Second Time's the Charm

by Melissa J Morgan

  “What?” Alyssa asked, raising one eyebrow with alarm. “You must spill.”

  “It says . . .” Nat stopped again. She looked at Alyssa with a gleam in her eye. “It says to beware of wet bunkmates.”

  “Huh?” Alyssa asked. Before she could figure out what was going on, she was hit with a sudden shower of water. “Wha???” she cried, jumping up. She turned around to find Jenna grinning madly at her, fresh from the lake and dripping wet.

  Jenna winked. “Gotcha.” She smiled. “Sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all.

  Alyssa groaned and grabbed at Jenna’s towel, drying herself off good-naturedly. Soon the rest of their bunkmates emerged from the water, teeth chattering and ponytails drenched. Mia was off setting up for lunch, but Andie, who’d been pinch-hitting for a sick lifeguard, rounded the girls up. “Time to get back to the bunk and change! Who’s hungry?” she called, clapping her hands together.

  “Hungry, yes, but not for camp food,” Anna said. Even though she was new, it hadn’t taken her very long to learn the score.

  “Seriously, by the end of the summer, I’m going to be falling out of my clothes,” Tori chimed in.

  “Hey,” Jenna said, changing the subject. “It’s Grace! Grace!” she called to her friend. “Do you want to come over during siesta? We’re going to play cards!”

  In response, Grace shook her red curls emphatically. “I can’t consort with the enemy,” she teased. She linked arms possessively with Alex. Brynn and Val trailed behind, also with their noses in the air. They hummed to the beat of their “save your toilet paper” cheer as they marched by.

  “Unbelievable,” Jenna said as the girls disappeared out of earshot. She shook her head as if to underscore her complete and total lack of belief. Just one year ago, the girls from 4A and 4C had been united as partners in crime, and just about all else.

  Natalie shrugged. “We were split up. What are you going to do? We might as well make a ‘thing’ about it.” Nat wasn’t above a little bit of drama now and then. She was Tad Maxwell’s daughter, after all.

  “A ‘thing,’” Chelsea muttered. “Gosh, Nat, you’re always so articulate.”

  “No, I get what you mean,” Jenna said. Her eyes were taking on a devious sparkle.

  Nat shook her head. “Jenna.” She didn’t say anything more. She didn’t think she had to—Jenna’s love of mischief had gotten her into more than enough trouble the summer before.

  “Do I sense a plan hatching?” Tori asked, her voice taking on a coaxing lilt. “My mom said her favorite memories of her time at Lakeview were the pranks she and her friends pulled on each other.”

  “Your mother’s a wise woman,” Jenna said. The rest of the bunkmates, including the newbies, exchanged worried glances. “Very wise.”

  Tori giggled. “What did you have in mind?”

  Alyssa shook her head in disapproval. “Not a good idea to encourage her.”

  “Aw, come on Alyss,” Jenna said. “Just a little bit of fun, I promise.”

  “No such thing,” Alyssa said, but it was obvious her resolve was starting to crack.

  “No harm, no foul.”

  “At least tell us, for Pete’s sake,” Chelsea snapped, her patience wearing thin. “Jeez.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Jenna said, wrapping her towel around her lower half, sarong-style, and stepping into her flip-flops. She rubbed her hands together conspiratorially. “I have a few thoughts—just off the top of my head, off course . . .” She grabbed her swim tag and goggles and started off in the direction of the bunk, the rest of 4A hot on her trail.

  Natalie and Alyssa met each other’s eyes, each wondering just what can of worms they had opened. No harm, no foul, sure—and camp was definitely all about playful rivalries, but . . . Natalie wasn’t above a little bit of drama.

  If only she could be sure that a little bit of drama was all that Jenna had in store.

  “Oh! Um, ‘Pink Cadillac’!” Nat shouted out.

  “No dice,” Alyssa said. “Sarah already suggested that one, remember?”

