Love & Betrayal & Hold the Mayo

by Francine Pascal

“Right,” she says, and without another word leaves the bunk.

  She knows.

  We’re lost.

  Al and Steffi both see what happened. She’s going to rat on us. And there’s no place to run.

  The twins and Liza are still jumping around, but the three of us go very quiet.

  “What do you think?” Al whispers to me.

  “We just have to wait and see,” I say.

  “But what do you think will happen?”

  I shrug my shoulders. We both look at Steffi.

  “At best, the worst.”

  “Now I feel better,” I say.

  “You want the truth, don’t you?”

  Meanwhile, the twins and Liza have stopped jumping around. “What’s up?” Liza asks.

  The three of us trip over each other to say, “Nothing.” And then try to look very ordinary. If I do it as badly as they do, we’re in big trouble.

  “Something’s fishy here,” Twinny Somebody says, and her shadow shakes her head in agreement.

  “Yeah,” Steffi says, looking at Liza. “What’s up?”

  “Right.” Al and I jump right into it, taking our cue. “Something’s funny.”

  “I think so too,” the other twin says, and before you know it we’re all standing around trying to find out what’s happening. Except some of us know already, and nothing matters anyway since Dena Joyce really knows; and it’s just a matter of time before they come with the Dobermans.

  “Come on,” Liza says. “Let’s go find out what’s up.”

  And the three of them go out leaving us unprotected. The minute they leave the bunk we fall into a hysterical laughing fit that’s really sheer horrendous panic. And I mean fall, all over the beds, the floor; we can’t get our balance.

  We’re going on like this for I don’t know how long when suddenly Steffi stops. “Listen,” she says, “listen how quiet it’s got.”

  It’s true. Suddenly there’s this weird silence. All that excited noise outside has stopped.

  “What do you think?” Al is the first to ask, her eyes popping.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Look out the window.”

  “No, you look.”

  “No way,” I say. “I got us into this. My job is finished. You both have to get us out.”

  “Do you think D. J. told or what?” Now Steffi is beginning to look as bad as Al, which is about what I feel in my stomach. “If she didn’t it’s only because she loves us so much. Come on, we’re worrying too much. It was only a little joke; why would they take it so seriously?”

  “Are you kidding?” Steffi suddenly gets very sensible. “Color War is heavy stuff.”

  Alexandra is shaking her head, agreeing, “Everybody really goes all out for it, so when dear old D. J. told them it was all a big trick, they probably went bonkers. Wait till you see, they’re going to be furious.”

  “So what do you think is going to happen to us?” I ask her.

  “It’s all according to who gets us first.”

  “Right,” Steffi says. “If we can survive the kids, we’ll probably just get a good talking to …”

  “That’s not so bad.”

  “… by Madame Katzoff?”

  “It’s horrendous.”

  We all try to figure what she’ll actually do. And we decide that no matter, she can’t really do more than just fine us. I mean, they don’t have capital punishment in summer camp. At least, it didn’t say so in the brochure.

  A little more conjecture and we end up in terror.

  It’s still eeriely quiet out there and then slowly, far in the background, we begin to hear sounds. And they get louder, like the sound of a crowd of people in the distance. A big crowd, and crazy, like it’s the French Revolution and we’re King Louis the whatever.

  “I’ll choose you for who looks out of the window,” I say.

  And while our whole castle is being stormed, we do one-potato, two-potato. Steffi loses.

  She sort of creeps across the room and peeks out from between the broken shutters. “So?” I ask her when she gets there.

  “Holy cow!”

  Now Al and I race over to the window. Oh God, it’s awful. What looks like hundreds of camper-type humans are spilling out from behind the last line of bunks and all converging on our bunk. And boy do they look angry. Remember unruly mobs from movies? That’s the picture, and they’re coming fast.

  “Are the gargoyles with them?” Al asks.

  “I don’t see them,” I say,

  “Then we’re okay.”

  Both Steffi and I look at Alexandra like she’s off the wall.

