Poor Steffi, she doesn’t know what to say. It’s all true. I’m hopeless. She makes some noises about how I’ll look back at all this and laugh, but I probably won’t get the chance since they’ll certainly fire me today anyway.
“Torrie, do you want me to help you or what?”
“Aren’t you supposed to meet Robbie now?”
“Yeah, but that’s okay. He’ll understand.”
“Thanks, but I think it’s important that I handle it by myself. I’ll catch you later back at the bunk.”
I don’t have to convince her, because she’s so anxious to spend time with Robbie. Boy, can I understand that. All too well.
All you have to do is take one look at my tables and you know why nobody is fighting to get the little kids’ group. It’s a rubbish heap. They do more eating on the table than on their plates.
I dive into the job and after what seems like fifty trips to the kitchen I finally get the tables emptied and ready for dinner set-up. No more fancy bird napkins, I’m just happy to get the necessary things on the table. What difference does it make since they hate me already? And I’m not so crazy about them, either. Except for one little boy. His name was Henry, and he looked the way I feel inside now. Very sad. I hate being a failure. I wonder what his problem is?
I drag myself back to the bunk and everyone else is sunbathing outside, giggling and talking. I’m exhausted.
“Victoria Martin?” Liana, one of the women who works in the office pokes her head in the bunk.
“That’s me.”
“I think you have volunteered for mail delivery.”
“Volunteer? I don’t think I volunteered for anything yet.”
“Nobody really does,” she says very apologetically. “They just sort of assign the volunteers, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s not part of your job. You can explain to Madame Katzoff if you—”
“Explain to Madame Katzoff? Oh, no! I love mail delivery. I really do.” I jump off the bed. “I’m ready right now.”
“Great. You can pick up the sacks at the front office.” And she’s gone.
I sink back on my bed. Sixteen-year-olds don’t cry, I tell myself, but it doesn’t really help much. I know I wouldn’t feel so awful if I’d done a better job. And now I have to worry about screwing up mail delivery. Sounds easy, but in my hands it’ll probably be a disaster.
I change into my jeans and head over to the office. There are three other “volunteers” there, but they’ve already got their sacks and started by the time I arrive. The only sack left is the unbunked one. Unbunked means that it’s just the camper’s name. You have to look up the bunk numbers on the master sheet and then give them out.
This job takes me from two thirty until after four, which gives me about a half hour to get washed up and ready for dinner set-up.
“Victoria.” That’s Alexandra. She’s in her bathing suit. “I was just going down for a swim. How about it? I’ll wait if you want.”
Besides the fact that I’d probably sink right down to the bottom from exhaustion, I can’t go swimming, ever—Robbie’s there. He’s in charge of the waterfront. So that’s it. Summer camp without the water. Great, huh?
“Thanks, Al, but I’m beat.”
“Sure thing, see you later.” And she’s off.
The bunk is empty and the quiet feels good. I refuse to allow my mind to go over the horrendous things that have happened so far and I’m not thinking about dinner because that’s too terrifying. Of course, I’m not thinking about the Robbie problem or the fact that it’s just a matter of minutes before Nina finds my bunk. That doesn’t leave much I can think about, which is terrific because I’m much too tired for anything. I sit on the edge of my bed and stare into middle distance. That sounds better than it is because at this second, middle distance happens to be filled with Dena Joyce. She’s just breezed into the bunk, a bundle of excitement. At least someone has something to be happy about.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” she says, with a smile that almost touches her earlobes.
“What’s up?” I can’t even get past a whisper.
“I want to hear all about it.”
“What?”
“Lunch.”
I can’t believe her. I’m so stunned I’m speechless.
“Where’s your sense of humor?” she wants to know.
“Cool it, D. J., she doesn’t need that,” Alexandra says, following her into the bunk.
Dena Joyce gives Al a killer look, shrugs her shoulders, and wiggles off. “I didn’t know we had such a delicate flower among us.”
“She can be a real asshole sometimes,” Alexandra says, sitting down next to me. “Think of it this way. Now you’ve got no place to go but up.”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“Where?”
“Home.”
“Come on, Victoria, it’s just a bad first day. You’ll get the hang of it by tomorrow.”
“I don’t even know if I can do dinner tonight. Maybe they won’t let me. Gosh, that’s the first happy thought I’ve had since lunch.”
“You’ll see, dinner will be much better.”
But she’s wrong. Dinner is just as bad, maybe worse. I’m not even going to describe it. All I can say is that creamed spinach is even harder to scrape off than clam chowder. It got on three people’s shoulders. The fourth, Anna, my enemy, was so nervous that she made me serve her from across the table. She saved her shoulders, but when she reached for the bowl, she missed. You can’t grab creamed spinach; there’s nothing to hang on to. Of course I felt terrible, but not as bad as the afternoon; now that I know I’m going home.
I’ve decided to call my parents as soon as dinner is over and make arrangements to go home. I might even be able to get out before breakfast tomorrow morning.
“Steffi,” I tell her, when we’re walking back to the bunk alone after the dinner disaster, “I can’t do it.”
