The Odds of Loving Grover Cleveland

by Rebekah Crane

  The lead article on the cover of the magazine is “How to Flirt without Being Obvious.” I glare at the words until they get fuzzy and then the buzzing begins. The small sound of a mosquito moves in and out of my ears, like it’s circling my head. I roll up the magazine, holding it in my hand like a club, and sit up. When I see the mosquito land on my white sheet, I bring the magazine down on it hard, squashing the bug into the cotton. I flick the dead thing onto the ground.

  “Oh sure,” Cassie says, “your parents just signed you up.” She swirls her finger around her temple and rolls over in bed so she’s facing the wall. The rest of the girls laugh in unison.

  I face the opposite direction of Cassie, wanting as much distance between us as possible. I don’t care that we ate at the same table. I want nothing to do with her. I want nothing to do with anyone at this camp or anyone out of this camp for that matter.

  The silver lock on the cabin door glimmers in the dull light coming through the windows. But I’m locked in, forced to be with these people. I place the Seventeen magazine over my face, and, lying back on top of my sheet, start to conjugate words in the French imparfait.

  To speak:

  Je parlais

  Tu parlais

  Il parlait

  Nous parlions

  Vous parliez

  Ils parlaient

  I lie still, drifting further away from reality and feeling the ease of sleep come over me. Sleep is so pleasant. I can drift into the blackness and no one cares. It’s expected.

  I’m gone for only a bit when a tapping feeling starts in my light sleep, like water is dripping on my head from a leak in the ceiling. I wipe the feeling away, annoyed, and roll over.

  The sound of my magazine falling on the ground triggers something in my subconscious that remembers a ceiling isn’t over my head. Dori’s bed is. And it’s back. The dripping or tapping. I sit up in the dark, almost banging my head on the bunk. Cassie is inches away from my face, her dark eyes big, the whites practically glowing.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, scooting back. It’s dark now in the cabin, but still I can see that Cassie looks crazier than usual.

  “I’m waking you up so you can help me, asshole,” she says.

  “Why would I want to help you? You just called me an asshole.”

  “Because you don’t like that lock as much as I do.” Cassie points to the door.

  I sit back on the bed. Madison is tucked neatly under her quilt, her mouth slightly open with the smallest bit of drool on her pillow. The key still hangs around her slender neck. I must have been asleep longer than I thought.

  “Are you gonna help me or what, moron?”

  “Don’t call me a moron,” I say. “I got an A plus in French.”

  Cassie rolls her eyes. “Listen, I’m about one minute away from strangling Madison with her necklace. So either you help me get out of here or you become an accomplice to murder.”

  “I’m going back to sleep.” I lie down.

  “Suit yourself,” Cassie says. She moves to stand over Madison’s bed and pulls something pointed and sharp out of her back pocket.

  “Are you crazy?” I whisper, shooting up.

  “Of course, I’m crazy. And so are you, even if you don’t want to admit it. There’s a secret inside of you, Zander. And it’s coming out this summer whether you like it or not.” Cassie squats in front of me. Her face is so close to mine, I can smell her sugary breath. There’s even a hint of lemon. I want to shove her away from me. Who is she to comment on my life? Cassie doesn’t even know me. But I can’t bring myself to touch her, because a part of me knows she’s right. “You know what your problem is? You’re not actually afraid of me. You’re afraid you are me,” she says.

  “No.” I struggle with the word like I’m physically fighting with the truth. The longer and harder I press it down, the more it pushes back. “I’m just afraid you’re going to kill Madison with whatever you have in your hand.”

  “Don’t you ever just want to kill someone because you’re that angry?”

  I can’t answer Cassie because it’s a ridiculous question, but a lump forms in my throat anyway. It’s so big I might choke. I swallow it, pushing it back down, and breathe in her oddly sweet breath. Cassie holds up the pointy object. “It’s just a fork, asshole. What am I going to do, poke her to death?”

  “I knew you took it.”

  “Duh.” Cassie rolls her eyes. “Who cares? It’s a fork. People eat too much anyway.”

