Breakout!

by Stacy Davidowitz

  Play Dough had wanted to make the shirt for her, but it had also been an excuse to avoid Hamburger Hill Cabin until his friends were asleep. Dover was still ranting about how “bros who chose Hatchets didn’t know how to hack it.” Smelly kept doing that thing where he smiled tolerantly at Play Dough, which to everyone who knew him meant he had something totally intolerant brewing in his neurotic head. Plus, surely Totle, Steinberg, and Wiener were celebrating White’s lead with shaving cream beards. And the main reason he couldn’t have just gone straight back to the bunk: He would have blurted out that he’d just gotten to first with Jenny Nolan.

  Now, this was something he proudly wanted to blurt. Heck, he wanted to holler a play-by-play from the rooftop of Hamburger Hill Cabin! But Totle would have whipped out his journal to write it all down. Wiener would have salivated over the deets, and then turned the whole thing into a Q&A about macking Missi. Smelly would have said something about how girls don’t like it when you brag about getting with them. Dover would have pointed out that Play Dough was an even bigger hack than he’d thought. And Steinberg would have probably gone quiet with PTSD from all the times he’d shoved peanut butter in his mouth to avoid Sophie’s tongue. And the final reason Play Dough had kept his cherry Chapsticked lips sealed: He didn’t want to ruin it with Jenny. If the guys knew that he’d snuck off with her to the trambopoline after the officers’ meeting, that would have meant more points off for Blue, his demotion from Lieutenant, and no Hatchet co-find.

  TJ shouted into the megaphone: “All right, all right, you spirited beasts, listen up. The Rope Burn will begin in three minutes. Generals, finalize strategies with your Fire Builders. Everyone else, dance it out!” He clapped twice, and Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire” blasted from giant speakers on either side of the Rope Burn stations.

  For the third time, Play Dough scanned the crowd for Jenny. He spotted Sophie, her fingers like peace signs, violently jabbing the air. Two rows back was Smelly, waving his arms over his head. On the White team’s side, Missi and Wiener were holding hands, doing the snake wave. Steinberg had one hand over an ear and the other pretending to spin tunes. Slimey was doing the running man. Where was Jenny?

  Prickly spikes tickled Play Dough’s shoulder. He stumbled backward and saw what he’d brushed against: Jamie’s hair-sprayed head. He guessed it made sense that Jamie was beside him. As their team’s Log Fetchers, once TJ blew his whistle, they’d both be sorting through the starter pile to hand flammables off to their runners, Melman and Totle. But still, he wished she weren’t standing so close. The last time he’d seen her, they were wrestling in the Captain’s golf cart over a weapon that could have hacked their faces off. Luckily, Play Dough was feeling extra confident today, so he brushed that aside. “Do you know where Jenny is?” he asked.

  Jamie spun around, frightened. He guessed she hadn’t realized her white spiky hair had been all up on his shoulder. Probably because she didn’t have any peripheral vision—she was wrapped in white Ace bandages head to stomach. As far as Play Dough knew, Jamie hadn’t become a burn victim in the last thirty-six hours, so it was probably for protection from tonight’s fire. “She’s in the HC, getting punished,” she answered.

  Play Dough’s heart ached a little. “Oh.”

  “Sorry she used you, too.”

  Play Dough grinned. He realized grinning was a strange reaction. He understood what Jamie meant and agreed. It was just that Jamie looked like a gerbil mummy, and that tickled him.

  “What’s so funny?” Jamie asked. “Why are you smiling like that?”

  Play Dough took a breath and refocused. His mind had slipped back to Jenny’s lips. “Maybe she did use us, but I don’t get why you’d snoop in her diary after you two made up.” It was something that had been bothering him anyway. If Jamie and Missi had just minded their own business, the whole Hatchet fiasco would have been fiasco-free.

  “‘Made up’?” Jamie echoed. “We never made up.”

  Play Dough scrunched his nose in confusion. “Jenny said you guys made up.”

  “No,” Jamie said. “And I snooped in her diary because she ranked our whole cabin. Like how good and bad we are at stuff for Color War. She gave me the saddest score ever and herself a completely perfect one. She’s a mean, deluded person, Play Dough.”

