by Jen Calonita
McDaddy smiles. I have a feeling he is enjoying this. “Registration is past due, but my college buddy is squeezing you guys in. When I went there, if you were fifteen you had to apply to be a CIT—counselor-in-training—but Hitch says they changed the policy two years ago, so you’ll still get to be a camper this year. Hitch says you’re going to love it there.”
“Hitch?” I repeat, unable to keep the disdain out of my voice.
“Yes, Alan Hitchens. We went there together as kids. He runs the place now with his new wife, Pam. His stepdaughter is a counselor.” Dad makes this sound like a major accomplishment. “He says there is a zip line now, but otherwise the place is still pretty much the same as it was when we were kids.”
“Lucky me,” I deadpan.
He stands up and pulls me in for a hug. His mood has improved big time since I walked in, whereas mine has gone steadily downhill. I refuse to make eye contact. “This is going to be the best summer of your life, kiddo. You might be mad at us now, but in a few weeks you’re going to be thanking me for kicking you out of here. You’ll see.”
I see all right. I see that McDaddy has ruined my summer before it even started.
Harper McAllister @HarperMc
Sending a frizz-hating, Prada-wearing girl like me to CAMP? You know how this will end! I’ll be eaten by a bear. #wishsummerwasoveralready
3
OH, A-CAMPING WE WILL GO
I HEAR MCDADDY KNOCKING SOFTLY on my door, and I jump up. I look at my piggy alarm clock. It’s 5:32 a.m.! Is McDaddy insane? We didn’t even leave this early when we flew to Tahiti!
McDaddy knocks louder. “You up? We need to be at Whispering Pines by nine.”
Whispering Pines.
Sleepaway camp.
Last night’s conversation comes back to me like a bad dream. The Louis Vuitton luggage overflowing with clothes and beauty products in the corner of my bedroom is not a mirage. Neither is the wastebasket full of tissues I used while I cried about the fact that my father expected me to sleep on a cot all summer.
I’m leaving Brookville.
To go to sleepaway camp.
For four weeks.
Starting today.
“H?” McDaddy’s voice is louder now. “Okay, you’ve left me no choice.”
London Blue’s latest song comes blasting through the speakers in the ceiling at full volume. It is one of my faves, but at five in the morning it is giving me a migraine! I grab my pillow and wrap it around my head. “I surrender!” The music shuts off just as quickly. McDaddy is never without his remote phone app, which controls everything from the garage doors to the dishwasher disposal.
“Just making sure,” McDaddy says, and I hear Kyle laughing. He is probably dressed and has eaten already. Sports people are so punctual. “We leave at six fifteen.”
I roll out of bed with a heavy sigh and walk straight to my spacious, private bathroom. The two of us need a moment before parting ways for the next four weeks. I couldn’t find anything about shower habits or dining menus on the Whispering Pines website. All I found were pictures of guys and girls canoeing (never!), playing sports (blech!), and doing lots of hugging (personal space, please!). The official camp tee was a downer, too. They were boxy red things that looked like undershirts. I am not wearing an undershirt in public! Not that anyone I know will see me in it. I three-way called Margo and Kate last night after the McDaddy powwow to break the bad news.
“We’re not going to Cancun?” Kate cried. I tried not to be offended (even though I was). I’d made Kate pause her favorite show to talk to me, so I should have known she’d be cranky.
“Kate! Harper is upset!” Margo sounded as unnerved as I was. “There’s nothing we can do to change your dad’s mind? I can’t imagine you not being here.”
“I can’t, either,” I whined. “I wish you guys were coming to camp with me. I bet my dad could get you in if I asked him.”
Hint, hint.
“You know I would come if I could, but the custody arrangement says I have to stay with Daddy every other week during the summer,” Margo said mournfully.
“I understand.” We waited to hear Kate’s response. “Kate?”
“What?” I heard her turn down the volume on the TV. “Oh, yeah, that stinks about camp. Why don’t you just ask your dad if you can intern at his office instead? That will show him you’re responsible! Hanging with Kanye is way better than dealing with mosquitoes.”
“Yes! Do that!” Margo encouraged me.
