Spells & Sleeping Bags

by Sarah Mlynowski

  By the time I finish eating, Morgan is already halfway through clearing the paper plates and tossing them into the garbage. My sister the environmentalist is going to hate that.

  Suddenly, there's a tap on my shoulder. Raf?

  Miri. “Hi,” she says. “Move over.”

  I push over so that she can squeeze in beside me. “Hey! Did you like dinner?”

  She shakes her head. “I can't believe how much paper they waste.”

  “I thought that might annoy you.”

  “It should bother you, too,” she says, taking a sip of my bug juice.

  Perhaps, but my brain is too busy being bothered by the fact that Miri can get off her butt to say hello to me but Raf can't. I mean, I saw Miri this afternoon and Raf hasn't seen—

  Raf is standing directly across the table, behind Carly.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I can't breathe or speak. What is wrong with me? I've been waiting for this day for so long, planning the entire conversation. Really. I have it all scripted in my head. I'll casually flick my glimmering brown tresses over my shoulder and say hello as demurely as possible, and then I'll ask, “What's up?” ever so casually. He'll then declare his undying love for me and grab me in his arms and kiss me so passionately that—

  “Rachel? You okay?”

  Now is not the time for fantasizing, Rachel! Now is the time to speak up, Rachel! Now is not the time for referring to oneself in the third person, Rachel!

  “Hi, Raf,” I squeak.

  “How are you liking your first day of camp?”

  “Fun. Cool. Good.” So what if I can manage only one-syllable words? At least I'm speaking. Unfortunately, my entire bunk is intently listening to the conversation.

  “Did you like Oscar's mac and cheese?” he asks.

  “Oscar?”

  “The chef. He's been the chef for, like, twenty years.”

  “Oh yes. Very cheesy.” Brilliant, Rachel.

  Raf waves hello to the girls at the table. “Hi, ladies.”

  “So how long have you two known each other?” Alison asks, her mouth full.

  “Rache and I go way back.”

  “We hear she knows your brother, too,” Morgan says.

  The edges of Raf's cheeks turn pink.

  I might have to zap her into a bug. Or even better, bug juice. I can't believe she brought up Will. I can't believe I dated Will, even though it was accidental. I hope Raf won't let all that come between us. I know it would totally weird me out if Raf dated Miri.

  Oh, right. Miri. “Raf, have you met my little sister, Miri?”

  He gives her a smile. “Yup. Once. I forgot how much you guys look alike.”

  That's good, right? Miri's adorable. We blush simultaneously.

  “I also saw you in the fashion show with Rachel,” Miri says, which leads to an awkward silence, since I was, um, awful in the fashion show. Miri, obviously realizing her faux pas, mutters, “I'd better get back to my table. I promised my counselor I'd only be gone for a minute.”

  “Me too,” Raf says.

  “Hey, Raf, how come you weren't on the bus today?” Omigod, I can't believe I just asked that! A cool person wouldn't have asked that. A cool person wouldn't even have noticed he wasn't on the bus.

  “I drove up with Will. The counselors had last night off after pre-camp, so he came into the city to see Kat. Anyway, I'll see you later, Rache.”

  I love that he's calling me Rache! “Cool. Later.”

  Later. I'm going to see Raf later.

  I'm not even going to obsess over what he meant by later. I'm going to be cool.

  La, la, la. La.

  But did he mean later like in five minutes, later tomorrow, or later as in he'll stop by to say good-bye on the last day of camp?

  4

  BREAK OUT THE MARSHMALLOWS

  After dinner is free play. We return to the bunk to hang out and eat barbecue chips, brownies, and peanut M&M'S.

  “Are there ever going to be activities?” I ask as my hand turns multicolored from the candied chocolate. I am lying on Alison's bed, my feet propped up against the ladder. “Or do we just get to hang out and eat all summer?”

  “The first day is always a get-to-know-you day,” Morgan explains. “And don't get too used to the food. They give us two days with the junk we brought from home and then they toss the rest.”

  “They don't toss it,” Alison says. “They put it in a big garbage bag and take it to the counselors' lounge, where they snack on it all summer.”

