Thief of Happy Endings

by Kristen Chandler

  “Redtail,” Mom says, pointing.

  The hawk circles in front of the car once and then flies off. I roll down the window. Wind floods into the car. The air outside the car is so clean I can actually smell the wildflowers jabbing up on the roadside. I turn to Mom. “Have I ever been here before?”

  “No.” She smiles. “Does it seem like it?”

  After a few minutes we see a cloud of dust blow up over a ridge. The cloud is in a canyon opening surrounded by scrubby trees. It looks like a tornado coming from the ground. “Is that a dust devil?”

  Mom pulls the car over and reaches for her binoculars in the glove box. Of course she has binoculars in the glove box. “Will you look at that,” she says. “You have a welcome committee.”

  “What?”

  “Mustangs. I read that there were a few wild bands left in the area.”

  “That cloud is horses? Just running loose?”

  She hands me the binoculars. I put the heavy black lenses to my face. I move the glass back and forth. But all I see is dust, swirling in the gnarled branches like ghosts. But that tingly feeling I had when I was a kid fills my head. Now it comes with butterflies in my stomach. I look around me at all the open space. I can’t believe this is where I’m spending my summer.

  * * *

  At last we drive under a wooden archway with a sign that says POINT OF NO RETURN and a big dead pine wreath swinging under it in the wind.

  We drive up over a quick hill into a valley surrounded by pine- and aspen-dotted hills. Late afternoon clouds float overhead. Down in the valley there’s an old two-story ranch house with great big windows and a deep wraparound porch. Bright yellow flowers spurt out all over around the outside of the house. “How pretty,” says Mom.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Next to the main house is a large fenced pasture, one big arena and a small one, a long gray horse barn, and something that looks like a red dollhouse—maybe a chicken coop. The pasture is full of shaggy horses. Just the sight of all these horses makes my stomach flip-flop. And then flip-flop again. Dang. I don’t want to be this scared. Maybe I can just take care of the chickens. I would fit in there.

  Down the road are barrack-style tents that I’m going to guess is where they stash the campers in question. Behind the tents are some small one-room cabins, and in front are four wooden outhouses.

  Mom says, “That’s . . . rustic.”

  “I don’t have to clean those, right? Can you even clean an outhouse?”

  “No. I’m sure those are just back-up facilities.”

  A man wearing a denim shirt and an actual red kerchief tied around his neck walks up to the truck as we start to unload. He tips his chocolate-colored hat to us just long enough for me to see his short black hair with a white skunk stripe in the front. “Welcome! I’m Darius Pike, head babysitter and bottle washer here at Point of No Return. Are you the Carrigans?”

  “Yes. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Pike.” Mom puts out her hand graciously.

  “Oh, just call me Darius. We’re pretty informal up here in the sticks. It’s a pleasure to meet the descendants of Guthrie Parker.”

  Mom brightens. “Did you know my dad, Darius?” she asks.

  “No, but I’ve heard the stories. Quite a guy.” His face seems snagged on one side, like he’s got a permanent smirk.

  “Yes, he was,” she says.

  Over by the outhouses I hear kids’ voices.

  Darius taps the dirt with his boot. “Well, thanks for coming and dropping her off, Mrs. Carrigan. You have yourself a great summer.”

  “Oh.” Mom’s face drops. I think for a minute she’s going to break down. “I’d love to see Mr. Coulter, if I could. Shouldn’t I help Cassidy set up her room?”

  “Coulter’s not around right now. Don’t worry about your daughter. She looks like she can roll out her own sleeping bag.” He taps his hand on my back, which I don’t like. “We’ll take good care of her. Have a safe trip home.”

  “My mom’s been driving since early this morning,” I say. I turn to her. She’s making the worry face. “Maybe you should rest or walk around before you go.”

  “Oh no, I’m fine.” Mom tries to open her car door, but the handle sticks. She pumps the latch. I think I should do it for her, but I don’t want to embarrass her. She leans through the car window and jumps back out again holding my grandfather’s hat. “Do you want this, then?”

