Austin raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “Ah, that’s the difficult part.” Austin leveled his gaze at mine, like he was trying to think of how to say something important. Something flickered in his eyes. Some strange trick of the light that made goose bumps prickle on my neck.
“Campers! What is going on?” Mr. Winters called, coming back around the corner of the building. “I told you two no dillydallying.”
“We’re coming,” said Austin.
Mr. Winters frowned. “Shelby? Are you all right?”
“Huh?” I murmured, still trying to figure out what I’d seen flash in Austin’s eyes. It’d been different from the trail. Almost dangerous.
“Shelby?” Mr. Winters repeated.
I blinked at him. “Oh. Um, I’m on my way.”
“Believe me,” Austin whispered in my ear as he passed.
Mr. Winters led us into a wood-paneled room decorated with brass animal sculptures and stuffed fish trophies. A huge desk with legs carved like talons gripping balls stood inside the door. I’m not into antique stuff or anything, but that piece alone had to be worth major cash. On the corner of the desk a brass eagle statue perched, as if it were about to take flight.
Guitar Lady looked up as we walked in. Fortunately, there was no sign of her freaking instrument. That was enough to make me smile, though at any second she would probably whip out a harmonica from her pocket. In addition to the flowery summer dress she’d had on earlier, she now wore an old-lady crocheted cape thing and a straw safari hat. She reminded me of one of those zookeepers who always come on talk shows with three-toed sloths that pee on the host’s desk. Clueless, peed on, and smiling fakely all the while.
Next to her on the red leather couch sat a golden-haired guy in a tight-fitting tracksuit who was either a counselor or a personal trainer who’d been working out way too much. He smiled at us so brightly, I could almost hear his teeth go ping.
We three runaways sat down on an identical couch opposite the adults, me between the two boys. I prepared myself to hear the lecture of a lifetime, sure I was headed for that brat camp in the desert. Had I packed enough sunscreen?
Mr. Winters plunked down into the high-backed chair at the desk, his head level with a gaping bass trophy. The fish’s eyes, little glassy beads, stared out, eerily similar to Mr. Winters’s own. “Campers,” he began, “first, I’d like to introduce Cynthia Crumb and Sven Jorgensen. Shelby, you’ll be in Cynthia’s cabin—Spotted Owl. Charles and Austin, I’ve assigned you to Sven’s Sapsucker.”
Charles snorted. “Sapsucker?”
“That’s a kind of bird,” explained Sven with another blinding smile and an accent thicker than the dude’s on the IKEA commercials. “Very nice bird.”
Charles gave Sven a dorky salute. Austin didn’t even look up, he just nodded, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
“Campers, you’ll meet me tomorrow after breakfast. While everyone else is trying their hand at archery, we’ll be discussing your wandering and working out your restitution. Cynthia, Sven, these folks’ll see you back at the cabins.”
Wait. That was it? No Red Canyon? “You’re not calling my parents?” My hope-filled heart did a little cartwheel. This doughy camp director was a total walk in the park compared to evil Priscilla.
“Shelby, we operate on a second-chance basis here,” Mr. Winters said. “We will be calling your parents tomorrow morning. However, I expect they’ll let you continue the program on our advice.”
“Oh.” My hopes crashed with a thud. So, Dad and Priscilla would find out about the unauthorized forest field trip. That was not going to look good.
“Now then, you kids must be hungry. I’m sure the cook managed to save us a few plates.” He patted his belly, which made me realize he was the one who was completely starving. Then again, when you’re eating for two—you and your beer gut—you probably get that starving feeling a lot.
Anyway, we all rose from the couches and followed him to the door.
“What was that about restitution?” said Charles. “If you let me use your phone, I’ll wire cash directly into your account.” He flicked a piece of bark off his polo shirt; it landed on Austin’s shoe.
Mr. Winters stopped in the doorway and turned, his eyebrows furrowed. “Phones are secured for staff only, and we work things off here, Charles. Kitchen cleanup duty, pulling weeds, that sort of thing. Also, for the time being, you won’t be able to participate in the trail building we’re doing on the west side of the boundary.”
