Breakout!

by Stacy Davidowitz

  She guessed the ceremony would happen today, just that no one would hack, or the Generals would, or something. Thinking about her missed opportunity made her skin prickle with regret. “If only I hadn’t blown it,” she said, “we’d be a part of the ceremony in a few hours, and we wouldn’t have to sneak here all alone.”

  Play Dough shrugged. “Actually, I’m glad it worked out this way. It’s cool being here, just you and me.”

  And just like that, the regret melted. “I guess you’re right.” She stepped on the stump and admired the rising sun breaking through the branches. Some of the light bounced off of Play Dough’s helmet of gelled hair. He looked really handsome, considering it was the crack of dawn. It was kind of a reversal, actually, since she was the one who hadn’t showered since yesterday, was still wearing her SING costume, and had bags under her eyes. “So how are we supposed to do this without a Hatchet?” she asked. “Mime it?”

  “Miming could work,” Play Dough began, reaching into his backpack, “but real hacking would be way better.” He whipped out Eddie’s Hatchet.

  Jenny screamed with joy. It rang through the morning fog. “Did you steal it back?!” she asked.

  “Nah, Eddie let me borrow it.” He laughed. “But I did steal this from the Shirt Donation Box in the tie-dye nook.” He pulled from his backpack an extra-large blue T-shirt. “I made this part,” he said, showing her the back where it read HATCHET HERO in a combo of iron-on letters and faded Sharpie marker.

  Normally, Jenny’s first instinct would be to list everything gross about it: the size, the stains, the fact that it looked like a drunk kindergartner had decorated it with a blindfold on. But not today. The new Jenny saw fashion-forward. And passion. And versatility. Since Jamie and Missi could fit inside it with her, it would make amazing friendship apparel. “I LOVE IT!” she cried, pulling it over her head. It fell to her knees, like a moomoo. She twirled, feeling the forest shadows and glowing sun hit her like a strobe light.

  Jenny plopped dizzily to the stump, sighing with delight, and Play Dough joined her. Their knees knocked. After a few seconds of comfortable silence, Play Dough broke in: “So, I found out what the Hatchet Hunt clues meant.”

  “Omigod, I forgot about them!” Jenny gasped. “Wait, what were they again?”

  “Lady and the Tramp was the first clue.”

  Lady and the . . . “Lady and the Trampoline!” Jenny exclaimed.

  “Bingo! And ‘Dryer Sheets’—think about brand names.”

  Jenny forced her sleep-deprived brain to cooperate. Downy, no, um, um, oh! “Bounce!”

  “Yup!” Play Dough said. “And the third clue—‘Toil and Trouble’—this one’s kind of a stretch. Toil rhymes with—”

  “Coil!” Jenny cried. “The Hatchet was buried in the coil of the trambopoline!”

  “Wow. Yeah. You’re, uhhhh . . .”

  Smart, pretty, fun? Jenny caught Play Dough staring into her eyes like they were magnets. It made her belly rebirth all those butterflies she’d felt a few days ago. Then, randomly, his fingers were hovering over her head.

  “Can I touch your hair?” he asked.

  She smiled, remembering how he’d touched her hair the night before Color War broke. What was once so weird now seemed sweet. “This part,” she said, offering him a chunk of the bottom.

  He ran his fingers through it. “C’mon, you must put Bounce in your hair—it’s so soft.”

  “Moroccan Oil, actually.” She grinned. “You know what else is soft?” she asked, touching her finger to her lips.

  Play Dough felt her lips. “Not as soft as your hair, but—”

  Jenny laughed. “That’s not what I meant!”

  He put his finger on her nose. “Is that what you meant?” Then between her eyes. “What about this?” Then on her ear. “Oh yeah, the lobe’s real soft.”

  Jenny was giggling so hard she couldn’t breathe. “Omigod, no, that was your cue to—!” And then, just as she was about to say, “Kiss me,” he kissed her.

  Oh, the butterflies. They were fluttering up a summer storm. After three Mississippi she pulled away. Her heart was so full, she was afraid it might burst. “Ready to hack?” she asked, holding out the Hatchet.

  He held the handle, his fingers stacked on top of hers. “Ready.”

  Acknowledgments

  A few years ago, I was lucky to collaborate with the Spiegel brothers—Adam and David—on writing the musical Camp Rolling Hills. My friend Erica Finkel saw a workshop of the show and tossed out the idea that I write a book for middle schoolers. A few months later, I embarked on Camp Rolling Hills: the Book! Erica is my fairy godmother, bestie, and editor, who grew the seed of an idea into a full-fledged series. I am forever grateful. Thank you to the amazing Spiegel brothers for your inspiration and permission to nurture the world we hold so close to our hearts.

  Camp has been a major part of my life and still is. I was lucky to transition from camper to counselor to upper staff at Tyler Hill Camp, where my mom was the Head of Girls’ Side. Mom and Dad, thank you for introducing me to this incredible, life-changing place, for daring me to be silly and take enormous risks, and for your endless love and support. To my brother, Mike, my sister, Amy, and my sister-in-law, Deanna, who all work in the camp industry: Congrats on making a career out of the greatest cult. I love you.

  Grandma Terry, Grandma Joanie, and Grandpa Lenny—thank you for being my number one fans. You three are the world’s best.

  Lauren Kasnett Nearpass, thank you for brainstorming marketing and branding and for inviting me to blog for Summer 365. I’m honored to be working with you and your incredible organization.

  Aimee Berger, you’re a rock star. Thank you for all your summer camp coordination and support! Tyler Hill Camp and Camp Louise: Facilitating workshops with your campers was truly magical.

  Jay Jacobs, thank you for conceiving the STARFISH Program and for granting me permission to reference it in the Camp Rolling Hills series. It’s a brilliant values system that defined so much of my personal experience at Tyler Hill. I’m so glad I can share it. Lexi Korologos, my teenage life coach, thank you for reading drafts, dishing your honest feedback, and brainstorming titles.

  To my brave students at Long Island City High School and Naked Angels, thank you for inspiring me every single day with your lack of inhibition. You keep my imagination fed.

  To my Bunk 4 Cauliflowers, thanks for finding the “True Colors” alma mater I wrote for your freshmen SING in 2002. You’ll always be my little onions.

  Thank you to my friend and collaborator Elissa Brent Weissman for the blurb, the collaborative camp-themed book events, and for always reading what I send you.

  Thank you to Erica Rand Silverman and Nell Pierce at Sterling Lord Literistic, and my theatrical literary agent at Creative Artists Agency, Ally Shuster, who’s always such a fierce advocate of my work.

  Susan Van Metre, Erica Finkel (again and again), and the whole brilliant team at Abrams: Pam, Jim, Samantha, Mary, Elisa, Rebecca, and Kyle, thank you for seeing so much potential in an early draft and for providing the feedback that has enriched the story a million times over. A special shout-out to Caitlin Miller for kicking butt and dealing so gracefully with my million emails a week. And illustrator Melissa Manwill, so happy to be collaborating with you and your character sketches. They’re perfection.

  My camp friends. My campers. My counselors. My co-counselors. The camps: Twin Oaks, Crestwood, Summit, Tyler Hill, A.C.T., Oxbridge. You have made me who I am today and provided me with the heart and experience to write this series.

  My partner-in-crime, Tim Borecky, thank you for lending me your wisdom and dramaturgy every time I cornered you to read you chapters. I appreciate your indulging my characters as if they are our friends.

  To all the camp people out there, enjoy the adventure and the s’mores. And remember, the only war worth fighting is Color War.