Zoe nodded. “He so is.”
Mallory brushed her hair, put on her Camp Pine Ridge T-shirt, and well, she didn’t bother with anything else. Mascara couldn’t do anything for her today. There was no way she could do her normal activities for the day—her teeth were so green. The only activity she’d consider would be archery, and that was only if Ben was in the class. Or knife throwing. After thinking about it, she climbed back in bed and pulled the covers over her head.
A few minutes later, Kipper pulled the covers off. “Blake, it’s breakfast time.”
“Kipper, I can’t go to class like this today.”
Kipper gasped in horror. For just a second, she looked sympathetic. At the very least, she looked confused. “This is a new one for me.” After a brief pause, she shook her and said, “Go see Fozzie. I don’t know what to do with you, but you can’t just sit around the cabin all day.”
Mallory’s breathing tightened. Why was Kipper acting like it was her fault? Why was everyone acting like taking a day off was the worst thing that could happen?
Fozzie was no help. When she walked into his office, he said, “What is it now, Blake?”
She flashed a glimpse of her monster green teeth.
Fozzie responded with a deep breath and gave her a truly tired look. Without a word he walked over to the coffee pot and refilled his cup.
“Can I stay in the cabin today? I can’t go out like this.” She was a teenage girl. Something like this could be psychologically damaging.
When he said no, her spirits sank to the depths of despair. There was no hope left in the universe. If only she were the real Blake, she could get out of this. “Please! I’ll do anything. I just want to stay out of the way. I could wash dishes. Anything,” she pleaded.
“No. It’s only a week into camp, and I’ve seen more of you than anyone, Blake. More than the homesick six-year-olds, more than the kids with allergies, more than the boys cruising for trouble. You’re just going to have to live with the consequences of the decisions that led you to—” He gestured to her teeth.
“But I didn’t do anything!” she pleaded. “Please!”
He shook his head. “I’m sure it’ll wear off.” In a tired voice, he said, “Have you tried brushing them?”
Had she tried brushing them? Did he think she was an idiot?
Mallory started to walk out of his office in a daze. On the threshold she turned. “The dance. You have to let me out of that at least. I can’t go like this.”
“Oh, you’re going to the dance. I have a feeling you’ll figure it out by then. Maybe some whitening gel would do the trick.”
“That’s what caused the problem in the first place!” It struck her that he thought this was a stunt. Like she wanted attention so bad she dyed her own teeth green. As if anyone would choose that! Like she had just been diagnosed with incurable acne, she uttered, “I would never do this to myself.”
“I’ll tell you what. If you see Betsy today, ask her for help.”
This was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She wanted to scream, “I’m the victim here!”
This was all Ben’s fault. Orange hair dye, toilet papering, and who knows what else he had in store for her.
“I was going to mention this later, but because you’re already here…” He paused and said, “Are you aware that you can’t start a club without my approval?”
“What do you mean? What club?”
With a frustrated shake of his head, he asked, “Why is it that you seem to be at the center of every shenanigan this summer?”
Mallory protested. “It’s not my fault! It’s Ben. Ben has been pranking me.”
Fozzie shook his head. “Ben is one of our best-behaved campers. Let’s not bring him into this. For now, go eat your breakfast. I’m not going to deal with this until I’ve had at least two cups of coffee.”
Mallory hung her head. Fozzie was being so unfair to her and she hadn’t done anything. It was because he thought she was Blake. Her dad had briefed him on the reason she was sent to camp in the first place—framing Ben for pranks during the school year. She had heard him explaining it all on the phone. At the time, she hadn’t thought it would matter because she wouldn’t be in any trouble. But now that she was, Fozzie didn’t trust her. He probably assumed she was up to the same old tricks.
At breakfast, she saw Ben. She stopped and glared, filled with ice-cold fury. He must have felt the weight of her anger because he looked up. He started to wave but paused when he saw the look on her face. Why was he even waving at her, acting like things were okay?
