by Jen Calonita
Sleepaway Girls
Jen Calonita
To Briel Gradinger, Ashley McGetrick, Grace Barrett-Synder, my MySpace buddy Emily Kate, and to sleepaway girls everywhere who shared their stories
1 The Newbie
It was 8:45 AM and I was doing what I did best -- talking to myself.
"I'm going to start recording now," I announced to my mom as we zipped along the I-95 expressway on the way to camp. I cleared my throat and pressed record on my brand-spanking-new palmcorder. "Hi, Mal!" I greeted my best friend excitedly. "I know it's only been an hour..."
"Forty-five minutes," my mom interrupted, side-eying me.
"I know it's only been forty-five minutes since we said goodbye," I corrected myself, "but I wanted to send you your first of many messages. I know you're bummed about my decision, but I swear I'm going to send you as many videos as I can to keep you company, and you're going to be so busy with Mark you'll barely notice I'm gone."
"The allure of Malomark," Mom said with a smirk.
My jaw dropped. Mom had interrupted my first message by uttering the secret moniker I'd given Mal and Mark's relationship out loud. I fumbled for the pause button on the recorder, panicked. "Mom!" I complained. "Now I have to start over." I pressed the rewind button. "What if Mal heard you say that?"
"I can't help it." My mother laughed, gripping the steering wheel of our car tightly for support. "It's funny, Sam."
In past years, the day after school ended for the summer, I would sit on a faded pink plastic beach chair in Mal's backyard, slathered in SPF 30 while we read aloud the latest Britney Spears incident in US Weekly. But that was before Mal became Mal and Mark, Mark and Mal, or as I now secretly referred to them: Malomark. I got the idea because their names fit the description and definition of a Mallomar cookie: super sticky sweet, and if you eat too many you get sick to your stomach.
That's why I was worried about that upcoming summer. I knew how it would play out: Mal would beg me to hang out and I'd be Malomark's third wheel 24/7. The thought of being with them (I can imagine it now: "You're cuter, babe!" "No you are, baby!" Gross.) was more torturous than getting a wisdom tooth pulled. I made up my mind to make the first bold move I've ever made in my life: I signed up to be a camp counselor-in-training (CIT) at a sleepaway camp two hours away from home, Malomark, and any "baby" references. But now that the first day of camp was finally here and we were an hour away from Whispering Pines, part of me was so nervous that I wanted to jump from the moving car. The other half of me couldn't wait to get there. I looked over my outfit again. It took me weeks to settle on one I was happy with. I finally went with a red (my favorite color) cotton halter top, lightweight denim shorts that were fringed mid-thigh, and black flip-flops.
"I hope you'll consider going into advertising someday, Sam. 'Malomark' is such a clever name." Mom was still talking and had tucked a strand of her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear. I'd always been jealous of how Mom's hair hung perfectly straight while mine frizzed up five minutes after I flat-ironed it. "It shows real creative thinking. I think you were born to be in the business, just like me," she added, and then a devilish smile spread across her full lips. "You'll have no trouble getting a job. You're already a media sensation in the field."
I practically felt the light tan I'd been working on slide right off my face. "You promised to stop bringing that up," I begged weakly.
"I will," Mom protested. "But you should be proud of your accomplishment. Not everyone gets to star in a --"
"Mom," I warned, interrupting.
"Fine." She sighed and then the two of us lapsed into silence. I hated when Mom brought up my Dial and Dash moment, as we called it. I just prayed no one at camp figured it out and drove me crazy about it the way the kids at Carle Place High had been for months. I stared out the car window at the pine trees as they whizzed by.
"I think you're really going to enjoy yourself this summer," Mom said. "Alan was telling me all about Whispering Pines the other night and your camp sounds wonderful."
"Who's Alan?" I asked, confused.
My mother's face colored slightly. "Alan Hitchens is your camp director."
"I thought his name was Hitch." I stared at my mom curiously, but she was looking straight ahead with her long, manicured fingers placed firmly on the wheel.
