Camp Rolling Hills

by Stacy Davidowitz

  Steinberg put a sandal and a stuffed frog into his JanSport. (So pilfering meant stealing stuff, but so far that stuff wasn’t Slimey’s.) Totle shaving-creamed his initials onto a wall, then added a mustache to a cat poster. Wiener skipped around, hanging toilet paper so it draped like ribbon decorations from top bunk to top bunk. Dover released Silly String with no apparent strategy in place. Play Dough groaned loudly from the bathroom.

  “I’m having a baby! I can feel it coming out!”

  “Let me see!” Wiener shouted, tripping on Silly String on his way toward the bathroom.

  “This is a six-pounder for sure!” Play Dough bragged. His record was two pounds, so the bragging was justified.

  Totle shot Wiener with shaving cream. “Immediate family only.”

  “Oh, come on! Shaving cream stains, dude!”

  The bugle blared through a speaker in the cabin, signaling the end of the Activity Period. Bobby’s heart sped up, and he threw himself onto the porch to keep watch. A chipmunk scuttled past, and Bobby leapt onto the girls’ sports-equipment crate. He really had to get a grip.

  “The girls are leaving the pool!” Steinberg called out. He seemed more distant, like he was toward the back of the cabin. Near Slimey’s bed. “I repeat, the girls are leaving the pool. Recalibrate under the time crunch.”

  Bobby jumped off the equipment crate and peeked through the door. This was not the time to break focus, but his worry about Slimey’s stuff took over.

  “Quickly!” Dover shouted, frantically spraying Silly String inside pillowcases.

  Bobby watched Steinberg grab a pair of socks, a beanbag pillow, and a lanyard key chain from Slimey’s bed. At least he didn’t take her locket. Steinberg then headed toward the bunk-bed in front of Dover. He yanked out a whole stack of T-shirts from an adjacent cubby and pulled a shiny yellow belt from a plastic hook on the wall. “Too much stealth can go under the radar,” he explained, shoving everything into his JanSport. “At least now the girls’ll know they’ve been pilfered.”

  Bobby cracked his knuckles, relieved that Steinberg’s damage was done, and glanced back down the hill. His heart was beating out of his chest. He knew the girls would be coming any second now, but they weren’t in sight just yet.

  The guttural sounds of Dover’s laughter broke Bobby’s concentration. He turned around to see Wiener dressed in a soccer jersey and stomping around in red high heels. He posed dramatically, faced the wall, and groped the number 24 embroidered on the back. “I’m making out with Melman!” The guys exploded with laughter.

  Steinberg checked his watch. “You’re straying from your objective, Wiener. We have T-minus sixty seconds to retreat from the war zone. Stick to the toilet paper.”

  “Wiener made a tapestry of butt wipes, Steinberg! It’s beautiful!” Dover exclaimed.

  Totle farted loudly as he laughed on the floor, which really sent everyone over the edge.

  Play Dough emerged from the bathroom and ran up and down the cabin slapping the guys’ outstretched palms. “I birthed a killer whale from my anus! Didn’t even wash my hands!”

  “We have thirty seconds to deploy, guys!” Steinberg pleaded, rummaging through the plastic drawers next to Slimey’s bed.

  Bobby’s heart sank. Hadn’t Steinberg taken enough of her stuff? He had to act fast. “Alarm, alarm, alarm!” he yelled, flinging himself into the cabin.

  Steinberg leapt back. Bobby scrambled to the porch, and, sure enough, Jenny and Jamie appeared in the distance, followed by the rest of the Anita Hill girls.

  “Take it off, Wiener! We have to go!” Steinberg yelled wildly, moving his pointer finger in circles above his head. “Wrap it up! Men, fall out!”

  The guys jogged through the back door, slapping each other high fives as they went.

  Bobby followed, sweat dripping down the sides of his panicked face.

  Steinberg waited for the rest to run off, then jogged beside Bobby. After a few synchronized paces, he said, “Hey, Smelly, in regard to Campstock . . .”

  “What about it?”

  “Would you have done the number with us? Had we called you up?”

  Bobby jogged silently beside him for a few seconds. “Honestly? Probably not. I don’t really do stuff like that.”

  “Why not?”

  Bobby furrowed his brow. He didn’t want to say it, but singing an ode to the camp in drag wouldn’t have been the coolest of moves.

  “Dude, you hid in your duffel the first day.”