“He won’t go for that,” I said dejectedly. “His mind is made up.” I felt so alone all of a sudden. My besties were not coming with me. For the past two years, I hadn’t done a thing without them.
“If he won’t budge, remember it’s only four weeks,” Kate said brightly. “That’s shorter than a season of Pretty Little Liars. And when you get back—Cancun!”
Kate sounded a little too upbeat for someone who was losing her best friend for half the summer. Was she trying to get rid of me? Now I had another thing to add to my list of worries that included being eaten by bears and contracting West Nile virus.
“You’re right. It will be like I’m not even gone,” I assured them. “And we’ll text and call each other every day so we can plan Cancun.” If I could hack four weeks at camp, McDaddy had to agree to take us to Cancun. Camping is as unspoiled as you can get!
“You’ll be back in Brookville before you know it,” Margo agreed.
As I took a long, last lingering look around my room, I prayed Margo was right. Then I headed downstairs and found Mom waiting for me in the kitchen in her pj’s.
“I’m sorry I’m not going on the drive up.” She envelops me in her arms. I can still smell her perfume from the night before. “I have the contractor coming at nine this morning about the mudroom, and it was too late to call him last night and cancel after… the talk.”
I’m not really mad at my mom. She may have agreed with McDaddy, but it’s not like camp was her idea. Besides, she promised to send awesome care packages from Philosophy and Kiehl’s. She also convinced McDaddy that I only had to go to camp for the first session, which runs through July. Kyle has to stick it out until late August. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I don’t think I’m going to do much talking on the drive up, anyway.”
Mom pulls away and stares at me intently. I hope I have her skin when I’m her age. Even without makeup she still looks dewy at six a.m. “Don’t be too hard on your dad. He’s trying to do right by you. He always said what he learned at camp got him where he is today.”
I am not sure what learning how to start a fire has to do with shooting music videos, but my last few minutes with my mom is not the time to ask.
She kisses my cheek and pushes a stray curl behind my ear. “You are the life of every party, Harper. I’m sure you’ll find a way to have fun at camp, too.”
I snort. “I doubt that. I’m going to be sending texts begging you to rescue me.”
“It is not going to be that bad,” Mom insists. “But do text and post online.” She gave me a knowing look. “I’ll be reading your Twitter feed so I can keep track of what you and Kyle are up to. I’m counting on you to be the family mouthpiece. Your brother will never post anything.”
“I will.” Kyle doesn’t even have a Twitter account. He calls Twitter a “time suck.” I give Mom another hug and then go outside to face McDaddy.
I find him in the driveway in the early morning air, humming a Justin Timberlake tune as he stuffs my Louis bags in the back of the Land Rover for their drive to isolation. Kyle’s sports gear is waiting to go in there, too, including two of his lacrosse sticks and his lucky basketball.
Kyle is humming along as he picks up a giant sports bag and tosses it in the back. The sun casts Kyle in an amber light that makes his light brown hair look red and the muscles in his arms practically glow. My fraternal twin is the crush of almost every girl in our grade, much to my annoyance. When I first became friends with Kate, she claimed Kyle as her own. I
didn’t have the heart to tell her Kyle wouldn’t be interested. Kate’s idea of physical activity is getting a tan at the outdoor mall, while Kyle wants a girl who can keep up with him on the basketball court.
There aren’t many of those at our school.
Kyle sees me and grins. “Morning, sunshine!”
I’m too cranky to come up with a comeback, so I just ignore him. It’s amazing to think how much my mood has changed in under twelve hours. I’m generally the happiest person I know. See what camp is doing to me already? I haven’t even left yet!
“The last time I saw you up this early was the year we drove to the Outer Banks on vacation,” Kyle says. “You cried the whole drive down there.”
“I had a stomachache,” I insist. Caused by the early morning wake-up. I don’t do mornings. I’m almost late to school on a daily basis, and we get the bus. Kyle shakes his head at me. “What?” I grumble. Twins are supposed to have some sort of sixth sense when it comes to each other. This skill seems to have skipped the two of us.
