Abby
P.S. By accident, Roberta blew a piece of bubble gum in my hair. Marty finally had to cut it out so don’t get upset when you see me. The left side of my head kind of has a bald spot.
13
IT WAS rest period. Bonnie and Phyllis were playing jacks. Everybody else was reading quietly except Abby who lay on her bed studying the familiar yellow stationery that said “A Message from Merle” on the top.
Although she’d read the letter twice now, Abby still wasn’t sure what about it disturbed her. Merle had apologized over and over for not writing, saying she didn’t blame Abby if she was ready to kill her. It was just that she had been so busy, Merle had explained, painting scenery, handing out programs, even having a walk-on part in a play called Our Town.
Some excuse, Abby snorted to herself. I haven’t exactly been twiddling my thumbs, she thought, but I managed to write.
But what bothered her even more was that Merle barely mentioned her friend Nancy. All she said was how “she turned out not to be such a bad kid after all” and Merle didn’t say one word about having her ears pierced.
It was as if Merle was keeping stuff from her deliberately, but why?
Abby glanced at Roberta who was engrossed in a Judy Blume book that she held about an inch from her nearsighted eyes. Roberta and Merle. It was hard to think of two more different people.
Abby played nervously with Merle’s locket while she brooded over the problem at hand—how to answer Merle’s letter. Should she come right out and tell her all the stuff that was worrying her? But how could you ask someone if she was still your best friend? No. That would sound too weird and babyish. Abby sighed and, fishing out her letter box from underneath her bed, figured she’d just have to wait until she got home to see what was-up with Merle.
August 16
Dear Merle,
Thanks for finally writing. You’re right. I was ready to kill you but I guess I can find it in my kind, wonderful heart to forgive you.
All that stuff you’re doing at the theater sounds neat. Our bunk is finally getting to do a play. Well, it’s not a play exactly, but sort of a skit. Each summer there are two birthday parties for the whole camp, one in July for all the kids born between January and June and another one in August for the rest of the year. The skit is supposed to have something to do with birthdays or the months of the year. In the July skit each girl was a holiday. Like February was a Valentine. I hope we come up with something better than that.
Last night Aunt Tillie had our group up to her house to watch some dumb Disney movie. It was the first time I had seen TV in weeks! Will I have a lot of catching up to do. Grandma has been filling me in on “Live for Today.” Did you know that Owen and Tiffany got married?
That’s all for now. I won’t even bother to say “Write” but you better!!!
Yours till Niagara Falls,
Abby
P.S. I almost forgot to tell you-I finally learned to dive so I may even get to be a dolphin. Bonnie just passed, the lucky dog. We all had to sing “Congratulations to You” at dinner. I just mouthed the words.
“So? Who’s going to come up with an idea?” Marty was stretched out on one of the wood benches, pock-marked with campers’ names and initials, that lined the Pinecrest playhouse. Outside, rain beat down steadily, thrumming against the windows. “You’ve got only four days. Not that I care, but personally I think you’re all going to look pretty stupid standing up on stage with no skit. So how’s about it? Abby?”
“Wha-?” mumbled Abby. She was engrossed in a book called Your Favorite Movie Monsters which a girl in Bluebell had traded her for two “Tales of Horror” comic books.
“Abby, if it’s not asking too much, would you stop reading and pay attention?”
“Sorry.” Abby stuck her finger in the book to keep her place. “No, I don’t have any ideas.”
“And if I did,” Abby whispered to Roberta, “it would be on how to get this stupid rain to stop!” Abby glared outside. “If this keeps up, I’ll never pass my dives and goodbye dolphin.”
“It’ll stop.”
“That’s what you said yesterday.”
“What if we were flowers,” Lisa was saying. “Like we could each be the flower for a different month and recite a poem.” She snapped her fingers as if the most brilliant idea had just hit her. “I know! We could call it ‘The Birthday Bouquet!’ ”
“ARRRGGGH!” Bonnie clutched her throat.
“Excuse me while I go barf,” Roberta said.
“Aunt Tillie named the bunks after flowers,” Lisa said defensively. “I bet she’d like it.”
