Crossing Over

by Stacy Davidowitz

  Steinberg had had enough. He didn’t care if he pronounced the words wrong or his pitch was off. He didn’t even know what his haftarah meant! No one did—Hebrew schools didn’t actually teach it. “Do you even know what it means?!” he sputtered with frustration.

  “ ‘Blessed art Thou, Lord our—’ ”

  “The thing is . . . ,” Steinberg cut in, the capillaries in his cheeks filling up, “no one cares about the service—”

  “The actual part of the bar mitzvah that makes it a bar mitzvah? Yes, they do.”

  “—they care about the theme.”

  “What’s your theme?” she asked.

  Steinberg shrugged. Even his theme—Robots of the Future—now seemed dumb and dangerous.

  “Such a great talk!” Sophie said enthusiastically. “But, alas, time for Electives. We’ll keep practicing later, during Boating.” She performed the Sprinkler—a bar mitzvah dance move that resembled the mechanics of an actual sprinkler—and unzipped herself out.

  Steinberg felt his heart palpitations slow down to a sad thump. The fame and glory of Ghost Court had faded out, and his sentence was proving to be more trouble than it was worth. Now he was more lost than ever, if that was even possible. He heard Smelly’s voice in his head: “Reboot, Steinberg, reboot!” Steinberg wanted to, but he just didn’t know how. If not a robot inventor, then who am I? Chaim Roboto was stumped.

  Melman sprinted down Forest Hill in her one-piece Speedo, then dove from the dock into the lake. The water was cool and refreshing, and a school of tiny fish nibbled on her toes. “Come in! It feels so good!” she called to the Faith and Hamburger Hillers approaching the dock. Slimey sat on the top rung of the dock’s ladder and slowly lowered herself into the water. Smelly and Totle cannonballed over her. They made waves, and Melman rode them while on her back, soaking up the sun and relishing the very last activity period she’d spend as herself for the next three days. In T-minus forty-five minutes, she’d be a princess. Ugh.

  Melman swam to Slimey at the edge of the dock. “I’m kind of freaking out, Slimes,” she admitted. Today she’d struck out at softball, almost sawed off a finger in Woodworking, clocked in thirty seconds slower at the climbing wall, and only ate one and a half grilled cheeses at lunch. So yeah, she was nervous. “Are you sure I made the right choice?”

  “I’m sure,” Slimey reassured her. “You can’t be a tomboy forever!”

  Melman felt her throat knot. Since when was there an expiration date on wearing baseball caps and long shorts and jerseys? They were thirteen, not, like, twenty-two. And even at twenty-two, would it matter? “I mean, there’s no law against it,” Melman said, and then dunked into an underwater flip. Committing to three days of girliness was a lot. Committing to a lifetime of girliness was unimaginable. Melman was surprised her best friend didn’t realize that.

  When Melman rose from the water, Slimey was giggling at Smelly, who was back on the dock. He launched into the water, this time straight like a pencil.

  Slimey leaned in close to Melman, her eyes bulging. “So, Totle asked Bobby if you were going to be here at the lake,” she whispered.

  “Cool.” Melman wondered what was so exciting about that. “What did Smelly say?”

  “He said you were coming to the lake, but, Mel, that’s not the point. The point is, Totle asked about you because he likes you.”

  Melman felt her heart begin to pound. She’d hoped the Ghost Court challenge would buy her some time. She still had no idea how she felt, and she imagined the stress of being a princess for three days wouldn’t help her figure that out. “I don’t know if I like him like that. How did you know you liked Smelly?”

  Melman followed Slimey’s gaze to Smelly. He and Totle were front-crawl racing to the buoys. Totle was winning. By a lot. “Um, I wanted to be around him all the time. I thought about him a lot. I felt like I had an actual butterfly in my stomach when we talked and flirted and stuff.”

  Melman didn’t feel any of those things. She guessed she had her answer.

  “But it’s different for everyone,” Slimey continued, as if she could read Melman’s mind. “Sometimes you don’t realize you like a guy until you hang out with him a lot or you kiss him.”

  Kiss him?! Isn’t that skipping a bunch of steps? “But you didn’t kiss Smelly until you were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  Slimey shrugged. “Yeah, but that was last summer. When we were twelve.”

  Oh, Melman thought. There were so many new rules to being thirteen, she was starting to think she needed a guidebook.