Kyle smirks. “I’m wondering how you’re going to handle being woken up by a bugle, showering with lukewarm water, cleaning a fish and eating it, and camping outdoors.” His laugh sounds strange in the quiet of morning. “When Dad mentioned sending us to Whispering Pines, I half wanted to go just to see you try to hack it.”
I didn’t see anything on their website about mandatory fish guttings! “Camp isn’t just about sports, you know. Wait till you have to weave a basket,” I threaten, desperate to say something that will freak him out even though I have no idea if basket weaving is an actual elective. “Or do your own laundry.”
“I already do my own laundry,” Kyle says, grinning as he wins back the upper hand. “And I know how to make dinner if I have to.” He gives me a look. “Not all of us wait around for Marisol to do everything.”
“I don’t expect Marisol to do everything!” Okay, so maybe I let Marisol iron my Laundry dresses, clean my room, and make me new foods to try (like quinoa, which is Kate’s new favorite grain), but isn’t that what we pay her for?
“Well, there is no Marisol at camp,” Kyle reminds me.
“I can handle it,” I lie. “What I can’t handle is anyone I know seeing me at the Pines. Thank God no one we know goes there.” I lean against the Land Rover, exhausted at the thought. “The last thing I want is for someone to see me looking frizzy in a boxy tee wearing half-melted makeup.”
“Ethan Thompson might,” Kyle says, and my head almost spins off. Ethan Thompson? As in, the Ethan who Kate tried to get fired from Intermezzo? I feel my eyes widen.
“You know, Ethan, right? He was on the basketball team with me. He’s gone to the Pines for years. I should text him to say we’re going.” Kyle pulls his phone out of his pocket.
“Don’t!” I knock Kyle’s phone out of his hand. He looks at me like I’m deranged, and I bend down to pick it up. “I mean, we should surprise him.” I smile nervously. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see us.” Happy to see you. Not me.
“Ready?” McDaddy asks.
Kyle slides into the front seat next to McDaddy and I jump in the back, but I can’t stop thinking about Ethan. I do not want to run into him at camp after what happened yesterday. He hates me! Hopefully the Pines is a big camp and we’ll never even run into each other.
“So, who is ready for an awesome summer?” McDaddy looks at me.
Kyle gives a halfhearted holler (I think the fear of having to go to a basket-weaving class got to him), while I give the silent treatment. My father gets the hint and pulls out of the driveway. Within minutes, Kyle is snoring (how is that possible?) and I am staring out the window at the 495 expressway exits as they fly by. I should probably be tweeting my demise, or texting my friends before I hit a dead spot on the highway, but I don’t want to miss how pretty the island looks in the early morning light. Too soon we’re driving over the Throgs Neck Bridge, and New York City looks like an oasis in the distant background. I watch as the large buildings fade away and the exits become less frequent. All I can see now are trees, rock formations, the occasional rest stop, and open air. I suddenly wonder when the last time was that we took a drive up north like this.
We cruise almost the first two hours in silence with the occasional interruption of a snore from Kyle or the volume on McDaddy’s CD increasing during a song’s chorus. He’s playing a song by a band that isn’t famous yet. McDaddy always works extra hard on a new group’s videos. He’s all about the underdog, I realize, and listening to him hum along to an unknown band’s music makes me feel guilty for being mad at him.
“What’s the group’s name?” I ask quietly. The two of us shared a love of music even before he got into the business.
“Hudson Street.” McDaddy turns the music up slightly so I can hear the pop-friendly voices and the chorus that will probably make the song a hit. “It’s the name of the block they grew up on. They played in the garage of one of the band members until they could get someone to listen to their demo. I admire how industrious they are.” He looks at me in the rearview mirror. “You and I are the same way, you know. When we love something, we throw ourselves into it. I’m hoping you’ll give Whispering Pines the chance to grow on you.”
“It’s hard to feel open when you’re forcing me to go there.” I feel the gruffness return to my voice. “And saying I have to go because I need a personality makeover doesn’t make me feel too warm and fuzzy about going to camp, either.”
