Spells & Sleeping Bags #3 (7 page)

“Lights-out in ten minutes!” Deb announces from the front of the bunk. “If you need anything, I'll be in my room.”

“Let's get washed,” Alison says. She shimmies off my bed (where we were chatting) as I—a bit fearfully—climb down the ladder.

We grab our toothbrushes, toothpaste, hand towels, and facecloths from our shared blue shelf, stuff our socked feet into our flip-flops, hurry through the cubby room and into the bathroom, and then wait behind Cece, Trishelle, Poodles, and Carly for our turns at any of the four sinks.

“Yowza!” I shriek when I'm finally up. “Does the water ever warm up?”

“Nope.”

I practically freeze my face off while washing it. I quickly brush my teeth, retreat into the cubby room to change into oversize flannel pj's (courtesy of the Gap), and climb into bed.

“So, Carly, what's the story with you and Blume this year?” Poodles asks.

Morgan starts making kissing noises.

“Shut up!” Carly orders.

“You going to dump him if he tries to french you again?” Morgan asks, laughing.

The girls crack up. It's weird being plopped down into a new group of friends with all this backstory.

“I dumped him because he always had a crust of spit around his mouth and the idea of kissing him made me want to vomit,” Carly explains, sitting up in her bed. “But I'll have you know that I had a boyfriend this year, Michael Miller, who was a
very
good kisser.”

“Ooh-la-la,” says Poodles.

“Was there tongue in the kiss?” Morgan asks.

“You are so gross!” Carly shrieks.

Morgan laughs. “No tongue, then?”

“It's none of your business! Anyway, I'm not interested in Blume.”

“You're going to break his heart,” Alison says.

Poodles raises an eyebrow. “Why don't you go for him this summer, Alison?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Do you like him?”

Morgan turns to Poodles. “Why are you always playing matchmaker?”

“Why not?”

“What about the spit?” Carly asks.

“He does
not
have spit issues,” Poodles says. “I kissed him when we were Monkeys, remember? He's a sweetheart.”

“Then why don't
you
hook up with him again?” Morgan asks.

Poodles smiles mysteriously. “I already have my eye on someone.”

“Who?” they all ask.

“Harris,” she says, lowering her voice.

Of course I have no idea who Harris is, but I don't want to be annoying and butt into their catch-up.

“You can't go out with Harris!” Alison tells her. “He's staff.”

“So what?”

“It's against the rules,” Alison says.

“Oh, whatever, he's only seventeen and people do it all the time. He was totally flirting with me at the campfire today.”

“That is so not fair,” Morgan complains. “If you're going to hook up with Harris, I'm going to hook up with Will.”

“Slight difference there,” Carly says. “Poodles has a chance with Harris, and you have no chance with Will.”

“Alison, want me to talk to Blume for you?” Poodles asks.

Carly looks disturbed. “Wait a sec—”

“You just said you weren't interested!”

“I know, but still. This is all kind of sudden.”

“I'm not interested in Blume,” Alison says. “I like boys who are more studious.”

Morgan snorts. “Nerdy, you mean?”

“Bookish.”

Deb interrupts them by turning off the lights.

“Good night, everyone!” Carly says.

Poodles: “Good night, ladies.”

Morgan: “Good night, horndogs.”

Alison: “We're not horndogs.”

Morgan: “I was talking about myself.”

Everyone laughs.

“Teddy says good night,” Carly pipes up in a squeaky voice.

Morgan groans. “You're not going to talk in that teddy bear voice every night again this summer?”

“Of course she is,” Poodles says. “It's part of her charm. Did you see her new bear? He's wearing a tuxedo.”

“He's not a bear,” Carly says. “He's a penguin.”

“You seriously need a life,” Morgan tells her.

“Missed you guys,” Carly says.

“Missed you, too,” the other girls sing back, and then Alison adds, “And we're glad you're here, Rachel.”

Moonlight streams through the blindless windows, casting a silver glow over the floorboards.

“I'm glad I'm here,” I say.

The bunk is so quiet. Too quiet. I hope I'll be able to fall asleep without the sound of honking New York taxis.

Squeak! Scrape!

Every time any of the girls move, creaks echo through the room.

Ah, I think. That's better.

I turn onto my side, smiling to myself.

5
MORNING GLORY

“Time to get up! Let's go!”

Why is my mother screaming?

“Flagpole in thirty minutes!”

Oh, right. I'm at camp.

My eyes spring open, and I sit up and look around the cabin. The sun is streaming through the windows, but my bunkmates are all still fast asleep.

Itch. Ouch. My knee is on fire. A mosquito bite. Another one on my ankle. And another . . . on my nose. The nerve of that mosquito! Now I really don't feel guilty about banishing him to Never Never Land. I am so getting West Nile virus.

“Time to get up,” Janice says, stomping through the bunk like she's wearing tap shoes. “Flagpole's in thirty minutes.”

Yikes, it's freezing in here. My nose has morphed into an ice cube. An itchy ice cube. I'm about to climb down the ladder, but nobody else is budging. Well, if they're not moving . . . I lie back down, pull my flimsy blanket over my face, and go back to sleep.