“Sure you can.” She starts to give me a pep talk, but I cut her off.
“I’m going home.”
She’s shocked. “You can’t.”
“I have to.”
“Just because you had a bad first day. That doesn’t mean anything. Come on, Torrie. Gosh, I never thought you’d be a …”
“A what? A quitter?”
“Hey, I didn’t mean that.”
“Sure you did, and you’re right, but I can’t help it. It’s just one of the things I can’t do. Like play the violin or eat liver. I just can’t do it.”
“I feel awful. I mean it was going to be such a great summer, but if you’re not here … well, it just won’t be the same.”
“You still have Robbie.”
“But that’s different. You’re my best friend. Besides, we all planned to be together this summer, the three of us, didn’t we?”
“I’m really sorry, Steffi, but I just can’t do it.”
“You could give it a little more time, couldn’t you?”
I shake my head no.
I hate to do this to Steffi, but I’ve made up my mind. I guess she senses that because instead of getting angry, she just sort of gives up, and we walk the rest of the way in silence.
When we get to the bunk she stops, and in a very understanding voice tells me we’re still best friends and if this is what I have to do, I have to do it.
The best time to catch my parents home is around ten thirty. Even if they’ve gone out to dinner they’ll be home by then. I try until eleven, but no luck. You’re not allowed to use the phone after that so I have to wait until the morning.
It’s the first night I get a good night’s sleep. Sure, I know it’s tough on Steffi and I really do care about her, but I can’t hack it. That’s all. You gotta know when to stop.
Six
I try my parents first thing in the morning. No answer. It’s very strange for them to be out of the house at six thirty in the morning. The only explanation is that they’re out on Long Island with friends. My heart sinks
when I think that I’ll have to stay here another day. Three more meals. Three more disasters. I’ll never make it.
To make matters worse, guess who’s waiting for me when I get back to the bunk? That’s right, El Creepo, the sister you love to lose, and her new friend, Nance. I thought I was too lucky. I avoided her for almost twenty-four hours.
“Hi, Victoria,” Nina says, smiling at me as if she were some wonderful surprise.
I control myself.
“Yeah, hi,” I say, and start hurrying to get into my waitress uniform.
“This is my friend, Nance. She’s in my bunk.”
“Hi, Nance.” I give her a quick smile.
Everyone is dressed already. I can’t take a chance on being late, but I don’t want Nina to get suspicious. “Mom didn’t say she was going away for a couple of days, did she?”
“Yeah, she did. They went up to see somebody in Woodstock.”
“Who?” I try to make it sound like just general curiosity.
“I can’t remember.”
“Didn’t she tell you?”
“Yes, but I forgot. I didn’t recognize the name.” She’s already opening my cubby and checking out my wardrobe. As she opens it, I close it. That doesn’t stop her. She opens it again.
“What if I really needed her?” I say, slamming the door. “Why didn’t you write it down, dummy?”
“You don’t have to call me names. I didn’t know you needed it.”
“I don’t, I’m just curious.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, ‘so’?”
“So, what difference does it make? Besides I did write it down.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“You didn’t ask.”
Nina and I are so wrapped up in this stupid conversation that I don’t even notice that everyone has stopped everything and is just standing there watching us. Somehow my sister brings out the worst in me. I never act this stupid with anyone else.
“Forget the whole thing,” I tell her and everyone else. I’m really a little annoyed. Especially at Steffi. She shouldn’t be doing this. “Just get the number and forget the whole thing.”
“Huh?”
This is so baffling to everyone that they lose interest.
“Did you bring your blue vest?” Out comes the true reason for the visit.
“Of course I did.”
“I told you,” she says to her friend, and goes right for my cubby. “Wait till you see it. It’s fabulous, exactly the same.”
“Okay,” I say, “so you get the number and meet me at the office.”
“What number?”
“The phone number. Where Mom and Dad are.”
“You said you didn’t need it. Are you going to call them?”
“Did you show Nance the vest?”
“She has one just like it.”
“So you want to borrow mine so you can dress alike?”
“Yeah, would you lend it?” Nina doesn’t have to look that stunned. I lend her a lot of stuff, only most of the time I don’t know I’m doing it.
“Sure. Take it and meet me with the number at the office, right?”
She knows something’s up with the phone number, but she’s getting the vest so she doesn’t push her luck.
“I’ll see you in five minutes, okay?” And she and Nancy and the vest rush out the door.
I try my parents at the number Nina gives me, but there’s no answer there either. I’ll try later.
Somehow I got lucky with the lineup and flag-raising. They didn’t miss me so I skip the whole thing and go straight on to the mess hall.
It’s true, it’s easier to set up the tables today, but then that wasn’t my big problem. I’m okay until the people come, then I fall apart.
And here they come, hordes of them. I never thought I would feel so ugly about little kids, but they terrify me now. They are kind of cute the way they rush into the dining hall. It’s so important when you’re that age to have the right seat. Everyone seems to get his seat, at least the one he wants, except for Henry, the sad little boy from yesterday. He looks like his heart is going to break today.
“Hi, Henry,” I say, to try to cheer him up, but it doesn’t work.
