The Odds of Loving Grover Cleveland

by Rebekah Crane

  “Please sit down now, Cassie,” Madison says.

  “Gladly.” She fakes a smile and curtsies. Cassie drops the St. Anthony figurine in the dirt and presses her heel into it before taking her seat.

  Madison decides to change directions with the session and lines us up to do an activity. She hands everyone a blindfold.

  “We’re going to do a ‘trust walk’ through the woods with a partner.”

  Dori rolls her eyes. “This should be great.”

  Madison explains that one person will be blindfolded and lead the other through the woods with only verbal cues from their partner as to where to go. The second she gives that direction, every girl takes a giant step away from Cassie. I’m sure none of them have taken the time to look at Cassie’s bed. And I may not know what’s going on with her today, but I know enough, so I take a step closer to her. Cassie makes a face like she’s annoyed—like she wants to be alone.

  But I stay put.

  “What’s going on? Did you eat today?” I ask.

  “Like you care,” Cassie snaps.

  “I do care.”

  “Just put your blindfold on, Z. Or don’t you trust me?” Cassie says it like she’s challenging me. I groan, not because I’m nervous, but because I’m annoyed.

  With the blindfold on, my other senses light up. I can hear laughter echoing up from campers swimming in the lake and the wind ruffle the leaves on the trees. I put my arms out in front of me and run my hands through the empty air. I even open my mouth to taste it. Everything is humid and smells like pine.

  “You look like Helen Keller.” Cassie’s voice comes through the dark.

  I drop my arms. “Shut up.”

  “Trust is essential to success in life,” Madison says. “You have to trust others. But most importantly, you have to trust yourself.”

  “Bullshit,” I hear Cassie say under her breath.

  Cassie’s first instruction is for me to take five steps forward. When I do it, I run into a tree. My foot hits first and then my head.

  “I said four steps, not five,” Cassie says.

  She tells me to turn to the right and follow her voice.

  “Keep coming. Keep coming,” she says over and over. I hold out my arms and walk in the direction that I think is toward her.

  I trip on a log and fall on my face.

  “Cassie!” I yell, still blindfolded but lying on the ground. “You’re supposed to tell me if something is in the way.”

  “I didn’t see that,” she says.

  I touch the thing I fell over. “You didn’t see a gigantic tree trunk?”

  “Sorry, Z. Geez, don’t you trust me?”

  I stand up and dust dirt off of my knees, but I don’t desert her. I won’t. Not now. Not after what she did. She sacrificed herself for me. I don’t have a single friend who’s ever done that.

  “Next direction, please,” I say.

  Cassie tells me to walk straight. When I don’t run into anything or trip, my shoulders relax.

  “Turn to your left.”

  I do it and walk forward.

  “Now, make a slight right.”

  I’m still clear. Not even a stick cracks under my feet.

  “Take seven steps forward.”

  I start counting in my head. One. Step. Two. Step. Three. A branch catches on the sleeve of my shirt. I unhook myself. I step forward. Four. Step. Five. Step. A branch or stick scratches my leg.

  “Shit,” I whisper to myself and feel my leg. A swollen scrape has already bubbled on my skin.

  “You okay, Z?”

  That actually hurt a little, but I stand up straight.

  “Peachy,” I say.

  “Two more steps.”

  Six. Step. Seven . . .

  The second my foot hits the ground I hear it—buzzing. A lot of buzzing. I feel something close to me and then something else. I rip off my blindfold and look up. A hornets’ nest dangles above me, and Cassie stands yards away with a wicked smile on her face.

  “Fuck!” I scream and flail my arms to prevent getting stung.

  “I think you’re supposed to stand still,” Cassie hollers.

  I bolt away from the nest and over to Cassie, jumping and checking my clothes for any hornets that may be hiding in my T-shirt, ready to sting me.

  “What is wrong with you?” I say through heavy breaths. I can feel my heartbeat in my toes.