  Play Dough’s pining heart felt like it was being upstaged by gas pains. He didn’t quite know what to do with all of that information. Sure, Jenny’s plan had sucked, but she’d for real apologized to him. Maybe once Jamie got her apology, she’d feel better, too. Plus, even if Jenny sometimes acted mean and deluded, that wasn’t who she was deep inside. He could see that. “Well, maybe cut her some slack. She’s going through a really tough time with Christopher.”

  “Omigod, she used that excuse on you, too?” Jamie asked. “She just wants attention.”

  “I saw the letter before she ripped it up.”

  “What letter?”

  “From Christopher.”

  “OK, but what letter from Christopher?”

  “The one where he broke up with her.”

  “They broke up?”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “She told YOU?” Jamie’s face wrinkled up like she was going to sneeze. Play Dough didn’t know if she was sad or angry or having an allergy attack. Maybe all three. She started striding away.

  “Where are you going?” Play Dough asked. “Don’t you have to Log Fetch in a minute?”

  Jamie swiveled on her heels to face him. “Are you brainwashed?!” she hissed. “She knows you’ve liked her for forever. And she’s using that to get you to do whatever she wants. Don’t be a puppet, Play Dough.”

  “I’m not a puppet,” he croaked.

  “I was her puppet for so many years, and I wish someone had cut the strings. She wants you on her side because she has no one else. She wants you on her side because you’re the closest to Lieutenant that she’ll ever be. She wants you on her side so that you’ll defend her to me, just like you’re doing now.”

  Play Dough retreated into another replay of last night’s magic. But it wasn’t a romance he was seeing. It was a psychological thriller. He rewound to the moment before they’d found the Hatchet. Play Dough had been yelling, super-angry. Jumping with the opposite of joy. Because she had used him. She’d betrayed him. And maybe her apology and her sorry act was just another one of her sucky plans. She’d kissed him, but did that mean she’d changed into a better person? Did that mean she was truly sorry? Had she put the moves on him just so that he’d forget all about why he’d been mad at her in the first place?

  Jamie peeled some of the bandage from her forehead. “Also, if Jenny told you about Christopher before she told me, she must be having a psychotic breakdown.”

  Play Dough could feel his face getting warm with embarrassment, his heart plummeting through the folds of his belly. Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” was playing now: “I fell into a burnin’ ring of fire / I went down, down, down.” The perfect score to his misery.

  Suddenly, Melman was beside him. “You ready?” she asked, smiling ear to ear. Play Dough was numb in the throat, so he nodded weakly. Totle arrived, too, and fist-bumped Jamie. She halfheartedly fist-bumped him back.

  TJ cut the music, and everyone went silent. “Attention, Blue and White. The Generals have informed me that they’re all set. Which is good. Because the three minutes are up.” He pointed his megaphone at Play Dough and Jamie. “Log Fetchers: On your mark, get set—” He blew his whistle.

  The whole camp burst into cheers. The Roots’ “The Fire” began blasting. Play Dough anticipated an adrenaline rush, but indifference clotted his heart. He went through the motions of handing Melman logs and then twigs and then leaves. He tried to let the chanting and music fuel him, but it all hummed into white noise.

  When the starter pile ran low, Play Dough jogged two holes north to the woodsy edge of the golf course to snag more branches. His brain was telling him to collect wood faster, fa
ster, faster, but his fingers were fumbling and his legs felt like tree trunks. Finally, he slapped himself and his brain won out. He grabbed as much material as he could hold in the fold of his shirt and in the garbage bag he’d slung over his shoulder. He hustled back to the Rope Burn site, where White had a licking ball of fire halfway to their rope and Blue had diddly.

  White was roaring: “BUILD THAT FIRE, HIGHER, HIGHER!” Totle was wet with sweat and smiling all deranged. Jamie was probably wet with sweat underneath her mummy getup. The White team officers were surrounding the fire, watching it grow. On the sidelines, Wiener had a Bunker Hiller on his shoulders and Steinberg was shouting fractions.

  Play Dough shifted his gaze to Blue’s station. Dover was ranting about stick rubbing because the wind had smothered all three of their matches. The Lieutenants were scrambling to copy White’s triple-hashtag log formation. General Power had somehow burned his hand and was hopping around, cursing himself.

