Spells & Sleeping Bags

by Sarah Mlynowski

  “I'm okay, y'all!” he hollers.

  “Ouch,” I say. “That looked like it hurt.”

  “Have you ever tried windsurfing?” Alison asks me.

  We lean down as the boom swings around again. “Nope.” Sounds scary. It's a good thing dolphins are restricted from doing it. Then again, how much more dangerous can it be than flying around on a broomstick?

  “Canoeing?”

  “Nope. I'm not so boaty.”

  “No worries,” Poodles says from the other side of the boat. “You'll learn.”

  The sight of Raf maneuvering his sailboard distracts me. He seems genuinely in control of his sail, like it's a part of him. He's working the sail like it's a dancing partner and he's taken the lead.

  I wish he'd look at me. Why isn't he looking at me? Look at me, Raf, look at me!

  Look! At! Me!

  And that's when another gust of wind, this one resembling a baby hurricane, sends him flying off his board, sideways, into the water.

  “Did you see that?” Alison asks. “Poor Raf.”

  See it? I caused it!

  Raf splashes around and then pulls himself onto the dock. This time he looks right at me—and gives me a sheepish smile.

  Aw, he's embarrassed! How cute!

  That must mean he likes me.

  While Alison takes the sun for the rest of the period, Poodles and Harris flirt (“You're sooo funny, Harris.” “You're so cute, Poodles.”), and I ogle Raf. Of course, I ogle him discreetly. Very unobviously.

  “You've got it bad,” Alison says.

  “Very bad,” I admit.

  “Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! It ith now the end of thecond afternoon activity. Pleathe protheed to the back of the kitchen for thnack.”

  It's the next day, and Poodles, Alison, and I leave the A&C and head to Lower Field.

  I spot Miri waiting in line for her snack and frowning. She's not going to make friends if she looks so miserable all the time.

  “Try to pretend you're having fun,” I tell her.

  “Why? I'm not.”

  “What's wrong?”

  “I don't want to talk about it.”

  I put my arm around her tiny shoulders. “What happened?”

  “Do you care or do you just want to butt into line?”

  “Both?” I tickle her side. “Oh, come on, Miri, lighten up. Aren't you having a little fun?”

  She shrugs. “It's okay.”

  We take a few steps forward as the line moves. “Where's the rest of your bunk?”

  She shrugs. “Who cares?”

  “Come on, Mir. Don't you like any of them?”

  “They're kind of cliquey.”

  “Miri, you have to try harder. I'm sure they'll love you if you give them a chance.”

  She sighs. “I'll try. Will you come swimming with me at GS? I'm dying to go in but I have no one to swim with.”

  “Um, Mir, you know I hate swimming.” So far I've spent all GSs avoiding the water and working on my tan.

  Her forehead crinkles into little folds. “Oh, come on, it's so hot out. And I need a buddy to go in the water.”

  “Ask someone from your bunk.”

  She sticks her thumbnail into her mouth and starts to nibble. “Maybe.”

  I push her hand away. “Don't! Your fingers are all grimy!”

  “Hey, do you want to come check out my bunk at free play? You still haven't seen it.”

  “I can't. It's Morgan's birthday, and Deb made us cupcakes. Tomorrow, maybe?”

  “You're busy at free play, too? Aren't you going to spend any time with me at all?”

  Oh, poor Miri. “You can come to the birthday party.”

  We step up to the counter.

  “Enjoy!” Oscar pours us two glasses of milk and hands over two chocolate chip cookies each. I only take one.

  “Thank you!” we say in unison.

  “They won't mind?” Miri asks me.

  “I don't think so. Alison,” I say as I pass her in the line, “can we invite other people to Morgan's party?”

  “Of course,” she says. “I already invited Will.”

  I'm sure Morgan'll love that. “There you go,” I say to my sister, accidentally dropping my cookie into my milk and then digging it out with my fingers.

  “Oh sure, my fingers are grimy, but yours are perfectly clean?”

  Good point. I sadly let the cookie sink back to the bottom of the cup. “So you'll come to my bunk?”

