“I don’t mean that way.”
I look at him, this gorgeous person I’ve spent the last six weeks agonizing about, and I think that all I have to do is say the right word and I’ve got him.
“No,” I say. “I’m sorry but I just can’t.” That’s really the right word.
“I’m sorry, too,” he says. “What about letters?”
“What about them?”
“Will you answer if I write?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, much too fast for any real thinking.
“I’ll take my chances,” he says, and one look at him and I think I’m starting all over again.
But I’m not going to. “Gotta run,” I say, and without looking back, walk—very fast—toward the main office.
I’m practically crying. I feel terrible, but I think I did do the right thing. Damn! It’s very hard to do right things.
Sixteen
My head is jammed with so many problems that voluntary mail sorting takes me half the afternoon. By the time I’m ready to deliver the letters, everyone else is finished.
I go through my rounds in a daze. The only thing that wakes me up is Henry’s bunk. It’s incredible to see what’s happened since the flag business of Color War. The new Henry never stops smiling. Unreal.
“Hi, Victoria!” he says, giving me a running leap hug outside his bunk. He’s got two little bunk mates in tow. I get hugs from them too. From here on in anything Henry does must be right. And best of all, Steven got his. He’s absolutely out. Henry is the new big shot. I love it.
Except there’s no end to the dog story. I must have told it four hundred times already and they still bug me to tell it again. Actually I love to because it’s so great to see how Henry glows.
They drag me over to the porch steps, and with Henry propped on my lap, I do the whole thing for the four hundred and first time.
“Come on, kids,” I say, trying to pick them off me, “I got to move it. I’m really late.”
“How did Henry know to lift his leg?” Peter, one of his little converts, wants to know.
Of course, I’ve answered this same question before, still they ask like it’s brand new. “Because he was doing dog thinking. Show them, Henry.”
And in a flash he turns back into Sport, and with the other two following every step, he runs off from tree to tree. It’s really a gas.
The JC is watching. He doesn’t look like he thinks it’s so adorable.
“Don’t you think it’s terrific what happened to Henry?” I ask him.
“Sure, for Henry it’s great.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Look at them,” he says, pointing to the three kids racing around on all fours. “It’s like running a kennel. And the constant barking …”
“Still, it’s worth it. He’s completely cured.”
“Are you kidding? It’s worse than before.”
“You mean he still wets his bed?”
“Every night. But now because he’s the big trendsetter, the other two do too. It’s like sleeping in a rain forest. Thanks a million.”
I shrug my shoulders, tell him I’m sorry, and beat it out of there. I still think it’s totally awesome, and absolutely the best thing to come out of an otherwise horrendous summer.
And speaking of horrendous summers, I have to do something about Dena Joyce. I have an idea. It’s really desperate and maybe it’s stupid and certainly it’s mean, but nobody deserves it more. I got it from what Robbie said about finding a soft spot. I think I’ve found one. I’m not sure I can pull it off, but I’ve got to try. Otherwise she’s going to tell Steffi everything, I just know it.
And I really don’t want Steffi to know about what happened with Robbie. It’s terrible enough that he’s going to break off with her. If she knew about me it would be the total end of our friendship forever. I just couldn’t face that. I really couldn’t.
Two seconds after I come into the bunk she’s on me—Dena Joyce, that is.
“Honey”—that’s the name she uses when she’s about to chop off my head—“I think I’ll keep your leather jacket for another day, okay?”
“No.”
“Huh?”
“I said no.”
“Are you sure?” I love to watch her face. She’s shocked, but she’s cagey; she smells a rat.
“Absolutely.”
For a second she looks very surprised, then she begins to freeze up. “Are you sure? That could be a big mistake, you know.” Now she’s solid ice. I’m almost sorry I started—she’s really scary—but I have to do it.
“Positive,” I say.
“Okay.” Ice smiles, throws my jacket on the floor, and turns to Liza, who’s on her way out the door. “Did you see Steffi?”