  Evening activity was a singdown, followed by some s’mores. This combo was one of Nat’s favorites, seeing as how it didn’t involve a whole lot of athleticism and it did involve chocolate. Good times. Singdown was fun. The campers were broken up into two teams—in this case, boys against girls—and given different topics, like “colors” or “cars.” The challenge was to come up with as many songs that mention the particular category as possible. The teams took turns singing songs from their list, and the team with the most songs won. But if the opposing team took one of your songs before you did, they got the point. Right now, Andie, Mia, and Farrah, a counselor from 4B, were trying to make sense of the cacophony of song titles being screamed at them all at once. The category was “colors,” and the girls had a ton of suggestions.

  “‘Yellow Submarine,’” Alyssa called. “My dad loves the Beatles,” she explained to her friends.

  “Mine too,” Tori said enthusiastically. “Paul McCartney was looking for new representation a few years back and I think my dad had high hopes, but it didn’t work out.”

  “Did someone already say, ‘It’s Not Easy Being Green’?” Karen asked in her usual quiet voice.

  “You would use the freakin’ Muppets!” Chelsea hooted. “You’re such a baby.” She rolled her eyes. “But, no, it hasn’t been called yet.”

  “If it hasn’t been called yet, it’s good,” Nat said, coming to her friend’s defense.

  “‘Blue Velvet,’” Brynn shrieked, her high-pitched voice nearly piercing Natalie’s eardrums. She and Alex high-fived each other, and Natalie had to laugh. It was really nice, she conceded, to be working with her friends in this activity. Camp was great, but weird, with the core group from 3C broken up. Nat was savoring the sense of unity.

  Especially since, after what Jenna had in mind for 4C, she wasn’t totally sure they’d all be friends again anytime soon.

  “‘Black or White,’” Val offered, striking a Michael Jackson esque pose.

  A loud whistle blew, signifying the end of the brainstorming session. Susan, head counselor of the Fourth Division, stepped before the roaring bonfire. “Since the boys went first last time, the girls will go first this time.”

  Andie gestured to the girls, who were waiting eagerly. “‘Black or White,’” she mouthed deliberately. She counted down on her fingers, “One, two . . .”

  On “three,” the girls jumped in with thunderous energy. Hearing the first line of their song, the boys reacted with frustrated scowls, causing the girls to howl with laugher and sing even louder. It was a double bonus to know that they were gaining the point and also taking one out from under the guys.

  The singdown went on for a while, the girls winning one round, the boys winning another, and the girls coming out on top in a sudden death round. As the girls were declared the victors, Nat realized her throat was so hoarse that she could barely cheer.

  “What’s our prize?” Tori asked, clapping her hands and whistling good-naturedly.

  “Good stuff,” Natalie explained. “We’ll get the s’mores fixings before the boys do. And if we take our time, we can really prolong their agony.”

  “I like the way you think, Manhattan,” Tori said.

  “We chicks have to stick together,” Natalie said agreeably, holding her hand out for a skewer that Alyssa was proffering. “See?” she added, indicating the skewer. “Teamwork.”

  “I also grabbed us some extra marshmallows,” Alyssa said, holding out her cupped palm so the girls could see her contraband goodies. “Shh.”

  Natalie nodded approvingly. “Well done.”

  “I think the thing to do is to pocket them for the time being,” Alyssa said, “if you can stash them in your pocket without getting them squishy or linty.”

  “Check. No lint,” Tori said. “And my sweatshirt has really big pockets.”

  Nat speared a marshmallow onto her skewer as Tori and Alyssa did the same. Suffici
ently equipped, the three made their way closer to the fire.

  “Hey, Nat.” Natalie felt a tug on her arm. It was Simon.

  “Hey,” she said, instantly breaking into a warm grin.

  “So much for chicks sticking together,” Tori joked.

  “I was just thinking that,” Alyssa agreed.

  “I got you something,” he said. He lowered his voice. “But, uh, you have to be cool.” He glanced sideways in either direction.

  “Aren’t I always?” Natalie asked, playful.

  He shook the sleeve of his long-sleeved T-shirt and out slid a Hershey’s Cookies and Cream bar. Nat’s eyes widened. “White chocolate! My favorite!” she exclaimed. “How did you . . .”

  He nodded knowingly. “I could never forget something like a person’s favorite type of candy. And you should know . . . there’s more where that came from.”

