by J. K. Rock
CAMP PAYBACK
J.K. Rock
SPENCER HILL CONTEMPORARY
Copyright © 2014 by Joanne Rock and Karen Rock
Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.
Spencer Hill Press
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Contact: Spencer Hill Contemporary, an imprint of Spencer Hill Press, PO Box 247, Contoocook, NH, 03229, USA
Please visit our website at www.spencerhillcontemporary.com
First Edition: April 2014
J.K Rock
Camp Payback / by J.K. Rock – 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary:
Teenage girl is determined to make her last year at summer camp the best ever.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this fiction: Airstream, AstroTurf, Bedazzler, Chevy, Coke, Dairy Queen, Dixie, eBay, EpiPen, Ford, Frisbee, Gatorade, Hello Kitty, iPhone, JELL-O, Keds, LEGO, Lord of the Rings, Midol, NASCAR, Nerf, Power Rangers, Scooby-Doo, Star Wars, TED, Tony, Twilight Zone, Twitter, WWE, YouTube, Ziploc
Cover design by K. Kaynak, based on a design by Jennifer Rush
Interior layout by Jenny Perinovic
ISBN 978-1-939392-90-9 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-939392-91-6 (e-book)
Printed in the United States of America
To all of the amazing, talented and hard-working YA bloggers who helped us to find our readers and who made our young adult debut so much fun. Thank you all!
Martineau Family:
Alexandra
Andrew: Alex’s perfect(ly annoying) older brother
Grace: Alex’s mother
James: Alex’s father
Munchies’ Manor: Voled most likely to star in…
Emily (Counselor): viral flash mob to Madonna’s Vogue
Alex: remake of the movie 10 Things I Hate About You…and you… and you…
Trinity: a psychic who shows up on Supernatural and dies the next episode without predicting it
Piper: a survival reality TV game show
Siobhan: an episode of Jeopardy where her lightning-fast answers short-circuit Watson
Jackie: beach volleyball Team USA Olympic final match-up
Yasmine: an advice talk show with better ratings than Oprah
Divas’ Den: Voted most likely to star in…
Victoria (Counselor): live-action version of Sleeping Beauty where she sleeps happily ever after
Hannah: 10 Steps to Squash Your Mean Girl Battitude infomercial
Brittany: the worst Buffy remake ever—Buffy saves vampires and kills humans
Rachel: beach volleyball Team USA with Jackie in Olympic finals—GOLD!
Brooke: Battle of the YouTube Has-Beens
Nia: a Broadway hit show about a YouTube star—wins Tony
Kayla: a teen remake of Home Alone Again… Typical
The Wander Inn: Voted most likely to star in…
Bruce (Bam-Bam) (Counselor): remake of the movie Rambo, without mumbling so people understand lines
Rafael: documentary that follows his win at the World Chess Federation
Julian: a TED talk where he uses Lord of the Rings as an analogy for global warming
Vijay: Jersey Shore: The Movie
Danny: an episode of Life in Your Parents’ Basement
Garrett: Project Runway, and he never hears the words “auf wiedersehen”
Warriors’ Warden: Voted most likely to star in…
Rob (The Hottie) (Counselor): any Nicholas Sparks movie
Javier: a top-rated Venezuelan cooking show
Eli: a reboot of Punk’d on MTV
Devon: a commercial for an Internet dating site where he’s the only single guy
Jake: his own workout video franchise: Cray-Cray
Cameron: (Appear on People magazine’s cover as the ‘Sexiest Man Alive’… in a photo-shopped version)
Buster: the WWE; code name: Bust-A-Move
Lake Juniper Point Director:
Mr. Woodrow (Gollum): most likely to star in an extreme medical emergency video where his whistle is surgically removed from his stomach…again
Alex
“Martineau family? You’re on in ten minutes.”
BLISS Network’s waiting room door snapped shut behind a tired-looking intern, and my father leaped into action.