  I nod. Words aren’t my best thing at the moment.

  She puts the hat on my head. It drops over one eye. “Still a little big, huh? Should I put it back in the car?” Her voice is shaking.

  “No, it’s fine. Just fine.” I try to sound enthusiastic, but what I want to do is get in the car and drive straight back to my room and climb under the covers. But what if something happens to me up here? I can’t let her see me panicking. “Will you be okay driving home?”

  She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me right in the eyes. “I’ll be fine. Cass, honey, I want you to stop trying to rescue everyone else and just rescue yourself for a few weeks.” She smiles. “Do what Mr. Coulter says. And don’t worry about me or anyone else at home. Is that clear?”

  Oh, I’m worrying about myself right now. In addition to my messed-up family. But as terrified as I am of staying here, if I go home, I’ll just keep being a mess, and I will have to face every person who thought I couldn’t do this. I will be the chicken they think I am. I will be the chicken I think I am. I’m practically growing feathers just standing here.

  Mom looks at Darius and then looks at me, reading my mind in that psychic way she has. “You don’t have to do this, Cass.”

  I say, “No. I’m good. Totally good. See you in August, okay?” I smile and act like I’m checking my bag so I don’t have to look her in the eyes. She’s put a deposit down. I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  Mom lets out a gasp of air, which may be a tad dramatic. “You sure?”

  I nod. One hundred percent not sure.

  Then she gives me one really good, long hug, and one quick one after that, and before you can say hyperventilate she’s gone, leaving nothing more than red dust behind her. And then wham. I’m standing next to a guy in a bandana, a hundred years from anywhere.

  Chapter Two

  “YOU BEEN AWAY from home before?” Darius says.

  “Yes,” I say. Because fifth grade school camp totally counts.

  “You get used to it.”

  I grab my duffel. It feels like Wyatt stuck a few of his pet rocks in my bag.

  “You need some help with that?” says Darius.

  “I got it.” I’m short, but I’m not helpless.

  We walk to an area with a dozen or so army-style canvas tents. In the center is a fire pit surrounded by tree stumps and a wooden flagpole. The United States flag flies above a flag with a bison in the middle.

  Darius points his hairy finger. “Ladies in these tents here on this side of the road. The tents over there are for guys.” He points to the one-room cabins situated above the tents. “That little bungalow up there is mine. And that one with dried flowers hanging on the door is for the counselor who isn’t a guy. The far one in the corner there is for the junior staff. We got one of those right now, which is about one and a half too many.”

  We walk into the first tent. “This will be your place,” says Darius, picking his teeth with some straw. “Home sweet home.”

  The canvas drapes over wood beams and doesn’t even go all the way to the ground. For what they charge for this place I was thinking that there would at least be walls where we slept at night. Beneath me I see a live mouse run past my feet. I step backward. Darius laughs.

  “Don’t scare him now,” he says.

  There are four cots, with two sleeping bags already laid out. There are hooks on the beams by each cot with dangling name plaques m
ade from barnwood and baling wire. They’re painted green with pink swirling letters. It’s a sweet touch for such a depressing place.

  There is also one giant trunk with an open padlock.

  “What’s that for?” I say.

  “Anything that smells. Including toothpaste. It’s bear protection.”

  I’m digesting the news about bears when I hear a rustling noise. I jump a full six inches before I can stop myself. A petite Asian-looking girl walks through the canvas.

  “Don’t worry, Baby Parker,” says Darius, chuckling it up. “It’s just your roommate.”

  The girl has oil-black hair and creamy olive skin, and she isn’t much taller than I am, but much more delicate. She’s wearing a padded lime-green coat that reminds me of a caterpillar.

  “Hi.” My voice suddenly sounds loud.

  “Hi.” She comes over and politely shakes my hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Alice.”

  “I’m Cassidy.”

  “I noticed,” she says, letting her eyes go to a plaque behind me. She has a shy smile, like she thinks a lot.