Before she’d thought he was a jerk, but after yesterday she upgraded that assessment. Ben was pure evil. The way he’d sat on her bunk and asked her about her firefly poster, the way he’d accidentally put on that flowery lotion and laughed about it—it had seemed so sweet and silly. She’d thought he was awkward because he liked her. Stupid Mallory. He was just trying to prank her. He’d probably put that green tooth whitening system in her caddy while she stupidly thought they were bonding.
With a worried look, he walked toward her. “What happened?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
“What happened? What is it?”
“I don’t need to tell you. You already know.”
At the sight of her teeth he raked his hand through his hair in frustration. “Ugh. I’m so sorry. So sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
She turned around. There was no way she was going to be stupid enough to listen to him apologize twice. Luckily, Kipper made everyone sit at their assigned tables so she didn’t have to talk to him anymore. After breakfast, she ducked out of the mess hall as quickly as possible.
Thankfully, nothing much happened the rest of the day, which left Mallory time to be herself and go full-on introvert. It was exhausting being someone else all the time. Really, it was bad enough being a teenager. Being Blake took it to another level. Creative writing provided some therapy. During canoeing, she and Zoe paddled into the forgotten weedy pockets of the lake, the parts where your paddle is likely to get tangled in the lily pads. Those were Mallory’s favorite parts because if she stopped paddling and sat silently, she could meld into the background. There was no noise except the sound of the water lapping against the side of the canoe and the plop of a turtle jumping off a log it had been sunning itself on. When they returned to camp, she disappeared into a corner where no one could find her with a book.
At five o’clock she headed back to her cabin. Maybe this was what it was like being Blake all the time—rumors, boy trouble, jealousy. Suddenly, she could empathize with all the victims of the Disney-star machine. Really, that’s what Blake was in some ways. Her dad wanted Blake to be Scarlett O’Hara, but he’d ended up pushing her more toward the Britney Spears/Justin Bieber end of the spectrum. Every time Blake crashed and burned, he sent her to therapy and paid off whoever she had pissed off.
Her sister was the Lindsey Lohan of Sofia, North Carolina. No, scratch that. For five more weeks, Mallory was Lindsey Lohan.
All she wanted to do was ride out the rest of the day in solitude. At her bunk, she found the opposite. It looked like they were waiting for her. Why were they dressed up like freaks? Zoe must have gone off the deep end and joined up with the D&D crowd.
Of all the days, why was everyone at her bunk? Almost in tears, she asked, “What is Orlando Bloom doing in my bed?”
“He’s yours.”
Mallory tried to channel Blake. “Nope. If I ordered an Orlando Bloom cut-out, it would be Orlando circa Pirates of the Caribbean not Lord of the Rings.”
A boy with tightly curled hair pointed at a sign taped to the wall. It said: “Lord of the Rings Role Playing Club! Report to Saruman (a.k.a. Blake Jones) in G7A, Bunk 10. First Meeting: 5:00 p.m. Wednesday.” He said, “I pictured you as more of an Arwen, but Saruman is cool, too.”
She wanted them to leave. If she were Blake, she would order them out, but today she felt more like Mallory than ever. In a dejected pile,
she collapsed on her bed. She tried her best to be Blake, but her eyes wouldn’t stop watering. As she watched them from her bubble of misery, she entered her own world completely. Rule #2 dictated that she: Be fearless. Try new things. Somehow, she figured Blake would draw the line at sci-fi role-playing. It conflicted directly with Rule #5 about cute friends. But Mallory had rejected Rule #5 because it was superficial and mean.
So she just watched them talk in English accents for a minute and blinked back tears. She didn’t even like Lord of the Rings. Then, Kipper did her work for her. She marched to Mallory’s bunk. Hands on her hips, she said, “What is going on back there?” Staring right at her, she said, “You can’t have parties in the cabin, Blake.”
Mallory just nodded, but inside she felt herself starting to break. How many things could she possibly be blamed for today?
The Lord of the Rings crowd left quickly at least. As if Kipper was part of the game, Bilbo said, “You’re right. We need to get to Rivendell by nightfall if we hope to avoid the orcs.”
