Breakout!

by Stacy Davidowitz

  And then, overridden by Wow! Omigod! Plans be planning! exhilaration, Jenny shadow-hopped back to Faith Hill Cabin, changed out of her black clothes, returned her cabinmates’ supplies, and promptly fell asleep for six satisfying hours.

  Hacked Hunt

  “All right, guys, almost at Hill Hall,” Play Dough called over his shoulder to Dover and Smelly. They weren’t moving like snails or anything, Play Dough was just hustling hard.

  “Dude-a-cris, why are you walking like a penguin?” Dover asked.

  “I’m speed walking,” Play Dough said. “My mom taught me.”

  Dover tried, but he kept his knees locked, so it looked like he was on stilts. Smelly doubled over with laughter. Then Dover stilt-walked to the closest tree and started to climb.

  Play Dough went to check his watch, but he realized that he’d lost it in the lake two summers ago. “Dover, what are you doing?”

  “Hatchet Hunting, man. Monkey-style.”

  Play Dough slapped his forehead. “No, c’mon, we’re gonna be late. The Hatchet is by Hill Hall.”

  “Who says?” Dover asked.

  “Jenny.”

  That’s when Smelly officially stopped laughing and Dover dropped down from the tree. “What’s Jenny got to do with the Hatchet?” Dover asked suspiciously.

  “I just said. She knows where it is.”

  “If Jenny knows where it is, then why doesn’t she get it herself?” Smelly asked. “Is it in a hard-to-reach spot or something?”

  “I dunno,” Play Dough said. “Probably.” He didn’t want to tell the guys about the arrangement he and Jenny had made in the Boat Shack. They might think that he doubted their hunting skills, or that he was falling so hard for Jenny that he’d do just about anything she said.

  “Are you sure you’re not just getting mixed up in another plan of hers?” Dover asked.

  “I’m sure,” Play Dough said. “Jenny’s changed. She doesn’t make bad plans anymore.” He didn’t know why he’d said that. He guessed, deep down, he hoped it was true.

  “I don’t think the Hatchet’s by Hill Hall,” Dover said. “Lady and the Tramp is about dogs. Dogs are better than cats. Cats purr. When Claudia Cooking makes one-eyed sailors—also known as eggs in a basket—she always says, ‘Oooh! Purrfect.’ And dryer sheets? Claudia uses baking sheets that dry after she washes them. As far as the newest clue—‘Toil and Trouble’—Claudia is a twin, just like Mary-Kate and Ashley are twins and stars of the 1993 hit movie Double, Double, Toil and Trouble.”

  “So?” Play Dough asked.

  “So it’s near the Cooking Shack.”

  Play Dough checked his watchless wrist again like a moron.

  “Back me up, Smelly,” Dover said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Smelly.

  “You’re the one who FOUND OUR UNDERWEAR last summer. Do you think I’m right—that the Hatchet’s by the Cooking Shack?”

  “Uh, could be.”

  “See?” Dover said, grinning at Play Dough. “It could be.”

  “You know that Slimey led me to the underwear, right?” Smelly asked. “I’m not an expert finder of stuff.”

  Dover just winked.

  Play Dough groaned. “Look, Jenny said to meet at the very beginning of Rest Hour, so I’m headed to Hill Hall.”

  “General Power said something was up with you,” Dover said.

  “He said that?” Play Dough asked.

  Dover shrugged. Smelly picked at a scab on his elbow, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Guys. Tell me now. What did General Power say?”

  Dover sighed. “That he didn’t know what TJ and the Captain were thinking when they picked you.”

  Play Dough tried to stand tall, but his bones felt like they were crumbling. “What did you say back to him? Did you tell him all the good stuff about me? Explain why I’m Lieutenant material?”

  “Uhhhhhhh,” Dover said.

  Play Dough looked at Smelly. “Smellsky?”

  “We almost said that stuff,” Smelly said.

  “What did you say instead?” Play Dough asked.

  “We said nothing,” admitted Smelly.

  “You guys let him say that about me?” Play Dough asked.

  “Dover, I’ve known you almost half my life. You didn’t defend me?”

  “Dude, Ashanti Power is our General. Plus, he’s the real deal. When he was a cadet, he ran three miles through the woods with a forty-four-pound backpack on while carrying a stretcher and WON NATIONALS.”

