“But this week and this week only,” Stu said with a flashy smile, “we dusted off our lucky dancing boots to bring you the HOEDOWN OF A LIFETIME!”
The upper campers cheered. With genuine enthusiasm. For Square Dancing.
Missi’s stomach began do-si-doing like wild. Square Dancing was her jam. She and her grandparents did it every Friday night at Oldwick Senior Citizen Community Center after the Line Dancing and before the apple pie was served. But she’d never imagined her love for Square Dancing would go public. With the exception of Eraser, Oldwick’s thirteen-year-old potbellied pig, she’d never had a dance partner under the age of fifty-six.
“Alrighty,” Fufu said, slapping her thigh. “We’re gonna ease you in nice and slow with a talk-through walk-through of the hoedown lingo. It’ll sound like a lot at first, but I promise, by the time you compete at the end of the week, the lingo will feel like it’s been a part of your vocabulary forever.” She winked. “First off, stand on up if you’ve ever square-danced before!”
Missi proudly jumped to her feet and scanned the court for Chico. She hadn’t seen him in two long days, so she was kind of desperate for a smile, a high five, anything from him to hold her over. The Wawel Hillers were by the bleachers. Play Dough was arranging a bandana over his mouth like a bank robber. Dover was straightening his Eagle Scout sash. Smelly was wiping his palms on his shorts. Steinberg was fixing his flip-flop. Totle was writing in his journal. Wiener was picking at his cuticles. Chico was nowhere in sight.
“Well, look at that!” Stu said, pointing at Missi and the small handful of standing Sherri and Highgate Hillers. “We’ve got some semi-pros on the court. I want y’all to complete my sentences. Are you ready?”
Missi “woo”-ed alongside the other “semi-pros,” who were probably more like novices who’d square-danced in gym class one time. Game on.
“We’ve got head couples and—”
“Side couples!” Missi and the “semi-pros” called out.
“Boys look to your left. Girls look to your right. There you’ll find your—”
“Corner!” Missi and some of the “semi-pros” called out.
“Allemande Left to an Allemande—”
“Thar!” Missi called out with one other “semi-pro.”
“Dance back up you’ve got a—”
“STAR!” Missi shouted all alone.
As Stu hustled over to Missi with the mic, she gave the court another once-over for Chico. Still missing. It was so strange. He’d ditched Canteen last night. He’d skipped coed newcomb this morning. And now this?
“What’s your name, ginger darling?” Stu asked, the mic now centimeters from her lip-glossed lips. She’d glossed them for Chico.
“Missi Snyder.”
“Well, Missi Snyder, you’re going to be a great asset this week.” He faced the crowd. “This gal knows her stuff!”
Missi low-wattage beamed. She wished Chico had heard Stu’s compliment. Where was he? Was he avoiding her? Had she kissed him wrong? Used too much tongue? Showed too much of her real weird self?
“E’rybody rise and find your squares,” Fufu said. “Stu and I will be circulating to answer any questions before we start rehearsing.”
Missi’s cabinmates rose and joined the Wawel Hillers mid-court. They all looked at Cookie and Arman expectantly. Cookie and Arman stared back.
“Did you make squares?” Cookie asked Arman.
“I, uh—did you?” Arman asked Cookie.
Jenny pointed to the ground in front of her. “Winning square—assemble here.” The twelve Wawel and Notting Hillers clumped together in a mad rush.
“So, uh,” Arman started, counting the campers in the clump. “There’s got to be eight to a square—four guys and four girls. You’re going to have to break up.” He chose not to say what everyone was thinking: There weren’t enough people for two complete squares. There would be four reject campers—two guys and two girls—who’d be assigned to a loser half square, filled out by little kids or counselors. So, no one moved.
Cookie stepped forward, her fingers in her weave. “Oh my lord, can everyone just choose one partner of the opposite sex? Let’s start there.”
“Don’t worry, Cookie!” Jenny shouted from somewhere in the center of the huddle. “I got you, girl.”
“Do you? Because—I can’t even see your face.”
Jenny emerged from the huddle on all fours. She dusted off her knees and clapped the Wawel and Notting Hillers to attention. “Okay, people! There’s no easy way to do this. Jokes—it’s super-easy! All legit couples stay. That means me and Play Dough, Slimey and Smelly, Missi and—wait, where’s Chico?”