“Alex, wipe that goop off your mouth. Andrew, use a double Windsor knot on your tie. Dear, help Andrew. And for God’s sake, everyone stay calm. We’re going live on national television, so no mistakes.” My father stopped pacing, and his eyes locked with mine. I flinched and studied my “gently used,” secondhand black loafers. Sensible shoes for raising sensible kids, I mentally quoted from one of their Wholesome Home parenting blog posts. Though there was nothing practical about the blisters forming on my pinched toes.
“So the producers think we’ve got a shot at getting our own talk show?” said my older brother, Andrew, from the couch. Mom’s dress sleeves fluttered as she straightened his tie.
Dad beamed. “Last I checked, our site had over ten million followers and our book is still on the bestseller list, so I’d say yes, champ, we’ve got a good chance, unless—” His gaze pinned me down again. “Unless anyone breaks our Wholesome Home rules. That’s why everyone is on their best behavior this summer. BLISS is sending surprise camera crews to check in on each of us sometime over the next couple of months. We won’t know until the fall if we’re filming a pilot.”
I avoided his warning look, grabbed a tissue, and rubbed off my clear lip gloss. It figured that eagle-eyed Dad would notice my small rebellion against his no-makeup rule, which even the studio’s hair and makeup team had been forced to follow. What had I been thinking? I crumpled the tissue, chucked it at the trash, and missed. It wasn’t like I got away with anything. Ever. Take the long-sleeved shirt and maxi-length skirt I wore. My mother had scoured clearance racks for weeks before she’d found something horrible enough to meet my father’s approval.
“Excuse me, young lady.” Dad towered over me in a tailored suit, his salt-and-pepper hair clipped a precise quarter of an inch above his ears. “Is this the action of a Wholesome Home teen?” He held out the tissue, not bothering to wait for my answer. “Now throw it away properly.”
“I was going to pick it up.” I grabbed the paper and strode closer to the basket, trying to keep a lid on my frustration.
“What did you say?”
My hand froze over the container. In a few days I’d be at Camp Juniper Point and away from Dad’s control, I reminded myself. With friends. Having fun.
“I said that I planned to get it. It’s not like I’d leave it there.” Would they ever stop blowing every mistake I made into something major? Sure. I made lots of them. But rarely the same ones twice. Or three times anyway. Four max.
Andrew smirked, a mini-version of my father in his dark suit and patriotic tie. My mother paled and mouthed “stop” at me.
Dad stepped closer, frowning.
“When I give you an order, you do it. Got it? No back talk.”
Mom joined us and wrapped an arm around my tense shoulders. “She was only trying to explain herself.”
“When I want an explanation, I’ll ask for one.” His flinty eyes sparked my trigger-ready anger.
“And when will that be? You never asked for an explanation about the text message.” My voice rose with my temper. “Th
e one that asked if I still wanted to be a virgin.” The pent-up words flew from my mouth before I could stop them. And then, suddenly, I didn’t want to dam myself up like the rest of my family. Never talking about anything real. Ignoring problems instead of dealing with them. The whole mess simmered inside me, ready to boil over any second.
“Alex, honey, this isn’t the time,” Mom whispered. “And people will hear you.”
“So what if they do?” I scooted away when she leaned close. A kiss would not make this hurt better. “Maybe they want to hear me, even if you don’t.”
“Pipe down. Now.” Dad spoke through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, Alex. Do you want to ruin Mom and Dad’s chances for this show?” Andrew tried the reasonable approach, Mr. Perfect Son always taking my parents’ side. Never hearing mine.
“Shut it, Andrew.” Angry tears stung my eyes. I sounded horrible, yet I couldn’t stop myself. If only I was the damsel-in-distress type of girl people rushed to comfort. My instinct was to fight back, which never got me sympathy. I wouldn’t be appearing as a cartoon princess anytime soon.
I squared my shoulders to face Dad again. “No matter what I say, you believe the worst. You’d rather send me to a jail disguised as an all-girls boarding school than deal with this or me. “And yes—” A bitter laugh escaped me. “I saw the admissions application on your desk. A New Day Alternative Boarding School for Girls. You’re not the only ones who can snoop.”