  Nat laughed. She knew he must have brought up a few bars just for her. The thought sent a little thrill down her spine. Now she and Simon had a little secret. And she had white chocolate. It was a total win-win situation.

  “We could make some pretty fancy s’mores with these,” Simon said, waving the candy bar tantalizingly.

  “What are we waiting for?” Natalie asked. She took his free hand and led him closer to the open flame. The bonfire crackled and hissed, throwing heat outward into the cool, crisp night. Chowing down and laughing with Simon, Nat couldn’t imagine a better evening.

  It wasn’t until she happened to glance over to see Tori and Alyssa furtively spearing their purloined marshmallows that a tiny pinch of doubt began to nag at her. It wasn’t as if she had abandoned her friends for Simon, was it? Surely they understood what it was to be so much in . . . well, like, with a guy? She knew Alyssa would want her to have some bonding time with her boyfriend. And, besides, it wasn’t like either of her friends were sitting all alone, exactly. They totally had each other. And they didn’t seem to mind that, one bit. It was just . . .

  Well, Nat couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing, or a bad thing. But she had some idea. You can’t have it both ways, she told herself.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t want it both ways, did it? There was nothing wrong with wishful thinking, after all.

  chapter SIX

  Natalie woke the next morning with no interest in eating breakfast. She had stuffed herself so full of s’mores at the bonfire that she couldn’t imagine eating anything more for days. Or at least hours.

  The hot water in the shower was sort of . . . nonexistent, so Natalie gritted her teeth and lathered up as quickly as she could. It was a grayish sort of morning, so she threw a pink hoodie over her usual tank top and denim shorts, stepped into her flip-flops, ran a brush through her hair, and flopped back down on her bed to wait for Alyssa—and now Tori, who had become integrated into the girls’ routine as much as anything else.

  Outside, the air was brisk and damp. It must have rained after they’d come back from the bonfire, which Nat supposed was pretty lucky. Every now and then nature threw you a break. She kept her hands stuffed into the pocket of her sweatshirt throughout the flag raising, tuning out the morning announcements.

  On the way over to breakfast, Chelsea caught up with the girls. “Pretty lame about Jenna, right?” she asked.

  Natalie shook her head. “What are you talking about?” Between the cold, the moist morning air, the food coma, and the post-Simon-quality-time haze, she was in a world of her own.

  “Well, didn’t she have something planned for 4C?” Chelsea reminded them.

  “Oh, that’s right!” Tori said. “I was so excited to see my first prank being pulled. My mom was nuts about pranks when she was a camper. I think she’ll be disappointed if I don’t have any stories for her on Visiting Day.”

  “Tell her not to get her hopes up,” Chelsea grumbled. “Jenna’s all reformed and whatever this summer.” She managed to make the word “reformed” sound like “criminally insane” and she looked seriously annoyed.

  “Jenna’s parents will kill her if she gets into any more trouble this summer,” Alyssa cut in. “That’s probably why she hasn’t really planned anything for 4C. And if you’re her friend, you won’t encourage her—she’ll get sent home if she gets in trouble, like she did last summer. Hey, here’s a thought: Why don’t you pick up the slack, Chelsea?”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Right. ’Cause I so want to be the next Jenna Bloom.” She sighed dramatically. “I’m going to go catch up with Karen. I need her Seventeen for free swim.” She ran off toward the front of the group, where Karen and some others were clustered together with Andie. Mia was already at the mess hall, setting up for breakfast. Natalie did not envy the CITs their double-duty jobs.

  The girls filed into the mess hall and took their seats at the long benches that served in place of chairs. Natalie flicked her bleary eyes across the table. Bug juice, burned toast, semi-melted packets of butter that sweat greasy trails out of their foil wrappers. Yum. Once the group was sitting, Mia rushed out of the kitchen carrying a large plastic platter heaped with a runny yellow substance. Scrambled eggs, Natalie thought. She’d pass.

  Suddenly Natalie was snapped out of her morning daze by the sounds of loud, piercing shrieks. She practically flipped over backward on her bench. She—and just about everyone else in the room—snapped her head around to see what the cause for all of the hysteria was.

  At first, Nat could barely locate the source of the noise. Slowly, though, she honed in on the locus of the chaos.

