Did I mention that along with Robbie being on my team, to make matters even more perfect, El Creepo is also on the green team? Well, she is. She’s such a little snitch, she didn’t even waste a second telling my parents about the Color War Fiasco. They happened to call last night, and so naturally she tells them, and naturally they really didn’t understand, and my mother said I couldn’t stay out of trouble for just one minute and things like that. I didn’t need that, really I didn’t.
“Victoria, may I please have an egg instead of cereal this morning?” That comes from Fay Miller, normally a seven-year-old monster but this morning a saint. That’s what Color War does; you see, if you don’t stay in line you get demerits and that comes off the team score. They even count eating. They count everything, the way you dress, neatness in your bunk, the way you march, the way you sing; everything you do is all part of the competition. Normally Fay Miller would either scream when I brought her her cereal or, if she was in a real mood, dump it on the floor. It’s weird, I never heard her normal voice before today.
And that’s the way it continues throughout breakfast. I’m almost perfect, too. I get everyone’s orders right, I don’t drop anything, I don’t spill anything, and I don’t bump into anybody—practically to the end.
Then, just as I’m serving the iced tea, Robbie walks by, smiles, and says hi. That’s all it takes. I stop in midair, smile back, lose part of my stomach some place around my knees, and most of the iced tea around my feet. I also lose a half point for my team. Anna breathes a sigh of relief. Even though she’s on the green team, too, at least she’s still dry.
Why does even the sight of him make me so crazy? And it doesn’t get any better. Something’s happening to him, too, I know it. Like yesterday afternoon. It was really hot and a bunch of us were hanging out in the pool when some of the guys came over. Robbie was with them. I don’t know where Steffi was, but she wasn’t around.
As soon as I saw him I pretended to get very involved helping Alexandra with her diving; but I could practically feel his eyes on me. And every once in a while I would look up, and sure enough, there he was, looking at me. More like staring. Maybe he just thinks I’m an off-the-wall weirdo and he’s fascinated, but that’s not what I read. I don’t want to say what I read, not even to myself.
On the way out, Steven manages to trip Henry. All his little cronies get a big kick out of that.
“You okay?” I bend down to help Henry.
He shakes his head yes, and then does a wonderful thing—he doesn’t cry. That’s an immense improvement for him. I think I have something to do with it, because he sees how terrible things are for me and how I’m holding up. It’s like we’re in it together.
“Don’t you worry, we’re going to get him one of these days, you’ll see.”
“I guess,” he says, but I can tell he’s not convinced; I’m not either. It looks like he doesn’t stand a chance against someone like Steven, but maybe that’s the way people always feel about a bully, which is probably what makes bullies so effective.
Not a great beginning for either of us today. Maybe it’ll get better with the races. Both teams are meeting at the big playing field for a morning of all kinds of racing, from real track events to crazy things like potato sack races.
I’m a pretty fast runner so maybe I can make back the half point I lost for my team.
Eleven
By the time we finish setting up for lunch and get to the field everyone else is already there and some of the races have started. In fact the broad-jumping competition is over and the gray team picked up six points.
Since this is the first day, everyone is very excited and there’s a lot of shouting and cheering. Parts of Color War are really annoying, things like Steffi and I not being able even to stand together. We have to stick on opposite sides of the field with our teams. And it means that Robbie has to be over on my side. And there he is.
“Are you in any of the events?” he asks me.
I love you.
I don’t say that, I only think it. In fact I don’t say anything; all I do is shrug my shoulders and make some stupid face that’s supposed to mean I don’t know.
He looks at me with those totally awesome blue eyes that feel like they’re seeing right through you. “Do you want to be my partner?” he asks.
Of course I want to be his partner—forever, but that’s impossible.
“I can’t,” I say, and then regret it instantly. It tells too much, so I scramble to fix it. “I mean that you can’t choose your partners, can you? At least I didn’t think you could.”
“You can for the potato sack race.”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I have to leave early to set up for lunch. Gee, thank you anyway, it would have been really fun.”
Shut up now, Victoria.
“… I adore potato races, they’re really great … just terrific.” When I get nervous I just rattle on. “They’re really fun.” And on. “Too bad I don’t have time, but I can’t be late for set-up … so I’ll catch you later …”
“It’s now.”
“Huh?”
“The race is right now.”
“Too soon. My foot will never be healed in time.”
I can be very fast when I get desperate.
Of course he’s confused. “Your foot? What’s wrong with your foot?”
“Just a cut. Not too bad.”
“Sorry. You seem to have a lot of trouble with your feet, don’t you?” He’s referring to my non-existent sprained ankle of a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know if he believed that one but he looks very suspicious this time. I can’t believe he doesn’t know what the problem is.
“Right,” I say, and I feel a little annoyed with him for pushing me. It’s the first time I’ve felt anything but dumb goofy lovesick about him. He must know we shouldn’t be partners. Why is he doing this?
“You’ve got to get in this race.” From out of nowhere, Steffi appears. “I don’t care if it is my own team, I can’t root for Dena Joyce and Wally Kramer or Claire and that geek Norman. C’mon, you two, are you going to get with it or what?”