  “That is so unfair,” Poodles says with a sigh. “I can't wait until we're staff and can steal our kids' food. Alison, pass me another one of your mom's brownies.”

  “Sure. Want one, Carly?”

  Carly is on the floor in sit-up position. “No, thanks.” Huff, huff. “I'm on a diet.”

  “You can be on a diet once they've confiscated our food,” Alison says. “Right now you should enjoy the brownies.”

  Carly ignores her.

  “I'm not letting them take all my stuff,” Morgan says. “No way. I'm finding a better hiding place this year.”

  If only I had stuff to hide. At least they share. I reach over and take another handful of Alison's M&M'S. “Can't you just stash the stuff in your laundry bag or something?”

  Morgan snorts. “Please. That's the first place they look.”

  Alison nods. “Last year, Anderson—Rachel, have you met Anderson yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “He's good friends with Raf. Anyway, he—”

  “He uses way too much hair gel,” Morgan says.

  “Anyway, he hid his cell in an empty deodorant can. But his counselor heard it ringing, and it got confiscated.”

  “I agree with the cell phone rule,” Poodles says. “They ruin the camp experience.”

  “Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! It ith now the end of free play. Pleathe protheed to Upper Field for the annual firtht night'th campfire.”

  “Speaking of camp experiences,” Alison says, “this is one of my faves.”

  Morgan smirks. “Just don't forget to bring a thweatthirt.”

  “School is done.

  It's time for summer fun.

  Canoes and mosquitoes too.

  Back to camp, where the friends are true.”

  Since I don't know any of the words, all I can do is bop my head and clap along with the 350 counselors and campers who are all singing (aka screaming) at the tops of their lungs around the massive campfire. Somehow our bunk has managed to score seats on the ground only a few rows back from the fire, so even though it's cool out, the flames are warming my face.

  Anthony, the head counselor and an enormously tall and stunningly attractive olive-skinned man in his late twenties, is leading us along on his guitar.

  “W-O-O-D!

  A home away from home for me.

  L-A-K-E!

  There's nowhere we'd rather be!”

  I spot Miri sitting diagonally from me with her bunk. Instead of pretending to sing along, she's writing in some book. Writing! At a campfire! How can she even see?

  “Wood Lake counselors are the best.

  If only our cabins weren't a mess!

  Koalas, Monkeys, Lions, and C-I-Ts,

  Oscar, can we have more cookies, please?

  On days of rain or days of sun,

  From the bridge to Lower Field's bunk one,

  We're glad we're here,

  But we wanna stay all year!

  In the fall we go our separate ways,

  Counting down the days,

  With longing and heartache,

  Until we're back at Camp Wood Lake!”

  Alison and Poodles put their arms around my shoulders and sway, and I join in for the final chorus:

  “W-O-O-D!

  A home away from home for me.

  L-A-K-E!

  There's nowhere we'd rather be!”

  Everyone erupts into cheers and applause. Anth
ony waves his guitar in the air and the hollering gets even louder. Even the Lion boys, including Raf, who are standing a few rows behind us, are cheering.

  “Welcome back to camp, everyone!” Anthony says, his voice echoing through Upper Field. “It's going to be a killer summer.”

  More deafening cheers.

  “Time to introduce you to this year's head staff. Welcome back Abby, the returning head of Koalas.”

  All the little kids cheer.

  “Hi, everyone!” says the tiny twenty-something in an unexpectedly booming voice. She stands next to Anthony near the fire. “Go, Koalas, go!”

  The kids all wave their tiny hands in the air and cheer.

  “How adorable?” Poodles says to me.

  “So adorable,” I say. Second session, when starter camp begins, Prissy will be sitting with them!

  “Now say hello to Mitch,” Anthony says, “head of Monkeys.” The ten-, eleven-, and twelve-year-olds cheer. Mitch is Will and Raf's older brother, the only Kosravi brother I haven't dated. He looks like them too. All dark, brooding, and sexy.

  “Monkeys are going to rock the house!” Mitch announces, punching the air.

