Elaine Wolf - Camp

“Shut your trap, Jess. You’re starting to get on my nerves.” Rory looked at Fran and Karen. “And you two, didn’t you hear me? Or are you both deaf? It’s no wonder you side with Amy: You’re deaf and she’s mute. What a bunch of retards in this cabin.”

My stomach twisted like a washcloth. If my getting a package was enough to force Rory’s rage, there was nothing I could control. Who knew what she would do to me if Fran and Karen left? “You didn’t cooperate during your initiation, Amy Becker,” Rory had whispered several times. Now I needed the other girls to protect me. Don’t go. Please don’t go.

They stayed on their beds as if they heard my silent plea.

“What’s the matter with you two?” Rory asked. “I told you to get out.”

Fran and Karen didn’t move.

“Well then, just remember: You cross me now, I’ll cross you later. So get the hell outta here. Go!”

The lion had roared. Fran and Karen bolted from the cabin. Rory leaned forward again, tightening her hands on my bed. “So finally, Amy Becker, it’s just us. Just you and me and Jess. And you’ve got a choice to make. You either listen to your so-called friends, who don’t know squat about anything, or you listen to me. So which is it? Me or them?”

My voice still wouldn’t come.

“Jesus, girl. I said you’ve got a choice to make. So make it already. I’m not gonna waste all rest hour waiting for you to wise up.”

Donnie saved me when she opened the door. “Give her a break, Rory. It’s just a package. What’s the big deal?” Donnie paused for a second, expecting an answer that didn’t come. Then she summoned me from the doorway. “Let’s go, Amy. I’ll walk you to the gatehouse.”

“Time to choose,” Rory said again, her face too close, the tuna salad from lunch heavy on her breath.

Fear pressed on my chest. I pulled in air as I closed my notepad on the beginning of a letter to Charlie, the first in days. “I’m coming, Donnie.”

“Wrong choice, you little twerp,” Rory sneered.

I jumped into my sneakers, not stopping to tie them, and ran from the cabin.

Not a word about Charlie, except my father’s letdown in my not having written to him more. It wasn’t only my mother I had disappointed. It was my father now. And Charlie too.

I stashed the red dress and party shoes in the bottom of my trunk, where I kept the extra bath towels my mother had insisted I bring. “See, Ed knows nothing about running a camp,” she had said as we packed. “They should have put more towels on this list. What if the laundry loses one of yours, and the other one’s wet? Then what?”

As I hid the “appropriate outfit” in my trunk, my mother perched on my shoulder again. You’re not going to wear the dress, Amy? Then you’ll find out the hard way that boys like girls who look like ladies.

“Not to worry,” Erin said the next day as we walked toward Nancy’s cabin during rest hour—even though I knew I should be writing to Charlie. “I told you, you can borrow anything you want. And anyhow, what we wear doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the plan. And I think Lion ’s gonna work. It’ll be a cold day in hell when Rory hurts us again.” Erin draped her arm around me. “And just think what fun we’ll have once she’s gone.”

By the time we got to Nancy’s, Erin had convinced me. Camp without Rory. I couldn’t help smiling.

“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” Nancy called from in front of her cabin. “Let me in on it, ladies. What’s the good news?”

“Nothing, Nance,” Erin answered. “You know, girl talk. Nothing special.”

“Oh, come on. Tell me.” Nancy motioned us in.

“We can’t,” Erin said with a grin. “It’s a secret. Right, Amy?”

I nodded.

“Well, okay. It’s just good to see you two having fun. That’s what camp’s all about: fun and friendship. Secrets too, I suppose.” She sat between us on her bed and went on. “I’m just glad there hasn’t been any more trouble. But if there ever is, I want you to come to me right away.” She paused, maybe trying to guess our secret. “And don’t even think about doing anything silly, like getting back at Rory. Though I know you two would never hurt anyone, even if she deserves it. Erin Hollander and Amy Becker, the nicest seniors in Takawanda history.”

Erin and I inched to the very edge of the bed and glanced at each other. This time neither of us smiled. Was Erin thinking the same thing I was: that maybe we should backpedal on our plan to get Rory?

Before the bell rang, Nancy walked us out, arms around us. My stomach flipped. I knew I didn’t merit this affection, Nancy’s confidence in my judgment and the trust in her eyes.

“I’m thinking about what Nancy said,” Erin told me as we headed back to senior camp. “But I still want to go ahead with the plan. Look, Ame. Nancy practically said that Rory deserves it. And we already have friendship and secrets. That’s two out of Nancy’s three. So now all we have to do is get rid of Rory, and we’ll finally have fun. I say we go for it.”

No backpedaling, I realized. Lion was still on.

The temperature rose above ninety on the afternoon of the tennis match. Regular activities were canceled. “It’s Miami Beach Day, campers,” Nancy announced at the end of lunch. A loud cheer rolled through the dining hall. “Seniors with scheduled tennis matches, please meet with Jody,” Nancy continued. “And I’ll see everyone at the lake after rest hour.”

Erin raced over when Nancy dismissed our group. “Miami Beach Day means we get the whole afternoon at the lake. So don’t let Jody convince you to play your match. Just tell her you’ll play tomorrow.”

How could I let Erin know Jody wouldn’t have to convince me? Time at the lake might mean another battle, another chance for Rory to attack. I had chosen sides, racing off with Donnie to collect my package. Now, regardless of the swarm of counselors at the waterfront, Rory would be out to punish me. The lake might be just the spot. Even if the temperature reached one hundred, I’d choose tennis over swimming.

“I’ll do what I can,” I lied as I headed to the front of the dining hall, where Jody huddled with Nancy.

Mine wasn’t the only match scheduled for that afternoon, but it was the only one played. I lucked out with my opponent, Marcy Bernstein from Bunk 8, who was squeamish about fish. Even tiny minnows made her scream. Shelly Davis, the waterfront director, practically had to push Marcy in for instructional swim.

“Okay, ladies,” Jody said when Marcy and I told her we wanted to play. “How about right after rest hour? And bring your canteens. You’ll need plenty of water.”

The rules for the tennis match were simple: The winner would be the first player to take eight games, by a margin of two. Before I knew it, I had won the first three. Focused on the tennis ball, I forgot my father’s disappointment in my not writing more and my mother’s warning about appropriate dress. I saw the ball come toward me and forgot about Charlie too. But I didn’t forget Rory, whose face I saw in every shot. Rory, who in the two weeks since my initiation would say, “Time for a swim, Amy Becker,” whenever we changed into our bathing suits. Rory, who would race toward me in the lake whenever the counselors turned their heads, who’d call out, “Never played doctor, Amy Becker?”