Strawberry Summer

by Cynthia Blair

  “I think painting sets would be more my speed,” Susan chuckled. She stood up so she could be heard. “Actually, I have an idea for the show that might be a little bit different from what I understand has been done in other years.”

  “We’re open to all kinds of suggestions.”

  Susan took a deep breath, “Well, how about a variety show? That way, we’ll all have the chance to do what we do best—no matter what that might be. Singing, dancing, even reciting a poem. Everybody can be in it.”

  In response to her suggestion, the counselors began chattering away again. Linda held up her hands for silence.

  “You’re right, Susan. I don’t think that’s been done before. At least not that I know of.”

  “That’s true; it hasn’t been done before,” boomed a voice from the doorway at the back of the dining hall. Everyone turned to see Alan Reed striding in. “I hope you don’t mind me crashing your meeting like this, but, well, the truth is, I was curious. I’ve been watching the counselors’ shows ever since I was a little kid, and I have yet to see how one of them comes about.”

  “You’re welcome to join us,” said Linda. “And it sounds like you’ve got some helpful background information that could help us out.”

  “Well, as I say, we’ve never had a variety show before. That’s my official report, as a relative of the camp’s owners.” Alan grinned. “If you’d like an unofficial report on my opinion, as an objective observer, I think it’s a great idea!”

  “Let’s take a vote,” Sam suggested.

  “All right. We can decide to have a variety show right now, or we can continue to discuss all the possibilities. All in favor of going ahead with a variety show, raise your hands ...”

  It was unanimous; everyone thought the variety show was an excellent idea.

  “I had no idea you had a flair for the theater!” whispered Richard, giving Susan’s hand a squeeze.

  “Good work, Sooz!” her twin said a second later.

  “But now I have to come up with an idea for an act!” Susan moaned. “I think I outsmarted myself!”

  An hour or so later, after-the meeting was over, she was still agonizing over what kind of act she could put together-—and in just a few days. As Richard walked the twins back to their cabin, the three of them were trying to think of something unusual that they could do in the show.

  “I can’t sing, I can’t dance, and I don’t know a single poem!” Chris wailed. “Susan Pratt, what have you gotten us into?”

  “Well, I’m no better off,” countered her sister. “Unless I ask for volunteers from the audience and sketch their portraits, right on the spot.”

  Chris groaned. “An impressive ability, my dear twin. But hardly the stuff that opening nights are made of.”

  “I have an idea,” said Richard. “It’s an act that all three of us could do together. It would require some planning, of course, and a lot of practice. But none of us would have to sing or dance or any of that stuff. And, I might add, it could well turn out to be the hit of the show.”

  “It sounds perfect!” Chris exclaimed. “I’m willing to agree to it, here and now, without knowing anything more than what you just told us!”

  As usual, her sister was more cautious. “I don’t know. It sounds almost too good to be true. What’s the trick?”

  “The trick, my dear, is originality. That, coupled with the fact that I happen to have the good fortune to be teamed up with a pair of identical twins.”

  “Oooh, I think I’m beginning to like this idea even more.” Chris’s brown eyes twinkled mischievously. “Fooling people about which one of us is which happens to be one of my favorite hobbies. Not to mention one of our specialties.”

  “Here’s the idea: we’ll do a magic act.”

  “A magic act! How clever!” cried Susan.

  “I’ll be the magician, and we’ll pretend that one of you—only one of you—is my assistant. In fact,” Richard went on thoughtfully, “we could even start a rumor that the other twin is in the infirmary. That would really help our act!”

  “But I don’t understand,” Chris said impatiently. “What’s the gimmick?”

  “The gimmick is that you’d both be part of the act. In the magic tricks we did we’d take advantage of the fact that you two look the same.”

  Susan looked puzzled. “I’m afraid I still don’t get it.”

