Camp Rolling Hills

by Stacy Davidowitz

  Bobby looked at it, his eyes glassy and tired. “Got that this afternoon,” he said, not taking it back. “Wanna read something messed up?”

  “Uh, sure, if you want me to.”

  Bobby nodded slightly, then tilted his face away. Slimey cautiously unfolded the paper, a little afraid of what she was about to read.

  Slimey looked up at Bobby. His head was lowered, and he was methodically picking dirt off his iPod. “I’m sorry.”

  He shifted his body so his knees knocked hers. “How could he just move out without telling me? Without asking me, or at least warning me, you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m gonna kill him. I swear I will.”

  The butterflies in Slimey’s stomach went paralyzed, mid-flutter. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you don’t mean it. Trust me.”

  “This means they’re not just having trouble like they said. They’re separating or getting a divorce or whatever. And now what? I have to live alone with my mom? Or live part-time in Hoboken? I thought the whole point of me going away was so they could fix stuff—make it better between them. Not end it.”

  “I get that you’re hurt, Bobby, but . . . Hoboken sounds nice, with the baseball thing and all.”

  He looked at Slimey and shook his head ever so slightly. “I know you’re just trying to help, but there’s no bright side to divorce.”

  “Not if you don’t look for it. Some things aren’t meant to make you happy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t try to find a little happiness in them.”

  Bobby waited a beat, looking deep into her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Why are you so happy?”

  “I love it here.”

  “And at home?”

  “Home’s fine.”

  “So, then, it’s easy for you to look on the bright side. ’Cause everything’s bright in your world, and in my world it’s not.”

  Slimey pressed the tucked locket against her chest and felt the cool silver against her skin. She knew this wasn’t the time to bring up her stuff. This was about Bobby. “Not everything is bright for me.”

  “Like what?”

  “I dunno.” She pressed harder, making the locket dent her chest. She didn’t want to make Bobby feel bad by telling him the truth, but she also didn’t want him to think she couldn’t relate to his darkness because her life was so sunny and bright. She tried to think of a time when she’d viewed something not so good in a better light. Something substantial but not as substantial as her dad.

  “Like, OK. So, last summer I was really excited for my parents to come up on Visiting Day. I spent all this time getting ready—put my lanyards out and finished up the rest of my Arts and Crafts projects so I could give them to my family as gifts.”

  “OK.”

  “And then it was Visiting Day morning, and Sophie and Missi and Jamie and Jenny and Melman all found their parents, but mine weren’t there. And then Sara, who was also our counselor last year, found me and told me they were running late.”

  “How’d she know?”

  “My mom called the office or something. So, anyway, I was really upset, but the Melmans took me in as part of their family, even though I’d only met them a few times. And they’re really funny and fun so . . . yeah, I got to hang out with them. And it reminded me that you can find family here. They don’t have to be related to you.”

  “That’s one day, Slimey. This is the rest of my life.”

  And then, without thinking, Slimey blurted, “I know you’re angry, but you should be glad you still have a dad!” She swallowed a lump of air and tried to calm down. This is about helping Bobby, remember? Don’t make this about you, and don’t yell at him. Think of something cheery to say. “You’ll get twice the presents on Christmas, right?”

  Embarrassed, she made herself look at Bobby. He was right there, his eyes concerned and gently focused on hers. “Did something happen to your dad?” he asked.

  The damage was done. She knew she might as well spill the truth. “He passed away last summer.”

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK.” Slimey pulled her locket out from under her shirt. The moonlight made it glow like magic. “Even though I never told you, listening to you talk about your family made me feel like I was closer to talking about mine.”

  “It’s good to talk about stuff.”

  “I guess, but talking to you about stuff without you, like, judging me or feeling bad for me—it was kind of nice for a while.”

  “I like talking to you for you, Slimey.”

  She smiled as best as she could. “Thanks.” She squeezed her locket in her hand.

  “That’s pretty.”

  “It’s from him. Right before he passed.”