“Yes,” Liza says. “She had to meet Robbie about an hour ago. She should be back soon.”
“Thank you,” D. J. says, looking directly at me. “I’ll wait here for her.”
“Sure thing,” Liza says, and goes out the door leaving me alone with Miss Dracula.
“Want to change your mind?” She gives me one last chance.
Now I’ve rehearsed this scene in my mind a million times since I thought it up this afternoon. In my head, this is the way it goes. It’s the same so far, except now I tell her that I’m not about to change my mind, and, in fact, I was thinking I might like to wear her silk shirt—for the rest of the summer. Of course, she looks at me like I’m nuts, but she’s getting a little worried. She knows I’ve got something up my sleeve, but she doesn’t know what. And I play it out. I let her try to guess. I sort of tease her very subtly. I’m really in control and she’s beginning to feel it. She begins to get nervous because I’m so cool. Finally she knuckles under. She can just feel my power and I never have to tell her what I know. I really defeat Dena Joyce, probably the first time in history. That’s the way it goes in my head. In real life it’s a little different.
She’s standing there with her hands on her perfect hips and an annoyed look smeared across her face. It’s horrendous to confront Dena Joyce. All my plans fall into the toilet and all I can say is something on about Henry’s level. “If you tell Steffi about me and Robbie, I’ll tell the whole world you suck your thumb.”
“Right,” she says without missing a beat, and, cool as can be, picks up my jacket off the floor, carefully places it on the end of my bed, flashes me a Dr. Davis—type smile, turns and leaves the bunk. Totally awesome. Her losing is like anyone else’s winning. It’s so brilliant that I find myself wanting to run after her and apologize—with my jacket. I would make America’s worst blackmailer.
But I did stop her. I stopped Dena Joyce. Probably the bravest most fantastic thing I ever did. Only trouble is nobody will ever know.
The minute D. J. walks out the door, Steffi comes in. She looks sick. Her face is dead-white except for her eyes—they’re all red and swollen. Of course she’s been crying.
“Steffi …” I don’t know what to do. I have to pretend I don’t know. God, I hate these lies between us.
She sits down on the edge of my bed and begins to sob. It’s horrible. Heartbreaking.
“What happened?” I have to ask.
Between tears she tells me everything I already know about Robbie and the break-up, and besides feeling awful I have to pretend to be shocked. I ask her as few questions as possible and just try to comfort her. She knows I feel terrible because I’m crying too.
“I don’t know what happened,” she says. “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t expect this.”
I just keep listening.
She goes on about how terrible she feels and I can see she’s really crushed. Then she gets kind of angry. “You know what I really think, Torrie?”
Suddenly I get a very bad feeling that I do know what she really thinks.
“… I think it’s someone else.”
“No,” I say. Then I say no again because I just don’t know what else to say.
But she’s convince
d. “It’s true, Torrie. It’s definitely someone else, and I think I know who. What about you?”
My stomach falls about eighteen floors. “No, no, no,” I say.
“You don’t know who it is or what?”
I can’t even get the little word “no” out of my mouth. All I can do is shake my head—and hope it falls off.
“It’s Alexandra,” she announces.
“Who?”
“What do you mean, ‘who’? Alexandra my supposed friend right here in my own bunk. What do you think of that?”
“It’s not true,” I say, and it comes out somewhere between it’s not true, meaning it can’t be, and it’s not true, meaning it isn’t.
She takes it to mean it can’t be and says that it is. “It has to be her.”
“It isn’t.”
But she pays no attention to me. “Boy,” she goes on, “she really has to be an ass; I mean it. Sure, we’re not best friends, but we’ve been pretty close all this summer. I can’t believe she would do such a thing.”
“She didn’t.”
Now she hears me. “Well, who else could it be? He hates D. J. He practically never said a word to Liza, and he can’t tell the twins apart either. There’s nobody else possible.”
