Camp Clique

by Eileen Moskowitz-Palma

“No, honey. She wants to have a phone conference,” Dr. Beth said.

  Sour heartburn collected at the back of my throat. “What if I don’t want to talk to her?”

  Dr. Beth stared at me the way she does when she thinks I can answer my own question.

  I let out a big breath. “You think I should talk to her.”

  Dr. Beth scooted back on her floor pillow to make room for her latest stray, a calico cat with an attitude. “Talking to her on the phone, here with me, might make you less stressed about seeing your mom at the end of the summer.”

  “I bet she’s only calling me because she has to. It’s probably part of her program.”

  “What makes you say that?” Dr. Beth asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “She only went to rehab because Dad made her. He threatened to divorce her if she didn’t.”

  “Most addicts end up in rehab because someone made them or because they’ve gotten in trouble. But sometimes once they’re in a program, and they have a chance to sober up, they want to get better,” Dr. Beth said.

  “Do you know how many times she told Dad she wanted to get better? He fell for it. Every. Single. Time.”

  Dr. Beth nodded. “It can be really hard to trust someone after they’ve lied to you.”

  “Then why should I give her another chance?” I asked.

  Dr. Beth sighed. “Because camp is almost over, and so is your mom’s treatment. I won’t be with you when she comes home. But I’m here now. So let me help you get through this first step.”

  BEA

  As usual, while the girls and I called home, Maisy spent the phone block meeting with Dr. Beth. When we got back to the cabin, Maisy sat in one of the rocking chairs, her normally tan face looking as pale as when she played the Camp Amelia ghost. Maisy’s a dweller who lets all her worries and emotion well up until there’s a big tornado inside her. And there was definitely a storm brewing inside her.

  I sat down in the rocking chair next to her. “Mr. Pembrook’s clearly in it for the long haul.”

  Maisy stared off into the trees across from our cabin. “Really?” she said, in a dull tone.

  I kept talking to see if I could snap her out of it. “They’re going to a Harry Potter convention in Hartford this weekend. In matching costumes. Mr. Pembrook is dressing up as Dumbledore and Mom is dressing up as Professor McGonagall.”

  “Don’t tell anyone, but Dr. Beth lets me use her laptop when I see her. I’ll go on your mom’s Facebook next time I’m there and I’ll report back to you,” Maisy said. “Can’t wait to see the pictures she posts.”

  “No wonder you go there all the time. Mom said I can get to know him better if they’re still dating at the end of the summer.”

  Maisy turned to me and asked, “Why are you making your freaked-out face?”

  “This is the first time she’s talked about introducing me to a guy,” I said. “She’s never really gotten past a second date with anyone before.”

  Maisy twisted her face into a serious expression. “How do you feel about that?”

  I laughed. “You’ve been hanging out with Dr. Beth too much.”

  Maisy smiled. “I know! It’s contagious. But seriously, it’s been just you and your mom for such a long time. Maybe that’s why you’re obsessing about who she’s dating. You know, because it’s going to be weird for you.”

  I looked up at the puffs of white clouds moving across the bright blue sky. “I think it will be good for us. I love being so close to Mom, but sometimes it’s hard being just the two of us. All the pressure is on me to make my mom happy. It would be nice to have someone else around. Even if it’s our old math teacher. I think I can even get past the bowties if he makes her happy.”

  Maisy nodded. “Your mom’s cool. She deserves a good guy. She deserves to be happy.”

