Camp (13 page)

“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?”

Hit the ball, Amy. Smack it hard.
It’s Rory—her nasty tone, her constant threats.
Time to choose, Amy. Me or them?

What would Rory do to me if the plan didn’t work, if she guessed we were out to get her in trouble?

“Take a drink, girls,” Jody said when I led four games to two. “And refill your canteens. I don’t want you passing out from the heat.”

Back on the court, I told myself to stay focused. But my mind wandered to the Saginaw social. What if the plan worked? We’d win. Rory would lose. Yet I knew what might be going on in her house. Though I couldn’t forget what she had done to me, and it didn’t matter if I’d ever forgive her, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to forgive myself for getting her sent back to her father.

An eye for an eye. Pretty convincing. Eat or be eaten. But my mother continued to storm through my head.
Two wrongs don’t make a right, Amy.
Did that mean I shouldn’t fight? Just go forward like my mother, try to tune out the past?

“That’s four apiece,” Marcy announced after taking some games.

Focus. Concentrate
, I warned myself. Y
ou can’t lose the first match—not after Jody said you could make it to the finals.

“Four-all,” Marcy said again as she bounced the ball before serving.

“Good return!” a male voice called when I hit a winner. Andy and Jed waved racquets as they crossed the lawn. “We didn’t think anyone would be here all afternoon on account of the schedule change. Jed and I just wanted to hit for a spell.”

“No problem,” Jody said. “But play quietly. There’s a match going on.”

“A m-m-match? S-sorry. We d-d-didn’t know.”

“It’s fine, fellas. Just use an upper court.”

“Could we … maybe … could we watch?” Andy asked.

Jody left it to us. “I don’t mind,” Marcy said.

“Me neither.” Why not, I thought. They’re nice boys, nice enough to have left my initiation. And my father always said I played well to an audience.

The boys applauded my good shots—louder, it seemed, than they did Marcy’s. Each “Great shot, Amy!” made me hit the ball harder. I forgot about Rory and the plan and
what-ifs
. I forgot about my mother. All that mattered was the strike of the ball.

I won four straight games to close out the match. “You’re a good player,” Andy told me. “You too, Marcy. So do you girls want to stay and hit with Jed and me for a while?”

“I think they’ve had enough,” Jody answered for us. “It’s time for a swim.”

“No. Please, Jody,” Marcy begged. “Please let us stay.”

“But it’s hot as blazes. Don’t you want to swim?”

My fear of Rory at the lake came back like a punch to my gut. “No, please. I’d rather play tennis.”

“All right,” Jody agreed. “But not too much longer.”

“Okay then,” Andy said. He smiled and took my arm, claiming his partner. “Let’s play.”

My face flushed with victory.
See, Mom. It doesn’t matter what I wear. Andy likes me just the way I am.

I couldn’t wait to tell Erin: how when Andy smiled, my heart pounded double time; how when we won the few games Jody let us play against Jed and Marcy, Andy’s touch on my shoulder made my whole arm tingle. But by the time I got to the lake and swam to the floats, the whistle blew for campers to head in.

Rory trailed Erin and me to our towels—so close I couldn’t speak. Had Marcy already told her friends about tennis? And had they told Rory, even before swimming ended? She lingered on the path, seeking signs of my time with Andy. I was certain of it. Another thing to tease me about.

“Have fun at tennis?” Rory asked as she watched me in the cabin.

“It was okay,” I said, hiding my enthusiasm, hoping to disabuse Rory of her notion that something had happened. Yet as I spoke, I still felt Andy’s hand on my shoulder and pictured the way he had chosen me as his partner. No, Rory wouldn’t snuff the joy out of this day. I wouldn’t let her suffocate me now. Looking toward Bunk 10, I wanted air and a chance to talk with Erin.

But all evening, and the next morning too, every time I got close to Erin, Rory squeezed in closer. “I have to talk to you,” I finally whispered to Erin after breakfast.

“Me too,” she answered quietly. “I heard about Andy. Meet me at the boathouse. Rest hour.”

I wanted to take Donnie’s job clearing the lunch table. But Rory would know something was up. Yet I longed to see Andy. He’d be waiting at the pass-through, I imagined. His hand would brush mine when I’d set down the sandwich platter. He’d smile, and I would forget Rory, forget our plan for the Saginaw social, forget my mother even.

Erin beat me to the boathouse, but she wasn’t waiting inside. “Shhhh,” she warned, an index finger to her lips. She cupped an ear with her other hand and leaned in close to the door.

I tiptoed next to her. Giggles from inside. Then a moaning breath. Hushed voices. Who was in there?

We heard the floor creak. Erin grabbed me and we ran toward our cabins. “Who do you think it was?” Erin asked as we approached senior camp.

My thoughts were all tangled up. Was someone having sex in the boathouse? Part of me wanted to know, and part of me couldn’t stand to think about it. “Who cares?” I said, sounding meaner than intended.

“Fine. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But tell me about Andy. That’s what you wanted to talk about, right?”

“Forget it. It’s not important.”

Erin socked my arm. “Oh, come on. Tell me.”

“Really, there’s nothing to tell.” I decided to keep Andy to myself—at least for a while. I wouldn’t talk about him, and I wouldn’t think about whatever had been going on in the boathouse. No outer world in; no inner world out. It worked for my mother. I would make it work for me too.

Chapter 10

The Laughingstock of Senior Camp

T
he day of the social, I still didn’t have an outfit. “Not to worry,” Erin said as we left the dining hall after breakfast. “We’ll figure it out at rest hour.”

During archery I could barely pull an arrow from the quiver. Could my mother be right about what to wear? Absolutely not, I decided. Yet I heard her voice as I drew the bowstring to my chin.
Wear the dress, Amy, or you’ll be sorry.
Sorry about what? That I wouldn’t be asked to dance? That I wouldn’t have a boyfriend?

The other girls knew what they would wear to please the Saginaw boys. They’d spent days choosing from assorted clothing. Donnie had tried on multiple outfits, asking my opinion as she mixed and matched Bermudas and blouses.

“Oh, like it really matters what Amy thinks,” Rory said. “You still don’t get it, Donnie-girl, do you? No boy’s gonna waste his time on you, and Amy’s opinion isn’t gonna help that. And anyhow, no one gives a damn what either of you wears. Come on. Andy and Jed weren’t even interested in seeing Amy with no clothes on at all.” Rory stroked her chin. “Though now that I think about it, it might be fun to see Amy’s outfit. So time for a little fashion show. How ’bout it, Amy Becker?”