  “I thought we covered this. What isn’t wrong with me?”

  “What if I was allergic to hornets or something? You could have killed me!” I swat at my clothes one more time.

  “If it isn’t me, it will be something else. We all die, Z.”

  “Real nice, Cassie. God, I thought we were friends. But you know what, fuck you.” I drop the blindfold on the ground.

  “No. Fuck you,” Cassie says, her face changing from amused to stone. The moment I’m ready to storm away, she surprises me and asks, “Why are your toes painted?”

  I look down at my flip-flops. “Dori did it last night.”

  Her face gets tight. “You know what? Fuck you.”

  “What?” I ask totally confused.

  “Are you having sex with Cleve? No, don’t answer that. Fuck you.” Cassie starts to walk away quickly.

  I run after her, trying to understand the meaning behind all the fuck yous. “I’m not having sex with Grover.”

  She stops still and I almost run into her boney chest. “His name is Cleve. Cleve. I see how you two look at each other,” Cassie says. “But he was my friend first.”

  “He still is,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “And now Dori? Dori? The Beano fart girl? You know what? Just . . . whatever, Dutch Oven.” Cassie stomps off.

  I stand, shocked, watching Cassie slam her feet into the ground, and then I get it. I run up and grab her arm. “Just because I let Dori paint my nails doesn’t mean I care about you any less. That’s not how friendship works.”

  Cassie squints at me, seemingly contemplating what I’ve said, and my heart breaks again for her as I wonder if Cassie has ever had a meaningful relationship in her life. She looks at my feet. “You should have picked orange anyway. It’s more you.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “You’re damn right, I’m right.”

  We still don’t move. Cassie looks around like she’s annoyed she’s standing here with me, but at this point I know her well enough to know that if she wanted to leave, she’d do it.

  “I never thanked you for what you did,” I say.

  “What are you talking about?” Cassie exaggerates the words as she says them. I cock my head at her. She knows damn well what I’m talking about.

  I walk back and pick up the blindfold, swinging it around on my finger. “It’s your turn now.” Cassie hesitates for a moment and snatches it from me, like she’s not afraid of what I might do. “Maybe we can paint each other’s toes later. Clearly, I need a new color,” I say.

  I lead Cassie into three trees and one gigantic mud puddle, but she doesn’t take the blindfold off. Not when she bonks her head. Not when she stubs her toe. Not when she’s covered in mud. Not once.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Madison asks when we return to the Circle of Hope.

  “I told you, Mads,” Cassie says. “Trust will beat the shit out of you.” But the smile is back on Cassie’s face. We walk away together in search of the perfect toenail color.

  CHAPTER 20

  Aunt Chey,

  Please don’t pass on my letters to the school like you did last year.

  I said please.

  Kisses,

  Cassie

  Cassie plops her tray down and takes a seat at our table for breakfast a few days later. Grover and I are continuing our awkward silence, but Cassie manages to break it. She picks up her glass of water and takes a sip. Grover, Bek, and I stare at her. It’s a relief to have her back.

  On her tray is a pile of scrambled eggs and a piece of toast.

  “Sticks,
” Grover says in a serious tone.

  “What?”

  “Don’t freak out, but a carbohydrate is sitting on your plate. Do you need me to kill it for you?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Zander’s eating a pig.”

  “I’m sick of oatmeal.” I steal a quick glance at Grover. He hasn’t taken his notebook out since I gave it back to him.

  “I’m sick.” We all look at Bek as he shovels a bagel in his mouth.

  “Duh, Baby Fat. You’re sick in the head.” Cassie rolls her eyes. “We’ve got more important things to discuss than food.”

  “Nothing is more important than food.” Grover gestures to his tray. “This is the doorway to everything.”

  “Sex is important.” Bek takes another bite.

  “I wonder what Maslow says about sex?” Grover says to Bek.

  “Who the fuck is Maslow and why does everyone keep talking about him?” Cassie pokes at her eggs.