Austin seemed to perk up, raising his eyes to Mr. Winters for the first time since we’d been in the room. “Trail building?” he repeated.
“A privilege, for respected campers, son.”
Sven grinned again. “You like to build trails, Austin?”
Austin shrugged, the light in his eyes dimming.
“How about you?” asked Cynthia, her gaze sweeping over me and my filthy clothes. “Handy with a shovel?”
I nodded. “My stepmom has prize rosebushes.”
Cynthia shared a look with Mr. Winters, like she couldn’t believe I’d ever set foot in a flower bed. “Your gardener’s work, no doubt.”
“How do you know?” I replied, because I didn’t like the tone of her comment. Was she one of those people who thought everyone who had money was lazy? If only she knew just a few years ago I’d been lucky to scrape together enough cash for the movies.
“Fine, fine. We’ve all got gardeners. Where’s dinner?” Charles said, pushing past the adults to the doorway.
“Hungry boy, this one,” said Sven, clapping Charles on the back. “We’ll feed you now.” He wrapped a beefy arm around Charles’s skinny shoulders and marched him out the door. “You come, Shelby,” called Sven over his shoulder.
Cynthia adjusted her crocheted wrap.
I took a step away, in case she was about to put her arm around me. I didn’t need a snotty middle-aged lady with guitar issues trying to be my friend. I said, “I’ll, um, find my own way.”
Her tight smile practically screamed for ChapStick. “See you at Spotted Owl,” she said, then stalked off, humming.
“Shall we?” asked Austin, holding the door for me.
“Oh, um…thanks.” I let myself breathe a sigh of relief as I stepped out into the night air and toward the smell of food.
Austin walked beside me, and there was this comfortable silence between us, at least until we entered the dining hall and heard Charles trying to send back his overcooked pork chop. Yep. I was definitely at brat camp.
After our late dinner, I was looking forward to settling into my cabin—until I heard a guitar strumming out a verse of “Michael, Row the Boat Ashore.” Groaning, I followed the sound to the end of the trail. Stuck in a grove of tall evergreens, Spotted Owl, like the seven or so other cabins I had passed, was made of fake siding rounded to look like logs. So much for rustic.
I paused on the doorstep and looked back down the dark trail to where Austin was easing through the lighted doorway of Sapsucker. He hadn’t said much during dinner, but our whispered conversation on the path earlier still haunted me. He thought of me as a friend. And I thought of him as a cute guy. A cute guy with big problems.
Sighing, I inched open the door to Spotted Owl. On a single bed near the entrance, Cynthia Crumb was rockin’ out on her guitar, while the girls in the bunk beds all around the room looked bored, annoyed, or had pillows over their heads. I stood there in the doorway until the song ended and then, thankfully, Cynthia packed up her so-called instrument.
I eased into the room and took the first empty lower bunk.
“Hey,” said a voice in the next bed. Two brown eyes and a mess of black hair emerged from beneath a pillow. Ariel. I’d never been so happy to see a familiar face. I took a quick look around, wondering if Jenna had been stuck here, too, but I didn’t see her.
“I thought you died out there,” said Ariel, scooching over onto my bunk.
“Huh? I was trying to save Austin’s butt. You rea
lly know him?”
“Yeah,” said Ariel, brushing her hair out of her face. “My dad’s friends with his dad. Talk about a wild old guy.”
“Shelby?” Cynthia interrupted, sticking her pinched-up face in mine. “Go get your suitcase. I need to search it.”
“Huh? You need to what?”
“Standard procedure,” said Cynthia in a bored voice. “Your bag is waiting on the porch. I’m surprised you didn’t trip over it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. What happened to the Bill of Rights? Am I not entitled to a little privacy and respect?”
Cynthia smiled like a shark. “While I understand your concern, your parents were happy enough to sign your rights away. Move it.”
“C’mon, I’ll help you,” said Ariel, springing up. Once we were outside, Ariel whispered, “She’s pure evil. Stay on her good side.”
“And here I thought she hated me because I don’t sing stupid songs.”
“She probably hates everyone for that,” Ariel said with a laugh.