  “And we all know Janice,” Anthony continues, “the head of the Lion unit.”

  All us Lions whoop and scream.

  “Hello, everyone,” she says, standing up and looking around anxiously, her lips still blue, the only unit head with her clipboard in hand.

  “Give a cheer for Houser, the returning head of CITs.”

  The CITs all leap up, wave, and howl.

  “And for Rose, the head of waterfront.”

  It's suddenly quiet around the fire. Seriously, I can hear the crickets. Apparently, no one likes Rose. Eventually, some of the lifeguards and the other head staff clap halfheartedly.

  “She's awful,” Alison whispers to me. “My brother had her job last year, and everyone loved him.”

  She's in her late teens; has clear porcelain skin, a tiny pink mouth, and glossy blond hair; and is wearing a whistle around her neck. She doesn't look that bad. But what do I know?

  Rose glares at the campers.

  “Um, thank you, Rose. Now please give a big round of applause for the lady you never want to see, Dr. Dina!”

  A middle-aged woman with big brown hair joins the line, and there's more cheering.

  “And finally, put your hands together for Oscar Han, our extraordinary camp chef!”

  A grandfatherly Chinese man dressed in an all-white chef's outfit stands up and waves hello.

  The crowd goes wild. “Oscar! Oscar! Oscar!”

  “He makes the world's best lasagna,” Alison tells me.

  Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz. A mosquito attacks my ear, and I wave it away. Damn, I forgot to douse myself in bug repellant.

  Anthony raises his hand to quiet us. “We are here to ensure that you have a terrific summer. For the last hundred and six years, this camp has been a summer home to campers of all ages.”

  Lots of cheers.

  “But for us to keep you happy and safe, you have to follow the rules.”

  “Screw the rules!” one of the Lion boys hollers, and everyone laughs.

  “Very funny, Blume,” Anthony says. “I'm hoping you'll stay clear of the boats this year.”

  More laughter.

  “Last year, Blume, Raf, Colton, and Anderson put all the canoes and kayaks in the pool,” Alison explains. “My brother thought it was hysterical. But of course he had to zap them.”

  I have a feeling their zap isn't the same as my zap.

  “What's zap?” I ask, turning to get a look at this Blume character. He's kind of scruffy in his ripped jeans, layered shirts, and backward hat. He's standing right next to Raf. I turn around quickly before Raf sees me and thinks I'm staring at him. Not cool.

  “If you're zapped, you're grounded.”

  “So, as I was saying. Rules. Flagpole,” Anthony continues. “Be on time. Rest hours are to be spent inside your bunks. If you are not at your scheduled activity, your counselor must know why. You're on your own for free play, but no woods, and no boys in girls' bunks or vice versa, ever.”

  “Boo!” scream the Lion boys.

  Anthony flashes his blinding smile. “No pool or beach without staff supervision. And curfews are there for a reason and must be followed. Koalas, after evening activity, your counselors will take you to snack and then straight to bed.”

  “Boo!” shriek the Koalas.

  “Monkeys, you have free time, known here at Wood Lake as lawn time, until quarter of ten. Lions, you have lawn time until ten-fifteen.”

  Excellent. Free time to make out with Raf!

  “Why is it called lawn time?” I ask Alison.

  “The Lions used to hang out on the lawn.”

  “What lawn?”

  “They tore it up when they built the pool. But the name stuck.”

  “The final rule is absolutely no smoking anywhere on the camp grounds.”

  The crowd gets quiet.

  “After last year, this rule has become even more important. As many of you know, one of our campers”—

  “A Lion named Jordan Browne,” Poodles whispers to me.

  —“snuck cigarettes into camp, tossed a lit one into his cabin's garbage pail, and set it on fire. The entire porch was burnt down and had to be rebuilt. Luckily, no one was hurt, but this year we are implementing a no-tolerance cigarette policy. Any camper caught with cigarettes will be sent home immediately. No exceptions. Got it?”

  We all nod.

  “What happened to Jordan Browne?” I ask. Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. I slap the bug away again with the back of my hand.

  “He wasn't asked back as a CIT,” Alison whispers. “And his parents had to pay for damages.”