  “Don’t be nervous, Mel,” Slimey said, nudging her. “You’re amazing. Just be yourself.” Melman felt her muscles relax. “But I’m just saying, wearing stuff like dresses can’t hurt.” They tensed back up.

  Suddenly, Melman felt a grab at her foot. “Ahhh!” She gave a spastic kick into something hard.

  Totle emerged from the water, laughing hysterically. “Owww!”

  “I’m so sorry! Are you OK? Where did I kick you?”

  “Here.” He pointed to his perfectly sculpted abs. “Serves me right, though,” he said, grinning with a sigh, “for going for the foot of a soccer star.”

  Melman felt herself blush. Blushing could be a sign I like him, she thought. Do I blush with other people? “Yeah, I guess you had it coming,” she joked.

  Slimey bounced her eyebrows at the two of them. It was the same eyebrow bounce Melman had given to Slimey and Smelly when they first started flirting last summer. Am I flirting with Totle? Melman panicked. No way. I just kicked him. That’s not romantic.

  Totle dunked and then smoothed back his hair. “I hear you’ve accepted the Ghost Court challenge,” he said.

  Melman’s stomach fluttered with anxiety. Dress stress? she wondered. Or butterflies? “Yeah. I mean, wouldn’t you, for ice cream?”

  Totle laughed. “Totally.” Lake water was dripping down his face, making it glisten.

  “Well, it better be the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Like Rocky Road?” he asked.

  Melman’s eyes widened. “Yes! That’s the ultimate flavor!” She put her hand out for a high five, and Totle slapped it. We both love Rocky Road? What are the chances? That’s gotta mean something, right?

  She was startled by a guy’s voice behind her. “Hey, Totle. Let’s ask Steinberg where the idea for Ghost Court came from.” Melman turned around to see Smelly holding on to the edge of the dock. She’d nearly forgotten there were others in the lake.

  Totle shrugged. “OK.” They all looked over at Steinberg, who was on a pool float and mumbling through his haftarah. Sophie was wading beside him. “Hey, Steinberg!” Totle called.

  Sophie was monopolizing Steinberg’s attention, and he seemed far from happy about it.

  Totle tried again: “STEINBERG!”

  Steinberg shot up on his elbows, and the float capsized. He flipped over, and his face landed on Sophie’s face. They emerged from the water—Steinberg horrified, Sophie ecstatic. “We can’t kiss yet,” she scream-giggled, “unless I’m sure you didn’t have peanut butter at lunch!”

  Steinberg turned a deep shade of red and then swam toward Totle, Melman, Smelly, and Slimey so fast that Melman worried he’d need his inhaler upon arrival. “What’s up?” he wheezed, trying to be casual.

  Totle and Smelly broke into laughter, and Steinberg turned even redder. Melman splashed the guys playfully. “Hey, leave Steinberg alone!” It was all in good fun, but still, under the circumstances, Melman was feeling especially empathetic.

  “Thanks, Melman,” Steinberg said sheepishly. “So, really, what’s up?”

  “Ghost Court,” Smelly said. “When you were at your bar mitzvah lesson, we were debating where the idea for that came from. Do you know?”

  Steinberg raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I know. But are you ready to know?”

  “Um . . . ,” Smelly said, looking at Totle.

  “Yeah, we’re ready,” Totle said.

  “OK.” Steinberg
gestured to the abandoned camp across the lake. In the distance they could see an old shack, green canoes on a thin strip of sand, and a hill that mirrored Forest Hill, only it was full of trees and unruly bushes. “Camp Polio,” he said. “The people who died from the polio outbreak in 1952 materialize as a jury of ghosts and haunt us for the embarrassing stuff we do.”

  Smelly’s eyes looked like they might fall out of his head. “What?!”

  Melman knew a little bit about Camp Polio, but not too much—counselors were told to keep it on the down low since the stories scared the little kids sleepless.

  “But maybe ask Dover about it,” Steinberg said. “It’s his thing, not mine.”

  Smelly shook his head. “I did. He kept getting his facts mixed up. He said to ask you. That you’re the pro of camp traditions since you emcee or DJ all of them.”

  A smile spread across Steinberg’s face. “I’ll tell you everything I know,” he said, breathing heavily, “if someone gets my raft.”

  Totle flashed a grin at Melman and then swam to the float. Sophie was sprawled on top of it, facedown. Melman watched as Totle charmed her with nothing but puppy eyes. Sophie rolled off the float and then swam toward the dock to read Robotowitz and His Bride to Georgina Whitefoot.