Here it is. I’ve got my choice. D. J. would never tell so I don’t have to be worried about that. Certainly Robbie wouldn’t. I’m safe there. Nobody’s on my case. We don’t even have a week left to camp, and then Alexandra’s off to Connecticut and we’ll probably never see her again. Nobody ever has to know the truth. Steffi and I can still be best friends.
I can’t do it.
I’ll probably regret it forever, but I have to tell her. No matter what. So I do. “You forgot someone,” I say.
She’s really confused. “Who?”
“Me.”
I never saw anyone’s face crash down like Steffi’s does when that sinks in. First she looks at me like I’m kidding, then I’m crazy, and then, worst of all, like I’m some kind of monster—which, of course, I am.
After that there’s nothing more to say. I can’t even explain anything because she stops crying, gets right up and walks out.
She hasn’t said a word to me since. This has to be the most horrendous, horrible, gross summer of my life.
Seventeen
That all happened ten terrible days ago. Even though Steffi didn’t say anything to anyone, everyone seems to know. I guess it wasn’t hard to figure out, what with Robbie and Steffi breaking up and her not talking to me. Gossip is flying around like crazy.
One thing for sure, D. J. hasn’t said a word. She’s making wide circles around me. I really got her number. Too bad I can’t think of any way to use it. Truth is I don’t want to. At least I can say I’m not a blackmailer. I feel like I’m everything else horrible. I don’t blame Steffi in the slightest.
I really miss her.
But she doesn’t seem to miss me at all. She spends most of her time hanging out with Alexandra and Ken Irving.
I know the Ken Irving thing has got to be pure rebound. Steffi’s not about to jump into another intense relationship so quickly after the Robbie disaster; still, they do look great together. He looks at her the way I used to look at Robbie. Which I don’t anymore. Not to say I’m cured, because I’m not by a long shot. I’m still horrendously miserable, but it’s different now. Before I used to think about Robbie all the time, now I can’t get Steffi out of my mind.
I know all about wanting what you can’t have and all that, and maybe it was a little like that with Robbie, but not with Steffi. She was my best friend for ten years and now she hates me: that really hurts. Every time I think about it I get sick to my stomach. It’s gross.
And the thought of Robbie liking me doesn’t help all that much, even if he is going to write to me, which is not absolutely certain anyway. Besides, if he really does write, then I have the awful problem of whether or not to answer him.
It’s like I never learn. Here I am agonizing about Steffi and starting all over again about Robbie. It’s cuckoo time, that’s what, and I’m head cuckoo.
On top of all that I keep wondering how Steffi really feels inside. She’s certainly putting on a good show. She’s even got friendly with one of the twins. Suddenly she can tell them apart. I think she’s pretending, but whatever, she seems to be recovering pretty good. Better than me. Yesterday I even saw her talking to Robbie.
I spoke to him one last time yesterday. He’s still pushing for us to get together. No way. I still think Robbie Wagner is terrific, really, but maybe he’s not as special as Steffi made him up to be. Maybe nobody can be that perfect. I’ll bet she doesn’t think he’s all that great anymore, either.
It’s not that Robbie and I don’t speak, it’s just that I keep out of his way. No big deal about it, it’s just easier that way.
Ending camp is a pretty emotional time. Even for me, and I can’t wait to leave. Madame Katzoff and Dr. Davis get up to give their farewell speeches (actually Dr. Davis just nods) but Madame Katzoff wishes everyone a good winter and to come back next year. The whole camp sings the “Hats Off” song and there’s a lot of cheering and applauding. I’m beginning to think they weren’t so bad after all until they start reading off our accumulated fines for the season.
Out of the $260 salary I walk away with a big $180. A real bomb summer.
Except for one nice thing—Henry. I go over to say good-bye to him. He’s just doing so great I feel really proud about how he’s changed. That’s the best thing that happened this whole summer.
There’s lots of hugging and kissing and promises to visit in the winter. He really is a special little boy.