  “He’s my dead uncle,” Bek says. “He kind of invented gravity.”

  Cassie fills her spoon and drops a small amount of eggs into her mouth. I don’t think she chews. “Back to the important things,” she says.

  Grover wags his finger at her. “Nothing is more important than food and sex.”

  “Is that all you think about?” I ask.

  “Yes,” both the boys say at the same time. It’s the only word Grover has spoken in my direction in days.

  Cassie leans in toward the center of the table and motions for us to huddle together. Grover’s leg brushes up against mine and our knees touch. I wonder what he’s thinking about at this exact moment. The odds would point to sex or food or both, but then he pulls away. And I’m disappointed again.

  “It’s Black Out Night,” Cassie says.

  “What does that mean?” I whisper.

  “It means it’s time,” she says.

  “Time for what?” I ask.

  “The duffel bag.”

  Grover smiles and Bek looks totally calm when Cassie says the words, but everything inside of me gets tight.

  “I’ll bring it down to the lake this afternoon and stash it in the back of the equipment shed behind the life jackets,” Cassie says.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “God, you ask a lot of questions, Z.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Just trust me,” Cassie barks.

  “Fine.” I cross my arms and sit back in my seat.

  “Cassie,” a voice rings across the mess hall. We all look up at the same time to find Kerry pointing at an empty chair next to him at the counselors’ table. “You have to sit with us.”

  Cassie doesn’t move. She doesn’t even look at Kerry. Slowly every eye in the room lands on her, but she just sits back in her seat, grabs a chunk of her hair, and starts braiding it so that it’s sticking straight up in the air.

  “So your uncle invented gravity?” she asks Bek. He nods.

  “Cassie,” Kerry says again.

  She grabs another section and braids. “I thought God invented gravity.”

  “My uncle is God,” Bek says. “I just don’t like to tell people because then they treat me differently.”

  “Why did your uncle God make you so fat?”

  “He died before he could tell me.” Bek pats his stomach.

  “Cassie,” Kerry yells one last time.

  She finally looks at him. The two braids resemble antennae. “What?”

  “Your seat.” Kerry points aggressively at the chair.

  “I’m busy talking to Bek about his uncle God. But thank you for the offer.”

  “I’m not offering. I’m telling you,” Kerry says.

  “And I’m telling you that I already have a seat.”

  “Cassie, please take this seat.”

  “God, Kerry, you sound kind of desperate for me to sit with you.”

  “Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” he says.

  “I think you mean Bek’s uncle’s name in vain. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t give a shit about me because he already knows I’m going to hell. What do you think, Bek?”

  “You’re probably going to hell,” Bek says.

  “See.”

  “Cassie. Sit down,” Kerry says through tight teeth.

  “Jesus Christ, Kerry, you’re pushy. I bet Uncle God doesn’t approve of that.”

  “Cassie!” He pulls out the chair. “Sit here.”

  Cassie rolls her eyes and gets up. She stretches her arms over her head and yawns. Her tank top rises so high the whole room can see her stomach and ribs. I can’t tell if she’s gained any weight, though it doesn’t look that way. But there are bite marks on her toast, and only half of the eggs are left on her tray.

  “Cassie!”

  “Okay. Okay. Jesus Christ.”

  “Cassie!”

  “Goddamn it, Kerry. Give me a second.”

  Cassie shoots the table a grin, and I push her tray toward her. She needs to finish her toast.

  “Don’t forget about tonight. You have to come,” she says. “Please.” Cassie makes her way over to the counselors’ table, her braids bobbing as she walks.

  When the bell rings for our first activity, Cassie’s tray still sits on our table, so I clean it up. A pit forms in my stomach when the toast goes into the garbage can. But there’s always tomorrow.

  “Are you staying for arts and crafts, Durga?” a voice says behind me.