About twenty minutes later, I hear squeaks and peeps and remove my blanket to see Carly on the floor doing her stomach crunches. Morgan is on her feet and yawning.

It's so cold in here I can practically see my breath. I hope the Gap makes ski jackets.

Alison groans in the bed below me. “It's not morning already, is it?”

“It is,” says Morgan.

“What time is it?” Alison whimpers.

“Ten past eight.”

My bunk bed creaks as Alison pushes herself out. She grabs her glasses from our shared blue wooden shelf, pops a piece of gum into her mouth, throws her baseball hat over her messy brown hair, slips her socked feet into her Tevas, and says, “Ready.”

Is she kidding me? “You're going in your pajamas?”

“Of course. It's breakfast.”

“You're not even wearing a bra!”

She shrugs. “I'm pretty flat.”

There is no way, nohow I'm wearing these oversize flannel pajamas to breakfast. They are so not for public viewing. “I think I'd rather put on clothes.”

“Then you'd better hurry,” Carly says, peeling herself off the floor. “We were supposed to leave, like, two minutes ago.”

“Bunk fourteen better be on the porch in five seconds!” orders Deb.

I fly down my ladder and sprint to the cubby room, where I frantically search for a new pair of women's underwear. Nope. (Mental note: ask Miri for reversal spell!) I put on yesterday's jeans and a sweatshirt that looks like it might fit but doesn't. No time to change. I need to find my shoes. Where did I put them? After finding them in a heap under Alison's bed, I run to the bathroom to pee. I'm in midflush when Deb screams, “Move it, girls!”

I slam open the door and hurry to wash my hands. And that's when I spot my hair in the mirror. Omigod. It's a disaster. Where is my brush? I need to find my brush! Did I bring a brush?

Poodles struts out of the end stall as I'm staring at myself in despair. She's wearing silky pink pj bottoms and a tight white hoodie. Her long blond hair is pulled back into a high ponytail. No fair. Why does she look dining-room presentable even in pj's while I look like a lumberjack whose head got caught in a thunderstorm?

I need a hair spell, pronto. I close my eyes and wish.

Hair, I'm running late.

I really need you to get straight!

Cold air! Zap!

I open my eyes. The results stare back at me from the mirror.

Well, it worked. It's straight. It's standing straight up like porcupine quills, or like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket, but it
is
straight.

Now what?

I rummage through the stuff on my shelf for an elastic, return to the bathroom mirror, and tie my hair into a high

ponytail.

Not terrible. Kind of cheerleadery.

“Weinstein, on the porch!” Deb commands, coming to get me. I notice with a smidgen of anxiety that she's still in her pj's. Will I be the only one
not
wearing pj's?

The flagpole is beyond the mess hall, on Lower Field. Since this is my first time on Lower Field, I can't help feeling awed as I make my way down the road with the rest of my bunk. This camp is humongous! We pass a small park and then the infirmary, a place I hope never to visit. I mean, can you imagine getting sick at camp? Whenever I get sick, my face gets all puffy and my breath reeks like week-old uncooked chicken.

After the infirmary, the road opens up into Lower Field, which is basically a flagpole, a baseball diamond with bleachers, and a basketball court, also with bleachers. Surrounding the field is a circle of green cabins that look like the tiny green houses on a Monopoly board. Kids are now streaming out of these bunks to line up at the flagpole. “Let's go, let's go!” counselors are shouting. We all line up by bunk, and I scan the circle for Raf.

It's not until I spot him (in his flannel pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt!) talking to one of the other guys that I realize I didn't brush my teeth.

Omigod.

How could I have forgotten that? I have never left my apartment without brushing my teeth. This is not good. Not good at all. I have horrendous morning breath. It's worse than my sick breath. Honestly, when I first wake up, my mouth should be declared a nuclear wasteland.

I will not utter a single word until I return to my bunk.

Anthony begins tugging on a rope, pulling up the flag. “Can the Koala unit please lead us in the national anthem?”

The counselors of the youngest unit cue their campers to begin singing. “One. Two. Three!
Oh, say can you see . . .
”

Obviously, I cannot sing. Instead, I cower behind the other girls, keeping my lips zipped throughout the entire “Star-Spangled Banner,” realizing that almost the entire camp (including Miri) is wearing pajamas, or at least pajama bottoms.

As the end of the song approaches, the campers start getting fidgety and moving toward the mess hall, even though their counselors are attempting to hold them back.

“Walk, don't run!” Anthony hollers as the younger kids ignore him and take off toward the mess hall.

On the walk to breakfast, I do my best to mime instead of talk. “How did you sleep?” Shrug. (I don't know the hand signal for lumpy mattress.) “Did you lose weight? Your clothes seem kind of big on you.” Nod, nod. (Why not?) “How do you like camp so far?” Big smile. (Big closed-lipped smile.)

I hide when I spot Raf. I cannot let him see me this morning. With my porcupine hair and killer breath, forget it. I follow Alison up the stairs and then have a brainstorm. Hello? Why do I keep forgetting I'm a witch? I can just zap up something that will help. Once inside the mess hall, I sit down at the end of our table, shut my eyes, and wish.