“I said a reality makeover, not personality,” McDaddy corrects me. “I don’t want you to forget who you are, Harper, because you are a great kid. I don’t want our new life to change that.” I don’t say anything. Out the window, I see a big green sign that says WELCOME TO MASSACHUSETTS. We can’t be far from camp now. “Give the Pines a shot. If you do, I bet you’ll be begging me to let you stay for the second session.”
“I doubt that,” I say. “What you should worry about is me surviving four weeks in the wild without being eaten by a large animal.”
McDaddy turns off the I-95 exit into the middle of nowhere. I don’t see a sign for camp anywhere, just more wilderness.
“You will not be eaten by anything,” he assures me. “I only saw a bear once in all my years there.”
“You saw one?” I screech, jolting Kyle awake. “You said they didn’t have bears!”
“Bears? Cool,” Kyle says with a yawn, stretching his arms wide.
“They don’t,” McDaddy backpedals. “I’m sure that one was just lost. Besides we just took some metal trashcan tops and banged them and he ran away. No big deal.”
Soon the GPS has us heading off the main road and doing a series of twists and turns past small streams and bridges. We pass a small convenience store, then a half hour later a deli called Slim Jim’s, and finally a run-down gas station. “I haven’t seen a single Starbucks in hours,” I tell them, staring at miles and miles of wilderness out the window. “Or a Target. How do they survive up here?”
“I know!” Kyle turns around in his seat and mocks me. “I haven’t seen a nail salon, either. I hope you got an industrial mani-pedi before we left.”
I glare at him. “I didn’t have time, but I did get a gel manicure and pedicure this week, so that should last me almost a month if I’m careful. And I can survive if it doesn’t,” I add so I don’t sound vain. “Buff nails are very in right now.”
His light brown eyes seem skeptical. “Mineola Harper could survive no manicures. Brookville Harper is a bit high maintenance.”
I’m about to argue with him when McDaddy makes another sharp turn, and Kyle is forced to turn back around and hold on. My stomach lurches. It feels like we’re climbing a mountain. I see a wood sign, red with white lettering, that says WHISPERING PINES just as my ears pop.
“We made it!” McDaddy shouts. He pulls up to a red-and-green guard booth that makes me think we’ve arrived at some odd little Christmas village. “Look at this place! It hasn’t changed a bit since we visited when you w
ere kids.” A man in a red T-shirt waves us past the camp guard station.
Kyle and I stare out the windows as we make the winding drive down a tree-lined road. A few minutes later, the drive opens up to a giant, blacktopped parking lot that is half full with cars. WELCOME (BACK) TO THE PINES! a large banner says. Several red tarps and tents are set up along the grass on the other side of the lot. Banners and signs hang on them with slogans like THE GREEN MACHINES—2012 COLOR WAR CHAMPIONS! and RED ROVERS RULE THE PINES—COLOR WAR VICTORS (2013)! If I squint, I can see a line of cabins beyond the tents, painted red with accents of white and green. I wrinkle my nose. I hope that’s not the kind of cabin I’ll be sleeping in. It looks ancient. The only thing I don’t see is people.
“Are you sure this place is still in business?” I ask skeptically. I feel like I’m trapped in a horror movie from the seventies.
“We’re just early.” McDaddy parks in a spot near the entrance. “Hitch says the first buses pull in at nine thirty.”
“I got up at five forty-five for nothing?” I cry as I get out of the car.
McDaddy presses the button to open the back lift gate and starts unloading our bags. “It’s good practice. Here you’ll rise to the sound of the bugle every day at eight.”
“Eight?” I feel my feet superglue to the car floor. I am not going somewhere I have to wake with the sun. “On my summer vacation?”
“Aww, Dad, look at her!” Kyle teases. “Maybe you should take her home with you. She’s not going to last a week here.”
I punch Kyle in the arm. I may not want to stay here, but if I am stuck here, I will not quit. I am a survivor who knows that Karma comes around. I’m a survivor who is going to shock this town (to quote lines from my favorite London Blue song). “You wish. You’re just afraid I’ll be better at camp than you are.”
Kyle pretends to look offended. “Have you met the Harper I know?” I give him a look. “You don’t play sports, you don’t do bugs, and you certainly don’t do camping.”
