Elaine Wolf - Camp

I walked slowly to my trunk.

“And I’m just gonna sit right here,” Rory kept on, “while you pull your clothes out from under me. So get started, girl. We haven’t got all day.”

I stooped to gather socks as the cabin door opened. “Hey, Ame,” Erin called. I didn’t look up, couldn’t risk the tears. “I finally got that letter off to my folks, so I thought I’d come visit.”

“Well, freckle-face, you’ll just have to come back another time,” Rory said. “Amy’s got some straightening up to do.”

“No problem. I’ll help.” Erin pulled a pair of shorts from under Rory’s bottom. “Come on, Amy,” Erin said. “We’ll have this done in a jiff, especially if Rory moves her fat ass. Or the other choice is, we can send someone to find Nancy, and she can move Rory’s ass. Either way, we’ll have this straightened up in no time.”

Rory stayed where she was, stretching her arms to guard my clothes. “This doesn’t concern you, Erin. So I suggest you leave.”

“Oh yes it does. Amy’s my friend, and friends help each other. But of course you wouldn’t know that, Rory, seeing as you don’t have any real friends.”

I wanted to applaud, but I didn’t. I almost laughed, but laughter would have made me cry. I simply picked up another pair of socks instead.

“Oh, and one more thing, Rory,” Erin said as she lifted a Takawanda shirt from under Rory’s leg. “You might want to start getting your own things packed, ’cause when we tell Mr. Becker what you did, he’ll probably send you home.”

Without a word, Rory left the cabin, stopping only at her cubby to pull a pack of Salems from behind a stationery box. She didn’t look back, not even when Jessica called, “Hey, wait for me!”

I knew Uncle Ed wouldn’t kick Rory out for emptying my trunk. He would have to catch her in a “false move” himself. The only hope was our plan, which had even less of a chance now that we had started to fight back. But as Erin and I gathered my belongings, I didn’t think about that. I just looked at Erin and smiled.

It didn’t take long for all the seniors to find out what had happened. Once Rory thought about it, she must have figured she wouldn’t be sent home for something as silly as emptying my trunk. So she didn’t stop chuckling about how she had threatened to take my outfit, then found that all I had was the stupid “belle of the ball” getup my mother wanted me to wear. Everyone saw Rory doubled over on the volleyball court, laughing about my red dress and party shoes.

“I hear Aunt Sonia sent quite an outfit for the dance,” Robin snickered when we met by the clothesline between our cabins. “Where does she think you’re going? To the Waldorf?”

I grabbed my bathing suit.

“Regular clothes aren’t good enough for you, cuz? Well, I’ll tell you this: Your mother may think she’s a hotshot beauty queen, but she doesn’t know squat about fashion.”

It was all right for me to think that about my mother, but Robin’s saying it made my fists clench. Who was she to criticize how my mother dressed when her own mother squeezed herself into skintight Bermudas and nearly busted the seams of her shirts? “At least my mother’s clothes fit,” I mumbled as I headed toward the cabin.

The door slammed behind me.

“Your mother doesn’t know squat about anything,” Robin called from outside. “Jeez! She doesn’t even know how to raise kids. Just look at your screwy brother.”

Charlie. I no longer thought about him getting off the minibus every afternoon while I changed into my bathing suit. When had he slipped from my consciousness?

The day after Rory emptied my trunk, Nancy stopped Erin and me after lunch. “Come see me before the end of rest hour. I need to talk to you. Both of you.”

“We have to tell her,” Erin said as we walked toward Nancy’s cabin.

“No we don’t. She already knows.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“I could tell by her voice. She knows there’s been trouble. Everyone knows.”

Nancy threw the question at us the moment we opened her door. “So why didn’t you tell me you had another problem with Rory?” She stood by the sink as we settled on her bed.

“Not to worry, Nance,” Erin said. “It wasn’t so bad. We’re fine.”

“That’s not the point. The point is Rory can’t be allowed to hurt Amy, to hurt anyone. You should have called for a counselor. You should have told Patsy. You should have told me.”

“But—”

“No buts, Erin. Now I want to hear from Amy. Why didn’t you tell me there’d been trouble?”

“I couldn’t tell you, ’cause if I did, you would have talked to Rory or punished her or something. And I was scared that would make things worse because then she’d try to get even with me for telling.” The rest I kept to myself. Telling would have gotten Rory in trouble—not enough to get her sent home, but maybe enough to ban her from the social. Telling might have ruined our plan. And even though I wasn’t sure Lion would work, it was all we had, and I was glad we were going ahead with it.

Nancy said she had no choice now. I couldn’t look at her when she told us she would have Patsy stay around the cabin during rest hour. Rory would blame this on me. I was sure of it. She’d believe I had told someone about the trunk. And Patsy would blame me too. There’d be no more time off after lunch. No more time for herself.

“You know, Amy,” Nancy said, “if you want to keep playing on the edge of a volcano, that’s your business. But remember: If you don’t call for help before the lava flows, it might be too late.”

Erin outfitted me for the social in madras Bermudas and a pale blue blouse. As she and Donnie fussed over which top worked better—pale blue or navy—I realized Rory had been right about one thing: What I wore didn’t matter. I wouldn’t have a good time no matter what. No matter how many boys might ask me to dance, no matter which girls might stay with me on the sidelines. I’d be looking over my shoulder until we’d say “Lion.” I’d be waiting for Rory to trip me on the dance floor or pour bug juice on my head. I’d be checking over that same shoulder on which my mother would be sitting, criticizing my outfit and telling me I’d be dancing more if only I had worn the dress.

“So we’re down to the wire, Ame,” Erin said, “and I think the light blue’s better on you.”

“Definitely the light blue,” Donnie said.

“That’s fine. Really good.” I pretended to care. “Thanks, you two. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, good thing you won’t have to find out.” Erin lowered her voice to a whisper, though no one else was in Bunk 10. Rory’s group had decided to do manicures in my cabin, where Patsy probably hovered over them. And Paula was off somewhere with Fran and Karen. “The only one we’ll be without is Rory,” Erin went on. “I still think ol’ Lion ’s gonna work.”

We gathered in The Lodge before the boys got there. My gang devoid of makeup. No black-ringed eyes, no goopy lashes. Our sole concession, Pink Pearl lipstick, the trademark of our tribe. Paula had passed it around when we dressed in Bunk 10.

Rory’s band flaunted poufed hair and polished nails. War paint on their faces: powder, blush, mascara, eye shadow. Markings of the enemy.