  “Well, for example, I could have my ‘assistant’ climb into a big box, right on stage, in clear view of everybody. I’d wave my magic wand over the box, claiming I was going to make her disappear. The box would have a false bottom, of course, and whoever was inside would simply climb underneath, out of sight. When I opened the box, it would be empty.

  “But that’s only the first part of the trick. A few seconds later, the other twin, dressed the same as my assistant, would appear from the side of the stage! The kids will be flabbergasted!”

  “And they’ll never figure out how we did it, either!” Susan was growing excited. “Especially if they think one of us is stashed away in the infirmary!”

  “Oh, let’s do it!” cried Chris. “I think it’s a fantastic idea!”

  “Okay. I’m glad you two are so enthusiastic. Now we have to put our heads together and come up with some more magic acts that use your identical appearances.”

  “And plan the props we’ll need ... and build them ...”

  “And come up with some kind of costumes.”

  “But I love the idea!” said Susan. “And I think you were right, Richard. Our act is going to be the hit of the show!”

  For the next few days, Chris and Susan and Richard spent every spare moment working on their act. They dyed an old sheet black and sewed on big gold stars to create a magician’s cape. Chris and Susan put together identical outfits for the “assistants” to wear—red shorts and white T-shirts, printed in red with the Camp Pine wood insignia. And the three of them, working together, thought up half a dozen magic tricks. Some were simple, using a white stuffed rabbit they borrowed from one of the campers and a bouquet of paper flowers that Susan made from the colored crepe paper she found in the art supply closet. But some used the twins’ identical appearances—like the very first one that Richard had come up with, the one that had convinced them to go ahead with his idea.

  The campers, aware that all the counselors were busy planning for the counselors’ show, were also getting excited. As the number of days until the big event got smaller and smaller, the entire camp began to buzz with anticipation.

  As always, Jake Reed and his son were prepared to do everything they could to make the evening memorable. They built the stage behind the dining hall—little more than a simple platform, really, with two panels blocking off the backstage area. But the counselors decorated it with crepe paper streamers, balloons, and more of Susan’s handmade flowers. And under Susan’s direction they painted an elaborate backdrop, a colorful conglomeration of bold colors and shapes. A few of the counselors even fashioned a simple curtain out of sheets. Everyone agreed that this year’s stage was the best one the camp had ever had.

  Aside from the stage, Jake arranged to rent dozens of wooden folding chairs for the audience to sit in. This, too, was part of Camp Pinewood’s tradition. This one night was designed to be extra special, and no effort was spared.

  Finally, it was Friday, the day of the counselors’ show. The stage had been completed, the chairs had been delivered and stored until evening in one of the sheds on the edge of the camp grounds, and the last finishing touches had been put on the different acts. It was a beautiful day, sunny but cool, and the weather report promised that the delightful weather would hold up through the evening. Everything seemed to be proceeding smoothly.

  That evening’s performance was the only thing that anyone talked about all day. Susan even had difficulty maintaining order during her arts and crafts sessions. The kids were unusually restless, keyed up over the upcoming event. They weren’t interested in paints or clay or pipe cleaner
s. All they wanted to do was talk about the show.

  “I haven’t even looked at the stage yet,” declared Lucy Kramer. “I know everyone else has, but I want to be surprised.”

  “Not me,” chimed in Maggie, one of her friends. “I’ve been watching every step. I’m even bringing my camera tonight. I want to take pictures of the stage, and the chairs all set up ... just like a real theater!”

  “Except that it’s outside,” Lucy said proudly. “I bet there’s no other theater in the world like ours!”

  “I’m glad you’re all looking forward to tonight,” said Susan. “Now, how about if we get out some crayons, and draw? ...”

  “But I don’t want to draw!” Lucy pouted. “Nobody else does, either. Can’t we talk about the show? Tell us about it, Susan. You know all about it, since you’re in it, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am. All the counselors are in the show.” Craftily, she added, “Except for my twin sister, Chris. You all know Chris, don’t you? The swimming instructor?”