  Steinberg was watching them, too, and now his eyes were on Georgina. “I can’t believe I have to work with Sophie’s robot at Miss Rolling Hills.”

  “You’ll figure out how to make it work,” Melman said. “If nothing else, you guys always win. Other cabins are lazy—they enter one or two campers. But you get your whole cabin to go full-out—costumes, makeup, a hilarious talent . . .”

  He gave up on treading and flipped to his back. “Four wins in a row, baby!” he said, beaming. “If we make it to five, TJ promised a Miss Rolling Hills plaque in our honor mounted in the Social Hall for all eternity.”

  Totle popped up beside Melman with the float for Steinberg and pool noodles for the rest. “What are we talking about? Miss Rolling Hills?” Melman nodded. Totle brightened. “We already know what we’re doing this summer. We’ve planned long and hard. Right, guys?”

  “That’s right,” Steinberg and Smelly said, smirking at each other. Steinberg climbed aboard his float, and the rest leaned on their noodles.

  Slimey slapped the water. “Omigod! Remember when you guys were the Bunker Hill Motorcycle Chicks?”

  “Yes!” Melman giggled. “Slimey applied fake tattoos to your little biceps!” Steinberg and Totle laughed hysterically.

  “Wait!” Steinberg said, looking at Melman. “Are you gonna wear the dress?”

  The question slapped her in the face. For just a moment, she’d been able to forget about it. “Oh, yeah, I’m doing it.”

  “Cool!” Steinberg said.

  Cool?! She guessed, since it was cool for the guys to dress like girls for Miss Rolling Hills, he might think it was cool she was dressing like one, too. But the thing was, this wasn’t a contest, and she wasn’t a guy dressing like a girl. She was a girl who’d dressed like a guy, and for that, now had to dress like a princess. It was so backward! Melman swallowed a bit of phlegm caught in her throat. She could feel Totle staring at her. She tightened her ponytail and adjusted the strap of her bathing suit. It had gotten twisted. “Anyway, back to Camp Polio . . .”

  “Right,” Steinberg said. “Camp Polio, formerly known as Camp Cisco.” He kicked back on his float. “Polio outbreak. 1952. Six campers, two staff, one head counselor. Died. Everyone else fled. No one has been back to the camp since. Well, except for the landowner who, to this day, drives his tractor around the campgrounds with a shotgun, warning trespassers he’ll shoot upon sight.”

  Slimey gripped Smelly’s shoulder. Totle drifted closer to Melman. Her heart began to race as the space between them closed up and their arms were nearly touching. Do I want our arms to touch? Does he want our arms to touch? Is the tide moving him closer, or is he making a move? Melman didn’t want to give Totle the wrong or right idea, so she treaded in place, her eyes glued to Steinberg.

  “For some reason, the landowner doesn’t inspect on Tuesdays. Hasn’t for years. Rumor is, he spends that day with his great-grandkids in Fishkill, New York. But TJ has a theory that it’s when he has his weekly checkups since . . . Oh, right, the biggest rumor: He doesn’t have a face.”

  Slimey buried her own face in Smelly’s shoulder.

  “But it’s just a rumor, right?” Smelly asked, frantically looking between his friends.

  Steinberg shrugged. “The Captain denies it—”

  “Oh. Good.”

  “—because she has to deny it. The truth might lower her camper return rate.”

  Smelly’s eyes bugged out. Totle’s wrist brushed Melman’s wrist. His fingers brushed her hand. She recognized this move. It wasn’t the tide. Does he think I’m scared? Am I scared? Is he trying to make me less scared? Do I want him to make me less scared? Just as Totle was about to grab her hand, Melman threw her arms up with a dramatic splash. “WE SHOULD GO THERE!”

  Her four friends looked at her like she’d lost it.

  “What do you mean?” Slimey asked.

  Melman thought up something quick. “I mean, we should camp out at Camp Polio instead of on the golf course.” Melman could see the flash of terror in their eyes. If she hadn’t been the one to throw out the crazy idea, she’d probably be terrified, too. “What do you think, Steinberg? Too dangerous?” she asked, half hoping he’d veto her proposition.

  “Well, the campout’s on Tuesday, so at least the maniacal landowner won’t be there.”

  Great, Melman thought.