“Rivendell, I’ll lead the way,” someone responded.
Another kid shouted, “But, Bilbo, we haven’t had our second breakfast yet.”
“Take it outside now, kids!”
When they left, Mallory sat and stared at the posters. What the hell did Ben think he was doing? The other pranks were silly and Blake deserved them. Today, though, she was done. D.O.N.E. She took Legolas and chucked him. Being cardboard, he only made it a few feet.
Harnessing her anger, she stomped over to Legolas and stuffed him under her arm. On the way out the door she saw one of the posters. On the tree across the way she saw another. How had she missed them? With Legolas in tow, she marched around and ripped posters down.
Most people wouldn’t think this one was as bad as orange hair dye, but she’d reached her limit. Enough is enough, Ben Iron Cloud!
When she’d pulled down all the posters she could find, Mallory threw it all in the fire pit down by the beach. Even Legolas. He was cute, but she needed to set someone on fire and it would be better for everyone if that person was made out of cardboard.
As she stood on the beach and watched flames lick at Legolas’s feet and bits of ash float on the breeze across the sand, Kipper stalked toward her. “Blake, you can’t start a fire without a counselor present. It’s against the rules. What are you thinking?”
“That I really needed to burn all of these posters.”
With her hands on her hips, Kipper said, “Well, if you don’t put the fire out right now, I’m going to have to talk to the director.”
“Fine. Go talk to Fozzie. I haven’t done anything. Everyone else is messing with me.”
“Everyone else has a problem, do they?”
“Yep, they do.” Per Rule #1 (Never apologize), she was going to stand her ground. She knew it wasn’t Kipper’s fault, but she needed to blow off some steam. And really, how was burning a few posters a problem? She felt like she could scream. After a few deep breaths, she got ahold of herself. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” She gestured toward the flaming elf and said, “I’ll take care of this. You don’t need to talk to Fozzie.”
“Good, get yourself together before the dance tonight.”
The dance.
What was she going to do? Orange hair and green teeth. With a pleading look, Mallory said, “Kipper, I can’t go like this.”
Kipper shook her head in response. “It’s not up to me.”
Reluctantly, Mallory followed Kipper back to the cabin to get ready for the dance.
Everyone else was busy doing just that already. It sounded like about twelve hair dryers were going, and girls were lined up in front of the mirror picking out earrings and applying eyeliner. Mallory looked at her own reflection. “What am I going to do, Zoe?” she said. “Just look at me.”
Zoe looked her up and down completely unfazed. “You’ve got this. I think they’re already fading. And really, this is the perfect opportunity to show him that you don’t care.”
“How?” Mallory threw her hands up.
“Look gorgeous. Dance with everyone.”
Like a warrior resigned to do battle one last time, Mallory bowed her head. When she sat up, she breathed deep and narrowed her focus on the prize—showing him she couldn’t be shamed. “Zoe, you are so right. Let’s just fix my hair first.”
Mallory picked her iPhone up and was all, “Mirror, Mirror on the wall, how the hell do I get orange hair dye out?” She’d let the orange hair win for too long.
Several search results down, Kimmikillzombie, a vegan beauty queen, answered her plea. According to Kimmi, a DIY, Vitamin C-infused shampoo would return her hair to almost normal after one application, with even better results after three days of treatment. Almost normal was as good as anyone could hope for.
Lucky for Mallory, Nelly’s mother had sent her to camp with a giant bottle of horse-sized vitamin C tablets to ward off colds. Nelly’s mother didn’t realize that 1) it wasn’t cold season, and 2) Nelly had bigger problems than lurking cold germs. More concerned about redemption than colds, Nelly donated her bottle of tablets to the cause.
Mallory crushed the pills, mixed the powder with shampoo, and let it sit on her head for twice as long as Kimmikillzombie recommended.
It left her strawberry blonde. After another few treatments, she’d be back to her normal “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” look, not that she was feeling anything like a Disney princess.