  “So?” Bobby asked defensively. He’d hoped the guys had forgotten.

  “Embrace your inner weirdness, Smelly. I’m telling you, we’ll embrace it, too.” Steinberg gave him a salute, and reluctantly Bobby saluted him back.

  A few feet ahead, Play Dough jogged in place until Bobby caught up. “Well done, Sergeant Smelly,” he said, patting Bobby on the back.

  Bobby’s lips turned up, forming an ever-so-slight smile. Maybe the brothers of San Juan were at long last united.

  As they reached the woods behind Anita Hill Cabin, a domino effect of girly screams filled the Rolling Hills air. Steinberg took one more puff from his inhaler, pulled his tinted goggles down over his eyes, and gave Bobby a nod of approval. Bobby’s heart swelled with pride for following through with Steinberg’s Operation, and pride for his cabinmates for pulling it off without a snag. Forget bears. He wasn’t scared of them. The San Juan Hill warriors were the only dangerous wildlife in sight.

  Slimey was wrapped in a pool towel, hopping up the porch steps behind her cabinmates, when she heard it: Jenny’s piercing scream, coming from inside.

  Jamie was second to enter the cabin. “Jenny! What happened? Are you— Ahhhhhhh!”

  Missi rushed after her. “Jamie, are you O—? My kitty poster! AHHHHHH!”

  Slimey stumbled into Anita Hill right behind Missi to find their cabin in complete disarray. Silly String filled the place like colorful cobwebs in a haunted house, toilet paper draped the top bunks like a mummified fortress, shaving creamed J.P.’s marked the walls, and the place smelled like horse manure. “What-the-what happened here?” she mumbled, walking through the unnatural disaster with caution.

  Jamie pointed to Missi’s favorite cat poster. “Aw, is that a mustache?”

  Missi mournfully tore it down. “R.I.P., Buttercup Whiskers III.”

  “Forget about your cat poster—what’s that smell?” Sophie whined. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Omigod, omigod, omigod!” Jenny cried in a nasal voice, pinching her nose.

  Slimey followed the smell toward the bathroom, squishing Silly String beneath her pool-soaked flip-flops.

  “Where’s my yellow glow-in-the-dark belt?” Sophie asked frantically, ripping through her cubbies and then crawling under her bed.

  “I’m missing shirts and shorts and stuff,” Missi complained.

  “How many?” Melman asked.

  “Um, like five or twenty or something. I dunno—my cubby looks emptier.”

  “Uh-oh. Anyone else?” Melman asked.

  Omigod, what about—? Slimey panicked as she met Melman by their bunk-bed and looked up quickly, expecting the worst. But there it was, all shiny, hanging from the underside of Melman’s bunk.

  “Don’t worry, Slimes,” Melman assured her. “That was the first thing I checked.”

  “You’re the best,” Slimey said, clutching her best friend’s arm. She crossed her fingers that the rest of her belongings had been left alone. It took her less than two seconds to notice that her Mooshi pillow and lanyard key chain weren’t where she’d left them. She tore her comforter off and looked underneath it. Nothing. Why would anyone steal my pillow and lanyard? she thought. She anxiously rummaged through the rest of her stuff. Sneakers: check. Sweatshirts: check. Socks: she wasn’t sure how many she’d had before, but the quantity looked all right . . . check. Underwear: same. Check.

  Slimey guessed everything else was there, just messier than she’d remembered. She slid open her bottom plastic drawer, where she k
ept her fancy stuff. Inside was coconut lip gloss, a pretty silver hair clip, a jean skirt, three cardigans, a small purse, five samples of perfume, two pink bandanas, and . . . Where is it?

  “What are you missing, Slimes?” Melman asked. She always knew when something was up.

  “My Midsummer Dance dress. I know it was in there.”

  Melman pulled out the whole drawer and dumped its contents onto Slimey’s bed, sifting through them. “Yeah, it’s definitely gone.”

  Slimey sort of understood someone quickly snatching the lanyard and pillow, since they were right on her bed—an easy grab. But her dress? She was sure someone must have wanted that dress. Searched for that dress. Deliberately stolen that dress. And in Slimey’s mind that someone must’ve been the guy who’d wanted to go backstage with her in that dress.

  “Do you think Bobby took it?” Slimey asked Melman, hoping she’d say no.

  Melman shrugged. “I mean . . . ever since his foul play, he’s been stalking you at Canteen. He clearly wants your attention.”