  It hit him: Play Dough had to step in. He ran to the entrance of the golf course and snatched two fistfuls of hay from a decorative haystack. Then he rushed into the Golf Shack, where he snagged a nine-volt battery and a paper clip from a desk drawer. He sprinted back with all of his supplies.

  “Knot this together with some dry leaves,” he told Melman, giving her the hay. He handed Dover the nine-volt battery and the clip. “When Melman’s done, rub this paper clip on both battery terminals at the same time.” He faced General McCarville. “General, get your Lieutenants to huddle together—we need to contain the wind.” He’d have given General Power something to do, but he was off to the side, getting his hand anointed by Nurse Nanette.

  In their General’s absence, no Blue officer thought twice about following Play Dough’s orders. Melman knotted, Dover waited to rub, and the rest huddled around Play Dough as he reconfigured the double hashtag into a tepee of sticks inside a bigger tepee of logs inside an even bigger tepee of branches. Melman placed the tinder nest inside the smallest tepee. Dover rubbed the clip to the battery. It sparked. A baby fire was born. Then Play Dough threw himself wherever the wind was blowing. Once the fire was toddler-size, he cried: “De-huddle!”

  The Lieutenants de-huddled and their fire was revealed for all to see. Blue began screaming: “B-U-R-N, BUUUUURN THE ROPE!” A new song played, the lyrics: “Burn, baby, burn, disco inferno,” and all of Blue was singing along. White kept darting looks over to their opponent’s station. Their cheering simmered as Blue’s fire outflamed theirs.

  Over the next half hour, Play Dough and his fellow officers fed and fanned their fire. They dodged embers and pulled their shirts up over their noses to avoid the smoke. Play Dough got so sweaty he might as well have emerged from the lake. White’s fire had since gained height—their officers had fed and fanned it just like Blue. From the sidelines, the teams looked neck and neck. But Play Dough noted a major difference between the two apex flames: Blue’s was focused on the middle of the rope; White’s was frolicking two inches in front. He knew which was better even if no one else did.

  Suddenly, Blue’s screams escalated and the hills shook. Pat Benatar’s “Fire and Ice” shot through the dark. Blue team’s rope had caught on fire. “THE ROPE, THE ROPE, THE ROPE IS ON FIRE!” they chanted on repeat.

  Play Dough stood still for the first time in nearly an hour, watching Blue’s rope sizzle black and thin to floss. There was nothing more he could do, so he took Melman’s hand and General McCarville’s hand and awaited the fate of the fire.

  Twelve seconds later, Blue’s rope broke.

  Summer of Love

  Jenny sat in a beanbag chair in the HC, chewing on her pink pen cap. Across from her sat the Captain at her desk, plugging away on her laptop. They’d been sitting in boring office land for over an hour now, and Jenny was about to tear her silky strands out. She was three hills away from the Rope Burn and suffering from the worst case of FOMO imaginable.

  Jenny had always pictured herself a Rope Burn star, costumed like Katniss Everdeen in Catching Fire. So it was kind of sad that not only was she barred from the event of the summer, but she was locked away with the Captain. The whole punishment was seriously torching her vibe. She didn’t want to write sorry letters to Jamie and Missi. She wanted to grow the fire between her and Lieutenant “Peeta” Play Dough, who, like the real Peeta, was really into bread.

  “How are your apologies coming, Jenny?”

  “Really good,” Jenny lied.

  “Your stationery is blank,” the Captain pointed out.

  Jenny looked down at her stationery bordered with hearts and lipstick kisses. “Ugh.” It was hard to write an apology to her ex-BFF on smoochy paper when whatever love was once between them was now burnt to a crisp. “Do you have any stationery with skulls on them?”

  “No.”

  “How about spiders?”

  “Why would I have that?”

  “UGGGGGGGH.”

  The Captain passed Jenny a “To-Do List” notepad. It was mustard brown with ugly bubble bullet points.

  “Perfect, thanks!” Jenny put her pen to the paper, but nothing but doodles came out. Her first two apology letters had been so easy. She’d filled the one to Eddie with compliments on his Hatchet and advice on how to redecorate the Tool Shed. (More shades of pink, less opossum poop.) The one to Missi had been a little more challenging. Jenny had been able to write nice things about Missi’s sense of curiosity and how her hair was just so full of life, but she’d crossed all of her toes in the process. After all, Missi was nothing but a Best Friend Stealer.