"It is. I mean, you are supposed to call him that," Mom muttered. "He asked me to call him Alan since I'm a parent." She cleared her throat and made that weird gurgling sound she always made when she was nervous. Thank God I didn't inherit that habit.
"Anyway, he seems very nice," Mom said quickly. "I've talked to him a few times -- just about signing paperwork -- and he told me he's been running this camp since his thirties. His wife ran it with him until she passed away from cancer a few years back. Now it's just him and his daughters Alexis and Ashley. Ashley is the same age as you."
"Uh-huh," I said blandly, but inside I was sort of shocked. My mom had a thing for my camp director! Too bad camp was so far from our home on Long Island; otherwise I would have rooted for Mom to snag a boyfriend. She hadn't met anyone she liked since my dad left a few years ago. I hoped this camp director crush worked out for her, but if it did there was no way I was moving to the boonies. I'd been a suburbanite New Yorker since I was born and that was not about to change now.
"So you like your present?" Mom changed the subject quickly. "Al -- Hitch -- said you can't have electronics, but I'm sure he means cell phones." Mom winked at me. "Besides, if you hide this at the bottom of your trunk, no one will find it."
I was not going to let this camera out of my sight. It was much better than the clunky five-pounder I had been using to record my video diary. (I had been taping my woes since the seventh grade. I wanted my future children to understand the hardships faced by teens in the new millennium. Sure, we had iPods and things like The Hills. But we also had to deal with global warming and killer hurricanes.) "I love it," I gushed.
"I expect you to send me a few video postcards -- that is, if you have time after doing all the ones you promised your friends," Mom said wryly.
"I didn't promise that many," I said.
Mom looked at me skeptically. "You promised at least four people I know of, plus Mal, video postcards. How you're going to have time to sleep or shower I have no idea."
"I'll have plenty of time," I insisted stubbornly.
"I keep telling you, Sam, until you learn how to say no to people, you're never going to get the things you truly want out of life and -- oh no."
Thankfully our car came to a screeching halt, distracting Mom from her well-worn Sam lecture. I looked out the front window. There were red brake lights as far as the eye could see. Mom frowned. "Must be an accident." She turned on the radio and scanned the dial for traffic news.
I looked nervously at the clock on the dashboard. It was 8:58 AM. I was supposed to be at orientation at ten. Being the new girl was nerve-racking enough. Being the new girl who was late was ten times worse.
Mom read my thoughts. "I'm sure we'll be past this jam in a few minutes." She didn't look sure about that and neither was I as I heard a siren wail in the distance.
I pressed record on the palmcorder again as my stomach started to do flip-flops. "Mal, I think my first message will have to wait."
Two hours later, Mom and I were practically running to the mess hall, which according to the map was right down this super-green, grassy hill. My heart was in my throat as I raced up the wood building's well-worn wood steps and pulled open the double doors. The large, open room had high ceilings with wood beams that held up rows and rows of camp banners. THE GREEN MACHINE -- 2003 COLOR WAR VICTORS! announced one. WELCOME (BACK) TO THE PINES! declared a large red one. And across the back wall was a glass cabinet
full of trophies. The only thing missing were the people. Mom and I were standing in front of rows of empty picnic tables covered with folders and papers and discarded jackets. "They're not here." I freaked out. I was actually yelling. One of my biggest pet peeves was being late.
"Samantha Montgomery?" I heard someone bellow, and I turned around.
"Yes?" I said uncertainly.
A tall man wearing camouflage fatigues and holding a megaphone was walking toward us. He had white hair, was tan like it was the middle of August instead of late June, and his teeth were an eerie shade of white. The man bounded up the steps and shook my hand vigorously. "Alan Hitchens, but you can call me Hitch."
"Hi, Hitch," I shook his hand lightly and smiled nervously. "I'm really sorry we're late. There was an accident on the expressway and..." I stopped talking.
Hitch had dropped my hand and was looking at my mother. "Pamela, it's so nice to finally meet you," he said with a large smile.