“I’m ready, but Victoria’s hurt her foot.”
“Again?” Steffi says, and just from her look I know it’d better heal fast or we’re back where we started two weeks ago with her thinking I don’t like Robbie.
“Just a little cut,” I tell her. “Nothing.” Then to Robbie, “I hope I won’t hold you back.”
“What are you talking about? We’ll kill ‘em,” he says. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” And he runs over to grab a sack off the pile at the side of the finish line.
I give Steffi what has to be the goofiest smile ever sat on a face and say, “Terrific!”
“Is it really, or what?”
“Hey, yeah, you heard what Robbie said, we’re gonna kill ‘em.”
“I didn’t mean that. I don’t know why I keep pushing you two together. My luck you’ll probably end up liking each other so much you’ll dump me.”
My heart drops right to my feet.
“Oh, Steffi, that would never happen.”
“Take it easy, Torrie, I was only kidding around. I know that would never happen. God, you’re my best friend.”
Then she laughs, and I do too—at least I try. I actually get a sick feeling just hearing her say that—it’s too close for comfort.
I feel I should say something, but the only things that come into my mind are too real and serious, so I settle for easy and meaningless. “Hey, gimme a break.”
And then Robbie’s back, so we both giggle kind of secretly and of course he wants to know what’s so funny.
“You are,” Steffi says lightly, poking Robbie in the ribs with her finger. Naturally he pretends to be mortally wounded and doubles over in what’s supposed to be horrendous pain. Lover-type people always play those games together. I suppose it’s cute to them, but it makes the other people feel stupid and left out.
Suddenly I’m in a funk. I’m
tired of always being uncomfortable with people who are supposed to be my closest friends, at least Steffi is, yet all I ever feel is bad around them. Either I’m worried that what I feel for Robbie will show or I feel left out or … or I feel jealous. Might as well admit it because that’s the truth.
“Hey, Torrie, are you dreaming or what?” Steffi says, pulling herself away from fun and games with Robbie. “Snap out of it, you’ve got a race to win.”
“Let’s try it,” Robbie says, holding open the sack on the ground. “You get in first.”
I step in. And Robbie steps in. And Steffi steps back to watch.
It’s awful.
The feel of Robbie standing alongside me, his arm around my waist, mine around his, is almost unbearable. I must be bright red, my face is certainly burning enough. Nothing’s happened yet, and I’m in a sweat. What a bad idea.
“Hang on tight,” Robbie says, “and count with me so we can jump together.” I don’t trust myself to do anything more than nod. “Bend your knees and throw yourself forward.”
We both bend our knees into an almost crouch and then spring forward with all our might. He lands way ahead of me, dragging the sack and throwing me over so I have to grab on to him to keep from falling to the ground.
“Sorry,” I say, and kind of crawl up him to get my legs untwisted from the burlap.
“It’s my fault,” he says. “I have to keep my jump down to your level. Let’s try it again.”
“See ya,” Steffi calls out, as she heads over to the gray side of the field. “Good luck!”
One of the twins standing by hears her and shouts “Hey, Klinger, which team are you on anyway?”
“Right. Gray all the way,” she says, then calls out to us, “Break a leg.”
That’s theater talk for good luck, but if Steffi had any idea of the things that are going on in my head she would mean it for real.
Robbie and I are off. It’s so hard and such a struggle to just keep up that I practically forget it’s Robbie I’m clutching on to, which is funny since this is the closest I’ve ever been to him.
Then the rhythm gets easier and I begin to think of what I’m feeling. I’m holding his waist and I can feel his body under the T-shirt. It’s very warm.
So am I, especially all up and down my arm, the one that’s wrapped around him. And every time we jump up the whole side of my body touches his.
“Okay,” he says all out of breath, “enough practice. Let’s get over to the starting line.”
“Okay.” My first words since I got in the burlap sack. No danger of me charming him.
We get into the lineup. There are eight other couples in the race, four gray team and four green. We each have to stand next to a couple from the opposing team. Naturally we get next to Dena Joyce, and does she give me a look when she sees who’s in there with me.
“Where’s Steffi?” she says, leaning over and looking down into our sack.
If I was red before, I just caught fire. Again, I’m speechless. It’s all because of the guilt. But Robbie isn’t thrown by her. He knows it’s a nasty remark, he just doesn’t know the history of it.
“What’s your problem, D. J., you blind? Don’t you see Steffi over there?” he says, pointing to where Steffi’s standing. He says it jokingly, but there’s an edge you can’t miss. She doesn’t. And she shuts up because Robbie’s no pushover like I am.
He also doesn’t seem to feel guilty, which makes me feel good—and a little bad. Maybe I was wrong about him. I guess I was reading something into his looks that really isn’t there. It isn’t any place but inside my head; and I guess that’s where it better stay.
Ginny, the head counselor, announces the race, and we all inch up to the starting line.
“On your mark … get set … go!” And we’re off, hopping, jumping, and falling all over each other, and getting up and jumping again. We’re neck-and-neck with Dena Joyce and Wally, and going at top speed.
