon. It was just so . . . girlfriendly. In a good way.

  Besides, she reasoned to herself, he asked you first, didn’t he?

  Sure, it was a rationalization. But it worked.

  “Horoscope, please.”

  “Cancer . . .” Nat scanned her magazine to find Alyssa’s daily dose of “woo woo advice,” as she liked to call it. She loved that her friend indulged her obsession with astrology even though she totally didn’t believe in it. That was real dedication.

  The day after the little interview awkwardness, the two were sitting out free swim, as usual. Another tic of Natalie’s of which Alyssa was uber-tolerant; Nat was a great swimmer but hated to go in the lake. It was just so . . . gloppy and cloudy and non-chlorinated. Who knew what sorts of things were swimming around in there? Yak. The slight weirdness of newspaper was long forgotten, Alyssa being hard at work on a Rolling Stone-esque piece with a goth girl who was also in newspaper and Nat studiously perusing Star and Hello! for inspiration for her interview with Simon. Nat and Alyssa were both so hard at work that their respective notebooks, notes, and first drafts were tossed aside in favor of the fashion magazine that Nat was now brandishing.

  “Hmm . . . Cancer . . .” she scanned the page. Alyssa was a water sign; it was no wonder she was so creative. “You . . . uh-oh . . .” she said, trailing off abruptly.