Spells & Sleeping Bags #3 (9 page)

Alison props herself up on her elbows and points at Miss Attitude, who pushed me yesterday and yelled at me in the water today. “The girl in the black bikini.”

Miss Attitude is now animatedly talking to her bunkmates, her dark wet hair hanging down to her waist.

“Didn't you meet her?” Poodles asks. “Her name is Liana.”

“I wonder how they decided to put me in your bunk and Liana in theirs,” I say. “You'd think they would have put the two new girls together.”

“There are two new girls in fifteen, actually,” Alison says. She points to a pale blond girl sitting by herself at the edge of the circle. “Her name is Molly.”

“Where's she from?” Poodles asks.

“Greenwich, maybe?” Alison says.

I study the girls from bunk fifteen. I recognize the awful Liana; the other new girl, Molly; Cece, who's friends with Alison; and Trishelle and Kristin from the bus. “Who's the girl with the glasses?” I ask, motioning to the only one I haven't met.

“Natalie,” Alison says. “You'd like her; she's supersmart.”

Morgan adjusts her bikini. “What a know-it-all. I'm glad I don't have to share a bunk with her anymore.”

“You're not still mad at her for going to the camp social with Brandon Young last year, are you?” Poodles asks.

“Noooo.” She considers her answer. “Fine, maybe a little. But I don't care about him anymore. He's such a child. Did you see him sticking Cheerios up his nose at breakfast? Puh-lease. I'm onto bigger and better things. Like Will.”

“Didn't you hear?” Alison says. “Rachel says he has a girlfriend.”

“Whatever. She's not here, is she?”

“Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth,” says the voice in the sky. “Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth. Pleathe protheed to thecond morning activity.”

“Let's go, girls,” Deb says, clapping. “We need to change superfast and then motor over to the rec hall for drama.”

I follow the lead of my bunkmates and wrap my towel tightly around me. That is, all my bunkmates except Morgan, who ties her towel around her waist.

“You okay?” I ask Miri as we head up the beach. She was pretty quiet on the sand. I was happy to have her with me, but I kind of wish she felt comfortable hanging out with her own bunk.

“Uh-huh.”

We pause at the top of the beach, under the sign listing the rules, which include things like no gum, no horseplay, and always swim with a buddy.

Miri's going to have to find herself a buddy.

“Where's your bunk?” I ask.

“That way,” she says, pointing away from where I'm going. “Bunk two is in Lower Field, but it's behind all the other bunks, near the Lower Field showers.” She makes a face. “I have to hike all the way up a hill to get to my bunk.”

“So do I.”

“My hill is bigger than yours, trust me. Come see?” she asks hopefully.

“This second?”

“Yeah.”

My bunkmates are already disappearing down the road. “Mir, I have to get ready for drama. Maybe later. Did you get a bottom bunk?”

She sighs. “No. Top. You?”

“Me too.”

“But you hate top bunks!”

I shrug. “I'm sure it'll be fine. I gotta go. See you at lunch!” I say. I turn around to hurry after the girls. When I reach them, I can't help feeling good. I'm at camp.
At camp!
Who would have thought? I like camp! It's sunny! The girls are nice. If only I can seal the deal with Raf . . .

Omigod, there's Raf, right in front of me!

No, not Raf, it's Will. The two of them have the same sexy dark hair, dark eyes, and lean athletic body. Will is taller than Raf, though, and his hair is shorter. Raf has a wider smile. And a curl to his hair that Will doesn't have. Oh, no, what am I going to say to Will? We haven't spoken since his prom. I've been in minor denial about having to run into him someday, and here he is, coming down the road, laughing, looking as cute as ever. He's wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers without socks, none of which I've ever seen him in. His dark brown hair is messy, and his normally serious expression is relaxed and all smiley. Little boys are following him in a line like he's the Pied Piper.

Okay, I swear I don't have any romantic feelings left for Will, but how adorable is he?

About a second after I spot him, he spots me and turns a deep shade of watermelon. The inside of a watermelon, not the outside, since he's flushed, not nauseous.

I hope. I mean, no girl wants the sight of her to make a guy sick.

“Hi, ladies,” he says to my entire bunk while looking at me.

Okay, the key to having an awkwardless summer is making sure Will knows that I am cool with him.

“Will, hi!” crows Morgan, heaving out her chest as far as she can without toppling over.

“Hey, Will,” say the other girls.

“Hi, Will!” I sing extra-sweetly, and stop directly in his path. “How's Kat?”

He smiles. Of course he smiles. He's crazy about her. “She's great,” he says with a wistful expression on his face. Aw. How sweet! He misses her.

“Is this your girlfriend?” one of the little boys sings.

“No,” Will says a little too loudly, then gives me a wide smile. “But you might want to ask my brother if she's his.”

Did he just say what I think he said? Really? Does that mean Raf talked about me? It must. And Will is cool with it! Wahoo! I try to remain calm.

“So, Will,” says Morgan, practically wiggling her boobs right in his face, “did you have a good year?”

“Not bad. How was yours?”

“Oh, I really grew,” she says, wiggling some more. “You know. Emotionally.”