  I ease back on the bed. “How are you planning to get out? What about Madison?”

  “What about Madison? I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole covered in slime. The slime would get a bacteria.”

  “The key.” I point to her neck.

  “That’s your problem. You think a key will get us out of this. A key can’t do anything for you or me.”

  “Fine, then what will get you out?” I ask.

  “You.” Cassie points to the bathroom door. “My aunt always says that when God closes the door, somewhere he opens a window.”

  “I think that’s from a movie.” Or one of the magnets hanging on my fridge.

  “I don’t care where it’s from,” Cassie says. “And I don’t actually believe it. As far as I’m concerned all windows and doors just lead to more windows and doors.”

  “So there’s no way out of anything?” I ask.

  “Sure there is,” Cassie says. “Death is the way out.”

  “Death.” I don’t move as I say the word. Cassie’s shadow moves the moonlight’s glow on my single white sheet as she nods.

  “Now, are you gonna help me or what?”

  “I don’t think sneaking out is a good idea.”

  “And what is a good idea?” she asks.

  I fumble for too long. “I don’t know,” I say.

  “That’s your other problem. You don’t know.” She shakes her head and stifles a laugh. “God, Cleve is so wrong about you.”

  “What did Grover say?”

  “His name is Cleve.” Cassie puts the fork in her back pocket. “And time’s ticking. I’m out of here.”

  She tiptoes into the bathroom. I lie back down in bed and pull my single sheet up around my neck. If Cassie wants to sneak out, she can do it herself. I’m not her accomplice or confidant or friend. I’m nothing to her and I want it to stay that way.

  And then before I know it, I’ve twisted a small patch of hair at the base of my neck too tight around my finger until a few strands pop free.

  “Damn it,” I whisper, looking down at the loose pieces. It will take years for that hair to grow back out. I never learn my lesson. I just need to let my hair be, to stop pulling so hard at it. That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the past year. Just let everything be, but my parents don’t understand that. They want me to be something because something is better than nothing. I disagree. We all end up as nothing in the end anyway. But with Cassie in my face and Grover touching me today, those two make it hard to ignore them. I ball up the pathetic strands of hair and sprinkle them on the ground.

  I try distracting myself with my magazine, but I can’t stand to look at the model on the cover with her long, thick perfect hair. So I rip the cover off. I rip it again and again and again until all that’s left are little broken pieces of paper that could never be put back together. I dust them off my bed, smiling.

  In the bathroom, I find Cassie using her fork to unhinge the window. A long screw falls free into her hand, and the window loosens enough to fit a teenage body. Especially one of a girl who doesn’t eat.

  Cassie hands me the screw. “Keep it safe.”

  “I don’t want it.” But I don’t hand it back.

  When Cassie is safely outside, I hear her say, “Tell anyone about this and I’ll be forced to use my fork on you.”

  I don’t close the window on her. Instead, I stuff the screw in my bag and go back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 5

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  Please se
nd bug spray. You forgot to pack some. See—even parents make mistakes.

  Z

  “Do they serve coffee here?” Dori asks Madison as we go down the breakfast line in the mess hall. “I need coffee.”

  “No substances with physically or mentally altering chemicals,” Madison says, like she’s reading straight from the brochure again.

  “Coffee isn’t a chemical. It’s life support.”

  Cassie was in bed when I woke up this morning, her leg dangling over the edge of the bottom bunk. I was relieved and then frustrated that I cared, so I lay there staring up at the top bunk, daydreaming about my boring two-story stucco home that always smells like grapefruit-scented cleaner. But the longer I lay there, the quieter the cabin became and the more I wanted someone to make some noise again. Luckily, Cassie woke up a few minutes later and picked a fight with Madison that ended with Cassie threatening to tell her Aunt Chey that she contracted crabs at camp.

  “We’re going to work on you being your own life support,” Madison says, grabbing Dori’s shoulders, like a coach giving a pep talk. I sprinkle a few berries on my oatmeal and yawn into my hand. The more they talk, the more my ears begin to hum.

  “Well, this machine must be broken. Because it needs coffee to stay alive,” Dori says.