“It still stinks,” Phyllis said flatly. “What about doing the signs of the zodiac?”
“Dummy,” Roberta told her. “They did that last year. Come on, Abby. Don’t you have even one idea?”
“If she does,” Bonnie tapped her head, “it’ll die of loneliness.”
“Lookit, Einstein,” Abby snapped. “I don’t see you coming up with any brainstorms.” Then suddenly her eye happened to catch a page in her book. “Maybe I do have an idea,” Abby said slowly. “What about doing something with monsters?”
“How appropriate,” muttered Marty.
“Yuck, yuck,” Abby said sourly. She continued with growing enthusiasm. “What we could do is have it be one of the monster’s birthdays and all the other monsters like Dracula and the Mummy and Mr. Hyde could be the guests.”
“It’s better than flowers,” Phyllis admitted.
“At the cookout before, maybe everybody could come in costume, like at a Halloween party,” Eileen suggested.
“I still like my idea,” insisted Lisa, looking toward Marty for approval.
“Tough. Nobody else does,” Roberta said. “And I know that you of all people—being prize camper and everything—wouldn’t want to be a bad sport about this. Right?”
Lisa shut up.
“Well then,” Roberta said. “That makes it unanimous.”
“It should be Dracula’s birthday because Abby does a real good Bela Lugosi,” Eileen said with a nod.
Bonnie smugly folded her arms. “Now we know the real reason she suggested this.”
Abby jumped up in protest. “For your information, I don’t want the lead,” she said hotly. It was one thing to fool around in front of your friends. But perform in front of the whole camp? All those eyes watching you! No way, thought Abby.
“Come off it,” Roberta said. “You do that vampire routine great.” She pushed Abby in front of the group. “Now shut up and do your stuff.”
Abby eyed her audience apprehensively. The biggest part in her whole life had been head rat in a second grade production of The Pied Piper. And all that had involved was a lot of squeaking. But now she had a chance to be the star. Star. The very word thrilled her and, with a shrug, Abby began rolling her eyes and smiling fiendishly. “Vell, since you are tvisting my arm....” Then she held up a warning hand. “But no applause, please!”
August 17
Dear Ma and Daddy.
Fame at last! I’m the star of our skit. I get to play Dracula. I just pray I don’t goof up all my lines. I’m so nervous. At school I’m always stuck in the chorus. I never had to worry about stuff like this before.
By the way, I can’t find one of my fang teeth so could you send me another pair special delivery (they always have them at Buddy’s Toyland on Broadway). Thanks a lot.
Love,
Me
The next morning, when they had all reassembled in the playhouse, Marty ran down the cast. “Abby, you’re all set as Dracula; Bonnie’s Frankenstein—”
“Talk about typecasting!” Abby couldn’t resist.
“That’s enough of that! Phyllis, you’re playing Mr. Hyde. Roberta’s the Mummy. Eileen is—?”
“King Kong,” chirped Eileen who loved monkeys almost as much as gerbils and dogs.
Marty frowned. “Well, that leaves just you, Lisa.”
“What about the Hunchback of Notre Dame?” Bonnie
suggested.
“Well.. all right,” Lisa agreed unenthusiastically.
“Or the Bride of Frankenstein?” Abby said. “That’d be kind of funny. Having a Mr. and Mrs.”
“Whatever you guys want,” Lisa said. “I’m perfectly willing to go along with whatever the group wants. ”
Roberta snorted. “How noble!”
“I have an idea,” Eileen said with a sheepish smile. “It’s a little corny maybe, but it would sort of give the skit a twist at the end. What about this?” Then she shyly outlined her plot idea.
“Corny isn’t the word!” Bonnie said when Eileen finished.
“I like it!” Lisa announced.
“Settled, then,” said Roberta. “And now we better get cracking on costumes and rehearsing.”
“Forget about finding anything in here,” Abby said, rummaging through the costume closet backstage. It was filled with old ballgowns, kimonos, cowboy hats, and a dusty pink feather boa which Abby flung around her neck dramatically.
“We better go around to all the bunks,” Roberta suggested, “and see what we can turn up.”