  “How come she’s not in it?” asked Maggie.

  “Because she’s sick. In fact, she’s in the infirmary right now. Poor Chris won’t even be able to watch the show, much less be in it.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Maggie.

  “Yes, it is.” Susan smiled to herself.

  There, she had done it. She had started the rumor that Chris was in the infirmary, tucked out of the way.

  Suddenly she came up with a brainstorm. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. How about if today, instead of painting or drawing, everyone makes a costume to wear to the counselors’ show? We have fabric, and crepe paper, and ribbons: ... And I can teach you how to make paper flowers and hats and funny jewelry. How about it?”

  Susan wasn’t at all surprised by the cry of glee that rose up from the group.

  * * * *

  Two hours before the show was scheduled to begin, Alan Reed drove the pickup truck out to the storage shed. He’d wanted to bring the chairs over to the stage earlier, to make sure he had time to get them all set up. But he’d been so busy all day that this was the first chance he’d gotten. Now he was really going to have to hurry if he wanted to finish on time.

  Like everyone else, he was looking forward to seeing the counselors’ show. It was too bad about Chris ... but he would report to her every single detail he could remember, right after it was over. Ordinarily, visiting hours at the infirmary didn’t extend so late, but tonight was a special occasion.

  He had a feeling that for once, the nurse over there would make an exception.

  Alan was whistling as he opened up the door of the shed. He hadn’t noticed before how worn the wooden bolt was. He made a mental note to put on a new one the very first thing in the morning. Why, this one was barely keeping the door closed, much less discouraging anyone from sneaking in and rummaging around.

  “Well, this is going to be one big job,” he muttered, going inside. The mere thought of lugging dozens of heavy wooden folding chairs out onto the pickup and hoisting them up on back made him tired.

  But as he walked into the dark shed, his stomach suddenly sank.

  All the chairs were gone.

  Chapter Eight

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Camp Pinewood campers—and anyone else who might be out there. Welcome to the counselors’ variety show!”

  At last, it was time for the long-awaited spectacle to begin.

  Samantha Collier, the mistress of ceremonies, had just stepped onto the stage, dressed in an “evening gown” fashioned from spangles and glitter and fabric found in the arts and crafts building’s magical storage closet. Her blond hair was festooned with ribbons, and her makeup was exaggerated: red lips, pink cheeks, huge black eyelashes painted on above her eyes.

  The stage looked magnificent, with its garlands of paper flowers and other decorations. The set that Susan had designed was in place; the lighting was ready; costumes and makeup had been donned. The performers stayed hidden behind the wooden partitions on both sides of the stage, waiting excitedly for their turn. Any last-minute stage fright was rapidly being replaced by a sense of excitement. Finally, after long preparation, it was showtime. This was it!

  The only thing that was less than perfect was the fact that the entire audience was sitting on the grass—instead of on the folding wooden chairs they had all been expecting. At first, many of them were disappointed over their discovery that one of the special touches of the evening was nowhere in sight.

  “Hey, where are all the chairs?” Lucy Kramer asked loudly, stopping in her tracks. “I thought this was supposed to look like a real theater.”

  “Does this mean we have to sit on the ground?” whined her sidekick, Maggie. “But I’m wearing my brand-new shorts! I don’t want to sit on the ground! My shorts will get all dirty!”

  Fortunately, most of the other campers got over their initial surprise with more ease—and less resentment.

  “Who cares?” countered Tim Tinker, one of the twelve-year-olds. “Just as long as we can see the stage, what difference does it make where we sit?”

  “Yeah,” agreed Eleanor Cousins, another twelve-year-old. “You girls make it sound as if you’ve never sat on the grass before. Isn’t being outdoors the whole idea of going to camp?”

  Chris, overhearing their conversation, was relieved that most of the campers seemed to take the change in plans in stride. As she watched the final touches being put on the stage from her hiding place in the arts and crafts building, then saw the campers beginning to assemble in front of it at a few minutes before seven, she, too, began to wonder what had happened to the chairs.

