Camp Clique

by Eileen Moskowitz-Palma

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2020 by Eileen Moskowitz-Palma

  Illustration copyright © 2020 by Lisa K. Weber

  Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Running Press Kids

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

  www.runningpress.com/rpkids

  @RP_Kids

  First Edition: April 2020

  Published by Running Press Kids, an imprint of Perseus Books, LLC, a subsidiary of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Running Press Kids name and logo is a trademark of the Hachette Book Group.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019946928

  ISBNs: 978-0-7624-6745-7 (hardcover), 978-0-7624-6746-4 (ebook)

  E3-20200225-JV-NF-ORI

  Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  DISCOVER MORE

  FOR DOUGLAS AND MOLLY, MY BEST FRIENDS

  Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.

  Tap here to learn more.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MAISY

  “COME ON! IT’S A STOP SIGN, NOT A RED LIGHT!” DAD POUNDED the dashboard and muttered under his breath, “We can’t miss this bus.”

  We have to miss the bus. We have to miss the bus. Please, God, let us miss this bus.

  Dad turned into the parking lot and my palms started sweating when I saw the ancient yellow school bus with Camp Amelia painted in dark green letters on the side.

  Dad whooped. “We made it!”

  “They were too cheap to send a coach bus, which means the camp is definitely a dump. Are you okay sending me to a third-rate camp?” I asked.

  “It beats having you sit around watching Netflix all summer,” Dad said, as he turned the ignition off.

  I slid further into my seat while Dad grabbed my stuff from the back of the Jeep and brought it to the bus. He had bought me a monogrammed sleeping bag and duffle set from Pottery Barn Teen in steel gray, my favorite color. Like that would make up for shipping me off to wilderness boot camp.

  When Dad got back to the car, I didn’t budge. The second I got out of the seat, my summer would be over.

  Dad opened my door. “Come on, Maisy. You don’t want the bus leaving without you.”

  I narrowed my eyes and folded my arms. “Would that really be so bad?”

  Dad opened my car door wider. “You can’t stay home alone all summer while your sister’s away at gymnastics camp.”

  I tried to keep my voice calm because Dad can’t deal when I get too emotional on him. “As if I would sit home all summer? I’d be at the pool with the M & Ms.”

  The M & Ms are my friend group. We all have names that start with M—Mia, Madison, Meghan, Madeline, and of course me. I joined the group later than the other girls, so it’s a good thing my parents named me Maisy.

  “You know I’m at work twelve hours a day.” Dad looked sorry-ish. “Even longer on surgery days.”

  All of Dad’s patients think he’s a genius, but when it comes to parenting stuff, he doesn’t know how to think outside the box—which is something my English teacher says about me, so I must get it from him.

  “I’ll hang out at Mia’s house and you can pick me up when you get off work. Mia’s mom won’t care. She’s never home anyway,” I said.

  Dad shook his head and his hair flopped over his eyes. He was in desperate need of a haircut, not to mention a shave. He’d stopped caring what he looked like when Mom left. “I don’t want you running around with that crew at Mia’s house all summer. I don’t like the guys her brother hangs out with.”

  “If you’re gonna get rid of me for the summer, can you at least send me to rock band camp?”

  “You know this. All the music and drama camps book up a year in advance. When I bumped into Bea’s mother at Stop and Shop and she told me about Camp Amelia, it sounded—”

  “Bea Thompson and I haven’t been friends since fifth grade!”

  Dad spoke in that tone he used when he didn’t want to sound judgy but totally did. “Which I still don’t get. You guys were like two peas in a pod and then suddenly you weren’t friends.”

  Sometimes the only way to respond is with an eye roll.

  “Come on, Maise.” Dad opened my door wider. “You’re going to have a great summer.”

  My legs felt like rubber as I climbed out of the car. It didn’t help that Dad’s Jeep is super high off the ground, and I’m literally the shortest almost-seventh grader in existence.

  “You’re ruining my life,” I said as soon as my feet touched the pavement.

  Dad pulled me in for a hug, but I stood completely still because hugging him would make him think I was okay with this. “I love you, Mini. Even when you think you don’t love me back.”

  As if he wasn’t being annoying enough calling me by my baby nickname, Dad grabbed my arms and wrapped them around him like he used to when I was a little kid. Then he gave me a hard squeeze, even though I kept my arms limp like wet spaghetti. “I know things have been really hard. But when you get back from camp, Mom will be home and everything will be back to normal.”

  Things hadn’t been normal in our house in a really long time. The days when Mom was PTA president, team mom for my sister Addy’s gymnastics club, and my Brownie troop leader felt like they had never happened.

  Dad let go and gave me a gentle push toward the bus. “You better run before they leave without you.”

  I shuffled my feet toward the bus as slow as humanly possible, hoping the driver would pull away before I got there.

  Dad called after me, “Don’t forget to write Mom. I put the address in the front pocket of your bag.”