“He’ll be here,” Missi said.
“He’s not here,” Wiener said at the same time.
Just then, Sophie snuck up behind Dover and hugged him around his middle. Dover froze as Sophie swayed him in her grip, prom-style. “We’re a couple,” she sang-spoke. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”
“Totle—translate,” Dover said, the sweat beading on his forehead.
“Sophie likes you,” Totle said. “She’s quoting my Aunt Sheila’s Pinterest board.”
“I’m quoting The Tempest,” Sophie clarified. “Act three, scene one.”
Totle shrugged. “Yeah, I dunno who said it first.”
“Freak cuteness,” Jenny interjected. “Okay, I need one more couple!”
One more couple?! So without Chico, Missi wasn’t welcome in her square? She watched Jamie jump up and down with her hand raised and her fingers wiggling. Missi took a deep breath and waited for Jenny to pick Jamie over her. Like always.
Jenny cleared her throat: “Me and Play Dough. Slimey and Smelly. Sophie and Dover. Missi and—Wiener, you’ll be Missi’s partner until Chico gets here.”
Wait, what? Missi wanted to feel relief, but instead she felt a big pang of guilt. Jamie stopped jumping. Her arms fell to her sides. Her wiggling fingers curled into sad little balls. Wiener stuttered, “I’ll, uh—no thanks. I’ll be in the other square, it’s coolio.”
“No excuses, Chico,” Jenny said.
“I’m Wiener.”
“I’m calling you Chico since you’re subbing for Chico, Chico.” Suddenly, Stu appeared between Jenny and Play Dough. “How’s the square-making going?” he asked the group with a tip of his hat.
“Square-sauce!” Jenny squealed.
“Do you remember my gramps?” Play Dough asked Stu. “He was here fifty years ago. Bald, bad hip. Actually he probably had hair and a good hip back then.”
“He sounds familiar,” Stu replied.
“Classic gramps. Always making an impression.”
Jenny clapped in rapid succession. “Square up, people!”
Missi found her place next to Wiener. It’s okay, she told herself. Chico—the real Chico—will arrive any second. And Jamie? She’s a strong independent girl! She’ll be fine! Still, as Jenny arranged the couples into a perfectly symmetrical square, Missi couldn’t help but say something. “Jenny,” she whispered. “You don’t want to include Jamie?”
“Of course I do,” Jenny said, nudging Missi closer to Wiener. “It’s just—ugh—you know Jamie. She’s so cute at dancing when it’s choreographed, but she’s literally wearing her left Converse on her right foot. Do you honestly think she’d be able to follow Fufu and Stu’s calls?”
“I dunno, maybe. I just thought the three of us would stick together.”
“We’re together.”
Missi looked over at the reject half square now being filled out by a Faith Hiller, a Hamburger Hiller, Cookie, and Arman. Jamie had her hair draped over her eyes and her chin was pointed at the ground. She looked like she was going to cry. “Are we, though?”
“She’s, like, three feet away. And trust me, I know Dover is only Sophie’s boyfriend in her head, but Sophie would totally excel at something as geeky as Square Dancing, so it was a strategic pick. You know?”
Missi dutifully nodded while her
heart dropped.
“E’rybody get with your partner, partner,” Fufu called. “Say hello to your partner, partner.” Somehow, amid the hullabaloo, the rehearsal had begun. Missi turned to Wiener. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he said.
They were the first words they’d shared since the Kissing Tower. Scratch that—at the Kissing Tower they’d just gaped at each other, totally mortified. Then, even though they’d sat next to each other on the traffic-y bus ride back to camp, their silence had continued. Missi had sat there holding Chico’s hand, while Wiener had pretended to listen to music with non-Bluetooth headphones connected to nothing.
“Circle to the left, promenade, move it, move it.”
Missi held both her hands out to Wiener, and they promenaded. His palms were sticky with sweat. Or maybe the sweat was hers. “So,” she said.
“So,” Wiener said.
And then they kept dancing, without speaking, for at least five minutes.