  Alice drifts over to the bed, unzips her coat. I turn away because I don’t want to be nosy and because I’m danger-to-myself nervous. I stand still and look at Darius.

  He stares right back at me. “Well, alrighty then. Banner ought to be along in a minute. You three can set up your Barbies until we have bugle call.”

  “Bugle call?” I snort. Not loud. A little loud.

  “Yes. Bugle call.” His face narrows, like he’s thinking something not all that pleasant. “And one more thing. I’m going to need your cell phone.”

  “I don’t have one,” I say. It’s not something I like to admit around people my own age.

  “Sure you do. You all have cell phones. Even little Alice here.”

  Alice doesn’t turn around.

  “I really don’t have one, Mr. Pike.”

  “I said call me Darius.” Darius moves closer to me. “This is going to be a long summer if you can’t follow the rules.”

  I don’t know about the rules, but I really don’t have a cell phone. Dad moving into an apartment has jacked the family budget. A phone is an optional expense according to Mom. I unzip my suitcase and dump it on the bed. Have I come to the right camp? I thought this was a rah-rah, get-your-crap-together, be-the-hope-of-tomorrow camp, not reform school.

  Darius walks over to my cot, suddenly furious. Which I don’t get, since I’m the one who doesn’t have a cell phone. I look over at Alice, who is taking a very long time to unzip her suitcase.

  “You are a little Parker, aren’t you?” says Darius. “All spit and piss.”

  “My grandparents’ last name was Parker. My last name is actually Carrigan.” I try to say it nicely.

  A honey-skinned woman with long black hair down one side of her neck peeks into the tent. She has dark eyes and a wide, brilliant smile. Whoever this person is, she looks like she belongs on a parade float or a stage somewhere. “Hi, Cassidy,” she says, her smile getting even bigger. “I’m Kaya.” She pats Alice on the shoulder, so I guess they’ve met. “I’m the other camp counselor.”

  Darius laughs, condescendingly as all crap. “Cassidy was just telling me she doesn’t have a cell phone.”

  Kaya looks at the mess on my bed and then at me and then at Darius. “Do you have a cell phone, Cassidy?”

  “Am I supposed to? I mean, I’m sorry . . . I don’t own one. I thought the packing list said we weren’t even allowed to have them.” This isn’t at all humiliating, promise.

  Kaya looks me over. “Good for you, sweetie. Darius, could I speak with you outside?”

  Just as Darius pushes through the canvas flap to go have a chat with Kaya, a tall, flame-haired girl walks in. All this coming and going through that tent flap is making my head spin.

  “Hello, Banner,” says Kaya.

  The girl lifts her chin. “Hey.”

  Kaya turns back to me as she leaves. “Cassidy, don’t worry about the phone thing. It was just a misunderstanding, okay?”

  “Okay.” I nod. So Kaya’s cool.

  “But, hey, since you’re one of our work scholarship recipients, I’ll be getting you up a little earlier than the other girls tomorrow. So get some sleep.”

  Work scholarship. I guess it’s better than calling me the poor kid, or the charity case, but not much.

  “Scholarship, huh?” says the new girl, to me this time. “You must be good at school.”

  I feel my face flush. I am not talking about this. She can think what she wants. I mean, I used to be good at school. Not that you’d know that by looking at the hatchet job I did to my grades last year.

  She gives me the once-over. “Everybody has to be good at something.” Her accent is faintly southern, but not hillbilly. She’s wearing a tight sky-blue tank top that makes her freckles and other parts of her stand out. And she has a lot of freckles. Her face is muddy with them. She looks a lot older than Alice and me, and not just because her fingernails are painted black.

  “You must be Banner,” I say, hoping to change the subject. “I’m Cassidy.”

  “Hey, Cassidy.” She half smiles. “Darius kife your phone, too?”

  I shake my head. “What’s up with him?”

  “A stalker for sure,” says Banner. “That guy has got to be registered.”