My mom made that weird gurgling sound again. "It's nice to meet you too, Alan," Mom gushed, smoothing her fitted, white button-down shirt self-consciously. "I'm sorry Sam is late." Now that we were out of the car and I could get a good look at Mom, I realized she had dressed up for this meeting. Gone were her usual working or weekend attire (suits or sweats and oversized tees, respectively) and in their place she had on tailored khaki capris and Coach ballet flats that didn't mask her height (5' 9½"), but did look nice. She was wearing makeup on her pale face and her brown hair, so similar to my own in all but texture, was its usual straight self.
"A few counselors are late and I suspect they're all in the same position," Hitch said and turned to me. "Sam, why don't you say goodbye to your mom, and I'll help her unload your bags so you can head down to the field and join the game. Ask for Alexis. She's my eldest daughter."
"Game?" I had only been here five minutes and I was already confused.
Hitch looked from me to my mother. "I find the best way to figure out which CITs belong with which counselors is to get them involved in teamwork. There's time to go over rules and paperwork during grub or campfires. Today they're playing dodgeball."
"Dodgeball?" I asked. I hadn't played dodgeball since the sixth grade and I wasn't good at it back then. I had a hard time playing any game that involved flying balls, which ruled out most gym activities and really aggravated my gym teacher, Mrs. Pepper.
"That's a wonderful idea," my mom gushed. Now that I'd met Hitch, I wasn't so sure he was my mother's type. Where he was all outdoorsy and tanned like a camp director should be, Mom's skin was milky white from too many hours at the office. The last time she did something outside, it was directing the guys from Crate and Barrel on how to unload her new dresser from the truck. Mom gave me a hug. "Well, this is it," she said, sounding choked up. "Have a great time and I'll talk to you in a few days, before I leave on my business trip."
"Thanks, Mom," I said, feeling awkward in front of Hitch. As I walked away, I could still hear Mom laughing at something Hitch said, but suddenly I felt very alone.
What was I thinking, going to camp? I had no idea what camp life was like, and I certainly had never flown solo before. I didn't know anyone on that dodgeball field. I didn't have a best friend to stand next to or even a semi-good friend I could chat with about stupid stuff. I was the newbie, and being the newbie was awkward.
Baby steps, I thought to myself. Just take baby steps. I breathed in the pine scent of the evergreens that lined the dusty dirt path that was spraying dirt all over my feet. One step. Two. Three...
I could do this.
When I got to the bottom of the hill, I could see the game had already started on a slightly muddy field that was boxed in by white spray-painted lines. Just a few yards away were the tennis courts and another field that had bags of athletic equipment waiting on it. There was an overwhelming scent of manure and I realized that to my left were the horse stables. I stood there, taking the scene in, and tried not to pass out from nerves.
That's when I saw him.
He was running across the field -- shirtless, I might add -- and he leapt in front of me and caught the dodgeball seemingly in slow motion. This guy was like an Abercrombie ad come to life. He was tall, but not so tall that I'd have to stand on my tiptoes to reach his lips. He had longish, dirty blond hair that would make Zac Efron's look lame, killer tanned abs that looked like they'd been airbrushed in, and eyes as green as my jade bedroom comforter.
"Hunter!" A pretty girl screamed as the guy threw the ball and it whisked by her face. "You almost hit me," she whined.
His name was Hunter. Hunter and Sam "LastNameUnknown." It had a nice ring to it.
"Sorry Ash," he said, out of breath. "It's a game. You've got to move or be moved."
At that moment Mr. Ab-solutely perfect, aka Hunter "LastNameUnknown," looked up and saw me. "Water break!" he announced, not taking his eyes off mine, which were blinking rapidly. "Hey," he said and smiled this absolutely perfect smile.
I looked around. Yep, I was the only one in this direction. My future husband was talking to me. ME! If I wasn't nervous enough before, I was ready to freak out now. My experience with guys was limited, but when they were that cute, I could barely function.
"You're the new CIT, right?" he asked.
"The new," I repeated dumbly. "You mean I'm the only new one you have?" The thought was terrifying. That meant everyone already knew everyone. I was the only new girl my age. The only one? How could that be? My lack of camp experience was going to stick out like a sore thumb.
