Frazzled #3

by Booki Vivat

  Before I knew what had happened, it was decided. We would each do our own thing and meet up

  —whatever THAT meant.

  While they all had different things to do and different people to do them with,

  I didn’t know where to go. I wasn’t sure I fit in anywhere.

  What made it worse was that, no matter where I went, I kept running into Peter.

  I thought about my current predicament and how this would NEVER happen to him.

  Eventually, I just went back to my cabin—not that I really had a place there either.

  The girls in my cabin weren’t bad in any obvious way. They didn’t play pranks on me or take my stuff or say mean things.

  They just didn’t seem to want me there.

  And that sort of felt worse.

  When “later” finally rolled around and we all reunited in the dining hall for dinner, something felt off in a way that it hadn’t before.

  Was it because we were at Outdoor School?

  Or was it US?

  Maxine, Logan, and Jess didn’t seem to notice. . . .

  So I wondered if it was just ME . . .

  and that DEFINITELY made it worse.

  In situations like this, it was good to try to get another point of view, but that was much easier to do at home.

  Aunt Lisa was my go-to counsel for most things, and Istvan always had wise stuff to say about life.

  Then there was Mom, who gave pretty good advice when you needed it. Even Clara provided unexpected insight every now and then.

  Out here, I wasn’t sure who to go to.

  Well . . . I guess that wasn’t entirely true.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to ask Peter—especially not after I swore I wouldn’t need his help.

  Besides, what would Peter know about something like this? He NEVER had problems making friends or being included.

  He wouldn’t understand, and the thought of trying to explain it to him was just too embarrassing.

  Peter wasn’t the only person I knew here.

  Sydney was just as smart as Peter and probably a lot easier to talk to about this sort of thing.

  In fact, Sydney was maybe the PERFECT person to ask for advice.

  She was bold in a way that most people weren’t . . . in a way that I definitely wasn’t.

  She wasn’t afraid to say what she thought, and when she talked, people didn’t just hear what she had to say—they listened.

  Plus, she was one of the few people who didn’t mind putting Peter in his place.

  How could I not respect the advice of someone who knew how to keep my brother’s ego in check?

  It wasn’t just that, though. She was different from the other high school camp counselors.

  I felt like I could trust her. Like she wouldn’t laugh at me or think I was being silly or write me off.

  When I finally managed to get her alone, I wasn’t sure where to start, but as soon as she asked,

  it all just started coming out of me.

  Sydney didn’t respond at first, and my immediate thought was that I had made a HUGE mistake.

  I shouldn’t have said anything.

  I shouldn’t have felt this way.

  I had gone too far. I had said too much.

  I was being ridiculous.

  I was being a baby.

  It wasn’t a big deal.

  But then . . .

  Sydney was probably right. Everything she said actually made sense—well, except for that part about finding out new stuff about myself.

  I mean, what could I NOT know?

  Could there be another version of me that I didn’t know yet? A better version?

  Mom always said that I should try to be the BEST version of myself.

  Maybe, at Outdoor School, I could be.

  Maybe this was my chance.

  The only problem was, Sydney made it sound so easy, like it was just a matter of saying yes to things.

  But that was only part of it.

  Everyone else had found their own unique place at Outdoor School.

  But where was I in all that?

  Their new friends were so different—from each other and from me.

  I wasn’t sure I could fit in with any of them.

  I knew I was supposed to just enjoy myself and not think too much about getting them to like me, but if I was really honest about it,

  I wanted to be able to walk into a room and trust that I was wanted there.

  Didn’t everyone?

  It was times like this when I wished I was already Abbie 2.0.

  At least, I wanted her to be.

  I might not have been Abbie 2.0 yet, but I had to try my best. The first step was to figure out my place at Outdoor School by trying more things.

  This also meant expanding the idea of what I was used to and ignoring some of my most basic instincts.

  When Jess and her friends invited me to hike Dead Man’s Point with them, I thought about how . . .

  I was NOT a particularly good hiker.

  Nature could be very unforgiving.

  As a personal rule, I tried to avoid places associated with the word “DEAD.”

  BUT I had never really given outdoor activities much of a chance before, so I said,

  When Maxine asked if I wanted to hang out with her cabinmates one afternoon, I thought about how . . .

  They were pretty popular at school and I was pretty obviously not.

  The girls in my OWN cabin didn’t seem to like me very much.