  “How come I’ve never seen it before?”

  “I’m not allowed to wear it when we play sports. And at Canteen and stuff I keep it tucked under my shirt, close to my heart.”

  “Maybe you should leave it untucked so other people can see it, too.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but . . .” Bobby took a breath. “It’s OK to be sad once in a while.”

  “I am sad once in a while. I just try not to show it.”

  “I don’t like people seeing me upset, either. Trust me, when I’m in a bad place, I do some pretty weird things.” Bobby patted the bleachers. “I hide. Literally.” He tugged adorably at his hair. “But since I’m terrible at hiding how I feel, you can always show your sadness to me. It’ll make me feel less weird.”

  Slimey let a tear slide out from the corner of her eye, then laughed as she wiped it away. “It’s good to be weird!” Bobby laughed quietly and wiped another tear from her face. She’d done it. She’d let her true feelings out and wasn’t craving fifty fleece blankets to curl up under. She didn’t feel the full heartache of Pop Rocks and Sprite, either. She felt lighter, like the weight of some of those I feel bad for you smiles and awkward pats had been lifted from her shoulders.

  “You won’t tell anyone about my parents, right?” Bobby asked.

  “Of course not. Your secret is safe with me.” Slimey ran two fingers along her lips as if zipping them, then twisted the imaginary key. They sat in comfortable silence for five seconds before Bobby leaned in close.

  “Hey, come on, let’s race to Canteen,” he said, nudging her playfully. “Whoever wins has to buy the other a Butterfinger.”

  “Let’s make it two.” Slimey smirked, and he smiled a big smile back.

  “You’re on!”

  They raced up the dirt road, and Slimey felt the way she imagined Steinberg did when he played sports: short of breath, heart pounding, nervous, and exhilarated. She wanted to get a puff from his inhaler or a jab from Sophie’s EpiPen, but she also wanted to ride this feeling for as long as she could.

  TJ [amid piercing feedback]: Captain, is there anything special happening tonight?

  Captain [whispering]: One, two, three . . .

  Captain / TJ: The Midsummer Dance!

  Captain: While the girls get all dolled up . . .

  TJ: The boys might shower.

  Captain: Well, they have to shower. Boys, you have to shower.

  TJ: Because tonight might be the night you dance with that special someone.

  Captain: Are you asking me to dance, TJ?

  TJ: In a respectful, assertive, yet unaggressive way.

  Captain: Oh, well, that’s just wonderful. I accept. And maybe you’ll also be inclined to take me on a backstage tour after we’ve danced?

  TJ: Sure.

  Captain [whispering]: No, that’s not allowed, remember?

  TJ: No, I will not take you there! Because then I would . . .

  Captain: Get held back from Canteen.

  TJ: Eek, that’s rough.

  Captain: And, Campers, try to make note of at least three positive experiences tonig
ht that you can include in a letter home tomorrow.

  TJ: Your parents think we torture you.

  Captain: Well, that’s not—

  [The speaker goes off with a squeal.]

  “Yo. Smellsky!”

  Bobby was just about to enter the Social Hall when Play Dough hustled to his side. He put his arm around Bobby’s shoulders, squeezing him tighter than his bow tie. “I know someone who likes you.”

  “Cool. So do I.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.”

  “OK. Good. That was easy.”

  Since he and Slimey had talked that night on the bleachers, Bobby couldn’t stop thinking about her. And he thought—or at least he really hoped—that she couldn’t stop thinking about him, too. It would make sense that she liked him, since they talked during coed Activity Periods and Canteen about everything from family to school to guitar playing to sketching to baseball to pets to funny memories.

  Well, everything but his anxiety. It had eased up in the last week, and Bobby saw no point in throwing that wrench into their relationship now. She’d been amazing about his home stuff, but as his dad always said: a person can only handle so much baggage.

  Play Dough nodded his head up and down to the music pumping from inside the Social Hall. Bobby motioned to the door. “You wanna head inside . . . ?”

  “Are you gonna dance with her tonight?”