“Now the side couples take a seat to the side, while the head couples stay standing for another ride!” That meant Slimey/Smelly and Missi/Wiener would sit out while Jenny/Play Dough and Sophie/Dover kept at it. Missi watched Slimey lay her head in Smelly’s lap. It looked as natural as Tom’s deodorant. She glanced at Wiener, seated at least five feet away. Their distance was as unnatural as a hormone-pumped chicken.
“Chico should be here,” Wiener said out of nowhere.
Missi sprung to attention. “Do you mean he’s coming, or—?”
“I mean he shouldn’t stand you up.”
“Ha-ha.”
“What’s so funny?”
Nothing was funny. Missi didn’t know why she’d laughed. Maybe it was a nervous thing. Maybe it was a desperate Please let Wiener be wrong about Chico thing. “He’s not standing me up,” she told him.
Wiener shrugged. “I hope you’re right.”
“Look—is this about Hersheypark?” Missi asked. “Because if it is, I’m really sorry. We waited for you. And then we looked for you. I swear.”
“It’s fine.”
“You weren’t supposed to—I mean, we didn’t expect you to—” Missi cut herself off before she insensitively said, “be at the Kissing Tower.” Instead she said, “We didn’t mean to make you feel awkward.”
“Awkward?” Wiener said. “Forget awkward. I could have been arrested!”
“Wait, what? Arrested how?!”
“Now, the side couples, it’s your turn, while the head couples watch and learn!”
“Is everything okay?” Slimey asked Missi and Wiener.
“Yeah,” Missi lied. She rose, totally confused. Wiener angrily brushed himself off. They stood side by side in the square, the air extra-thick between them. Stu said something about four to the middle with a tap, tap, tap, and Missi followed the call, using muscle memory and nothing else. Her brain was too crowded to think. She knew in her heart that her kiss with Chico had hurt Wiener, but it wasn’t her fault. It wouldn’t have happened had Wiener not ditched them. It wouldn’t have happened had Wiener treated her like his girlfriend at the start of the summer like she thought he was going to. And what was he even talking about? How could their kiss have gotten him arrested?
“Wonderful work, y’all! Head couples back in! Let’s put it all together!”
“Just be careful,” Wiener mumbled as their four-person square expanded back to eight. “I know you have good values.”
“I can have values and also kiss him.” Missi’s throat started to lump. “If you’re so upset about it, maybe you shouldn’t have left us.” The lumps grew bigger. “Maybe you shouldn’t have left me.”
“Grand Right, Grand Right. Weave it in and weave it out.” Missi weaved around the square-turned-circle, grabbing hands with Play Dough and then Smelly and then Dover.
“If you’re home, gimme a cheer!”
Missi was home in her starting position, but she didn’t cheer. Maybe because her throat was officially a mess of lumps. Maybe because at that very moment, she spotted Chico at the back of the court. Maybe because before she was aware of what she was doing, she was skipping in his direction.
Chico tore through the crowd until he mistakenly landed at the reject square. Just as Missi reached him, the film crew lit up the scene. She felt like the romantic lead in a teen hoedown movie. “Hey, partner,” she said. “I missed you.” She put her hand out for his. Her throat de-lumped. “We’re in the other square.”
But Chico just turned his back to the cameras and said to Missi, “Nah, I’m good.”
“Here we go,” Wiener mumbled with dread as the Line Dance song “Popcorn” began blaring through the basketball court speakers. His cabinmates raced to join their squares, but after yesterday’s debacle, he had no idea which square he should even join.
He figured he’d go wherever Chico didn’t—either to be Missi’s partner or Jamie’s—but Chico was making a pit stop at the water fountain. Wiener would just have to stand on the sidelines and wait, watching the other upper campers get in place. He spotted Fufu stretching in the corner. He checked out his cabinmates, who were reviewing moves like the do-si-do and the Grand Right.
And then his eyes landed on Missi. She was sandwiched between the J-squad, and the scene was not pretty. Jamie was crying. Jenny was rubbing her temples, like Leave me alone. Missi was trying to mediate. Suddenly Melman tore Jamie away with a Feel better noogie, and Sophie tore Jenny away with a hug. Missi was left alone between the two competing squares. Wiener watched her close her eyes, take a deep breath, and reopen them. Then he watched her bend down to tie her shoelaces that were already perfectly tied and walk to the end of the water fountain line.