  “Are you kidding? Four million peasants in revolution and you say we’re okay. What’s going to happen when they get here and they’re almost here right now.”

  “You’ll explain,” she says.

  “Just say it was a little joke …” Steffi gets right in there.

  “No, you say it was a little joke.”

  It’s hard to believe those hordes of people are actually headed here. It’s all ridiculous. After all, what are they going to do to us anyway?

  And even though I know they really can’t string us up or anything like that, still the sight of all those angry kids out there is scary.

  “Should we hide or what?” Steffi asks.

  “Great idea,” I say, and the three of us frantically start to search for hiding places. The crowd sounds are getting louder. God, it was only a little joke.

  “This is stupid,” I tell them. “Three people can’t hide in this room. Forget it, they’ll find us in a minute. Besides, it looks worse. It’s like admitting guilt.”

  “What should we do?” Alexandra asks.

  “Stay here and face it.”

  “Or what?” That’s Steffi, of course.

  “Or run.”

  “Let’s go!”

  And the three of us head for the door. We open it, look out, and slam it shut instantly. It’s too late. Half the population of upper New York State is marching on us.

  “Out the window!” I shout.

  But the stupid broken shutters don’t open. Nothing to do but face it bravely. That’s probably what courage really is. No other choice.

  We can hear the pounding and scuffling of the mob and then footsteps, a lot of them, coming up the steps onto the porch. Their mistake.

  Then the shouts, “Watch it!” “Oh, shit!” and other exclamations as the boards crack and sink under their feet. We may have our own kind of moat.

  Then the pounding starts.

  “Open this door!” someone hollers.

  “Shove the cubbie in front of the door!” Steffi says, and the three of us slide Liza’s cubbie against the door. Now the pounding gets even harder and more voices are shouting for us to open up.

  “The other cubbie!” I call out to Steffi, but it’s too late. They’ve already got the door partway open and nothing is going to hold it. We’re done for. Incredible. This is nuts. Plain old campers don’t break down doors. This is a nightmare.

  Nothing left but to give up. “Okay,” I say, “since it was my idea, I’ll go first.”

  “Right,” says my best friend, “you go first.”

  All the time those nuts out there haven’t stopped pounding and now the door is halfway off its hinges and splitting down the center.

  We can see the enemy faces squeezing grotesquely into the partly open door. Two more minutes and they’ll be in. We’ve pasted ourselves against the wall as far back as the room will allow. I can’t believe this all started from such a little joke.

  “They’re really nuts,” I say to Steffi, and she just shakes her head. She can’t believe it either.

  “What are we going to do when they get in?” she asks me, and I can see she’s scared. I am too.

  So is Alexandra.

  A couple more slams on that door and it’s finished. Al looks like she’s going to cry.

  I’m beginning to feel that way too.

  The shouts and the shuffling and t
he pounding and now a new sound even more terrifying. A high screeching noise, at first thin, some place far in the background and then building in power, louder and louder and finally like a siren right in front of the bunk. The squeezed heads begin to pull out from the bulging door to turn in that direction, and the assault falls off a little. The door that was stretched open closes a bit, and the attackers let up. Huge relief.

  We all run to the window but there’s nothing to see. The crowds are turning in the direction of the rec hall. The siren is still blasting, but now we can hear another sound, like a drum and then a cymbal and then horns, and it’s music. The siren is still blaring but dying out as the music comes closer. It’s a marching band!

  At first a few of the kids from the back of the crowd break away and start heading over toward the rec hall; then a few more leave. The first ones begin to pick up speed and then break into a run, then the others follow and more and more kids are turning and running in the direction of the music.

  “What’s happening?” Al says.

  “Who cares?” I say. “We’re saved.”

  And we are. In no time there isn’t a soul left in front of the bunk. They’re all running to the music.

  “I know what it is,” Steffi says, and at that moment it dawns on me too, what’s happening. “Color War, that’s what.”

  “Only the real thing this time.”

  Alexandra is only now beginning to pull herself together. “Isn’t that the weirdest, nuttiest thing? We get saved by the very thing that almost knocked us out.”