My mother’s breathy intake nearly sucked the oxygen out of the room.
Dad’s face turned a shade darker than his tie. “Don’t tempt my patience.” When he leaned close, I smelled the coffee on his breath. “If we didn’t already have our overseas mission itinerary set, you’d be locked in your room all summer until we sent you away.”
“Honey,” Mom broke in. “What your father means is that you should consider these two months a trial. As long as we don’t hear of any misbehavior at camp, you won’t have to go.”
Dad harrumphed. “You will not ruin our shot at a talk show. Got it?”
Oh, I got it all right. Mom wasn’t fooling me. There was no trial because I’d already been found guilty. The sentence delivered. Ten months at A New Day School of Torture and Suffering.
I forced myself to speak over the pain squeezing my chest. “Because that’s what really matters, right? Your precious career?” I shook my mother’s hand off my wrist. “All I am is your personal cross to bear.” I quoted from one of the many blog posts they’d written about raising a problem child like me.
In the silence while I waited, stupidly, for my parents to disagree, I flopped in a nearby chair. Emptiness smothered my fire. No matter what I said or did, I would never be good enough. I tugged at the scratchy collar digging into my neck and swallowed past the painful lump clogging my throat.
My parents were the authority on raising wholesome kids. Or one, anyway. Every teacher asked me why I couldn’t be more like my perfect brother, Andrew. Worse yet, teachers who were Wholesome Home fans groaned when they spotted my name on their class list and handed me detention slips for stuff other kids got away with all the time. But that wasn’t a mystery. They were all too happy to give quotes about me for the blog. I was a public relations nightmare to my parents. Nothing more.
Well, I was also one more thing: ammunition for their recent bestseller, Discipline with Love: The Wholesome Home’s Answer to Problem Behavior. At least I had my uses. I rubbed my eyes. No way would I let them see me cry.
The door swooshed open, and a man with a headset and clipboard gestured to us.
“All set?”
“You bet!” shouted Dad, Mom, and Andrew, exhibiting our standard family cheer for public appearances. Only I couldn’t join in. Not when I was a prop for the movie set of their so-called perfect life.
“Happy faces!” urged the usher guy as I slouched by him and into the dark hall leading up to the set. My mother’s cold hand slipped into mine and squeezed.
We took our seats as technicians clipped microphones to our shirts.
“And we’re live in five,” blared an announcer, “four…” He held up three fingers, two, then one, followed by a point that seemed to animate Wake Up America’s host, Kevin Stiller.
“It’s time to wake up, America, and meet the Martineaus, authors of the Wholesome Home parenting blog and their most recent bestseller, Discipline with Love: The Wholesome Home’s Answer to Problem Behavior. Please give a warm welcome to James.” Wild applause broke out. “Grace.” Louder applause. “Andrew.” A few whistles mixed with the clapping. “And Alex.” The crowd’s hush was punctuated with a few disappointed sighs.
I slid lower in my chair, my damp hands twisting in my lap. Ouch. All the audience knew about me was what they read. And that wasn’t pretty. If only I could tell my side of the story.
“So, James…” Kevin Stiller leaned forward in his chair. “Can you give us a quick summary of your Wholesome Home’s parenting philosophy?”
My dad’s face transformed into a stranger’s. His smile was warm, his eyes twinkled. “It’s raising your children to embrace traditional, wholesome values such as understanding the importance of hard work, kindness, family, and integrity. We encourage saving rather than spending, helping others rather than helping yourself, faith in yourself and a higher power, and above all, honesty.”
The microphone amplified my choking cough.
Kevin Stiller looked at me, stunned, before he faced a lit camera, white teeth flashing against tanned skin. For the next five minutes, my father fielded questions. Then Kevin turned to my brother.
“Andrew, what are your plans this summer?”