  Slimey knew that was sort of true—the attention part, at least—but she didn’t expect he’d go this far to get it. But then again, how much did she even know about Bobby? She knew he was from New Jersey, she knew he liked baseball, she knew he was learning guitar, and she knew his parents were separated. But there was clearly other stuff Slimey had missed. The Bobby she thought she knew would never try to manipulate her into going backstage just so he could show off to his cabinmates, or steal her dress because she wouldn’t kiss him.

  As she inhaled to let out a sigh of frustration, the smell of manure filled her nostrils. She nearly gagged. I’ll deal with my stuff later, she thought. She kissed the dangling silver locket, rose from her now unmade bed, and continued tracking the smell until she reached the bathroom.

  “Ladies, it looks like we’ve been raided,” Melman stated, inspecting the rest of the havocked beds and cubbies.

  “Who did it?” Sophie asked.

  “The San Juan boys! Jinx!” the J-squad answered in unison.

  “But why?” Sophie asked.

  “Uh, because they’re immature boys who think they’re funny,” Melman responded.

  Slimey wrapped a wad of toilet paper around her fingers and cautiously lifted the toilet lid. “Holy turds, you guys. They left . . . holy turds . . . in our bathroom!” She ran out as fast as she could.

  “Omigod, gross!” Jenny, Jamie, Sophie, and Missi collectively moaned.

  “All right, that’s it!” Melman exclaimed, juggling her soccer ball on her thighs. “We’ve been waiting on the sidelines for this chance ever since we were One Tree Hillers. Anita Hill girls don’t wait for anything. They strike while the iron’s hot!” She excitedly headed the ball into the front door.

  Missi jumped around spastically in agreement. “Raid them right this second! Let’s go, team, go!”

  Suddenly, a loud stomping came from the porch steps. The girls turned their heads toward the noise. Sara walked through the front door and gasped. “What the heck happened here?”

  “The San Juan boys.” Melman sighed. “They raided us.”

  Slimey looked to Melman, who was staring right back at her. She could tell they were thinking the same thing: Sara was never going to let them retaliate. Rick was the kind of counselor who allowed his campers to trespass and obliterate cabins, but Sara followed the rules. She might not have been awarded many Rubber Chickens in her time at Rolling Hills, but she sure hadn’t found herself in the Captain’s office, begging for a second chance.

  But then she said, “Well, don’t just stand there. What’s the plan of attack?”

  Melman and Slimey shared a mischievous smile.

  Melman stepped forward. “We thought you’d never ask.”

  “All right, ladies, let’s hustle.” Melman clapped from the front door, desperately trying to get her bunkmates out of Anita Hill Cabin. The girls had skipped an entire Activity Period of lacrosse to plan the raid. Slimey had hoped they would come up with a unified strategy, but that didn’t pan out. Sophie had a “secret strategy” she didn’t want to talk about, Missi just wanted to go already, Jenny said she was too grossed out to think, Jamie was just happy to get out of lacrosse, and Melman was getting more frustrated by the second. By the time the bugle sounded, all they’d agreed to was to walk to San Juan Hill Cabin. As far as what would happen once they got there, well, that was still up for discussion.

  “I’m not coming,” Jenny announced, sprawled on her top bunk. The boys hadn’t even stolen much of her stuff, but apparently their breaking and entering was traumatic enough.

  “Can you at least be lookout, J?” Melman asked.

  “I thought we decided I was lookout because of my night-vision binoculars,” Sophie said.

  “It’s daytime,” Slimey responded flatly. She had little to no patience right now.

  “Are we all set?” Sara interrupted, charging through her beaded curtain. It was the most gung ho Slimey had seen her all summer. “Jamie, up front with Melman. Jenny, take caboose. Missi, in the middle. Whatever you wanna be in charge of is fine. Let’s go!”

  Jenny scrunched her nose in fake pain as she peeled herself from her bed and joined her cabinmates by the door. Sara held it open, and the girls marched out, striking various warrior yoga poses and determined to kick some serious San Juan butt. Melman jogged backward like a soccer coach, Slimey made sure her best friend didn’t bump into a tree, Sophie had a first-aid kit strapped to her chest, Missi offered to meow if there were signs of danger, Jenny had padded her bikini with toilet paper as a sexy decoy, and Jamie was in charge of nothing.