“So, um…what else do you know about Austin Bridges?”
“What?” Ariel’s eyes got bigger, which seemed impossible considering the size of them to begin with. “Do you like him?”
“No. I mean, I just met him. He seems interesting.”
Ariel raised her eyebrows. “Well, actually, I don’t know Austin all that well. His dad tours without him usually.”
“Oh. That’s too bad. Austin probably misses him.”
“Nah, he’s probably fine. I mean, I hardly ever see my parentals.” Ariel shrugged. “I’m doing okay. Well, except for being sent to brat camp every summer. Why are you so worried about him, anyway?”
I didn’t want to say anything about what had happened in the woods. And I really didn’t want to gossip about Austin’s problem. “He seems sad,” I said, and let the subject drop.
Ariel and I dragged my suitcase into the cabin and threw it onto my bed. My bunkmates gathered around as Cynthia picked through my suitcase with pleasure.
“Contraband can be hidden anywhere,” she said, separating my underwear with a pencil. Yeah, contraband—as in my stash of gummy worms (for those extra-bad days), lip gloss, and my favorite glitter eye shadow.
She pitched those remnants of civilization into a plastic bag. “And I’ll be taking this Wonderbra,” she said, hooking her pencil in a strap. “You’re supposed to be concentrating on bettering yourself, not trying to attract male attention.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” I said.
Cynthia smoothed a strand of her gray-blond bobbed hair back behind one ear. “Not in the least,” she said in a bored voice. “Push-up bras are strictly prohibited.”
The other girl campers murmured to each other.
“C’mon, guys,” I said. “I can’t be the only one who brought along a little cleavage enhancement.”
A skinny blond girl in braces nodded her head sadly. “I’m really gonna miss my La Perla T-shirt bra.”
Cynthia continued her inspection, now pawing through my backpack. Scowling, she picked up my romance paperback and then tucked it under her arm.
“Hold it,” I complained. “Reading can’t be a distraction. You’d think camp would try to enhance our education.”
Cynthia tied a knot at the top of her bag of my goodies and swung it over her shoulder like a true Grinch. “Shelby, everyone knows those books are trashy.”
My mouth dropped open.
A pretty dark-haired girl in the bunk above me said, “No they’re not! My mom’s made a million writing those kinds of books.”
Cynthia shot her a death glare and then stomped to the front of the cabin. “I’m going to have Mr. Winters lock this stuff up. When I get back it’s lights out,” she said, closing the door behind her.
“Hey, don’t feel bad. She took all of my prototypes for the DeVoisier spring line,” Ariel told me. “Five shades of lavender shadow, two plum lip glosses, and a pot of peachy cheek stain.”
“You wear that much makeup?”
Ariel shook her head. “Sympathy present from my mother for sending me away.”
“We’re all supposed to look like crap,” said the romance girl from the top bunk. “They say it’s therapeutic.”
“Great.” I started refolding my violated stuff, feeling as low as I had since I’d first boarded the plane back in LA. No push-up bra, no eye shadow, no candy. I couldn’t imagine that things could get worse. But of course they did.
FIVE
Claaaannnnnggg! Someone’s alarm clock really needed to die. I sat up in bed, covering my ears with my hands. Even then I could still hear it loud and clear. It wasn’t coming from our cabin at all.
“Oh, crap!” shrieked the romance girl. “Are we on fire?” She threw herself over the side of her top bunk, managing to kick me in the head on the way down.
“Ahh!” I screamed, now fully awake. “Watch it, Sara!”
Ariel peeked out from under her pillow. “Stupid camp!” she moaned. “Why don’t they let us sleep?”
“Don’t ask me. I’ve probably got brain damage.” I rubbed my forehead.
“Let’s go, let’s go, Spotted Owl!” shouted Cynthia Crumb. The bell had been ringing for two minutes already, the cabin was in panic mode, and she just now shot out of bed. After swatting at her tangled hair, she threw jeans on over her dorky flannel nightgown and then ran around the cabin like some kind of goat herder or something. “Put a shirt over that tank,” she told a tiny blond girl, and then moved on to the next slowpoke. “Brenna, get your butt out of bed! Let’s go! It’s a drill! We’re being timed!” she squawked in my ear. “Report to the flagpole! Move it! Move it!”