  By now, her energy was sucked dry and she didn’t have it in her heart to say nice things to Jamie. Jenny decided that she should just be honest. She stopped doodling and got to work:

  “Ta-da!” Jenny handed the letter over to the Captain for approval.

  The Captain scanned it, lifted her glasses to the top of her head, and rubbed her eyes. “I was hoping you’d write something encouraging. Jamie is your best friend, right?”

  Jenny tilted her head in consideration, halfway between a yes and a no. Jamie had been her best friend. But that was before she stopped supporting Jenny, and quit caring about Jenny’s relationship with Christopher, and made mash-up names with Missi. Jenny spit out the pen cap that she’d been chewing. It was the consistency of taffy. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Go ahead,” the Captain said.

  “Were you forced to pick Jamie for Lieutenant or was it a mistake? Like, did her mom bribe you or something? Francine Nederbauer has serious helicopter parenting issues.”

  The Captain gently closed her laptop and folded her arms on her desk. “TJ and I did not accept a bribe. We did not make a mistake. We chose Jamie on purpose.”

  Jenny wrinkled her nose in disbelief. “Why?”

  “Jamie never gets a chance to shine. I wanted to give her that chance,” the Captain explained. “She’s shining now, Jenny. You see that, don’t you?”

  Jenny shrugged. She guessed Jamie had come into her own these last few days. But she’d also become a power-hungry monster.

  The Captain got up and stretched. Then she walked to her super-serious filing cabinet. Jenny assumed she was going to pull out some infographic charting Jamie’s shine factor, but instead she removed a bag of trail mix. She offered Jenny some—Jenny picked out two raisins and a carob chip. The Captain continued: “I think Jamie’s stepping into her leadership role, just like you’ve done every summer with Miss Rolling Hills and Campstock and the intercamp dance competitions. I see a lot of you in her now.”

  Jenny bulged her eyes. She knew the Captain meant that as a compliment, but she couldn’t also help but think that meant Jenny was a power-hungry monster, too, and that she’d bred Jamie’s meanness. Maybe Jamie was her Frankenstein baby, just like she’d become Willamena’s. It hurt her heart to think about it, so she took a two-second nap and refocused. “Can I move on to the next letter?”

  The Captain sighed. “For now.” Then she threw back a handful of trail mi
x and returned to her laptop.

  Jenny had been dreading writing this final letter. She didn’t need to apologize to Play Dough—their differences had been settled when they’d smooched. So what was she supposed to write? That her heart felt as gooey as a campfired marshmallow? That he’d triggered a million hyperactive butterflies in her belly? That kissing him felt more special than it had ever felt with Christopher?

  Absolutely not. Jenny was Jenny. Play Dough was Play Dough. What would her followers think? Willamena and Riley and the rest of her school and dance friends? Her camp friends? Surely they would think that her rebound was a charity case. That she was having her celebrity meltdown five years too soon. Jenny had considered keeping their make-out a secret, but with her high profile and Play Dough’s conspicuous body, it would only be a matter of time before it leaked. Everyone in her life would stop believing she’d ever had what it takes to be Lieutenant and Head Cheerleader and Homecoming Queen and Miss Everything. That is, if they hadn’t stopped believing in her already.

  “Jenny, are you OK?”

  Jenny shook out of her daymare and looked down at her lap: the note was covered in doodled hearts and Mrs. Jenny Garfink signatures. She threw her hand over it, embarrassed. “Do I have to write this one?” she asked. “Can’t I just go to Rope Burn and apologize to Play Dough in person?”

  “You’re with me until Taps.”

  “Ugh. Why couldn’t I have gotten punished yesterday?!”

  “Sorry about that,” the Captain said. “It was our twentieth anniversary. TJ and I wanted to celebrate.”

  Jenny perked up. Maybe she and the Captain could gossip about married life until Taps (aka the bedtime bugle). Then Jenny wouldn’t have to process her unruly emotions after all. “OK, tell me everything!” she squealed.