  As they ascended Harold, the second hill of the journey, Melman gave Sara a high ten. “I can’t believe you’re letting us do this.”

  “Exactly. You can’t believe it, and neither will Rick.”

  “So this attack’s about him?”

  “You heard him at the beginning of the summer. ‘Oh, Sara, you and your sour ’tude. Such a Debbie Downer. Is it because you can’t get over Todd?’ Well, it’s time I proved him wrong.”

  “Yeah, but no one touched your stuff, Sara,” Missi said.

  “But they touched yours! And you girls have been my campers for two summers. No one touches Anita Hill’s stuff, or they have to deal with me!”

  “Yeah!” Melman and Missi cheered.

  “What does Rick expect you to do?” Missi asked. “Just keep quiet about his campers vandalizing our cabin?”

  “He probably didn’t think about it. Boys don’t think. And then they hurt you. I’m over guys and their stupid games. And now Rick’s gonna be all ‘Don’t do it, Sara! Come on! Captain Hook’ll give me kitchen duty for a whole week! It wasn’t that much of a mess!’ and I’ll be like, ‘Oh, yeah? Then why don’t your boys come over and clean it up?’ and he’ll be like, ‘Have you seen them clean?’ and I’ll be like, ‘No, because—news flash—we’re not allowed in each other’s cabins!’ ”

  Melman and Missi clapped at Sara’s performance.

  She giggled to herself. “It’s a cutthroat world out there, girls, and everyone suffers when karma’s chilling on the other side.”

  “It’s a cutthroat world” rang in Slimey’s ears as she drifted into a whirling Jacuzzi of painful thoughts about Bobby and what he’d done. She replayed the moment in her mind when she’d opened up to him about her locket and her dad. In spite of that heart-to-heart, he’d schemed behind her back, taken her stuff, and made her feel like she could never trust anyone again. What was he thinking? He wasn’t, she told herself, echoing Sara’s theory.

  Slimey could feel her face getting hot and her eyes going glossy. Sure, she could tell Melman some stuff, but the really sad stuff . . . that was staying inside. It was never OK to show it, not even to Bobby. Look at what good that did. Now she was just more hurt.

  She wiped her palms on her shorts and tucked some loose hair behind her ear. She supposed Sara was right. Karma was chilling on her side now. And if Bobby wanted to be
all cutthroat by stealing her stuff, then so would she.

  “Who wants to do the honors?” Sara asked.

  They’d arrived at San Juan Hill before Slimey had even noticed. “I will!” she said fiercely before anyone else could answer.

  “All yours, Slimey. Make strong choices. I’ll be lookout.”

  Slimey marched up the six steps leading to the porch. Even though the cabin looked familiar from the outside, the porch was crammed with everything from hockey sticks to empty chocolate-milk cartons to T-shirts caked in mud hanging over the railing. She stopped at the front door and put her ear against the wood. Nothing. She turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. As she stepped inside, she couldn’t tell which was more overwhelming: the smell or the sight. “I think somebody got here first,” she called out.

  “Omigod, it smells like boy in here,” Jenny squealed from behind her.

  “It’s like they raided themselves,” Missi observed in awe.

  “I need to shower before I have an allergic reaction,” Sophie said, pulling the neck of her T-shirt over her nose and mouth.

  “Try not to breathe in their toxins, ladies,” Melman advised. She took a knee. The girls followed. “Listen up. Our opponents have dropped the ball in our court and poop in our toilet. Let’s get them back. Divide and conquer on three. One, two, three . . .”

  “ANITA HILL!!!” The girls sprang to their feet, then fanned out into the cabin.

  Slimey scanned the room for Bobby’s bed. The top bunk in the far left corner had a bunch of batteries, a crushed metal disk with a Swiffer pad stuck to it, and a remote control strewn across an unmade bed. Steinberg.

  Below was an equally messy bed with Ritz cracker crumbs in the folds of a green comforter. Slimey looked closer to find melted gummy worms plastered to the pillow. A series of sticky fly traps filled with dead flies hung over half the bottom bunk. She full-on gagged and prayed this bed belonged to Play Dough and not Bobby, who she used to like, almost sort of kissed, even.

  She took a few leaps toward the center of the cabin. The middle bunk-bed had an army-like sleeping bag neatly rolled up and fastened at the foot of the top bunk. A sash with Boy Scout pins and patches draped down over the ladder. Dover’s . . .