  Smelly chewed on his fingernail. “Yeah, but how do you—”

  “He hasn’t shown face—or body, I should say—in 3,392 Tuesdays,” Steinberg cut in. “Simple probability.”

  Totle shook his head. “There’s no way TJ will let us camp out there. No camper’s ever been there before!”

  Steinberg’s face lit up. “No more bar mitzvah lessons unless TJ complies. I’m with Melman, if you are!”

  “Fine! I’m in!” Totle said.

  “Awesome-sauce!” Steinberg said. “Forget Ghost Court. Now we can talk to the real ghosts.”

  “W-w-wait,” Smelly said.

  “It’s no big deal, Smelly,” Steinberg told him. “Their souls hang out by the shore. All you have to do is get in a canoe, hold your breath for eleven seconds, whisper, ‘Polio, polio, polio,’ and then look for a reflection.” Steinberg demonstrated from his float. “Polio, polio, polio,” he whispered, peering over the edge. Melman could tell the group was starting to get skeptical.

  “Are you punking us?” Totle asked.

  “What? No. I swear!”

  Totle nodded to Smelly, who nodded to Slimey, who nodded to Melman. As one, they began to move in on Steinberg’s raft. He could tell what was coming—he tightened his lab goggles around his eyes. “Polio, polio, polio,” he whispered quickly before they flipped his raft and he was tossed in the water. He rose, laugh-wheezing. “Try it at the campout if you don’t believe me!”

  The lifeguard blew the whistle twice, and Melman felt her stomach flip. It was time. She’d said yes to the dress, and now she had to put the disgusting thing on. Totle climbed onto the dock and offered Melman his hand. This time, she took it, and he pulled her up out of the water. “I can’t believe we might actually camp out at Camp Polio,” he said with a nervous smile. “You’re braver than me.”

  They were still holding hands even though Melman was safely onshore. It wasn’t as scary as she thought it would be, her hand in his, but still, it was awkward. She let go to tuck some loose wisps of hair behind her ears. “Just adventurous,” she said with a grin. A flirtatious grin.

  After toweling off, Slimey and Melman raced up Forest Hill. “You totally like him,” Slimey crooned. “I can tell.”

  “Maybe . . . ,” Melman said. Her stomach was still flipping. It could’ve been worries about wearing the dress. Or excited terror about the campout. Or butterf
lies about a boy. She’d just have to wait and see.

  “MAKEOVER TIME!!!!”

  Melman had barely made it into the cabin when she was met with the J-squad’s shrieking screams. They stood on either side of her at the door, twirling their hair betwveen their fingers, dancing from foot to foot and chanting stupid sort-of-rhymes like “Dress to impress!” and “Frills at the Hills!” and “Bethany is destiny!”

  On and around the beds were various makeover stations with tweezers and razors and eye masks and scented lotions. Posters with glitter-penned slogans lined the walls. The sign over Sophie’s bed read Get Your Mani and Pedi On! and the sign over Missi’s said, Shave Your Legs—It’s Not Winter, We Can See the Hair. And over her own: Which Celebrity Scent Belongs to You? She didn’t have the stomach to read on. Faith Hill Cabin was now Faith Hill Spa, and it wasn’t pretty.

  Melman had not agreed to this. She’d agreed only to wear the princess dress, and the impending doom of that, in and of itself, had been driving her peanuts.

  “Sorry, ladies, not happening,” Melman said, climbing to her top bunk.

  “No!” Jenny cried. “Please, Melman. Pretty, pretty please!”

  “We worked so hard,” Jamie said. “I broke a sweat.”

  Melman turned to look at Slimey, but Jenny jumped between them. “No! Don’t look at Slimey!” Jenny said. “Look at us. Look at the cabin. Look at what we did for you!”

  “I think it looks fun, Mel,” Slimey said, “but it’s up to you.”

  Fun?! Try more torture.

  “Please, please, please, please!” the J-squad sung, pulling Melman down from her bunk-bed ladder and tickling her.

  Melman broke into giggles. They kept at it until she was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. “OK, OK, fine!”

  She didn’t want to be a rotten sport. And the sooner it started, the sooner it would be over. Three days. That’s all. “All right, let’s get this over with,” she said, walking toward the center of the cabin.

  The fumes of beauty products stormed her nasal passages. Nail polish and nail polish remover and shaving cream and hair spray—it was a buffet of chemicals so alien, it drove her into a throat-clutching coughing fit. She raised her towel over her nose and blinked away the stinging in her eyes.