  “Yes. And I'm taking back my crystal.”

  I was hoping to hold on to that for a while. Just in case. “Thanks for lending that to me, by the way.”

  “No problem. That's what sisters are for.”

  “Helping?”

  She hands me one of her cookies. “Sharing.”

  I'm on my way back to my bunk when I run smack into Raf. He's in navy swim trunks; a red beach towel is casually thrown over the shoulder of a thin white T-shirt.

  “Hi,” he says. “Coming to GS?”

  “Of course.”

  He tugs on his towel. “Wanna be my buddy?”

  Coming from his lips, the word buddy sounds like girlfriend, not just swimming partner. (A girl can dream, can't she?) “Sure!”

  “Great,” he says while walking backward down the hill. “I'm just stopping for snack. See you on the beach in five.”

  My mother's bathing suit, which I'm wearing under my clothes (because my better one-piece was damp from that morning), will just not do. I sprint back to my bunk, the milk and cookies jiggling in my stomach like change in a pocket, take off my clothes, and put on my sexy orange bikini, Bobby be damned! Maybe the sexiness will distract from the abnormalness? I pull shorts and a shirt over my suit, grab a towel, and run back down to the beach.

  Yes! I'm going swimming with Raf!

  “Bunk lines, everyone, bunk lines!” Rose screams through her megaphone as she does at the beginning of every GS.

  “Okay, everyone, remember the rules of the beach. You must check in with a buddy and we'll give each couple a number.”

  Ooh. Couple. I like the sound of that!

  Sexy, shirtless Raf strolls over to me. “Ready?”

  I strip off my shorts and shirt and cross my arms over my chest. No reason for him to get a view of Bobby if he doesn't have to. Hopefully, once we're in the water, he won't see anything.

  We head to the check-in. “Do you both have your whale?” Rose asks, obviously forgetting our whole search-and-rescue experience.

  “Yup,” says Raf.

  Uh-oh. My blue bead burns into my skin like a scarlet letter. I cannot admit that I have my dolphin. I absolutely can't. I need to use my magic to turn the bead yellow. I stare at my wrist with all my might and think:

  Turn yellow this second, you stupid bead!

  Nothing happens. Maybe it would help if it rhymed. One more time.

  Turn yellow so I can get into whale

  And go swimming with this gorgeous—

  “Your bead looks blue to me,” Rose says. “I'm checking you into dolphin.”

  Raf's eyes widen in surprise.

  She exposed my secret before I had a chance to finish my spell! Which was going to end with the word male, in case you were wondering. I'm a rhyming machine.

  Maybe I should become a rapper?

  I'm too embarrassed to look Raf in the eye now that he knows my humiliating secret, so I walk ahead and dip my toe into the water.

  “So, dolphin, huh?”

  I turn back to see him smiling. “What's so funny?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” He's still smiling.

  “Then why are you smiling?”

  He laughs. “I think it's cute that you can't swim.”

  “It might be cute, but it's not funny.”

  He laughs again. “It's cute and funny. I can teach you.”

  “You're an expert?”

  “No . . . well, a little. I'm up for my lifeguard badge this year.” H
e steps into the water. When I don't follow, he takes my hand. “Come on,” he says. “It's not that cold.”

  Takes my hand. Takes. My. Hand. Takes! My! Hand!

  Yowza! Electricity smolders through our fingertips. Not real electricity, obviously, since we're in a lake, and if it was, we'd be fried.

  Oh, I'm plenty warm now. Holding hands, we wade into the water. He uses his non-holding hand to lift the rope that blocks off the dolphin section. “Ready? Let's dunk.”

  He lets go of my hand (sigh!) and dives under the water. When he surfaces, he smiles devilishly and then sends a tsunami of a splash over my body.

  “Oh, now you're in trouble.” I spray him right back.

  We continue splashing each other until Rose blows her whistle and yells, “Quiet on the beach! Buddy call!”

  Behind us, a couple of girls from the Monkey unit scream, “One!”

  Kids holler two through ten, and then Raf winks at me. “Eleven!” we scream in unison.

  We're a couple! Can it get any better than this?