  “So?” Play Dough wasn’t sure what that had to do with Color War.

  “He’s every Eagle Scout’s idol,” Dover said. “Plus, you have been messing up a lot.”

  Play Dough could hardly believe it. Sure, General Power was impressive when it came to Real War stuff. It made sense that a JROTC stud would think Lieutenant Play Dough was a clown. But his own best friends thought he was failing the team? Didn’t they know Color War had a different vibe? “Look, if you want to come with me, groovy-sauce. If you want to search the Cooking Shack, go bananas.” Play Dough speed-walked away, and somehow that inspired them to follow suit.

  It was a sunny and stuffy afternoon, and Play Dough arrived at Hill Hall, the big house where all the Upper Staffers lived, with angry creases of sweat in his T-shirt. He tried to hide them by crossing his arms over his chest, but that just exposed his monster pit stains. He dropped his arms to his sides. Then he spotted Jenny standing in front of an oak tree, waving him over. Just walking toward her made his hurt level slide down a notch. “Hey, Jenny. What’s going on?”

  She lifted her big round sunglasses up to her forehead and

  squinted over Play Dough’s shoulder. “What are they doing here?” she hissed.

  Play Dough looked back at Smelly and Dover, both stilt-walking now. “Oh, those guys?” He itched to say, “They don’t trust us. I’m unworthy of being Lieutenant and you’re a conniving planner.” Instead he said, “They came to help. Don’t worry, they’re on Blue like us.” Then he wanted to pinch himself. Of course Jenny knew who her teammates were. Even if she’d forgotten, Smelly and Dover were dressed bluer than blueberries.

  Smelly dropped the stilt-walking and normal-walked the rest of the way to the tree. “Hi, Jenny,” he said nervously. He hadn’t talked to her since the Egg Toss, and the trauma of her yelling at him seemed to rush back—his cheeks got red and he averted his eyes to Dover, who’d fully committed to stilt-walking until he touched the tree bark.

  “Waz up?” Dover asked Jenny. “We’re here to do the hard reaching.”

  “Ew,” Jenny said. She glared at Play Dough. “Make this problem go away.”

  Play Dough gave her a thumbs-up, pretending he understood what the problem was. It was time to delegate. “You on the problem, Dov?”

  “On it, Lieutenant!” He clapped his feet together, waiting to be told what to do next.

  Jenny’s sky-blue eyes turned dark denim. “You, Dover. You, Smelly. Are. The. Problem.” She paused. “No offense.”

  Smelly shook his head politely. Dover cocked his chin, confused. Play Dough lowered his head, embarrassed. If the guys already doubted him and Jenny, he wasn’t sure excluding them would make things better. “Jenny, are you sure they can’t—?”

  “Positive,” Jenny broke in. “It’s all part of the— It’ll complicate things if— OK, here’s why: You and I deserve the credit. Split four ways, no one will remember my involvement, and General Power will hardly be impressed with you.”

  “Yeah, but the points all go to the same place,” Dover said.

  “General Power said it’s a Blue effort,” Smelly added. “Are we in competition with each other?”

  “Omigod, go away. Byeeeee.” She hooked her arm through Play Dough’s arm and led him toward the side of Hill Hall.

  Play Dough mouthed “Sorry” over his shoulder at Dover and Smelly, who were standing there, baffled. “You’re picking her over us?” Dover called after him. “No soldier left behind! We’re your bro
s, PD! Bros before hatchets!”

  Before Play Dough could assure his bros that they ranked above hatchets, Jenny yanked him face-forward. “Just ignore them. They’ll get over it.”

  “Uh, I don’t know.” A part of Play Dough felt justified—if the guys didn’t defend him to General Power, why should he defend them to Jenny? But Play Dough had enough at stake. And petty revenge didn’t seem to be the answer. Plus, what if Dover was right and the Hatchet really was hidden in the Cooking Shack? He’d kick himself for ditching them to follow Jenny’s lead. Wait, he stumbled. Did Jenny even have a lead? How was she so sure the Hatchet was by Hill Hall?

  Play Dough tried to recall his lunchtime conversation with her by the salad bar. She’d spooned tuna onto his plate and whispered: “The Hatchet. Hill Hall. Rest Hour. We will be heroes.” Then she’d touched his hand to her heart and said, “I have a premonition.” But Play Dough hadn’t been thinking straight with tuna on his plate and his hand so close to Jenny’s boob, and also, he’d never heard the word “premonition” before. For all he knew, Jenny was using big vocab to tell him that she had gas pains in her chest.