  But then Alan walked by, unaware that he was being watched.

  As soon as she saw his face, she knew there was something wrong. It was something more than an error on the rental company’s part, or someone’s forgetfulness in ordering the right thing for the right night. It was that same peculiar thing that had been going on for so long. Again. Things disappearing. Things going wrong. All for no good reason, nothing that could be explained.

  Chris wanted to rush over to Alan, to find out exactly what had happened, to say something that might make him feel a little better. But she couldn’t—not now. Not unless she was willing to ruin the act she and Susan and Richard had put so much hard work into.

  I’ll just have to talk to Alan later, she thought, watching him sadly. He glanced at the mass of campers gathering on the grass, shook his head slowly, and disappeared into the Reeds’ house, looking as if he had lost interest in even watching the show.

  But as far as Chris was concerned, she had to make herself forget all about Alan for now. The show must go on! Anxious to make her performance the very best she possibly could—partly to help the campers forget about everything except what a good time they were having—she resolved to concentrate only on their magic act until the show was over.

  Their act, judged to be the best in the show, was being saved for last. That meant that Chris had a whole evening’s entertainment ahead of her, as a spectator. From her vantage point at the side window of the arts and crafts building, she had an excellent view of the stage. And she could hear just about everything that was going on.

  The acts in the variety show were as different as Camp Pinewood’s counselors themselves. There were singers, mimes, and musicians. A boy and a girl did an energetic tap dance; another girl, who’d been studying ballet ever since she was six years old, did a short dance from Swan Lake. One group of four put on a comical skit about life at Camp Pinewood. And a spirited threesome played a medley of songs on kazoos, guitar, and garbage pail drums.

  The costumes were as inspired as the acts themselves. Considering the fact that no one had actually brought anything along with them to camp—with the exception of ballet and tap shoes— it was impressive to see the effects that had been created with bathing suits and sheets, feathers and makeup, lengths of fabric and funny hats.

  The counselors were all good performers, with some of the
least likely blossoming into real hams once they were in the spotlight. They all seemed to be having a good time. More important, the campers loved the show. They laughed and cheered and applauded all the way through, their interest held by the constantly changing cast of characters on the stage. Even Lucy Kramer appeared to be enjoying herself, if the amount of time she spent jumping up and down and squealing at the end of each performance was any measure.

  Chris was enjoying herself so much that she almost forgot that she, too, would eventually be called up on the stage. She was totally absorbed in watching each act. But as the trio of makeshift musicians was finishing up, she noticed something peculiar out of the corner of her eye. Automatically she looked over to the left. It was past eight by then, and the dense trees covering so much of Camp Pinewood already blackened the shadows of dusk. It was hard for her to see—yet she was certain she had caught sight of something moving in the trees, somewhere between the stage and her lookout.

  Probably just an animal, she thought, telling herself that she was just getting jittery because of her upcoming performance. Just a squirrel ... or maybe a raccoon. She tried to turn her attention back to the juggler who was keeping three oranges and two apples circling in the air. But for some reason she remained troubled.

  And then ... it happened again! This time, she was certain she saw something—a flash of white, a quick movement inside the protective shield of fat oak trees, something that just did not belong. She heard something, too—a footstep, or perhaps the crack of a branch breaking. Whatever it was, Chris felt chills run down her spine.

  Her first instinct was to stay glued to the window. To keep watching until she discovered what it was she had seen and heard. But onstage, Sam was announcing Linda Ames and her Amazing Marionettes, the second-to-last act of the show. That meant that she was on next, that it was time for her to steal through the woods to take her place backstage.

  Chris had no choice but to run through the darkness, through the patch of woods where she had just seen that undefinable, but nevertheless peculiar, movement. Where something was lurking ... watching . . . waiting.