  “Don’t count your chickens. We’re not finished yet. Not by a long shot,” Steffi says, but she’s smiling because the worst is definitely over.

  “We made it. All they’re going to do is fine us or something like that,” I say.

  But Al is still worried. “Yeah, but what’s the something like that?”

  “No big deal—I can practically guarantee everybody’s going to be too busy with Color War to bother with our little nothing. You’ll see, they’re going to be laughing about it soon, right, Steffi?”

  “She’s right, Al. Maybe a fine, tops. Don’t worry.”

  “Hey, you know what? It just hit me that Color War really did break. I’m dying to know what teams we’re on. Let’s see what’s happening.”

  We have to practically drag Alexandra out of the bunk, but finally she comes with us and we all race down to the rec hall.

  The whole camp is there. The band is marching around the lawn followed by some counselors dressed in clown costumes with huge helium balloons stretching up into the air anchored by long strings attached to their shoulders. They have baskets tucked under one arm and with the other hand they’re tossing green-and gray-colored balls to the kids. Everybody is scrambling for them. Nobody pays any attention to us. One of the colored balls comes right at us and Al grabs it.

  It’s shiny, like a tree ornament, and there’s something inside. She twists it open and takes out the folded paper inside. It’s the team lists.

  “Quick,” Steffi says, “Open it. I’m dying to know if Robbie’s on my team, or what.”

  Me too, only I’m dying to know that he’s not on mine. Boy, he’d better not be.

  Alexandra goes first since she caught it.

  “Green team, I’m on the green team! Here, Victoria, you find yours.”

  I get it in a second. “Green team too. Great.” I hand the list to Steffi, “Fingers crossed you’re on our team too.”

  “Damn,” she says.

  “What?” I grab the list.

  “Gray team. What about Robbie? You look.”

  I turn to the boys’ part, and his name practically jumps off the page.

  “I knew it,” Steffi says. She’s right, there he is, third from the top, on the green team.

  “Sorry.” And I really am, but it’s no big deal. It’s not like we’re alone; there’s at least a hundred and fifty kids on each team.

  “That stinks. Everybody good is on the green team.” Poor Steffi, she’s really disappointed.

  “Hey, it’s going to be all right,” I tell her. “You’ve got D. J. on your team.”

  “Gross.”

  “… and the twins.”

  “Both of ‘em?”

  “Both. And Dracula and the Wolfman and Erica from All My Children.”

  “That’s enough,” Al says, pulling me close to her “No more consorting with the enemy.”

  “Up yours,” Steffi snarls.

  “Uh-uh, now where’s your sense of sportsmanship?”

  “Hey!” One of the little kids, maybe a sophomore, comes up from out of nowhere and yanks at my sleeve. “Aren’t you one of the waitresses who did that thing?”

  I shake my head no, but she’s not one bit convinced.

  “Oh, yes you are.” And then she grabs her little friend and, pointing to me, says, “Isn’t she that one from the dining room?”

  “You mean The Spiller?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.” The other little one shakes her head. “That’s her.”

  Nice. That’s what I’m known as—“The Spiller.” I wonder why.

  “Boy,” the first little one says, “are you in trouble. My counselor is really mad at you,”

  “So is mine,” the other one says. “I’m going to tell her.”

  And the two of them run off and so do we. We head back to the safety of our bunk, fast. But not fast enough.

  “Just a minute, you three.” Without turning, we all know we’re finished. It’s all over. But when we do turn, we see there’s still a little hope. It isn’t Madame Katzoff or the Doctor. It’s only Ginny Fowler, the head counselor. “I’d like to have a little conversation with the three of you. Meet me in my office in fifteen minutes.”

  And she goes off.

  “She’s okay,” Steffi says. “She’s been here for years. Everybody likes her.”

  Alexandra agrees. “A big talking to and a little fine. Don’t worry, it’s cool.”

  “We just got lucky,” I say. “If it hadn’t been for the real Color War we’d have been sunk. I’d love to get back at the Dena Joyce gross-out some way.”