  Now she asked sweetly, “Do you believe me that I know where it is?”

  Does she read minds? Play Dough wondered. She must, so he decided to be totally honest. “I believe that you think you know where it is.”

  She giggled and playfully smacked his gut, which was especially uncomfortable fifteen minutes after a double grilled cheese. Play Dough swallowed a burp.

  “You’re funny,” she said. “I told you I’d keep my promise, so I will. I will lead you to the Hatchet.”

  “What about Jamie?” Play Dough asked. “How’d making up with her go?”

  “Omigod, we talked and she was mad at me for deeper reasons, but now I know what they are, so, like, I have a better idea how to handle things.”

  Play Dough didn’t fully understand what that meant, but he’d known Jenny and Jamie long enough to know that there was no point in trying to understand the ins and outs of their friendship. He was just glad they were able to hash stuff out. “Cool. So where should we start looking?”

  “Um, let’s see . . . ” Jenny rounded the corner of Hill Hall where special visitors usually parked and then gasped to a halt. “Don’t be obvious about it, but”—she cupped her hands around Play Dough’s ear and whispered—“someone is trespassing on the Captain’s golf cart.” Her breath tickled him down to his toes.

  Respecting Jenny’s request for subtlety, Play Dough pretended to look at the tree behind the golf cart but really just looked at the golf cart. It was parked on the grass by the side of Hill Hall, and a girl was half visible behind it, rummaging through the sports equipment in the back basket. “Is she looking for the Hatchet?” Play Dough whispered in Jenny’s ear. He wondered if his breath had the same effect on her, especially now that she was freshly single.

  Jenny shrugged. “I think so. Should we tell her that the golf cart’s off-limits so that she doesn’t get in trouble? She might not know.”

  “Uhhhh.” It was in Play Dough’s nature to help people, but the trespasser was decked in White. As much as he wanted to do the right thing, he was a little confused as to what the right thing was. Should he betray Blue to warn White? Or let the girl get her team in trouble so that he and Jenny had a better chance of finding the Hatchet themselves?

  “Um,” Jenny said. “That’s Jamie.”

  Play Dough took a step forward and squinted through the sun. Yup, that was Jamie’s head emerging from a pile of kick-balls.

  “We have to warn her,” Jenny said. She touched Play Dough’s biceps, which was the part of his body he was most proud of—sometimes his bulk passed for muscle. “It’ll mean more coming from you, PD, since you’re both Lieutenants.”

  “Are you sure you want me to—?”

  Jenny nodded.

  Play Dough smiled to himself. He was right about Jenny—her deranged plans were a thing of the past. She could so easily just walk away and let Jamie and her team suffer the consequences, but no. She was choosing to save her best friend from disaster. And it was clear to Play Dough that the right thing to do was to help. “Uhhh, Jamie?”

  Jamie froze and then darted her head up, a gerbil in headlights. “What do you want?” she asked.

  “The Hatchet’s not in there.”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  Play Dough looked at Jenny for help, but Jenny gave him nothing. “OK, we just—”

  “You can pretend to look out for me all you want,” Jamie cut in. “You both know I’m right.”

  Just then, Missi rolled out from under the golf cart, flat on her back, on a skateboard. “It’s here.”

  “WHAT?!” Jamie screamed. “YOU FOUND IT?!!?”

  Play Dough found himself stumbling forward with envy.

  “No, not yet,” Missi said. “I was agreeing with you. That the Hatchet is hidden here.” Then she rolled back under the cart.

  Play Dough stepped back to Jenny’s side and whispered: “What if they are right? What if the cart’s not off-limits?”

  “Impossible,” Jenny assured him. “Let’s just go.”

  Play Dough watched Missi and Jamie scurry in and around the golf cart. What did they know that he didn’t? What if the Hatchet really was in there, and here he was, letting it go without a fight? Then what kind of Lieutenant would he be? A pushover. A traitor. An embarrassment to his team and his friends and family.

  “Apparently Jamie’s still upset with me,” Jenny sulked. “I wish she understood that friendship is more important than war, just like you said. You know?”