  As if I would write to the person who was responsible for ruining my entire summer.

  A college girl wearing a gray Camp Amelia T-shirt and ripped jean shorts with a grubby flannel tied around her waist, scuffed blue Converse, and a big silver whistle on a chain around her neck waited on the bus steps. She had shoulder-length brown hair with homemade bangs that were higher over her right eyebrow than her left, so it looked like she was winking at me.

  “The bus is full, but you can sit with me in the counselor section,” she said, and smiled so wide I could see a chipped molar.

  Sitting with the counselors seemed like a pre
tty newb-like thing to do, but it had to be better than sitting with Bea, so I followed the girl up the stairs into a bus full of the strangers I would be stuck spending my whole summer with.

  The girl kept talking as if my summer wasn’t officially over. “My name is Bailey. I’m from upstate New York.”

  “I’m Maisy.”

  Bailey pointed to a seat filled with snacks and magazines. “Hold on, I just have to move my stuff.”

  I heard Bea’s voice before I saw her, which is weird because she’s so quiet at school. Half the time I don’t even notice her. But she was acting like queen of the bus the way she was hugging people and OMGing about how much she missed them.

  I lifted my hand in a half-wave, but Bea didn’t turn my way. Seriously? We were literally the only two people getting picked up in Mapleton.

  I pulled out my phone, and Bailey reached out and took it from my hand. “No phones allowed.”

  “Wait!” I reached my hand out. “My friends will think I’m ghosting them if I don’t tell them.”

  “Try writing letters,” Bailey said, as if we were living in the eighties. Then she dropped my phone in a straw basket on top of a bunch of other phones and smiled at me like she hadn’t just taken away my lifeline to civilization. “You can have it back on the last day.”

  Dad hadn’t mentioned this no-phone rule, ’cause there’s no way I’d have gotten on that bus if I’d known. It was bad enough I was gonna lose all of my Snapchat streaks, but on top of that, I couldn’t go all summer without talking to the M & Ms. I couldn’t risk it.

  Everyone thinks we’re best friends. But it’s complicated. Madison’s my best friend in the group, but she’s family friends with Meghan. Madison idolizes Meghan, but Meghan tells anyone who will listen that she only hangs out with Madison because their moms are besties. So, Madison acts like my best friend when Meghan is ignoring her or being mean to her, and as soon as Meghan decides she likes her again, Madison kind of ditches me. Being away from my phone all summer would mean I wouldn’t be able to remind Madison how much she needs me.

  Bailey opened a bag of Doritos and the Cool Ranch seasoning mixed with the hot plastic smell of the bus seats started making me queasy. She pushed the bag toward me, but I shook my head, trying not to breathe through my nose. This was going to be a long bus ride.

  “Camp newbie?” Bailey asked through a mouthful of Doritos.

  I nodded.

  Bailey washed down the Doritos with red Gatorade that made her teeth pink. “The bunk tournament is the best. There are four competitions: swimming, kayaking, rope climbing, and trail running. All the bunks live for the competition.”

  Turns out Dad didn’t just leave out the no-phone rule. “Can I just be scorekeeper or something?” I asked.

  Bailey laughed and wet Dorito crumbs landed on my arm. “You are so funny. You’ll make friends fast.”

  “Seriously, I’m not such a great swimmer and…” I started.

  “Hey, Bailey. You got the bunk assignments?” asked a tall counselor with crunchy blond curls.

  Bailey turned to me. “One of my camp jobs is to organize the bunks. Sorry, this is privileged info.”

  I was relieved when Bailey squeezed into the seat across the aisle because I didn’t want to hear any more about this tournament thing. Not to mention, it wasn’t like I cared what bunk I was in, as long as I wasn’t with Bea and her annoying friends, who were now singing a camp song that was giving me a headache. They weren’t the only irritating girls on the bus. The girl behind me stuck her bare feet through the space between my seat and the window. She was in serious need of a pedicure and a shower. Some girls in the back of the bus thought it was hilarious to toss around a beach ball to see if they could keep it in the air during the entire bus ride. I ducked every time that ball came near my head. This was going to be the longest summer of my life.

  I had been up all night stressing about camp and the Mom situation and suddenly felt like I could sleep for days. I rested my head against the bus window and gave in to the rocking motion of the wheels.

  I must have fallen asleep because next thing I knew, we were at a rest stop. The counselors all headed off to grab Burger King, but I decided to go to Quickmart for candy.

  It was really weird not to have anyone to talk to. Groups of girls ran past me shrieking and laughing, but it was like they didn’t see me, like I didn’t exist. I didn’t have my phone to hide behind, so I kept my eyes on the ground as I walked.

  I went into the Quickmart and grabbed a big bag of Sour Patch Kids Extreme and headed toward the line. Bea was already standing at the register with the exact same thing. I wasn’t surprised since she’s the one who introduced me to the goodness of Sour Patch Kids.