  Alice says, “He makes the hair on my arms stand up.” She holds up her tiny arm, covered by a heavy T-shirt, then looks away like she’s sorry she said anything.

  Banner spreads out on her sleeping bag. She also has a cherry-red blanket that could stop traffic. I guess she likes red. A lot.

  “Where you from?” I ask Alice.

  “San Francisco,” she says. She sits down on her bag and gets three inches taller from the padding. Her extra-strength arctic winter bag matches the coat.

  “Denver,” I say. “Well, actually, a little suburb outside.”

  “I’m sorry,” says Banner.

  I laugh, but I don’t think she’s kidding.

  “I like your accent,” says Alice to Banner. “Are you from the South?”

  Banner shrugs. “Charleston.”

  I say, “I’ve seen pictures of Charleston. It looks like heaven.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s heaven. Just ask my dad. He’s tight with Jesus. You two bring any cigarettes?”

  I stir the mess on my bed, just to be polite. “I don’t smoke.”

  Banner says, “Me neither.” She pulls a cigarette out of her bag and sticks it in her mouth but doesn’t light it. “It’s against the rules. A girl could get sent home for that.”

  This is more attitude than I have the stomach for right now. I look around the room for something that isn’t cigarettes, bears, or bra sizes to talk about. “Is there a fourth girl coming?”

  Banner swirls her long legs under her until she looks like a cat. “She bailed. Freaked out before she even got here. That’s what Darius said anyway. Couldn’t handle the whole mice and dirt thing, I guess. What’d you two get sent here for?”

  I don’t answer. It’s not like I’m going to either.

  Alice looks tweaked by Banner’s question, too. But then she digs in her pack and holds a small box out to her. “I don’t have any cigarettes, but I have matches. My parents thought a horse camp would be relaxing. I enjoy riding.”

  Banner looks behind her at the opening to the tent, then stuffs the small box in her pocket. “Thanks, Alice.” She picks at her black nails. “I think the diagnosis for me is a pain in the ass. But I ride jumpers. What’s your story, Carrigan? Do you ride cow ponies and bake cookies at home?”

  “I don’t really ride much,” I say, understating things a tad.

  Banner recoils her legs and giggles. “You do bake cookies though, don’t you?”

  A knot of embarrassment settles in my
chest. I actually do love to bake cookies. And every other thing you can frost or put sprinkles on. I take it back. Banner’s less like a cat and more like a redheaded puma.

  “So what did you get shipped here for? Depression, drugs, sex . . . teacher’s-pet-ness?”

  What is her problem? I feel like I’m back in freakin’ school.

  A dying animal sound comes from outside the tent.

  “Bugle call,” says Alice, popping up sharply and zipping on her caterpillar coat.

  “That’s the bugle?” I say. “I’m pretty sure it’s giving birth.”

  No one laughs.

  Alice puts her thin eyebrows together and walks out, making a swish-swish sound with her coat, followed by Scarlet O’Scary. It’s fine, I tell myself. I can do this. Having a mountain lion for a roommate is just another hard, slightly aggravating thing. That’s how all stories start, right? You have to have a little pushback to know you’re headed in the right direction. Besides, I tell myself, heroines are always misunderstood. That’s how you know, deep down, you’re the heroine.

  I look at the empty bed next to mine. I wonder who that girl is and how she’s doing, wherever she is. I hope she’s okay. I may be scared and suck out loud at riding horses, but I’m here. And that’s something.

  Chapter Three

  I JOIN ABOUT twenty kids standing around an empty fire pit. Everyone has the same dazed look, and there’s no way to avoid looking at the person standing next to them. I scan the crowd. What I notice real quick is that everyone is dressed better than I am. Which isn’t hard because I’m in beat-up jeans and a pair of cowboy boots my mom got on the discount rack at the Boot Barn. Most kids are dressed in outdoor gear, not Western stuff, but the kind of outdoor stuff you buy at stores that sell Sport Beans and yoga mats. Although there is one guy wearing the dorkiest cowboy bolo tie I’ve ever seen.