“All right, let's go,” I say to Morgan.

“Congrats on graduating,” she continues, fully ignoring me. “Where are you going next year? Somewhere near me?”

“Columbia.”

“On scholarship,” I add, sounding like a proud sibling—which is what I'll be when Raf and I get married.

One of Will's campers paws his hand. “Daddy, what do we have now?”

Will picks up the kid and puts him on his shoulders. “Mitchell, remember, I'm your counselor, not your dad. And we have baseball.”

Another one of his campers tugs his pants. “And what's for lunch?”

“Grilled cheese,” he says.

Really? “Yum,” I say. “That's my favorite.”

“They always serve comfort food for the first few days,” Will says. “Comfort food for the homesick.”

Homesick? What's that?

We change into fresh outfits (I use the spell reversal on my cubby and have my regular clothes back, finally), hang our wet clothes and towels over the porch railing to dry in the sun, and then head to drama (where we play improv games), then pottery (where we make bowls), then lunch washup (where we wash), then lunch (where we eat).

Rest hour is after lunch. Poodles and Carly are playing gin rummy on Poodles' bed; Alison is immersed in a cross-word puzzle; and I'm writing a letter to Tammy, telling her how much fun camp is.

We hear Liana yapping a mile a minute on the other side of our wall. She doesn't quite get the meaning of
rest
hour.

“All the girls at Miss Rally's Hall for Girls—that's the
exclusive
boarding school I go to in Switzerland—are wearing this perfume. It's the hot new scent.”

“I got that on Paddington,” she's saying now. “It's the most fashionable street in Sydney. . . .”

Poodles picks up a card, frowns, and slams down the queen of spades.

“Where did I get that old thing? I think it was last summer in Croatia. It's the new Paris. So not touristy. . . .”

Croatia? The new Paris? I've never even been to the old Paris. I try to focus on my letter, but Liana's nasal voice won't let me.

“Trust me,” coos Liana, “you haven't lived until you've fallen in love with an Italian.”

“Get her away from me,” whispers Cece, coming into our bunk and sitting on Alison's bed. “We all want to kill her.”

“She is awful,” Carly says.

“Let's just ignore her,” I say. I put down my pen and look at the girls. “I've always wanted to learn how to play gin.”

Poodles waves her hand at me. “Come down; I'll teach you.”

“I should probably teach her,” says Carly, “if she ever wants to win.”

Poodles rolls her eyes. “Ha-ha.”

“Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! It ith now the end of retht hour. Pleathe protheed to your firtht afternoon activity.”

Already?

“No worries,” Poodles says. “We'll teach you at free play.”

“Soccer time,” Deb hollers from the hallway. “Against fifteen, Upper Field. Let's go!”

We change into appropriate outfits in the cubby room.

I can't help noticing that now that my cubby is no longer magically organized, everyone else's cubbies appear to be in better shape than mine.

But most of the other girls have been coming to camp for years and have therefore had lots of living-out-of-a-cubby experience. Yes, that explains it. No, I am not a natural-born slob.

One cubby looks particularly neat. Crazy neat. Neater than mine did with the spell. This one is a level above the Gap. It's Banana Republic. Actually, it's more like an expensive boutique. It's so sparse.

Oh, no.

I am annoyed to discover that this cubby belongs to Liana. She reaches into it and pulls out a fancy-looking polo shirt without even causing a ripple. What is she, a Jenga champion?

She catches me staring. And smirks.

Ignore, ignore, ignore.

Or maybe mess it up when she's not looking.

Unfortunately, I suck at soccer. Luckily, I'm not the only one. Morgan and Poodles can't even kick the ball. Carly and Alison are pretty good, so Carly plays goalie while Alison scores all the goals, and the rest of us run after the ball while laughing hysterically.

The girls from fifteen are equally clueless, and they're laughing even more loudly than we are. Since we're only five and they're six, Liana has volunteered to sit out, so instead of playing, she watches from the sideline, taking the sun in her glamorous-looking polo shirt, velvet shorts, and big sunglasses. Occasionally, she passes the girls in her bunk a water bottle, telling them they look dehydrated.

I thought soccer was oh so European. You'd think she'd be trying to show off how continental she is.

We tie four to four and enjoy every second.

“Quick, let's run to the showers before they get too crowded,” Alison tells us.

I seriously need to bathe. I don't think I've ever been this filthy. It didn't help that it started drizzling right after soccer. At least GS was canceled. I had been slightly nervous about my dolphin status.

So we all put on our bathrobes (except for Morgan, who wraps herself in a flimsy towel), pick up our shower pails (stuffed with shampoo, conditioner, facial soap, a comb, body soap, and a loofah—yes! I somehow knew to bring the right things!), and bravely head out onto the porch. At least it has stopped raining for now.

“Which showers should we go to?” Poodles asks.

We huddle together to decide.

“Lower Field,” says Carly, wrapping her bathrobe tightly around her. “I hate the Upper Field showers.”

Morgan shakes her head. “Too grimy. And too far. What if it starts raining again?”

“Yeah, our legs will be all dirty from the walk back,” Poodles says. “Let's just go to Upper Field.”