In slickers and rainboots, everybody dashed outside. An hour later they came dripping back into the playhouse.
“I got these,” Phyllis held up a pair of furry mittens and a fright wig, “for when I change from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde.”
Roberta had found two torn sheets to rip into bandages for the Mummy; Eileen had borrowed a rubbery gorilla mask from a girl in Marigold. “And a counselor’s loaning me a black cape,” Abby said excitedly. “It’s perfect. When I make my grand entrance, I can sort of swoop around the audience, unfurling it.”
“Get her,” said Roberta. “Yesterday, you couldn’t get her up on stage. Today she’s turning it into a one-woman show!”
The morning of the birthday party, the whole camp trooped into breakfast to find an invitation on every table.
By dinnertime the rain finally stopped but the ground was still so soggy that every poncho in the camp had to be spread on the flagpole field for the cookout. Four fires crackled away and grew brighter and brighter as evening fell. Abby was polishing off her sixth toasted marshmallow, licking the last of the lovely goo off her fingers, when Marty began rounding up everybody from Buttercup and herding them into the playhouse.
A few minutes later Abby stood mesmerized in front of the large mirror backstage. Her face was now powdered to a chalky white with heavy black penciled eyebrows and cruel red lips. She enfolded her cape around her, arched an eyebrow, and bared her fang teeth ever so slightly.
“Abby, you can stop admiring yourself,” Marty said. “Aunt Tillie just came in and it looks like almost everybody’s seated.” She looked at the girls around her. “I guess it’s curtain time.”
Abby squeezed a bandaged hand that belonged to the mummified Roberta. Only the glint of her glasses gave any hint of her identity. “No offense,” Abby giggled. “But you look like an accident waiting for someplace to happen.”
“Very funny,” came Roberta’s muffled voice from under her wrappings.
“Wish me luck!” Abby said. “I’m so nervous, I could pee.” Then she ducked out the backstage exit and sneaked around to the porch where she watched the curtain go up and waited for her entrance cue.
So far, so good, Abby thought as the skit unfolded. No lines forgotten and the audience was laughing in all the right places. Even Eileen was really hamming it up, beating her chest, making apelike grunts, and kissing a doll that was supposed to be the beautiful girl King Kong had captured.
“This better be the last birthday for Dracula we ever have to come to,” intoned Bonnie in the slow, menacing voice of Frankenstein. “I’m sick of his bossing us around. He treats us like slaves.”
“You have my word. Tonight we will finally have our revenge on the old bloodsucker,” cackled Phyllis /Mr. Hyde, casting a meaningful glance at a large wrapped package on stage. “Just wait until he opens his surprise!”
Almost time! Now I come in and go up on the stage from the left, Abby told herself calmly. Or was it stage left? Which would really mean from the right. Which was it? Cold sweat trickled under Abby’s arms. Oh God!—
Mr. Hyde cackled again and pointed a hairy paw at the door to the playhouse. “SHHHH!” I hear him coming now.”
Then all heads in the theater turned as the door flung open. “Gud ee-ven-ing!” Abby managed to creak out with a flourish of her cape. “Ze birthday boy is here!”
Her tongue felt thick and furry yet somehow the words floated out all by themselves. Abby began weaving in and out of the aisles toward the stage, furling and unfurling her cape, and her numbness began to subside. She, paused dramatically in front of Laurel. “Duhn’t you vant to vish me a happy birthday, my dolling?” she said, chucking her under the chin.
The audience laughed loudly.
“We have been expecting you,” said Phyllis which Abby knew was her cue to go on stage. Instead she found herself circling through the audience once more, sweeping over to a girl still in a devil costume. “Vat a looovely outfit,” she crooned. “Red has alvays been my favorite color.”
More laughter and suddenly Abby stopped short in front of Aunt Tillie. “My, but duhn’t you look like a juicy vun!” she cried with a fiery look in her eyes. The audience went wild; Aunt Tillie laughed too.
“WE HAVE BEEN EXPECTING YOU,” Phyllis repeated with an edge to her voice.
Rats! thought Abby. Just when I’m really starting to roll. Reluctantly she took her place onstage.