  I wasn’t really sure what “hanging out” actually meant.

  BUT we weren’t at school anymore, and there was a possibility we might actually get along, so I said,

  When Logan wanted me to join his team for this massive board game tournament, I thought about how . . .

  Being on a team was a LOT of pressure.

  Logan and his buddies were very competitive.

  My general strategy in gaming (and life) was to just survive as long as possible—not necessarily “win.”

  BUT I liked games, and if there was ever a time to challenge myself, this was probably it, so I said,

  I wasn’t sure if things would work out,

  After a while, I wasn’t even thinking about trying to say YES to things.

  I just did because they seemed fun.

  I thought that, eventually, I would figure out exactly what I was supposed to be doing at Outdoor School—but it wasn’t that simple.

  Turns out, I actually liked all the things I thought I wouldn’t. I even got along with everyone!

  Something had changed, but I wasn’t sure what.

  It HAD to be because we were at Outdoor School. Sydney was right when she said it was a totally different world.

  At Outdoor School, I felt like I could be something more than myself . . . a new, improved me.

  And I liked it.

  The more time I spent there, the more it felt like I had fallen through some kind of hole in the Universe.

  Each day was totally different depending on who I spent it with and what we were doing.

  Sometimes, it felt like we were at completely different Outdoor Schools—

  each one existing in entirely

  different

  dimensions.

  The only constant was the Golden Pig and our shared determination to keep it safe.

  There had been a few minor incidents—

  like when Ed Tran’s post-lunch nap left the Pig practically defenseless . . .

  or Hayley Parks’s flirting almost cost us the game.

  And then there was the whole lake debacle. . . .

  But despite all the close calls, the Golden Pig was still OURS.

  Not many campers had ever protected it for THIS long before.

  Soon, we’d be making camp history . . .

  and the counselors were NOT happy about it.

  It was hard to believe that we were over halfway through our week at Outdoor School.

  One minute, it felt slowe
d down and stretched out, like we’d been away at camp for ages. Then the next minute, it was as if everything was in hyper-speed and it was all about to end before I could even catch up.

  For most people, the fact that Outdoor School was almost over meant we were that much closer to winning the Golden Pig and breaking the curse. . . .

  To me, it meant we’d go back to our normal middle school lives, and everything would return to the way it was before.

  The truth is, time wasn’t the only thing that was different at Outdoor School.

  I did things that I never thought I would (or could).

  I was braver and bolder than I usually was.

  I somehow felt smarter and more interesting too.

  Here, I was

  Back home, I was just plain Abbie Wu.

  But there was nothing I could do to stop Outdoor School from ending . . . aside from inventing some kind of interdimensional time machine,

  and that just seemed like a LOT of work.

  So I decided to try to make the most of the time I had left. . . .

  It seemed like a lot, but I told myself it was just a matter of balance.

  Maybe I was taking on too much, but I didn’t want to give any of it up.

  Admitting I couldn’t handle things was not an option either, so I just tried to play it cool.

  That seemed like the evolved, Abbie 2.0 thing to do.

  Peter was the only person who questioned it.

  I made up some fake excuse about eating too many s’mores. He seemed to buy it, which just proved that Peter really didn’t know as much as he thought he did.

  But, in a way, he was right.

  Things WERE off. I just couldn’t see it until it was TOO LATE.

  There was a definite hierarchy when it came to bad things happening to you.

  Some bad things were completely out of your control—stuff like earthquakes and hurricanes and being born a middle child.

  Then there were situational bad things that happened because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time . . .

  or because someone was out to get you . . .

  not to mention things that were the result of just plain bad luck.

  But that was nothing compared to the worst kind of bad thing . . .

  Maybe if you had, you could have stopped it—

  Which made it

  Which made it

  THAT was

  And THAT was the sort of bad thing that happened to me in our last few days at Outdoor School.

  I called it

  In retrospect, the events leading up to it were just a series of minor bad things foreshadowing something MUCH worse.

  The day before IT happened, Alexis Bunker found me and handed over the Golden Pig.

  Being the Keeper of the Golden Pig was supposed to be an honor. . . .

  But I couldn’t help but see it as just ANOTHER thing to keep track of.

  Life at Outdoor School had already gotten way more complicated than I expected.

  I remember that part clearly because, like most people, the morning was when I was least functional . . . and therefore most vulnerable to bad things.

  The first bad thing was that I was LATE.