He laughed. Not in a mean way, just loud and deep. "As far as I can tell," Hunter said. "What's your name?" he asked me as I tried my hardest not to drool over his sweaty torso. "You look familiar," he added.
Uh-oh. I knew that look. I really hoped to avoid this, but I guess that was asking the impossible. The Dial and Dash commercial was so popular it had aired on the Super Bowl twice and been dissected on everything from CNN to the pages of US Weekly. People at the Pines were bound to have seen it.
"My name is Sam." I couldn't take my gaze off his eyes. Up close I could see they were green with flecks of gold in them.
"Hunter," he said, revealing a mouth full of perfectly straight, white teeth. Any sense of recognition he had a moment ago seemed to vanish, thank goodness. "Join us for dodgeball," he suggested. "We're short on my side so I guess you're with me. You can stand over there." He pointed to a line of girls who were staring at me curiously.
In a daze, I walked over to my designated spot, trying hard not to slip in the mud that came from the week's worth of rain we had just had in the tri-state area. I smiled awkwardly at the girl next to me. She had red hair and glasses and was wearing a Hello Kitty t-shirt. I looked at her feet. She was smart enough to wear sneakers.
"He's hot, right?" she whispered and took a puff of what looked like an inhaler.
It didn't take a genius to know who she was talking about. "Yes." I sighed. "I'm Sam," I said shyly.
She smiled, revealing her braces. "Emily Kate. But you can call me Em. You're the new CIT, right?"
I guess it was true then. I really was the only new girl. "That's me," I said, trying to sound at ease.
Em nodded. "At the opening breakfast this morning they said there was one new CIT. Everyone else in the program graduated from campers. I'm a CIT too." Em stopped talking and stared at me curiously. "I'm sorry. It's just... have we met before?"
Stupid Dial and Dash moment. I couldn't escape it! "Do you live on Long Island?" I asked. I put a hand over my forehead to pretend to block the sun when I was really trying to cover up my face.
I heard a loud laugh and turned around. The pretty, whiny blond girl from earlier was flirting with my Hunter. Okay, maybe he wasn't mine yet, but a girl could hope! I watched as she touched his chest and pretended to push him. "That's Ashley," Emily told me. "She's a CIT too."
"Are they dating?" I had to ask.
"No." Em shook her head. "Hunter is a counselor. CITs can't date couns
elors. It's against the rules. Not that Ashley hasn't broken them before." Em grinned. "Ashley usually gets whatever guy she wants. They worship her."
It was easy to see why. Ashley looked like she belonged on America's Next Top Model. She had perfectly straight, non-frizzy blond hair, bronzed skin, and gray eyes. She was also super-skinny. She'd have to be to pull off that baby blue ribbed tank top she was wearing. I repressed the urge to hate her on sight. There was something very familiar about her. I felt like I'd seen her running across a field, or swimming laps in a lake. But how? "I feel like I know her or something," I said as several people started to take the field again. Water break must have been almost over.
"You probably saw her on the camp video," Em offered. "Ashley is the camp model. She's on the cover of the camp brochure, in the commercials, the camp video, all over the merchandise catalog. She's pretty much the Pines spokesgirl." I followed Em onto the field and waited anxiously for the game to start up again. I just hoped I didn't embarrass myself.
So that explained it! She's the one who told me and Mom -- on video of course -- that the Pines had world-class camping facilities and a list of activities to choose from that any camper would dream of. Before I could ask Em anything else, Ashley and a few other girls took places next to us and started talking.
"How was your year, Ash?" someone asked.
"Busy," Ashley said, with a flip of her blond hair. "I had to shoot a whole new line of stuff for camp, on top of the cheerleading calendar I agreed to do at school. My coach saw the Pines stuff and thought my face would so sell a charity calendar."
"Wow," a few girls said breathlessly.
"I met with some modeling agencies in New York too," Ashley added as she examined her bright pink nails.
"Did you sign with one?" another girl asked.
"Not yet," Ashley said quickly. "I'm still trying to decide who I like best. They all seem to want me, you know?" Ashley thumbed the girl next to her's blue shirt. "Cute tee, Candace!"
"Thanks," the girl said shyly. "You really like it?"