My morning breath is quite obscene.

Please help me make it clean!

My body turns cold, so it must be working. I open my eyes, cover my mouth with my hand, exhale, then breathe in with my nose. Ew. Guess not.

And then I notice the basket of cutlery in the center of our table. Or what used to be a basket of cutlery. It is now a basket of multicolored toothbrushes.

Whoops.

I have to fix that before anyone notices. How do I fix that so no one notices?

Since my bunkmates are still shuffling into their seats, no one has spotted my most recent magic snafu just yet. I nonchalantly yank the basket toward me and dump it onto the floor. I hold my breath (both because I'm praying no one saw and because I'm afraid of scaring them all with its smell).

“Deb, they forgot to bring us cutlery,” Carly complains.

“I'll get some when I get the food,” Deb says.

Phewf. Problem solved. And luckily, no one seems to have noticed the random toothbrushes on the floor. I exhale with relief.

Ew to the power of two. Not totally solved.

I miraculously manage to avoid talking all through breakfast and all the way back to the bunk for cleanup. The first thing I'm cleaning is my mouth. I head straight for the sink. When I return to our side of the cabin, I discover that my bunkmates are back in bed. “I thought it was cleanup,” I say.

“That's code for extended sleep,” Alison explains from beneath her duvet.

Fine by me. I kick off my sneakers, climb up my ladder, disappear under my covers, and fall right asleep. It must be the cold air that's making me so tired.

Deb bangs on the wall. “Girls, you've got to get up.”

No one moves or responds.

“I'm serious! You know Janice is going to bust my butt if this place is a mess. I made you a work wheel”—

Alison and Morgan both groan. Slightly curious about what's causing all this groaning, I peek through my covers. Deb is sitting on Poodles' bed, holding up some sort of red and yellow wheel-thingy.

—“that tells you what your chores are. I have sweep, dustpan, bathroom, porch, and free. ‘Kay? And Penelope made the same one for fifteen except it has cubbies instead of porch, and two frees.”

Our work wheel looks like pizza pie with five slices. Our names have been written in block letters around the wheel. “Today, Poodles, you have sweep; Rachel has dustpan; Alison, bathroom; Morgan's on porch; and, Carly, you're free.”

Carly cheers. “More sit-ups for me!”

No fair! Each of us gets excused from chores one out of every five days, but in fifteen, two of them are excused every six days, which means the girls in fifteen end up being free 33.3 percent of the time while we're only free 20 percent of the time! Humph. But I don't say anything. I wouldn't want the others to think I'm some kind of math geek.

“We'll get up in five minutes,” Poodles says. “Hey, Debs, why don't you go check the schedule to see what activities

we have today? Tell Janice that we want to have sailing.”

“Definitely,” Morgan says. “Harris is hot.”

Poodles nods. “Since he's a leader for canoe trips, I'd like to put in a request for an overnight.”

“One day at a time,” Deb says, heading toward the door. “I'll go see what I can do, but you have to get out of bed.”

Poodles plants her feet firmly on the floor. “No worries, I'm up.” As soon as Deb leaves the bunk, Poodles giggles and gets back under her frilly covers.

We all go back to sleep for another ten minutes, then we hear, “Guys! You promised you'd clean up! We have our swim tests in ten minutes!”

Swim test? So soon after breakfast? Is that legal? Anyway, people should be prohibited from using the word
test
during the summer months. I wonder if I can wish that up?

“Boooo!” says Poodles. “I told you I wanted sailing.”

“Unfortunately, Janice makes the schedule, not you, Poodles. If you want sailing so badly, choose it as one of your electives.”

“When do those start?” Alison asks.

“In the next few days. Today: swimming tests, then drama, pottery, lunch washup, lunch, rest hour, soccer, tennis, snack, and then general swim, or ‘GS.’ So throw on your bathing suit and sunscreen and grab a towel.”

Poodles shakes her long blond hair. “I can't take my swim test today anyway. I have my period.”

Why didn't I think of that?

“Me too,” says Carly.

“Me three?” I try.

Deb laughs. “You are such little liars,” she says, standing up and stretching her arms above her.

“I swear, I do!” insists Poodles.

“What, you've never heard of tampons?” Deb asks.

Poodles pulls her covers tightly around her. “But I have cramps.”

“Exercise is good for cramps,” Deb says.

Poodles exaggerates an eyebrow raise. “I assume you'll be joining us in the lake?”

“Not on your life,” Deb says, laughing.

“Way to lead by example,” Poodles grumbles.

“Wait till you guys see my new bikini,” Morgan says, slipping on her flip-flops. “I look like a Victoria's Secret model.”

Carly snorts. “I think you have to be taller to be a Victoria's Secret model.”

Morgan wags her finger. “Watch it, or your penguin teddy bear is going to accidentally fall into the lake.”

“Let's clean up now, so we don't have to later,” Alison says, getting out of bed.

“Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! It ith now the end of cleanup. Pleathe protheed to firtht morning activity!”