“Hello,” he says, and puts his head down as if he’s hiding from sight.
Meanwhile, just as one of the other little boys was about to take the seat next to Henry, a bigger boy whispers something in his ear. They both look at Henry and giggle. This touches off a ripple down one side of the table. Raoul, the counselor, stops it with a stern look at the boys. Too late, it’s obvious that Henry is what’s so funny, and he sinks deeper into his chair, his face cherry-colored.
The bigger boy, who is obviously the leader, or the bully, puts his fingers to his nose like something smells bad, and the table falls into hysterics. It’s obvious who smells. Even Raoul can’t stop it this time. In fact, the more he tries the louder the laughter grows. The little rats. Boy, kids really are mean sometimes.
I’m about to go over to Big Shot and drop something on his head. The way I serve, nobody would think I did it on purpose. I’m halfway around the table when Henry jumps up and races across the dining room and out the front door.
“I’ll get him,” I tell Raoul, and shoot out after him.
He doesn’t go far. There he is, sitting on the bench in the far corner of the porch, crying.
“Henry?” I come up and put my hand on his shoulder. He’s sobbing so hard I can feel his whole body shaking. “Hey, he’s just a stupid bully. You can’t pay attention to him.”
The same second I’m saying these things to Henry, I know how stupid I sound. He can’t not pay attention to him. Everyone else does. Sure, he’s a bully and he’s a jerk, but so what? It still hurts. I’d cry too.
“Can I help you?” I ask him.
He doesn’t stop crying, he just shakes his head, no.
“I know how you feel,” I say.
That makes him stop crying for a second. He looks up surprised. “You wet your bed, too?”
“Not anymore, but there are other things just as bad.”
“No, there isn’t,” and he’s back to crying.
“What do you think about a grown-up like me screwing up on a job that everyone else in the world can do with one hand tied behind her back? Didn’t you see the whole place laughing at me yesterday when I dropped all those things?”
“I wanna go home,” Henry sobs out to me. “Please ask them if I can go home. I don’t like it here anymore.”
“You’re only just starting. It’s a great camp and you’re going to have a fabulous summer. You’ve just got to give it a chance.”
“I wanna go home.”
“You can’t let a dummy like that ruin your whole summer.”
“I wanna go home.”
“Would you like me to talk to him? I can think of a few things that would make him think twice before he bothered you again? Would you like that?”
He shakes his head no, and tears sprinkle all over my shirt.
“What do you want?”
“I wanna go home.”
“You can’t.”
“How come, if I wanna?”
“Because that’s quitting. And you can’t quit before you really give it a try.” I sound very adult and reasonable. “For starters,” I say, “do you have to wet your bed?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, then we’ll have to work around that. Look, Henry, there are other ways to deal with a rat like what’s his name ….”
“Steven.”
“Steven. I really love to nail those people. Don’t you worry—I’ll help you.”
The minute the words pop out of my mouth I remember that I’m not going to be here myself since I’m quitting too. Doing exactly what I’m telling Henry not to do. But of course, my situation is different.
So I go on. “You can’t let bullies like that win so easily. At least go down fighting. What do you think? You want to give it a try?�
��
“I wanna go home.”
“If you quit now, you’ll always be a quitter. That’s the way you’ll think of yourself.”
Suddenly he’s stopped crying, and he’s looking at me hard.
“I don’t want to be a quitter.”
I don’t either. How come I didn’t see what I’m doing until I tell some little kid?
“Neither do I,” I tell him, “and that’s just what I was going to do too. Just because I had one lousy day and the worst problem imaginable with my best friend that will probably destroy our friendship. I also hate this gross creature in my bunk who always picks on me. Boy, Henry, your damp sheets don’t hold a candle to all my problems.”
“Then let’s both go home.”
I guess he’s a sensible little boy, but I know that’s the wrong thing to do. My dad always says you can’t be a quitter.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I tell him. “If you stay, I’ll stay.”
He thinks about it for a long minute.
“Come on, Henry, we can beat them. Let’s give it a try. What do you say?”
“Okay, but you gotta drop something on his head.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can, you always do.”
He’s beginning to sound like Dena Joyce. Maybe he’s not so cute. “Okay,” I tell him, “you come back into the dining room and I’ll see what I can do.”
He smiles for the first time. Add no front teeth to the bedwetting. He’s got a way to go.
I motion for him to follow me. “Watch out, Steven!”
“And that gross girl …”
“Dena Joyce.”
“Dena Joyce!”
And we head into the mess hall, heads high, shoulders back. By the time we hit the table Henry’s head is hanging again and everyone is screaming for their food.
I get so busy trying to catch up that I forget to dump on Steven. Lucky for me, I trip over the back of one of the chairs and a fried egg pops off the plate and lands smack on his head. The whole table cracks up. I wink at Henry. It’s a small victory.
“Victoria Martin.” The gravel voice of Madame Katzoff wipes the smile of my face. “That’ll cost you fifty cents. You better shape up. And fast! Or else!” she says as she passes my table.
Love & Betrayal & Hold the Mayo Page 8