“I’m building shelters in Nicaragua.” His brown hair, smooth and lacking my red highlights, gleamed under the intense stage lights. The crowd cheered, and a girl yelled, “Marry me!”
Our host held up his hands, and the crowd quieted. “That’s wonderful. And will your sister be accompanying you?”
I crossed my arms across my chest, knowing I looked every inch the rebellious teen they imagined me to be. But what the hell? Why hadn’t Kevin asked me?
Andrew’s expression turned pious and remorseful. “She’s going to North Carolina.” He hung his head, paused to study his clasped hands, then raised it again, his green eyes looking apologetic. “To summer camp,” he added.
The audience’s silent, collective disapproval was palpable. I peered into the darkened area and wondered what they saw. An apathetic teenager? A defiant girl? A burden to her deserving family? All of the above?
“And what will she be doing at this camp? Volunteering?” Kevin Stiller prompted, his eyes never straying my way.
I sat up straight, uncrossed my arms and leaned forward, my parents’ narrowed eyes on me. Screw this. My family’s official talking points about my summer were that I’d be volunteering with younger campers and promoting environmental awareness. Yet that wasn’t even close to the full story. If my parents valued honesty so much, then it was time they got some.
“No,” I cut off whatever Andrew was about to say, my voice loud in the hush. “I’m going to have fun.”
My dad looked like he was about to bust a kidney, but I stopped myself from caring. After a grueling year of public appearances to support their book, every interview focusing on me as the bad kid, every misstep dissected on their world-famous blog, they were rewarding me by banishing me from my friends, school, and home.
Someone said the best revenge was living well. If I had the greatest summer ever before they tossed me in A New Day’s dungeons and threw away the key, I’d get what I wanted.
Payback.
And if that included the boy who sent me the text, my ex-camp boyfriend, even better.
……………….
Five days later, when the car rolled to a stop on the huge, horseshoe-shaped driveway in front of Camp Juniper Point’s administration building, I wrenched open the back door.
“Alex.” My father coaxed his irritation into a socia
lly acceptable tone in case anyone outside the car could hear. “Wait until the vehicle comes to a stop, please.”
What. Ever.
I waited on the sidewalk while they got out of the car. As always, Dad held the door for Mom. They approached me holding hands, a trick they’d taught fans to “present a united front” when confronting your teen.
Little did they know I was about to give them enough material for Volume II on that one. I was already being sent to a school/jail after this summer for crimes that weren’t my fault. I might as well commit a few for real.
“It looks like another fun summer, sweetheart,” my father boomed loud enough for nearby families to overhear. When a couple rushed toward us, camera in hand, he slid an arm around my waist, my mother automatically stepping to my other side.
“Can we please take your picture?” asked a woman wearing a Wholesome Home T-shirt. “I was hoping we’d see you. If you only knew how much you’ve helped us deal with our Kennedi. Those chapters you wrote about your daughter—”
I gave the pouting Kennedi a small wink, then forced the smile expected of me during family photo-ops. Just a few more minutes and they’d be gone. Then the summer, and my life, would belong to me.
“Your parents are saints,” the camera-happy mother said, lowering the apparatus and frowning at me. My insides curled. I hated that knowing, judgmental expression strangers got when they saw me. They only knew what they’d read: one half of the story. My parents’ half.
“Yes.” I forced myself to return Dad’s easy grin. “They certainly think so.” It was all I could do not to sprint into the registration building and get this summer started. “Thank you, Dad, for letting me come to camp,” I added for good measure.
“You’re welcome,” Dad said through smiling teeth as a camera clicked. “And don’t forget about BLISS showing up this summer.” He kissed the top of my head as another family snapped pictures. I did my best to act like that was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. “Use good judgment.”
I nodded, my stomach jittery. In moments, I’d see my Munchies’ Manor cabin mates, and summer would officially begin. I only had eight weeks to pack in a year’s worth of fun. My phone buzzed against my thigh, but I ignored the incoming text. I’d been lucky to keep the phone and didn’t want to give Dad any reason to snatch it away.