  “If you have cigarettes here, you should give them to head staff when we come to collect your food,” Anthony says.

  “So they can smoke them in the parking lot,” Morgan grumbles from the other side of Alison. “Annoying that they can smoke and we can't.”

  “You shouldn't smoke as it is,” Alison tells her, wrinkling her nose. “It's disgusting.”

  “I don't!” Morgan cries. “But I should be allowed to if I wanted to.”

  Anthony picks up his guitar again. “Now let's get back to our singing! Does everyone know the words to ‘One Tin Soldier’?”

  Everyone knows the words. Everyone except me.

  I wonder if anyone would notice if I zapped myself up a songbook so I could follow along.

  “Listen, children, to a story that was written long ago . . .”

  I look around the crowded campfire. Hmm, too many people watching. In light of my previous experience, namely zapping up my new wardrobe, I think I should probably practice a bit more in private before I attempt magic in front of the entire camp population.

  Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

  Oh, for goodness' sake. Mosquito, be gone!

  I feel a rush of cold, then the little bugger disappears midbuzz in a puff of purple smoke.

  “What was that?” Poodles asks, her head snapping back.

  It worked! “I didn't see anything,” I say quickly. I know I should feel bad for zapping him to Never Never Land, but I so don't.

  “Weird,” Poodles says, shaking her long hair.

  “Wild,” says Alison.

  Wonderful, I think but don't say.

  “Lights-out in ten minutes!” Deb announces from the front of the bunk. “If you need anything, I'll be in my room.”

  “Let's get washed,” Alison says. She shimmies off my bed (where we were chatting) as I—a bit fearfully—climb down the ladder.

  We grab our toothbrushes, toothpaste, hand towels, and facecloths from our shared blue shelf, stuff our socked feet into our flip-flops, hurry through the cubby room and into the bathroom, and then wait behind Cece, Trishelle, Poodles, and Carly for our turns at any of the four sinks.

  “Yowza!” I shriek when I'm finally up. “Does the water ever warm up?”

  “Nope.” />
  I practically freeze my face off while washing it. I quickly brush my teeth, retreat into the cubby room to change into oversize flannel pj's (courtesy of the Gap), and climb into bed.

  “So, Carly, what's the story with you and Blume this year?” Poodles asks.

  Morgan starts making kissing noises.

  “Shut up!” Carly orders.

  “You going to dump him if he tries to french you again?” Morgan asks, laughing.

  The girls crack up. It's weird being plopped down into a new group of friends with all this backstory.

  “I dumped him because he always had a crust of spit around his mouth and the idea of kissing him made me want to vomit,” Carly explains, sitting up in her bed. “But I'll have you know that I had a boyfriend this year, Michael Miller, who was a very good kisser.”

  “Ooh-la-la,” says Poodles.

  “Was there tongue in the kiss?” Morgan asks.

  “You are so gross!” Carly shrieks.

  Morgan laughs. “No tongue, then?”

  “It's none of your business! Anyway, I'm not interested in Blume.”

  “You're going to break his heart,” Alison says.

  Poodles raises an eyebrow. “Why don't you go for him this summer, Alison?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. Do you like him?”

  Morgan turns to Poodles. “Why are you always playing matchmaker?”

  “Why not?”

  “What about the spit?” Carly asks.

  “He does not have spit issues,” Poodles says. “I kissed him when we were Monkeys, remember? He's a sweetheart.”

  “Then why don't you hook up with him again?” Morgan asks.

  Poodles smiles mysteriously. “I already have my eye on someone.”

  “Who?” they all ask.

  “Harris,” she says, lowering her voice.

  Of course I have no idea who Harris is, but I don't want to be annoying and butt into their catch-up.

  “You can't go out with Harris!” Alison tells her. “He's staff.”

  “So what?”

  “It's against the rules,” Alison says.

  “Oh, whatever, he's only seventeen and people do it all the time. He was totally flirting with me at the campfire today.”

  “That is so not fair,” Morgan complains. “If you're going to hook up with Harris, I'm going to hook up with Will.”