  Play Dough watched Missi scour the tires and Jamie toy with the wheel. “Uh-huh,” he said absentmindedly, imagining the Hatchet appearing from some secret compartment. If he could just swoop in and grab it, oh boy, would things turn around for him! He could see it now: General Power would exclaim, “Holy turds! Lieutenant Play Dough isn’t hopeless after all!” And Play Dough would crowd-surf his team, like he’d seen teenagers do at concerts on YouTube. Plus, his family would freak out with pride—at Thanksgiving, they’d honor him with a plateful of turkey drumsticks drenched in gravy.

  “Let’s go, Play Dough,” Jenny said, tugging at his sleeve.

  Play Dough didn’t budge. He couldn’t peel his eyes off the golf cart.

  “I mean it,” Jenny insisted. She looked nervous. “If Jamie wants to be mean about it, then let’s just leave her alone.”

  Play Dough’s heart was pumping like mad. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to restrain himself. But what was the point of holding back? Jamie and Missi were being awful-sauce friends. Jenny was trying to protect Jamie, and this was how Jamie treated her? Jamie and Missi didn’t deserve to find the Hatchet. Play Dough did. He’d do it for Jenny, for himself, for his family, for Blue. “I have to do it,” he said. Jenny looked at him funny. “I HAVE TO!”

  “Do what?!” Jenny asked, her eyes flashing with panic.

  Play Dough didn’t have time to respond. He was already racing toward the golf cart. Missi and Jamie scrambled to block him, but Play Dough was an unblockable force (to skinny girls). He belly flopped onto the front seat. Something underneath the cushion dug into his chest. He hoped it was the Hatchet, but not the blade, though his adrenaline was pumping so hard he wasn’t sure he cared either way. Bring on the blood!

  “Leave it, Play Dough! We’re going to get in big trouble!” Jenny cried. “Seriously!”

  He understood that Jenny didn’t want him to get in trouble, but he wouldn’t get in trouble if the Hatchet was, in fact, underneath him. He clawed under the cushion and felt—phew, no blade—a wooden handle! Missi and Jamie were screaming bloody murder now. He pulled the handle out and—thank you, War Lord—THE HATCHET HAD BEEN FOUND!!!

  Play Dough launched himself from the golf cart, tore the protective towel from the Hatchet’s blade, and held it high. It was beautifully tagged with blue and white graffiti and looked sharper than cheddar. “I got it for y
ou, Jenny! I got it!” She was hiding behind a tree. “I got it!” he cried again, hoping to shake her from her fear of trouble. She peeked out, her eyes darting.

  A deafening whistle sounded. The Captain kicked open the side door of Hill Hall. “What is going on?!”

  Jamie and Missi looked down at their feet. Play Dough got why they were bummed—they hadn’t found the Hatchet—but Jenny? Why wasn’t she bursting with excitement like he was? Was she mad at him? Nervous that Missi and Jamie were mad at her? Well, she didn’t have to worry! He and Jenny were heroes. She’d followed through with her promise, and now so would he.

  Play Dough walked to the Captain, knelt down, and placed the Hatchet at her feet. “Jenny and I found the Hatchet, your highness judge. The Sealed Envelope goes to Blue.”

  The Captain bent down and picked up the Hatchet. She examined it, perplexed. “This isn’t the Color War Hatchet. This is Eddie Duskin’s.”

  “Who?” Play Dough asked.

  “The groundskeeper.” She flipped it over and showed him the bottom of the handle where e.d. was engraved. Play Dough’s heart bobbed with confusion. “Where’d you find it?” the Captain demanded.

  Play Dough looked back at the Captain’s golf cart with dread. It was a mess—the cushion was down by the pedals, there were muddy handprints on the sides, and the sports equipment from the back was strewn all over the ground.

  “My golf cart is private, Brian,” she said. He took note: No “Lieutenant.” No “Play Dough.” Just “Brian.” The Captain was full-blown shaming him. “Do any of you care to explain?” she asked, her pressing stare hopping from camper to camper. “Brian?” she prompted.

  Play Dough wanted to shield Blue from trouble, but the imposter Hatchet was as much a mystery to him as it was to the Captain. “Uh, I dunno.”

  “Jamie?” she asked.

  Jamie started to shake. “I—I—I didn’t do it!” she cried.