Tug-of-War (8 page)

“I think it's about to start pouring any second now,” I predicted.

Maggie looked up at the dark sky. A layer of heavy gray clouds was hanging low overhead, and all around us was that still, expectant feeling just before a storm hit.

We were paddling around on the lake, working on our newest strokes. Besides Maggie and me, Meredith Orr and Patty Nguyen were a couple of other canoeing regulars. And Boo had started coming to canoeing a lot with her friend Abby Harper.

Michelle and Steve (the canoeing guide who went along on all the river trips) had said that if we passed the next two progressions, our little group would be able to go on the Monday river trip.

“Hey, everyone! Bring the canoes in now!” Michelle called from the edge of the lake. The activity period was only halfway over, so she must have been concerned about the way the sky looked.

Maggie and I paddled toward the shore.

“I wonder . . .,” I started to say.

“Wonder what?” Maggie asked, looking over her shoulder at me from the bow of the canoe.

“I wonder if we're about to get drenched,” I said finally.

I'd been about to say
I wonder where Devon is right now
, but I'd stopped myself.

Devon and I didn't stay mad at each other on my birthday, luckily. Right before lights-out that night, I'd found a note on my pillow, underneath Melvin.

Dear Chris,

My sincerest apologies for “ruining” your birthday. It actually was somewhat entertaining to shoot arrows at ferocious straw targets. I can't explain why I got irritated like that.

Could it be that I am the slightest bit jealous of that primate you call a friend? It seems impossible. After all, I've learned
to walk upright. I'll admit, the fact that she has attained the status of “best” friend with you does cause me a slight pain in my heart. Notice I said slight. We're not talking cardiac here. I guess it's that I always thought I held exclusive rights to that position myself.

I was the one who behaved like a bratty kindergartner today when I walked away. So I gave myself an appropriate punishment. I took a ten-minute time-out and I'm depriving myself of apple juice and animal crackers. So I hope you'll forgive me, because I'd hate to lose you as a friend.

Your Best Friend,

Devon (i.e., the Smart One, not to be confused with the Hairy One)

After I'd read her note, I couldn't stop laughing. That was exactly why we were friends in the first place—because of her amazing sense of humor.

It was a good thing Devon had apologized. Not that I didn't feel guilty about telling her I'd be having more fun with Maggie. I really did feel bad about that remark. But I've never been very good at apologies.

The only problem was, now I was back to trying to divide my time evenly between the two of them. Every time I was with Maggie, I wondered if Devon was lonely without me, and the whole time I was with Devon, I was thinking about what Maggie was doing. It was a constant juggling act, and I was spending all my energy trying to keep the black cat and the Irish setter in the air without dropping one of them.

“Hey! Hurry up—the rain's coming!” Michelle yelled at us, as we jumped out of the canoe and pulled it up on the shore. Boo and Abby had already brought their canoe in, and Meredith and Patty were right behind us.

We'd barely put our paddles away in the storage shed when the rain started coming down in sheets.

“Senior Lodge!” yelled Michelle. Everyone on the lake was running in that direction, because it was the closest form of shelter.

By the time we all made it to the lodge, we were absolutely drenched. There were about fifteen of us, and everyone was laughing and talking because we'd gotten so wet and now it was a major downpour outside.

Libby Sheppard and Alex Coleman, a couple of swimming counselors, found some matches on the fireplace mantel and started a fire. We all crowded around it to dry off and get warm.

“I love rainy days! I love them!” said Michelle, rubbing her hands through her curly blond hair and scattering water droplets on everyone around her.

I loved them too, only I wished Devon was here with us. In a big group like this, maybe she wouldn't mind being around Maggie. I wondered what she was doing now.

“So this is Senior Lodge,” said Patty, looking up at the big wooden beams overhead. “I've never been in here.”

Neither had I, come to think of it. The lodges were the places where we had evening programs and assemblies. Like ours, this lodge was built out of stone and had high ceilings. Both the front and back doors of the lodge were open, and so were all the windows. The windows didn't have any screens, so the smell of the rain and the smoke from the fire blended together.

“I wish we had some marshmallows,” said Meredith. “We could roast them over the fire.”

“Never mind marshmallows.” Michelle grinned at everyone. “This is the perfect weather for ghost stories! Ever heard the story of the Ghost Dog?”

“Don't tell that one!” said Candice Rosenfeld, a Senior. “It's too sad.”

“No, let her tell it,” said Trish Morales. “Go ahead, Michelle.”

“Okay, everyone. This is a true story. A young couple with a new baby had just moved into their dream house. Or so they thought. It was an old two-story brick home with a wide front porch and tall shade trees in the yard. But as soon as they moved in, they sensed an evil presence tormenting their baby.”

Michelle went on in a low voice, telling about how the baby would always wake up screaming every time she was left alone in her crib. Their old German shepherd stayed in the room to guard the baby, but he would growl and pace the room with all the hair standing up on his back. The room would feel icy cold, even though it was the middle of a hot summer.

And then one time the baby was screaming in terror and the dog was barking uncontrollably at something, but as the couple ran to check on them, they heard a sharp bark, and then—silence. They found the old dog dead on the floor, the baby still whimpering in her crib.