  “Oh. I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You’ve got to, dude! This is your chance of the summer.”

  “How do you . . . ? Did she say something?”

  Play Dough raised his eyebrows, grabbed Bobby’s arm, and tried to drag him inside.

  Bobby could feel the sweat start to bead on his upper lip. “Wait, wait! Does she want me to ask her to dance?” He was sure he and Slimey liked each other, but he wasn’t sure if she just liked him as a friend. They talked about personal stuff but not romantic stuff like dancing.

  Play Dough released Bobby’s arm and looked him straight in the eye, man-to-man. “Trust me, you should ask her.”

  Bobby smoothed out his tucked-in shirt and patted his hair to make sure it was still stiff from Surf Hair. Even though he didn’t know if he should trust Play Dough on this, he followed him through the door. Play Dough had that kind of effect on people.

  The music was blasting, the bass of the techno vibrating through Bobby’s entire body. The hall was dark except for flashing yellow, green, and red lights. A disco ball spun from the ceiling. The place smelled like wood and sweat and cologne and flowers. Bobby took a step back so he could breathe.

  “Dude, you’re not gonna find her from there,” Play Dough insisted. Bobby tried to stay planted, but Play Dough pulled him into the thick of it, scanning the Social Hall for the Anita Hill girls. Bobby looked around, too, following his lead.

  Steinberg was onstage, DJ-ing. TJ was in the middle of the Social Hall, recruiting campers to break-dance one at a time. The Captain was walking around, waving her hands over her head like she was dancing, even though she was obviously just supervising. Bobby was trying to take it all in, when a blast of dense gas suddenly poofed him in the face.

  “Fog machine!” Steinberg shouted into the mic.

  Bobby rolled up his sleeves. It was getting hotter by the second, and he was the only fool in khaki pants and a long-sleeved button-down. Every other guy was wearing khaki shorts and a short-sleeved polo, two things his mom had neglected to pack him. Bobby had put on the bow tie because it was always a hit at fancy family functions, but looking around, he saw that it was very out of place.

  Play Dough pointed across the dance floor. “Oh! Oh! There!”

  Bobby squinted through the fading fog to see the Anita Hill girls dancing in a circle around Sophie. He had a feeling she was attempting her own version of break dancing, though she was kind of just rolling on the floor and kicking her legs up like a dying cockroach. He shifted his focus to Slimey.

  “See her?” Play Dough asked.

  How could I not? Bobby thought. Her wavy brown hair, usually in a ponytail, was down—on one side tucked behind her ear, on the other held back by a silver clip. She was wearing a light blue dress with pink polka dots and a thin silver belt. She was . . . beautiful.

  “See that look on her face?” Play Dough asked.

  Slimey was smiling. A beautiful smile, her cheeks a little rosy, her lips shiny, probably from lip gloss. But Slimey smiled a lot. “You mean, her normal face?”

  “Yeah, dude. She’s waiting for you.”

  “But, how do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  That wasn’t a good enough answer for Bobby. Just because they were friends and he thought she liked him didn’t mean she was ready to dance with him! He’d be gambling with social suicide, and he didn’t normally gamble with anything.

  “Relax. This’ll take the edge off.” Play Dough whipped out a package of Mentos he’d stored behind his ear and slid an orange one out into Bobby’s hand. Bobby threw it back quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid the orange stain it left in the creases of his sweaty palm. “No, dude, that was for later. For backstage. For your breath!”

  “We’re not allowed back there, are we?”

  “Back where?”

  “Backstage.”

  “No. Why would I tell you to go backstage if it’s allowed?”

  “I’m not following . . .”

  “Look, if you’re gonna kiss her—”

  “Kiss her?!?”

  Bobby’s heart started to constrict. As if dancing wasn’t stressful enough, Play Dough wanted him to go in for his first kiss? Was he crazy?!? He didn’t know about that stuff. It wasn’t like he ever saw his parents kiss, and most of the kissing he’d seen was in action movies when the couple was scraped up and about to get shot by the bad guys.