  “That’s why I’m here. To help you fix your broken machine.” Madison smiles.

  “Life support only keeps you alive,” I say softly over my shoulder. “It doesn’t help you live.”

  “And what’s wrong with being broken? Are you perfect or something?” Dori asks Madison.

  “No,” Madison says, slightly taken aback. “Of course not.”

  Grover and Alex Trebek sit in the same spot as yesterday. I hesitate going to the table for a second, but sitting anywhere else at this point seems useless. Something tells me it would only incite more attention from Grover and Cassie anyway.

  I set my stuff down next to Grover and pull on the thick straps of my too-tight bathing suit under my clothes. Grover picks up an apple from his tray and tosses it in the air to me. I barely manage to catch it before it falls on the table.

  “Did you know that apple seeds are poison?” Grover asks.

  “Really,” I say flatly.

  “One apple won’t kill you. You have to eat, like, a whole bunch of apples.”

  I set it back on his tray. “Interesting.”

  Grover gives the apple back to me. “This is for you.”

  “Are you trying to poison me?”

  “I just told you, one apple wouldn’t kill you.”

  “I don’t want it,” I say.

  “I know you said you don’t like them, but you don’t have to be afraid.”

  “I said I don’t want it,” I bark at him and shift uncomfortably in my seat. Why did my mom pack this suit?

  The tension between us doesn’t break until Cassie sits down.

  “I can see you’re having your usual breakfast. Air and diet pills,” Grover says to Cassie.

  “No fork needed.” Cassie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

  Grover passes her something that rattles and sounds suspiciously like pills behind my back.

  “I can’t believe you’d actually give her that,” I say.

  “It’s not what you—” Cassie starts, but Grover cuts her off.

  “Why not? It makes her happy. And she needs more happiness in her life.”

  “But it hurts her.”

  “Only a little. And everything that makes us happy will eventually hurt us,” Grover counters.

  “I just thought you cared about her.” I look down at my bowl of oatmeal.

  “I do care about her,” Grover says.

  “Then how could you give her more pills?”

  Cassie laughs and holds up what Grover gave her. “It’s candy, moron.” She shakes a box of Lemonheads at me.

  “Candy?” I ask.

  “I have to eat something to stay alive,” she says.

  “Candy.” I glare at Grover. A puckered smile sits on his face.

  “I never eat,” Alex Trebek says. His round cheeks are extra puffy with the smile on his face. He takes a bite from the mound of scrambled eggs on his tray. “Never,” he says with a mouth full of food.

  “Nice one, Bek.” Grover pats him on the back.

  “Why is the liar sitting with us again?” Cassie groans.

  “Because he told me he’s dying of cancer. He only has a few days to live. I feel bad for him.”

  Cassie dumps the entire box of Lemonheads in her mouth. I can smell the sugar from across the table.

  “Don’t you ever get sick of those?” I ask. “They’re so sweet.”

  Cassie leans toward me with full cheeks. “They’re the only sweet thing in my life. So no, I don’t get sick of them.”

  “Fine.” I poke at my oatmeal and take a few bites, but I’m not hungry.

  When all of us are finished eating, Kerry stands at the front of the group and claps three times. “The only way to be found,” he yells.

  “Is to admit we’re lost,” the rest of the counselors say back to him.

  “The first step in finding yourself is acknowledging what you already have,” Kerry says loudly. For such an early morning, he’s finely groomed in a sexy kind of way. I didn’t notice that yesterday. I was too focused on his face vein. “Before we start our day, would anyone like to acknowledge something this morning?”

  No one moves. I stare down and twist my napkin around my finger until the finger turns blue. I yawn. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Grover raise his hand and stand.

  “I’d like to acknowledge that Zander doesn’t eat apples,” he says.

  “What?” I look up at him.

  “I meant acknowledge something about yourself,” Kerry says.

  “Oh.” Grover nods. “Then I acknowledge me acknowledging that Zander doesn’t eat apples.”

  I gasp at him and stand up. “I’d like to acknowledge that it’s none of Grover’s business what I eat.”