  We swim and laugh and splash through two more buddy calls, then they order all the swimmers out of the lake and force us back into bunk lines.

  “See you later,” Raf says.

  “See you later,” I echo happily.

  As I sit solo in my line on the sand, I scan the beach contentedly, a dreamy smile plastered on my face.

  “Thanks a lot,” I hear.

  I look up to see Miri standing above me, glaring. “What?” I ask.

  “I asked you to be my buddy, and you said no. But you went swimming with Raf.”

  Oh, crap. “Mir, I'm sorry. Really. But he asked me and—”

  “I asked you too.”

  “You didn't technically; you just said—”

  “Whatever, Rachel,” she interrupts. “I had no one to go swimming with. I'm mad at you.”

  I stand up, my towel wrapped around me, and hug her. “I'm sorry. Really. But it was Raf,” I whisper. “Try to understand.”

  “Humph.” She does not hug me back.

  “You can't stay mad at me.”

  “Bunk lines, everyone, bunk lines!” Rose orders.

  “I'll see you at free play,” I say. “There's going to be cupcakes. You can't come if you're still mad at me.”

  No response.

  “Did I mention that they're chocolate?”

  “All right, but only because of the cupcakes,” she says, then returns to her own bunk line.

  I stifle a yawn. All this excitement has made me exhausted. Maybe I'll take a nap instead of showering. The lake water is probably pretty clean.

  “I peed in the lake again!” I hear one of the Koala boys yell.

  Or not.

  9

  PASS THE POPCORN

  After two weeks at camp, I feel like I've been here a year.

  The junk food is long gone, my bed no longer feels strange (although it does still feel a little bit lumpy), I'm getting used to going to morning flagpole in my pajamas and washing my face in cold water, and I've somehow managed to find time to write my mom, my dad, and Tammy at least three letters each.

  Every sunny, beautiful day is pretty much the same.

  Now Poodles, Alison, and I are at A&C, sitting at a table, making lanyard bracelets. I'm just getting the hang of butterfly, the easiest stitch, which requires only three strands of the multicolored plastic lanyard, while Poodles and Alison are whipping through the more advanced techniques, like square and circle, which require four.

  “The West Coast just has a relaxed vibe,” Poodles says, explaining why she's not planning on applying to any schools on the East Coast.

  “But Manhattan is super-cool,” Alison says.

  “I know,” Poodles says. “I love to visit. But I don't think I could ever be a real New Yorker. I don't own enough black.”

  “You have enough attitude,” Alison says with a laugh.

  “True. But my entire extended family lives in L.A. too. My aunts and uncles, their kids . . . I'm pretty close to them. I don't think I'd want to live somewhere without any roots. Do you have a lot of family in New York?”

  “Not so much,” I say. We don't see any of my mom's family. Her parents passed away a long time ago, and her relationship with her sister, Sasha, is a bit of a mystery. They got into a major fight years and years ago, when I was still a baby, and they haven't spoken since. It's the big family secret—which my mom refuses to share.

  “I have a lot of family in New York, but we barely see them,” Alison says. “Everyone's too busy.”

  “Would either of you ever consider moving out to California?”

  “Maybe for college,” I say, screwing up my stitch yet again and undoing it. “I do hate winters.”

  “What do you want to study?” Alison asks me.

  “Well . . .” Here's where I sound really geeky. “I kind of like math.”

  “Really? That is so cool,” Poodles says. “Do you want to be an engineer?”

  “I haven't decided,” I say. Am I dumb if I don't really know what an engineer does? “Maybe I'll be a mathematician. Math professor? I'm good with numbers.”

  “What's twenty-two times thirty-three?” Poodles asks.

  I close my eyes to calculate. “Seven hundred twenty-six,” I say, opening them.

  Poodles puts down her lanyard, impressed. “Twenty-seven times eighty-seven?”

  “Two thousand three hundred forty-nine.”

  “Holy crap,” Poodles says, laughing. “Fifty-two times—”

  “She's not a monkey,” Alison says.

  Now I laugh. “What do you guys want to be?”