Michelle paused, and we all sat there, not moving. I looked out the window at the gray clouds and the pounding rain and kind of wished we'd never started telling ghost stories in the first place.

Michelle went on, “One day they left the baby alone for a nap. A little while later they heard her shriek in
terror. When they tried to get into the room, the door was locked! Inside, the baby kept screaming. Only this time, they heard an evil cackle coming from the room! The father threw his whole weight against the door, trying to break in, but it wouldn't budge.

“As they beat on the door, they heard ferocious barking inside, like a dog attacking. An otherworldly scream pierced the air and then . . . everything was quiet.

“The doorknob turned by itself, the door swung open, and the parents found the baby lying safe in her crib. She still had tears on her cheeks, but she was smiling up at them, and from that moment on, they never once felt the evil presence in their house again. The parents were convinced that the spirit of their faithful dog had protected their baby even after death.”

Michelle was silent, looking around at all of us.

Maggie cleared her throat. “And that's a true story? How do you know?”

“How do I know? You know the baby in the story?” Michelle leaned forward, staring at Maggie with wide eyes. “That baby was me!”

Boo cupped her hands over her mouth and groaned, “Boo! Boo! That's so lame.” Her glasses looked steamy from being out in the rain.

“Hey, stop booing Michelle,” said Maggie. “Is that why we call you Boo?”

Her friend Abby jumped off the bench and laughed. “No way! Don't you all know what her real name is? Belinda!”

“Shut up, Abigail! No one asked you.” Boo punched Abby in the arm. “Just kidding, Michelle. Good story.”

“Let's sing something,” suggested Libby Sheppard, because everyone had gotten really quiet listening to Michelle's story.

Pine Haven was really big on singing. Anytime we were in a group—at an assembly, on a trip, in the dining hall—we'd end up singing. Libby started off the first lines of “Light Up the Campfire,” which had the same tune as “Down in the Valley.”

Light up the campfire, sing us a song

Here at Pine Haven, we all belong

We all belong here, we all belong

Here at Pine Haven, we all belong.

When we first met, friend, we were both new

Strangers we were, friend, till I met you

Till I met you, friend, till I met you

Strangers we were, friend, till I met you.

Now we are sisters, happy are we

Here we are sisters, always we'll be

Sisters forever, always we'll be

Here we are sisters, always we'll be.

Since we were dry now, a bunch of us went out on the porch to really enjoy the downpour. Raindrops pelted the surface of the lake, sometimes hard and sometimes softer. I felt like I could sit on the porch all day and watch the rain come down.

Finally, late in the afternoon, it started to let up. As we left the lodge, big gray clouds still hung in the sky, and water dripped from all the tree branches. The rain made the air really cool, and Maggie, Boo, and I jumped over puddles as we ran down Middler Line to our cabin. We passed Reb Callison, Jennifer Lawrence, and a newbie named Kelly covered from head to toe in mud, laughing so hard they were falling over themselves.

Maggie gave her shirt a deep sniff. “I smell like wood smoke.”

I sniffed mine, too. “Yeah, I love that smell.”

Boo pushed open the cabin door, and we walked into the middle of a little crowd standing around on Side A: Shelby, Laurel-Ann, Kayla, and Devon.

Something was lying on Devon's bed. It looked like a bundle of laundry.

“What's up?” I asked. We were all looking at the thing. The bundle seemed to have a face. And hair. And it had a note pinned to it. I leaned over Devon's bed. “What is it?”

“Oh, that?” said Devon. “It's supposed to be me. Yours Truly. Someone created this little masterpiece and left it on my bed.”

Lying on Devon's bottom bunk was a white pillowcase stuffed full of something, probably clothes. On the front of the pillowcase, someone had drawn a face—two eyes with long eyelashes, two rosy cheeks, and a pink, pouting pair of lips. It looked like it'd been done with eyeliner, rouge, and lip gloss. There was a black cami pulled over the top of the pillowcase for hair. Around the “neck” of the pillowcase was the cord of Devon's hair straightener, hanging down like some weird necklace.

One of Devon's clean white T-shirts was spread out on the bed under the pillowcase head, along with a pair of black shorts. White socks had been stuffed and laid out for arms and legs.

“We've just discovered your body!” I said.

Maggie started laughing. “Jeez! Somebody sure got creative!”

“I have to hand it to you, Beefaroni,” said Devon. “It's pretty amusing. Pretty clever. I didn't think you had it in you.” Devon picked up the note pinned to her “body.”

Then Betsy walked in and looked at all of us just standing there, staring at this stuffed pillowcase lying on Devon's bed. “Uh, I guess I missed something.”

Devon sighed. “Okay. For the late arrivals: That's supposed to be me lying on the bed there. And here's what the note says.”

Devon held up the paper and started reading very dramatically, with hand gestures.

“Devon's Top Ten Reasons for Hating Summer Camp:

10. I can't iron my hair every day.

9. I don't do swamps.

8. Too many pig-flesh eaters.

7. North Carolina looks nothing like Italy.

6. Everyone has a ridiculous nickname.

5. Those canoe paddles ruined my manacure.

4. Rabid chipmunks will probably attack soon.

3. Our hovel has a
CONDEMNED
sign on it.