  I turn to find Hayes with an armful of newspapers. He sets them down on a table.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “It’s okay not to know.” He goes to one of the cabinets along the wall and pulls out a bucket. “It’s hard for people to admit that they don’t know something. But the truth is that life isn’t about getting the right answers. It’s about asking the right questions.” He fills the bucket with water from the faucet.

  “I guess I’ll stay.” I shrug. Spending the morning with Hayes doesn’t sound so bad.

  He gets some flour from the kitchen and mixes it in the bucket of water.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Good question.” Hayes winks. “We’re doing papier-mâché today.”

  While Hayes makes a paste in the kitchen, I help him rip a stack of newspapers into strips. A few other campers join us. I recognize the younger kid who Cassie beat at tetherball our first day of camp. That day feels like a long time ago even though it wasn’t.

  When I pick up another section of the newspaper and start to rip it up, I notice the date on top of the page. It’s late July. Time moves fast here. Or feels fast. Or maybe I just feel time here.

  “What’s black and white and red all over?”

  I look up as Grover stands above me. “What?”

  “It’s a riddle. What’s black and white and red all over?” His eyes are hesitant.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “A newspaper.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Neither do I. I just heard my mom say it once.”

  “Oh.” I push my strips all together on the table, organizing the pile to distract myself from the awkwardness of the moment. I’m sick of it, and while I don’t want to go back to the way it was with Grover, I don’t want to stay here. “Hayes just told me life isn’t about answers, it’s about questions, so maybe it doesn’t matter if we get it,” I offer.

  “Maybe.” Grover wipes his hair out of his face. “Did you ask him about Maslow and sex?”

  I shake my head and look at Grover’s lips. He licks them and my stomach jumps. It only makes me more frustrated with him.

  “Have you noticed that sometimes Bek doesn’t speak English?” Grover asks. I force my eyes off of his lips and on to anything else. “I asked him what he was saying and he told me he has no idea. Apparently, he has a metal plate in his head that picks up frequencies from a French radio station.”

  “Why do you put up with him?” I ask.

  Grover licks his lips again. Damn it. “Why not?”

&
nbsp; “But you can’t believe a word he says.”

  “But I can’t miss the possibility either.”

  “The possibility of what?”

  “That one day he’ll tell the truth. I need to be there for that,” Grover says.

  “It’s worth waiting for,” I say and nod.

  “Exactly.”

  Grover and I hold each other’s gaze as we stand quiet. I watch him as he watches me. The air is thick with words unspoken, like I could swim through them.

  I just need the right question.

  “We all have a divine light within us,” Hayes says, breaking the moment, his hands in a prayer position at the center of his chest. “But it’s our job to seek that divine light and let it shine. To take what’s on the inside and show it on the outside. It is the only way to true enlightenment.”

  As an exercise to help us tap into our inner selves, Hayes tells us that we will be making papier-mâché masks of our own faces.

  “You can decorate the outside in any way that you want, but it must represent who you are on the inside.”

  “Can I be your partner?” Grover asks, when Hayes tells us to pair up. Grover’s eyes go back to being hesitant, but it feels like the right question.

  “Sure,” I say.

  Hayes demonstrates how to make papier-mâché. How to dip the newspaper strips in the paste. How to lay them over our partner’s face.

  “So it doesn’t stick, you’ll have to add a layer of Vaseline to your skin.”

  “I knew I’d love this craft,” Grover says out loud to the group.

  With our supplies gathered, Grover and I find a table and get started.

  “Do you want to go first?” Grover holds up a container of Vaseline. But for the first time since I met him, I decide to make a move. I don’t need to be tricked into it or forced into it. I jump in on my own accord. I grab the container from Grover.

  “You first.”

  I set out the supplies as Grover sits down in a chair and looks up at me. I think I hear his voice tremble when he says, “I trust you, Zander.” And he closes his eyes.

  I pop the top open and run my fingers through the gel that feels like thick water. I take a step closer to Grover and look down at the space between us. Our knees are almost touching. Almost. I move in closer so that they do—they touch. His chest rises as he pulls in a breath.