“Cheers!” Abby raised a glass of tomato juice and drank it down. “Mmmm. Type B-negative. Soooo tasty!”
Then the the monsters sang to the slow strains of “Yo! Heave Ho!”
Hap-pee Birth-day
Hap-pee Birth-day
There is sadness in the air
Gloom and doom are everywhere
Hap-pee Birth-day
Abby pointed in surprise to the big present on stage. “Vat? A present for ME! But you shouldn’t have.” And she rushed to unwrap it. “I vonder vhat it could be.” Abby yanked off the bow which released the sides of the package and suddenly there stood ... Supercamper!
“Dracula, you have met your match,” cried Lisa, dressed in a Pinecrest T-shirt and shorts and a towel cape emblazoned with “Supercamper.” Chasing Abby around the stage, she vowed to take the other monsters, away from the Count’s castle for a fun-filled summer at Pinecrest.
“Ve vill see about dat,” said Abby, baring her fangs.
Then Supercamper produced a long string of garlic. Brandishing it in front of Abby’s face, she explained for those in the audience who’d never seen a vampire movie that it would render Dracula harmless. “You are powerless now!” she cried. “Oh fiend of the night.”
“Not dat—anything but dat!” Hissing, Abby shrank from the garlic, covering her face with her cape, and backed offstage where Marty quickly attached a wired belt to her waist.
“Dracula begone,” commanded Supercamper, waving the garlic again.
Abby swooped back on stage and bared her fangs one final time. “I vill be back!” Then Marty gave a tug on the wires which were connected to a pulley from the rafters and off she flew, flapping her cape like bat wings.
Everybody gasped at the showstopper and the skit ended, the audience clapping enthusiastically as the girls in Buttercup took their bows. Offstage, Marty tried to disentangle Abby from the wired belt. “Hold still!” she said impatiently. “Your fans will wait.” Then Abby rushed out to join the cast and suddenly the applause grew distinctly louder. For me, she realized. For me.
Abby tried smiling modestly around her fang teeth.
“A star is born,” said Roberta beside her.
“You were terrific,” Eileen whispered.
I really was, thought Abby. And then the curtain came down.
August 21
Dear Merle,
I can’t wait to see you. It won’t be long now. Three days and I’m home! I wish you were going t
o be there but Labor Day isn’t so far off. What movies do you want to see? I’m dying to see the one about giant cockroaches invading New York.
Last night was our skit. I played Dracula which maybe sounds dumb to you after all the real shows you’ve seen this summer. Afterwards we had a party at Aunt Tillie’s. Bonnie left in the middle with Marty because she got her period for the first time. She won’t talk about it to anyone. Not even Phyllis. I remember when my cousin Shelley got it, she announced it to the entire world, but she was almost 14. I guess it’s different if you’re not even 11 yet. I feel kind of bad for her, being the only one.
Well, that’s all for now. See you real soon.
Yours till Bear Mountain has cubs,
Abby
P.S. I almost forgot. I’m bringing home two of the mice. Bambi for me and the one I wrote about—Fred Astaire—for you. Eileen is also taking one and the other two are going with Maya, the nature counselor.
August 22
Dear Ma and Daddy,
Our skit was a hit. Everybody said I was great, even Aunt Tillie. The next day some of the younger kids would scream and run away whenever they saw me. I felt like a real star.
A lot of the kids are nervous waiting to find out about the awards which are announced at Banquet Dinner tomorrow. I’m pretty sure I won’t get anything. Drama is the only one I have a chance for.
It looks like I can also forget about being a dolphin. My dives still aren’t good enough. Laurel says she wishes she could pass me anyway. I wish she could too.
For my first meal home, could I have a garbage pizza from Mel’s (except no anchovies). I can’t believe it but in 54 hours I’ll be home!
Love,
Me
P.S. I just this second got a letter from Merle. Now she says she’s going to Connecticut to spend a week with that kid she met. She won’t be home until September 6th. Some best friend. If it was me, I’d come straight home to see her. I was going to bring home a mouse for me and a mouse for her. Now maybe I’ll keep both of them.
14
Yours Till Niagara Falls, Abby Page 8