“Up, down, up, down, up, down,” we keep saying in unison. “Up, down, up, down …”
We’re so busy watching out for D. J. and Wally that we don’t see Liza coming up on our other side until she knocks into us and we go flying into D. J. and all three sacks go hurtling one over another.
“Quick,” Robbie says, grabbing me under the arms, “get up!”
We lost precious time, and now we’re last; we have to catch up to the other five couples.
Up, down, up, down … we give it all we’ve got and we pick up speed. Two other couples bound into one another and go down. Only three more ahead of us.
We’re really in rhythm now. We’re moving like one person. And fast!
One more couple down and we’re third and gaining.
“C’mon,” Robbie says, smiling down at me, “we can do it.”
Oh, God, I really want to do it … for you, Robbie. For you.
Up, down, up, down … we’re second, right behind Claire and Norman. One good blast forward and we can pass them, but every time we try, they move over in front of us. It’s too hard to swing over to the side, we’d lose too much time if we did.
“Straight ahead,” Robbie says.
“Can’t,” I say. “We’ll hit them.”
“They’ll move, you’ll see …”
Down, up, down, up … we’re nearly up to them and they’re not moving. And then we take one huge leap and they lean out of the way and we shoot past them. We’re in the lead! Twenty more feet … I can hear them breathing and grunting just inches behind us. I feel like they’re going to fall right into us. I have no breath left; one more jump and I’m going to sink into the ground. I can hear the crowd cheering over my own huffing and puffing. I can’t see them. I can’t see anything except a blur of everything that keeps going up and down with me.
Just as we bend for the down part of our jump, Claire and Norman land on the bottom of our sack, stopping us dead and then jerking us backward onto them, which sends them flying down, tearing our sack as they go.
With one big wrench Robbie frees us, and wrapping the torn burlap around our waists we start off again.
The two other couples behind us are closing in, but we only have another couple of feet left to the finishing line. Everybody is screaming. With one last enormous leap, we throw ourselves over the line, and then down we go and over and over, rolling on the ground. Hands are reaching out to help us, and then they’re untangling us from the shreds of the bag.
“We won!” Everybody’s shrieking and jumping up and down.
Including Robbie and me. We’re hugging and leaping up and down and dancing around, and it’s the most exciting thing.
“You won, you rats.” It’s Steffi, and she’s smiling, trying hard to be a good gray-team person but secretly delighted that we won, and probably especially happy because her friends are finally getting along together. It’s what she wanted all along. And we are—the joy of winning and something else, something that’s been stored up inside me for all these weeks, coming pouring out in the hugging and touching; something that I know I have to control but can’t for the moment. Don’t want to, but must.
I can’t tell if Robbie is sharing any of my feelings. It’s better if I don’t know.
Twelve
The rest of the races are a triumph for the gray team. With the exception of the twenty points we won in the potato race, all the winning points go to the enemy team. As of the first morning of Color War the green team is trailing by one hundred and fifty points.
The afternoon doesn’t help much. We pick up some points for volleyball and lose points on softball and basketball. By dinner we’re very much behind. I serve in a complete daze. They’re ordering fried potatoes and I’m dreaming potato sacks. All the progress I’ve made in the last weeks is down the drain.
At least my tables don’t have to wait for their dessert; I bring it first—before the main course. I’m totally dense tonight. The kids love it, but Anna suggests I’d better get my act together or risk losing more points. I t
ry, but every couple of minutes my mind drifts back to this afternoon and the excitement of Robbie. As long as I don’t look at Steffi, I can enjoy my thoughts, but the moment I do see her, I feel horrendously guilty.
I’m the last one out of the dining room. No one waits because everyone has too much work to do. Steffi shoots off to work on some secret stuff for her team. I have to get over to the rec hall to help out with the scenery for the musical production. That’s the big competition the last night of Color War. It’s five hundred points so it can make all the difference.
There are about fifteen people, including Robbie, working on the sets when I get there. I make sure I say a nice hello and then move to the other side of the room. He makes no move to get near me. No repeats of this afternoon’s mistakes.
We’re doing flags of all nations mounted collage-style on a semicircular backdrop. We don’t actually have any real flags except our own and a Canadian one, so the rest have to be made up from scraps of materials painted on canvas. Alexandra and I are working on the ribs, the pieces of wood that hold up the flags. It’s just sticks of wood criss-crossed and nailed at the intersection. It’s not the straightest looking semicircle if that’s possible anyway, but it’s good enough to give the illusion of something that wraps around.
“I’ll sort out more nails,” Al says, “and you go get a few more pieces of wood, okay?”
“Sure thing,” I tell her, and head across the hall to ask Ginny where I can get more sticks.
“We’ve got a big pile of them in the little shed around the back,” she says. “Robbie, can you stop for a minute and help Victoria get more wood out back? You know where it is, don’t you?”
“Sure thing,” Robbie says, getting up from his painting job. “Got a flashlight?”
Love & Betrayal & Hold the Mayo Page 13