“Man, she scares me,” whispered Ariel after Cynthia marched away.
We were the last ones out of the cabin since I had to find a missing sandal and Ariel had to pee. We hustled up to the lawn in front of the dining hall only to find all the other campers loosely bunched in a circle.
I saw Austin on the fringe of the Sapsucker crowd. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt and had an incredibly bored look on his face. As Ariel and I approached, Austin raised his eyebrows slightly and gave me a little nod.
I gave him a half smile as Ariel tugged my hand and pulled me toward Cynthia and the girls.
“Well, campers…” Up near the flagpole, Mr. Winters spoke into a microphone. “It seems Spotted Owl is bringing up the rear this morning. We’ll need to work on that emergency response system for next time.”
Red-faced, Ariel and I slipped in behind the rest of our group. Cynthia turned to give us a disapproving look.
“So, as I was saying,” Mr. Winters said, “we have a number of wonderful projects planned for you folks in the weeks ahead: horseback riding, trail building, square dancing, and the ever-popular talent show, to name a few. Today some of you will summit Crescent Rock for the first time.”
Ariel gasped. “I so don’t do heights,” she said in a zombie-like tone.
I gave her a pat on the back.
“And, campers, one of the highlights of Camp Crescent is our Transformation Ceremony, which will happen at the end of this week. You’ll be doing an art project, a representation of the person you used to be, of the things you’d like to change about yourself, and releasing it into the fire under the full moon. With that vision of yourself gone, you’ll be able to find the real you, the authentic person you’d like to become.”
I grimaced. That sounded a little more woo-woo than the brochure. I was all for transforming, but burning an effigy in a campfire? That was pretty out there. Still, I listened to him describe the daily routine, and looked at all the faces of the campers around the clumpy circle we formed on the lawn. I thought maybe it wouldn’t be all that different from regular camp. Maybe it’d almost be fun. But maybe is never a sure thing.
“Let’s talk about your stepmother,” Mr. Winters said, handing me a pair of gardening gloves later that morning.
I braced myself against the rock wall surroun
ding the flower bed. It was one thing to be paying a penalty for running off, but did it have to come with extra therapy? Just an hour ago, I’d been to a “girls’ group,” where a chubby psychologist named Dr. Wanda had asked each of us to describe how we felt when we had our first period. Ugh. Listening to that was torture enough.
“Mr. Winters, could you just show me what you want weeded?” I said. I shaded my eyes against the bright morning sun and gave him my best shut-it look. Of course, he kept standing there, his belly making some impressive shade.
I really hoped he wasn’t one of those annoying adults who think that silence is the guaranteed way to make kids talk. I’d seen enough counselors fail with that old tactic.
When my mom died, there were things I couldn’t talk about—especially to the therapists Dad had set me up with. I didn’t even know how I was feeling then, and I really didn’t want to talk to strangers. I mean, I couldn’t even talk about stuff to my own dad. And so those random professionals had wasted Dad’s money staring at me across a desk, appointment after appointment. And eventually my dad gave up on the counselor idea. Then he found Honey Bun and forgot about it, and everything else, completely.
Yeah, I’d seen Mr. Winters’s type before.
After a moment of my silence, Mr. Winters gave in and said, “Let’s talk some more about your running away from camp.”
I blinked at him. Hadn’t we been over this already? “I was worried about the guys and you. I thought I could help.”
“Helping is a good thing—when you can do it safely.”
“Yeah,” I said, bracing myself for the rest of the lecture.
From the nearby field, another wave of laughing and talking rose from the kids enjoying archery. I glanced in that direction and noticed Austin and Charles across the gravel road, stacking rocks to form another landscaping wall. Already sweating, both the boys had their shirts off. Austin’s muscular chest gleamed in the sunlight. Mmm.
Mr. Winters tracked my gaze and said, “What does Austin represent to you? A dangerous male? A way to rebel?”
Never Cry Werewolf Page 5