  “It’s tough, though,” Al says. “It’s like she’s made of steel. No soft spots.”

  “Everybody has soft spots, you’ve just got to find them.”

  “Dena Joyce?” Steffi shakes her head like there’s no way.

  But I have an idea. I don’t say anything to them because it needs more investigation. But just maybe good old hard-as-nails isn’t so break-proof. Well see.

  “Come on, let’s get over to Ginny’s,” Steffi says. “The faster we get this over with, the faster we’ll be in the clear or what.”

  And, as Steffi would say, we all go off to meet our destiny or what.

  Exactly as predicted, Ginny gave us the big talking to, but the fine wasn’t so little. We each lost eleven dollars. Still it was better than being hanged, which would have been better than a chat with the gargoyles; so we got off easy. Steffi said one day we’d look back and think it was a fabulous adventure. I said I had some ideas, too, but she said if I even mentioned one they were going to turn me in.

  That was yesterday. Today our mini-Color War is starting this morning. From the minute we get up this morning we’re no longer just regular people; we’re either green team or gray team. And we’re all killers.

  Everything for the team.

  Starting with breakfast. Lineup at the flagpole is done by teams, with me on one side of the grass circle and Steffi and her teammates on the other. It’s weird for us to be separated like this. At this moment Steffi has more in common with Dena Joyce than she does with me. Well I guess maybe that’s an exaggeration. Nobody could have more in common with D.J unless except for maybe Godzilla.

  I’m still not used to these early summer mornings in the country. They’re really super-looking, fresh and green, and you get a wonderful feeling just standing there breathing in all that clean air; but it’s really cold. I’m alwa
ys shivering in these little uniforms. It’s either the cold or dread of serving. I’m still terrible at waitressing. I can’t seem to get the hang of it. But Anna, the counselor I’m always spilling on, is beginning to like me more. She says since she’s been here she’s lost four pounds. It’s a form of eating anxiety. Truth is I haven’t spilled anything on her in almost ten days. She’s due.

  One of the big problems is all the jumping up and down everyone does. Every two minutes the whole camp rises for some stupid thing or other; sometimes it’s just to sing to someone or because they’ve won something or other. But they’re always doing it, and I’m always just passing with my tray. Naturally, it creates a problem—either it’s a shoulder under a tray or a head under a tray. Either one is good for a swing from the clean-up squad, now known as Victoria’s group.

  This morning it all feels different. Exciting. I love the competition. Instead of just walking to the mess hall we march down in our groups singing team songs. We’ve got a whole stack of them. Most of them are easy because they’re set to old tunes everyone knows. Strangely enough, here we are marching across the lawn singing songs with a lot of rah-rah-rahs in them and not feeling like jerks. It’s incredible, but I guess you get in the spirit, and besides, when everyone is doing something it doesn’t seem so weird.

  In the dining room we all still have our regular tables. But now everything counts. Even the way we serve.

  We set up the tables and wait for the kids. You can hear them singing “Hats Off” as they march from their bunks. The change is really fabulous.

  They come marching into the dining room and take their usual seats, but it’s all completely different. It’s like they’re in the army they’re so well behaved. Even my tables are perfect.

  I’d looked up Henry’s name yesterday and he’s on my team, and the terrible bully Steven is on the gray team. Unfortunately they sit next to one another. Steven is still as unpleasant as ever, and Henry still has his same problems, the big one in bed anyway. He’s also not the most popular boy in the bunk. Steven sees to that. I wish I could think of some way to help Henry, but so far the only thing he can do is tough it out, which is very hard for him because he just isn’t tough enough. And I don’t think he ever will be, which is probably why I like him so much.

  This morning he looks adorable—his shiny blond hair slicked straight back and his neatly ironed green uniform with the green knee socks. He’s not the youngest boy in the bunk, but he is the littlest and the cutest. I wish he weren’t so unhappy-looking. It’s like he’s on the brink of tears all the time. And much too quiet for a seven-year-old boy, except when we’re alone, then he’s practically a chatterbox and very smart, too.