  Bea kept her head down with her hair covering her face. Like I wouldn’t recognize her red curly hair and pale freckly arms?

  I hate awkward silences, so I had to say something. “Remember the time we ate so many Sour Patch Kids we couldn’t taste anything for two days?”

  Bea laughed so hard she looked like she was going to pee in her pants, which she may or may not have a history of doing on sleepovers. “My mom made me go to the doctor even though your dad said I would be fine.”

  Standing there laughing with Bea actually felt good. Kind of like old times—when I had one best friend and didn’t have the constant pressure to hold my spot in the popular group. When Mom was still Mom, and I still felt like I could be a kid.

  Suddenly, a thick Staten Island accent attached to a tiny girl with shiny black hair interrupted our moment. “You don’t talk to Bea at school and now you’re nice to her ’cause you got no friends at camp?”

  Bea opened her mouth and then closed it quickly. She opened it back up again and shut it. She looked like my sister Addy’s goldfish.

  I stood up taller, even though I didn’t really have to since this little jerk was even shorter than me. “I don’t need your permission to talk to Bea. I’ve known her since preschool.”

  “Isa!” A tall blond girl who looked like an Abercrombie model ran over to us. “You don’t have to be so mean,” she whispered.

  The girl who was apparently named Isa jabbed her pointer finger at me. “This girl was best friends with Bea their whole lives, then ditches her for the popular girls. And I’m the mean one?”

  I felt shame creep up my neck and spread out over the tips of my ears. I wished I could explain to Bea what had really happened. Why I had to cut her out of my life. But it was too late.

  Isa said, “It’s a big camp. You stick with your bunk. We’ll stick with ours.”

  BEA

  Dear Mom,

  I’m writing my annual “still on the bus but missing you already” letter. I know you were only trying to be polite to Dr. Winters when you bumped into him and that he isn’t to blame for Maisy’s Mean Girl ways. But did you really have to give Camp Amelia the hard sell? I go to camp to get out of the Mapleton bubble. Now I’m stuck here for six weeks with my ex-best friend, who is a daily reminder that I am about to start middle school with no friends. I wish we lived in a big town where there are multiple elementary schools feeding into a big middle school. Not this backward village, where middle school doesn’t even start till seventh grade. It’s impossible to start over with the same kids I’ve known my whole life, the same kids who already know what a loser I am.

  Maisy started jockeying for a spot in the social hierarchy before the bus even pulled out of the parking lot. She actually sat with the counselors, as if that would give her a leg up with the other campers. She clearly doesn’t understand camp politics. I’ve decided to handle her the same way she deals with me at school—by pretending she doesn’t exist. Keep your fingers crossed that she ends up in a bunk on the other side of the lake from me.

  I miss you and Mr. Pebbles already. Don’t forget to give him canned tuna on Tuesdays and Thursdays for a special treat. He only likes the organic kind packed in olive oil from Trader Joe’s, so don’t get him StarKist—even if it�
��s on sale.

  Love always,

  Your #1/only daughter Bea

  P.S. Here are some care package ideas for the summer:

  –Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell

  –The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

  –Everything, Everything by Nicola Yoon

  –The Best American Short Stories Collection (either the 1986 edition edited by Raymond Carver, or the 2014 edited by Jennifer Egan)

  –A new writer’s notebook (wide rule)

  –Gel pens (metallic)

  –Sour Patch Kids Extreme

  –Sour Patch Watermelon Slices

  P.P.S. Thank you for literally and figuratively being the best mom and friend ever. I would have no hope of surviving the wilderness of middle school without you. I love you and miss you already.

  I couldn’t help feeling like it was my fault when Isa told Maisy off. Isa had been sticking up for me, but when I saw the look on Maisy’s face, I felt guilty, as though I should be sticking up for her. I had to remind myself during the rest of the bus ride that Maisy wasn’t my friend. She hadn’t been for an eternity.

  Maisy and I had been best friends since the threes class at Mapleton Day Preschool. We did everything together and people called us MaisyandBea, as if it were one big word. But, when I got back from camp the summer before sixth grade, Maisy dropped me for no reason. I had grown accustomed to Maisy writing me at camp every other day with stories about annoying things her sister Addy did, or a top ten list of reasons why she was infatuated with some boy, or best friend quizzes cut out from American Girl Doll Magazine with all of her answers filled out and spaces for me to fill in mine.

  But Maisy didn’t write once last summer, and when I got home in August, she wasn’t waiting for me on my doorstep. When I texted her about going back-to-school shopping with Mom and me, she didn’t reply. Mom told me not to worry, Maisy was probably in the middle of a guitar lesson or something and that we needed to go shopping anyway because I had outgrown everything. It felt like a punch in the stomach when I walked past Abercrombie and saw Maisy in there with the M & Ms. They were all trying on hats and taking a group selfie. I pulled Mom into Sephora so Maisy wouldn’t see me cry.