“Hey, my Wiener,” Chico said from behind him.
Wiener turned around, startled. “Hey.” He waited a few seconds for Chico to make a move, but he just stood there as if he had no intention of joining a square at all. “Popcorn” began speeding up, which meant it was nearing the end. Which meant the rehearsal was about to begin. Which meant Wiener would have to join a square. “Are you going to dance with Missi today?” he blurted.
Chico shrugged. “My partner is the small scary girl—the one who’s crying.”
“Jamie?” Wiener asked.
“Yeah.”
Wiener didn’t want to dance with Missi—she probably thought he was a jerk for saying bad, confusing stuff about her boyfriend. But he didn’t want to dance with Jamie, either. She was wailing harder than most kids did on the last day of camp. “You’d rather dance with Jamie than your own girlfriend?” he asked Chico.
“Missi’s not my girlfriend.”
“Funny joke, man.” But Chico wasn’t laughing. In fact, he began walking toward Jamie totally straight-faced. “Missi is definitely your girlfriend,” Wiener said, cutting in front of him. “I saw you kiss her, remember?”
“How do you say—a kiss does not a girlfriend make?”
“Oh, jeez—well, yeah, that’s how you say it—but that’s foul play! This is camp, Chico. There are rules! There are values! Did we not teach you STARFISH?”
“The sharp sea animal?”
“STARFISH. Sportsmanship, Tolerance—”
“Oh, the thing Totle told me about after I stole cake and did other bad stuff, yeah.” Chico put his hands on Wiener’s shoulders and gave them a little squeeze. “Don’t worry. I will get through the summer with no more drama.”
“DRAMA?” Wiener said, flinging Chico’s hands off his body. “Before Missi met you, she was sweet. She played her flute over the PA during Rest Hour. She revealed everyone’s inner animal—I’m a seahorse! She told cat jokes like: Do you want to hear a cat joke? Then just kitten!” Chico gave Wiener a blank stare. Wiener moved on: “The point is, Missi is an amazing girl, and I worry that you don’t appreciate her.”
“I do dumb stuff when I’m bored, especially around girls,” Chico said. “And I like Missi a lot, I do, but I can’t just go around doing dumb stuff anymore, okay? My dad said I was out of chances.�
�
“No,” Wiener said, a firepit of anger growing in his belly. “That’s NOT okay! So, what? You’re just going to break up with her?”
“She’ll get the hint, I’m sure.”
“You want to GHOST HER?” Wiener shouted, the fire sizzling up to his throat. “If you’re going to break up with her, which I’m not saying you should do, but if you’re going to do it, you have to actually TALK TO HER. Not just ignore her until she realizes it’s over. That’s straight-up mean.”
“I don’t think it’s mean,” Chico said. “Missi and I had a lot of good times.”
“Yeah, because you STOLE stuff for her.”
Chico leaned in and whispered, “Chill, my Wiener.”
“Chill?!” Wiener’s voice cracked as if a rubber band had tightened around his neck. “You’re asking ME to CHILL!?”
“Uh, what’s going on?” Play Dough asked Wiener. He and Totle were suddenly by his side, their arms crossed like bodyguards.
“Chico wants to break up with Missi but not even tell her that he’s doing it.”
“Burn,” Totle said.
“You can’t just steal Wiener’s girlfriend and then break her heart in a secret way,” Play Dough told Chico.
“Wiener’s girlfriend?” Chico asked, his face growing as red as a watermelon. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, um,” Wiener croaked.
“Wiener and Missi started dating last summer,” Play Dough cut in. “They only stopped when you came along.”
“Why didn’t you say anything, Wiener?” Chico demanded.
“There was no point,” Wiener said, taking in Chico’s perfectly wavy hair and catalog-worthy sunglasses and glowing tan skin. “No way would she pick me over you.”
“Be nicer to yourself,” Totle told Wiener. “You have a very nice jawline.”
“And you have very few boogers,” Play Dough said.
“And you very much smell like trees,” Dover added, slipping into the conversation.
“Thanks,” Wiener said, sniffing himself. No one had ever complimented him on his face or nostrils or smell, and it felt sauce.
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