Instead of putting on a hoodie and hiding in the corner, Zoe loaned her the cutest dress she could find (because Mallory’s were missing). It was clingy in all the right places and bright red. She wanted to look like she’d won.
Chapter Twelve
Looking Good Is the Best Revenge
Ben
Ben looked through his duffel bag for something to wear to the dance. It was either shorts and a Camp Pine Ridge T-shirt or jeans and a Camp Pine Ridge T-shirt. He went with jeans. They’d keep the mosquitoes off his legs. Although after today, he felt like he deserved to be eaten alive by mosquitoes. He’d ruined their truce. She was going to kill him for this one.
Blake hadn’t even looked at him all day long. It would be better if she came after him or something. Storm clouds were gathering in the hills, though. He could feel it. There’s no way she was going to let all this slide. If she did, he might have to beat himself up. He’d gone too far this time.
He already was in his dreams… That afternoon he’d passed out for an hour, and it had been all Blake, Blake, Blake. She’d been staring him down with a menacing green-toothed smile. Besides a creepy smile, she wasn’t wearing much else. Was it a sex dream or nightmare? He weirded himself out sometimes. He wasn’t a psychologist, but he knew this situation with Blake was messing with his head.
On the walk to the dance, he scanned the crowd of campers streaming toward the mess hall. He hoped she’d scrubbed the green off by now. She’d looked so miserable.
The dance was packed. All of the campers had piled into the mess hall, which actually looked pretty awesome, if you ignored a lingering scent of tuna casserole. A few girls were dancing with each other. Besides that, everyone else was on the edge feeling out the situation. There was punch, Chex mix, and most of the girls were dressed like they were going clubbing with Selena Gomez. The music had started, but no one was feeling it yet. Ben picked a spot with a good view of the door and settled in. Feeling the need for extra electrolytes, he grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and waited for Blake to arrive.
George sidled up to him. “Hey, Ben.”
“Hey, George.”
Ben grabbed a handful of Chex mix. “How long are you going to stay?”
George shrugged. “I don’t know.”
As they made dumb conversation, the doors burst open, flooding the dim hall with light and silhouetting a group of girls entering in V formation, Blake at the center. Ben took in her outfit. She wore a red dress, tight enough to make him stand up straighter. Like a good essay,
it was long enough to cover the essentials, but short enough to keep things interesting. Her hair flowed down her back in a waterfall of strawberry blonde. Even he knew it was the kind of blonde that no bottle could buy. In a professional “you-are-dead-to-me” move, she let her gaze pass over him without stopping, even for a second.
George said, “Maybe you should go talk to her. I think it could be a good idea to open the lines of communication. I’m feeling a lot of tension in the air.”
Ben nodded. To be nice, he poured her a glass of punch and walked over to the pack of girls she was dancing in a circle with. When Taylor Swift stopped yelling in his ear—the speakers were just behind him—Ben tapped her on the shoulder. “Blake.”
When she saw who’d touched her, she looked like she’d been burned.
“Blake, can we talk for a minute?”
Her first lieutenant, Zoe, said, “No, Ben. She doesn’t want to talk to you ever again.”
Like a sucker, he kept standing, holding the punch out to no one. Blake rewarded him with a murderous look before turning back to her circle. She shimmied up and down in her red dress like he wasn’t there. His only clue that her teeth were still green—she wouldn’t open her mouth.
Ben tapped on her shoulder again. “Blake, I want to say I’m sorry.”
He could tell she heard him from the way she paused and lifted her chin higher, but she kept dancing.
He repeated, “Blake.”
She sucked in an angry breath and turned around to face him. He used the only card he had. He handed her the punch. “I got you this.” He looked at his toes and then back up at her eyes.
Almost reflexively, she took the cup and tossed it right in his face. “You’re sorry?”
He should have known better than to give an angry woman punch. He used the bottom of his shirt to wipe off his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d get that upset.” Actually he did, which was why he did it. But never mind that.
“You must be joking.” She gestured to her teeth. “So are my teeth going to be green all summer? What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t kn—”
Breaking the Rules of Revenge Page 9