  “They’re looking at us! Pretend we weren’t talking about them!” Play Dough erupted into a running man dance move, then chest-bumped Bobby with such enthusiasm, Bobby was knocked to the floor. Play Dough dropped down beside him and whispered hoarsely, “It’s only first base.”

  “Like in baseball?”

  “Yeah, dude, just like baseball. But with a little tongue action.”

  “How do you know? Have you done it before?”

  “Look, dude, I wish. If I had a girl who was into me, I’d do it faster than you could say, ‘Chocolate peanut butter fudge cake.’ ”

  “That’s not very fast.”

  Play Dough peered upward toward the stage. “Dude-a-cris. It’s almost time.”

  “I don’t know. What if she says no? What if she isn’t ready?” What if I’m not ready? he thought.

  “She’s ready. Listen, she wants to, and Jenny’s acting all crazy about it going down just as we planned, so you gotta do it.”

  “What does Jenny have to do with it?”

  “Everything. She made up The Plan.”

  “Oh. I don’t know, Play Dough . . . ,” Bobby said skeptically. He got on his feet and brushed off the confetti that had transferred from the floor to his pants. “I don’t wanna get in trouble. You heard the Captain. No Canteen for the rest of the summer.”

  Out of nowhere, Dover charged over and threw a red piece of fabric onto Bobby’s head. “Voilà!”

  Play Dough laughed, working hard to push himself up from the floor. “Hah! Yes, Dover, that’s what I call magic!”

  “What is this?” Bobby asked, holding it up.

  “Steinberg found it in the costume stock. I can dance with it like a matador—”

  “You mean magician,” said Play Dough.

  “Nope, PD, I mean matador.” Dover put his hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “But since you got the bow-tie thing goin’ on, and bow ties are bold, you deserve it.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” Bobby didn’t like to be bold, but he did like to look good. Especially if he was going to impress Slimey, who had never seen him dressed in anything other than sweaty athletic wear.

  “No prob, Bob Smelly.”

/>   Play Dough waved his hands excitedly in front of his chest. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

  “Are you OK?” Bobby asked, bracing himself for whatever Play Dough was about to peer-pressure him into next.

  “This is how you won’t get in trouble, dude! It’s a disguise. Wear this magician cape—”

  “Matador cape,” Dover mumbled.

  “—and no one will know who you are.”

  Bobby imagined kissing Slimey while dressed like a superhero, and he couldn’t tell if his heart’s sudden rabbit-rate was from excitement or nerves. Probably both. “Are you sure?” Bobby asked, uncertainly tying the cape around his neck. He doubted this would help if he got caught, but Play Dough was growing on him, and if he was going to let him down tonight, it wasn’t going to be over a costume. It was going to be about going backstage.

  “We all have your back. Right, Dover?”

  “Yes, sir. I provided a cape for Smelly’s back.”

  “See? You’ve got to do it!”

  “Go, Smelly!” Dover cheered. “Do whatever Play Dough wants you to do!”

  “He wants me to go backstage,” Bobby said, hoping Dover would agree with him that this was a terrible idea.

  “Backstage?” Wiener interrupted, gliding right into their conversation. “You’re gonna go backstage?”

  “Yeah, you and me,” Bobby said, trying to turn this all into a joke. “You ready?”

  There was a short pause; then Play Dough slapped Bobby on the back, and he and Dover let out a raucous laugh. Bobby got why everyone ragged on Wiener. Not only did Wiener kind of like it, but it also made Bobby suddenly feel like he was on top of the world. Or at least on one of Camp’s hills. Like he belonged here, after all.

  “Yeah, yeah, very funny,” Wiener said over their laughter.

  Totle emerged from a crowd of older girls, leaning his elbow on Wiener’s head. “What’s ‘Yeah, yeah, very funny’?”

  “Smelly here, cracking us up.” Play Dough gave Bobby a high five. “He’s about to make it backstage.”