  Context was important, so it should be noted that the day before THE INCIDENT had been a VERY full day.

  Between ziplining through the forest that morning,

  launching a prank war on an unsuspecting boys’ cabin after lunch,

  and spending most of the night huddled around a very intense board game . . .

  So exhausted, in fact, that I slept right through my alarm. . . .

  Which brought us to the morning of THE INCIDENT.

  Not only did the other girls in my cabin leave for breakfast without me, they left without bothering to wake me up.

  And on cinnamon roll day, of all days!

  Even though I was already late, I was determined to make it to breakfast before the kitchen ran out.

  I brushed my teeth in record time but got stuck when it came to deciding what to wear.

  I couldn’t remember what I was doing that day, let alone what outfit I needed. Everything was jumbled and I didn’t have time to figure it out.

  On top of all that, I couldn’t find a clean pair of socks, so I ended up going to breakfast totally mismatched.

  At least I managed to grab the last cinnamon roll—not that it mattered much.

  Just as I went to take a bite, I heard the counselors cheering, and the whole place erupted into chaos.

  I wasn’t sure why, and I didn’t think much of it . . . that is, until Alexis came over to me in a panic—

  I couldn’t face anyone after that. I couldn’t even finish the rest of my cinnamon roll.

  Talk about tragic.

  If I hadn’t been rushing to make it to breakfast before the cinnamon rolls ran out, I would’ve remembered the Golden Pig. Then none of this would’ve happened.

  How ironic that this was my downfall—betrayed by a PASTRY!

  I wanted to blame it for everything . . .

  or the kitchen for not baking enough cinnamon rolls

  or my cabinmates for not waking me up

  or my mom for not reminding me to pack more socks

  or even the camp for scheduling breakfast WAY too early.

  But in reality, I knew it was ME.

  After THE INCIDENT, things were different.

  I felt distant from everyone at camp in a way that I hadn’t before. Protecting the Golden Pig had been the one thing that brought us all together—and I had RUINED it.

  That night by the bonfire, I overheard some other campers talking about the Golden Pig. . . .

  It gave me a heavy feeling in my chest that I just couldn’t shake.

  After that, I didn’t know how to be around them without feeling like I would just ruin things.

  My marshmallows kept catching fire, and I took that as a sign.

  I had been so caught up in being this better version of myself—

  the version that was a part of everything, that everyone liked, that could handle anything.

  But Abbie 2.0 would NEVER have lost the Golden Pig.

  Maybe the reality was that there was no Abbie 2.0—

  And that didn’t seem good enough.

  Even though no one said anything, I could tell that they all thought it. Who could blame them?

  Maxine, Logan, and Jess tried to make me feel better . . .

  but it was useless.

  Before all this, I felt included in everything. But after THE INCIDENT, I couldn’t bring myself to be a part of any of it.

  It was better for everyone if I stayed out of the way and did things on my own. . . .

  Except THAT turned out to be harder than I thought.

  And, honestly, it just wasn’t as fun.

  For a while, I steered clear of pretty much everyone at camp.

  Then, as I was playing a game of chess against myself, Sydney stopped by to see how I was doing.

  She could tell that things weren’t great.

  This time, there was nothing Sydney could say or do to make this better, but I guess she still wanted to try.

  After a few minutes, she came back . . .

  Before I knew it, she had left the two of us alone together.

  There was no way talking to Peter would solve anything. He couldn’t possibly understand what I was going through.

  At least, that’s what I THOUGHT until he sat down and started talking.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  I just assumed the person responsible for losing the Golden Pig was branded a social pariah and shipped off to Siberia (metaphorically, of course) until the end of time or, at the very least, until the end of middle school.

  But I guess not.

  He must have gotten that from Mom.

  It was one of her most popular phrases.

  I used to hate when she said it, because even if the world wasn’t technically going to end, it sure felt like it was to ME.


  But for some reason, there was something familiar and unexpectedly comforting about hearing it now.

  It actually DID make me feel better.

  Losing the Golden Pig (and knowing that Peter had lost it too) connected us in a way that I hadn’t expected.

  I always thought that Peter didn’t really know me, but maybe the truth was that I didn’t really know HIM.

  To me, he had always been this annoyingly perfect older brother who was all the things I wasn’t.

  It was strange to consider that he, too, could be someone who doubted himself and made mistakes and wasn’t always so sure.