  It was 4C’s table.

  Now, Natalie could make out words forming above the din. “Barf . . .” “Gross . . .” “We almost ate that. . . .”

  Suddenly, a loud whistle resonated, quieting the room. For a breathless beat, the echo of the whistle bounced off of the walls. No one said a word. Then, Sophie’s voice cracked through the tension. “They’re fake.”

  Natalie turned to Alyssa, who shrugged her shoulders. Fake? What’s fake?

  “I’m not eating them!” It was Gaby, the bratty girl who had been such a bully to Grace the summer before. “I don’t eat eggs that have been touched by insect feet!”

  “Gaby,” Becky interrupted, trying to soothe the girl before she could get any more worked up. “They’re plastic. Look.” She took the platter of 4C’s scrambled eggs and held them out to Gaby, who was scowling furiously. She pushed a heap of yellow-and-white gunk aside to reveal a nest of rubber—but realistic-looking, at least from where Natalie stood—flies.

  “I don’t know how those got in there,” Sophie said, sounding puzzled and mildly fretful. “I’ll get a new platter right away.”

  “Forget it,” Gaby said, wrinkling her nose.

  Sophie whisked back into the kitchen with the offending eggs, and slowly the tenor of the room reverted to its usual state of low-level hyperactivity. Natalie, Alyssa, and Tori were tucking into their own breakfast—no eggs, thank you—when Alex marched over from her table, a stern look fixed upon her face.

  “We know it was you guys,” Alex said, pointing a finger accusingly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alyssa said breezily. “How would we even have contaminated your breakfast, anyway? Assuming we even wanted to.”

  From her seat at the opposite side of the table, Jenna coughed loudly into her fist. “Sorry,” she rasped, after her choking had subsided. “Bug juice went down the wrong pipe.” She glanced away.

  Oh, Jenna, Natalie thought, even though deep down she was pretty impressed by this prank. How had Jenna managed to get that close to 4C’s breakfast, anyhow? “Yeah, we don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said loyally.

  “Whatever,” Alex said, clearly not buying it. “I don’t eat eggs, anyway.” Alex was a diabetic and very fanatical about what she put in her body. The one time she had given in to the urge to pig out, she’d gone into diabetic shock, and she wasn’t about to let that happen again. She leaned in closer, practically throwing herself across the tabl
e at Jenna. “But I’ll tell you this, Bloom,” she said. “You’d better watch your back.” She cracked a small smile, then marched back to her bunk’s table.

  The girls watched Alex retreat, then burst out into giggles. “Jenna, you are too much!” Tori said. “I can’t wait to tell my mom about this.”

  “Seriously,” Jenna said, her eyes wide now. “It wasn’t me.”

  The murmurs around the table indicated that no one believed her.

  Natalie turned to Chelsea, who was frowning and generally pretending to be miles above all of this immaturity. “Still think Jenna’s so lame?” she teased.

  To her credit, Chelsea didn’t bother to dignify the comment with a response.

  “Now, folks, it’s really important that you brush every last speck of clay with the glaze before it goes into the kiln. If it’s not totally, completely glazed, it may crack in the heat. Then you’d have to start all over again, and that’s frustrating.”

  Natalie glanced down at the candy dish she was making. It was painted orange and black to look like a basketball, which was Simon’s favorite sport. She planned to wrap it up with a mother lode of white chocolate Hershey’s Kisses for him and give it to him as a surprise on the last night of camp. Which meant that it absolutely, positively could not be cracked. She surveyed the dish again, bending down to peer at it from all angles. Better safe than sorry, she thought, dipping her brush back into the pot of glaze and applying another liberal layer over her dish.

  “I think you’ve got it, babe,” Helene, the ceramics instructor, told her gently. “Another coat and you’ll tip the whole clay-to-glaze ratio way out of balance.”

  “Right. Done,” Nat said, resting her brush on the newspaper-covered table and stepping backward away from her work. “Finished.”

  “Looks good,” Alyssa called to her.

  “Not as awesome as yours,” Nat said earnestly. Her friend was creating a very elaborate flowerpot thing with a Jackson Pollock motif. Only Alyssa, Natalie thought.