  “I want to be a producer,” Poodles says. “Like everyone else in L.A.”

  “I thought everyone in L.A. wanted to act,” I say.

  “They do. At first. Then they want to produce.”

  “You, Alison?” I ask.

  “Physician,” she says.

  “Perfect!” I squeal. “I could use a new doctor. Mine still makes happy faces on my arm before he gives me my shots. When can you start?”

  “In like fifteen years?”

  “Damn,” Poodles says, shaking her head. “I just screwed up a stitch. This has to be perfect.” She leans over to us so that only we can hear what she says next. “I'm making it for Harris.”

  Natalie and Kristin have signed up for A&C too, and they're only a table away.

  “You're making Harris a bracelet?” I ask. “Isn't that girly?”

  Poodles bites one of her strands to tighten it. “It's the thought that counts. And I'm using black lanyard to make it macho.”

  “Do you think I should make Raf a bracelet?”

  Poodles glances at my disembodied attempt at butterfly and grimaces. “Why don't you hold off a week or so? Until you've had more practice. It's not always the thought that counts.”

  “But I think I might have to make it more obvious that I like him,” I say. Raf and I sat next to each other at last night's evening activity, which was “The Price Is Right.” Then we hung out until curfew. We talked, we laughed, we joked. Basically we did everything couples do.

  Except kiss.

  “If you were any more obvious, you'd be wearing a sign,” Alison jokes.

  “Ha-ha. Maybe he just doesn't like me?”

  Poodles shakes her head. “I've known Raf a long time, and I've never seen him spend so much time with one girl.”

  I blush happily.

  “It'll happen,” Poodles continues. “Maybe he's just waiting for the right moment. Or atmosphere.”

  Or century.

  The atmosphere can't get any more right than this.

  It's a few days later, and after a full afternoon of ponchos and rain boots and indoor activities like pottery, drama, and dodgeball and SI (aka swimming instruction) in the indoor pool (which wasn't too bad, because the water was like a bath), it's movie night—the latest Harry Potter—in the CL (aka counselors' lounge). The CL is the only place at camp with a TV.

&nbs
p; Janice is chewing a pink pen and flicking the lights on and off. “Find a spot. Let's go, let's go.”

  Raf and I have already settled into a space at the back of the CL, along the rear wall. Since I brought a blanket with me (“Set the stage!” Poodles instructed), I offer to share. Wink, wink.

  I was kind of hoping for a romantic comedy and not the story of my life. But maybe Raf will cuddle me during the scary parts?

  Janice turns off the lights, presses Play, and sinks into the oversize saggy seen-better-days brown couch in the center of the room.

  Twenty minutes into the movie, I feel Raf's arm around me. Yes, yes, yes! My entire body tingles. The lights are off and everyone is absorbed in the movie. We're going to kiss tonight. It's going to happen. I just know it's going to happen. His face is only a few inches away from mine. All he has to do is turn a bit to the right. He laughs at something on the screen—as if watching the movie is possible at a time like this!—and now his cheek is only about two inches from mine. All I have to do is turn my face. Turn!

  His laughing stops and I can hear his breathing. I can hear my own breathing too, and it's getting faster with every passing second, since my heart is beating a trillion times a minute.

  I turn about a half inch. He turns about a half inch. I turn a quarter inch. He turns a quarter inch. Omigod, we're so close I can barely stand it. If we both stuck out our tongues, they would touch—which is kind of the point. Tongue-touching. I wonder what his tongue is going to feel like. I've touched only one tongue in my life and it was his brother's. Probably best not to think about other boys' tongues when I'm about to kiss someone.

  My mouth is drier than a cactus. I hope it doesn't taste like a cactus. Not that I know what a cactus tastes like, but I'm willing to bet it's not tasty. Never mind prickly.

  Now our lips are only about an inch apart! And now a half inch and here it comes; it's really going to happen—

  Suddenly, there's a rush of cold, and the lights pop on.

  “Aaaah!” everyone screams.

  I snap my head back. Eyes blinded. Can't see.

  Janice leaps off the couch. “Who did that?”