  “I’d like to acknowledge that that’s probably true.” Grover nods.

  “Thank you.” I begin to sit down.

  “But.” When Grover starts to speak again, I stay still. “I’d like to acknowledge that just because I’ve acknowledged that it’s none of my business doesn’t mean that I haven’t acknowledged that Zander doesn’t eat apples.”

  “Please set an example and take this seriously, Grover,” Kerry says.

  “I am being serious. What I think you mean to say is please make this about me. But I’m much more interested in Zander.”

  “That’s avoidance of your problems.” Kerry crosses his arms over his chest. “You know this, Grover.”

  “Yes. It is. But problems are depressing and there’s enough depression around here.”

  “Amen,” Cassie pipes up.

  “I think we’re done with this exercise, since you’re clearly not going to benefit from it.” Kerry begins to sit down.

  “But Zander might,” Grover says.

  “Leave me out of it,” I say loudly.

  “Too late.” Grover shrugs. “It’s already been acknowledged.”

  I plop down in my seat, my napkin balled between my fingers.

  “Thank you, Grover,” Kerry says, unenthusiastically.

  “One more thing.” Grover sticks up his pointer finger and gets out his notebook. He starts writing. “So I remember. I’d also like to acknowledge that Zander is wearing a black bathing suit and I’d like to see her in it. Whether she eats apples or not.”

  “Boy-girl relationships are not allowed at camp.” Kerry repeats one of his rules like a robot.

  “Well, then I’d like to acknowledge the stupidity of that rule. Plus, Zander and Grover sounds like a gay couple.”

  “Okay.” Kerry shakes his head.

  Bek raises his hand and stands next to Grover. “I’d like to acknowledge that Cassie is pretty and I want to see her naked. Forget the bathing suit.” His voice is loud and kind of sha
ky as he stares across the table at Cassie, his blue eyes shining.

  “Is he lying, Cleve?” she barks with wide eyes.

  Grover shrugs. “I can’t tell.”

  “Sit your fat ass down, Porky,” Cassie says.

  “Anything you say, beautiful,” Bek says and winks.

  I stay frozen in my seat, even after Kerry gives up on the morning’s exercise. I wish I was numb, but I’m humming, vibrating, practically shaking in my chair. As Grover collects his things, he leans over to me and sets the apple he’s eaten to the core on my tray. “Sorry about the bathing suit comment, but I had to say it. Heightened emotional state and all.”

  I can’t look at him.

  “I’m an ass. I acknowledge that. And I’ve got problems,” he says, touching my shoulder.

  “No touching,” I bark.

  “You know one in two people will contract an STD in their lifetime, but the likelihood of getting one through touching is, like, zero.”

  I storm away without a word, but before I leave the mess hall, I grab a packet of sugar from the food line. I glare down at my barely eaten bowl of oatmeal that tasted like little flakes of cardboard.

  Oatmeal is a heart-healthy meal. My mom’s voice rings in my ears. Don’t ruin it by dumping pure junk on top.

  But Cassie is right about sweet things. I rip open the sugar packet and shake the whole thing into my mouth. Then I eat another one. Then I think I might puke. Then I think someone will peg me for a purger and I choke it down.

  And as I hold the empty packets in my hand, I can’t believe I just acknowledged that Cassie was right about something.

  “Every time you come to the beach, you are required to hang your metal circle on this board, so the counselor on duty can know who is in the water and what their ability levels are. Each of you will be given a different color.” Madison stands in front of a large wooden board with the words AT CAMP PADUA THERE’S FUN IN FUNDAMENTALS written across the top. The board is covered in hooks and divided into three different-colored sections: red, yellow, and green. She swings a whistle around her fingers as she talks. “If you’re a red, you must wear a life jacket and stay within the shallow end of the H dock.” Madison points to the section closest to shore that is enclosed by three sides of the metal dock. “The life jackets are in the equipment shed. If you’re a yellow, you can go out as far as the end of the dock, which is marked by that line of buoys. If you’re a green, you can go as far out as the raft just offshore. That is the end of Camp Padua property.”