I watch him walk off toward the buses, one arm around his new friend’s shoulder and the other dragging his plastic bag with the wet sheets. He’s a changed kid—well, almost.
I go back to my bunk and nobody’s there. I guess everybody’s off saying good-byes. That’s okay, I’ve been keeping mostly to myself lately anyway. I had so much time I answered all my mail for the whole summer, only it’s too late I might as well take them home with me.
I’m just packing the last of my stuff when Nina comes in. Just what I need.
“What do you want?” I ask her. Might as well get it over with as fast as possible.
“Nothing,” she says, and sits down at the end of my bed.
“So?” I try again.
She just shrugs her shoulders.
“So what are you doing here?”
No answer.
“Okay, what do you want to borrow?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Nina? What’s up? I got things to do.”
She turns bright pink and gets up off the bed. “I just wanted to say that …” She starts inching her way toward the door “… that …”
“That what?”
“That I really love you and I’m glad you’re my sister.” All in one breath and she’s out the door and gone.
Weird.
But I guess sort of nice. At least somebody still loves me, even if it is only my sister.
When I go over it in my head later, it makes me feel pretty good. I never think of Nina as a real person, but I guess maybe she’s starting to be one.
Real nice.
Everyone knew I was in a funk, but she’s the only one who actually tried to help me. It took guts, too, because I’m not always so terrific to her. Especially when I’m not feeling fantastic anyway. I guess there may be something to say for family. Maybe it’s not so bad to have her around—sometimes.
Just when I’m packing the last of my things I find my blue vest. I’ve never been so crazy about it, and I hardly ever wear it, so instead of me lugging it home, I drop it off at Nina’s bunk. She’s not there so I dump it on her bed and leave.
Walking back I get a warm good feeling inside when I think of how surprised, more like stunned, she’ll be when she sees it. Warm and good enough to make me smile for the first time in a lot of days.
Ei
ghteen
Now’s the time I’m really dreading—getting on the bus. I feel like nobody’s going to want to sit next to me. I don’t blame them. It’s like I’m a little girl again and I’m the last one chosen for some team thing. It’s almost tears time.
This is sort of what happens. I get on the bus, go all the way to the back, and find a seat near the window. People start getting on and taking seats. Everybody seems to have someone to sit with. Everybody but me.
I look out of the window and see Steffi, late as usual, walking to the bus with Ken. They’re talking and laughing, having a great time. I feel awful. Not because they’re happy, but because I feel so sad about Steffi. We’ve been best friends for so many years, we shared so many secrets, so much of everything, and now it’s over. It’s one of the saddest days of my life.
I watch her climbing on the bus. I keep my head down. I can’t even look up to see her coming down the aisle. I can’t because I don’t want her to see me crying.
I’m studying the toes of my Nikes and wishing the bus would get started. It’s really gross to be sixteen and be catching tears with your tongue, but if I wipe them with my hand everyone will know what’s happening.
“You want company or what?”
Or what. The two best words in the English language. I don’t even have to look up to know that fabulous voice.
“Absolutely.” I nod my head and give Steffi one very wet smile. Then I wipe my face with the back of my sleeve, which is really gross, but things like that don’t count with best friends.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Francine Pascal is the creator of the phenomenally successful Sweet Valley series: Sweet Valley Kids, Sweet Valley Twins, Sweet Valley High, and Sweet Valley University. First launched in October 1983, the series now sells in twenty-two countries and has been translated into fifteen languages. Francine has also written for adults, including fiction, nonfiction for magazines, and TV scripts.
Francine has three grown-up daughters and several grandchildren. She draws much of the inspiration for her books through her own experiences and memories of growing up in New York. She says, “I was a very optimistic teenager and my conflicts were the stuff of everyday teenage trauma: loyalty, friendship, sacrifice, honor, truth, and love.”
Love & Betrayal & Hold the Mayo Page 16