  That was the thing about breaking up after a long friendship. You have all these shared memories with each other’s family. I’ll never forget the time Dr. Winters helped me with my science fair project on DNA. He helped me make a double helix out of mini marshmallows and Twizzlers. Then there was the time he stitched up that five-inch gash on my leg when Mom was waiting for her new health insurance to kick in. He even gave me antibiotics that he said were free samples, but Mom suspected he paid for them out of his own pocket because they came in a prescription bottle with my name on it from CVS. I’ll always remember those Cookie Monster cookies Mrs. Winters made whenever I slept over because she knew I liked them. She always undercooked them just a little bit so they would be soft in the middle just the way I liked them. One Halloween she made me a My Little Pony costume from scratch because Mom was in the middle of closing three big deals at once and Maisy and I wanted to be Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash. And I know Maisy remembers how Mom taught her how to do her first french braid. No matter how many times Mom tried to teach me, I couldn’t figure it out. But Maisy picked it up on her first try. Mom and Maisy spent hours watching YouTube hairstyling videos together and trying out the intricate styles on me. And then there were all those times Maisy was anxious about something on a sleepover and Mom would make her chamomile tea and sit with her till she felt better. Mom always had a way of talking Maisy out of her nervousness. I guess you could say Maisy and I have more good history than bad.

  “I missed this,” I said. “I missed us this year.”

  Maisy breathed in so deep, I could see her chest move. “I did, too.”

  “It felt like someone died,” I said.

  Maisy turned to me. “I really am sorry, Bea. I was just wrapped up in my own stuff.”

  “What stuff could you be dealing with? You’re friends with the most popular girls in school. You’re always surrounded by people. You never have to be alone,” I said.

  “Sometimes things aren’t what they seem. Being a part of the M & Ms is a lot harder than it looks. I always have to worry about looking the right way and saying the right things. It’s not like it was with us,” she said.

  “Then why did you leave me behind?” I asked.

  The girls ran out on the porch with Isa in the lead, interrupting our moment. They were all wearing their best bikinis instead of the sporty one pieces we usually wore.

  “Ainsley said we can jump off Whistler’s Rock today!” Poppy said.

  “That’s the rock…” I started to explain to Maisy.

  “On the website, in the picture where everyone’s jumping off a cliff into the river below,” finished Maisy. “I’ve had nightmares about jumping off that rock. You guys can go without me. Thank you very much.”

  “You might change your mind when we get there… Whistler’s Rock connects the boys’ and girls’ camps,” said Hannah.

  Maisy shrugged. “Seeing cute guys isn’t gonna get me to jump off that giant cliff.”

  We had spent the past five weeks doing all of the things that Maisy was terrified of, all the things she would’ve never done on her own. Since arriving at Camp Amelia, Maisy was forced out of her comfort zone on a daily basis. She had spent every day proving herself to the girls.

  “I’ll hang out with Maisy. You guys go ahead,” I said.

  “But you love Whistler’s Rock!” said Poppy, with an incredulous look on her face. “You always say it’s your favorite thing about camp.”

  Hannah wrinkled her nose. “You guys sure you don’t want to come?”

  I waved my hand at them. “Go ahead. We’re fine.”

  We watched the girls run off into the woods in a haze of Bath & Body Works and bug spray. I grabbed Maisy’s hand. “Follow me.”

  The old Maisy would’ve asked limitless questions. Where are we going? What should I wear? Will there be bugs? But this time, Maisy followed silently behind me as I ran on the overgrown path to the red cabin that was nestled under a weeping willow tree.

  I pushed open the door and motioned for Maisy to follow me inside.

  Maisy groaned. “Please tell me we’re not doing more conditioning. I just can’t. I need a…”

  She spotted the
acoustic guitar in the corner of the deserted music cabin. She ran over and sat on the dirty wooden floor next to it. Then she cradled the guitar in her arms as if it was a newborn baby.

  “Can I play it?” she asked.

  I smiled at her. “That’s why we’re here. Play that Taylor Swift song.”

  Maisy strummed and sang our old favorite song that she used to play every afternoon at her house before we started homework. She would insist to her mother that it was the best way to warm up her brain. My voice isn’t good enough to sing in public, but since it was just the two of us in the cabin, I let loose and sang along like it was karaoke night at Pizza Amore.

  When the song ended, Maisy switched to playing Johnny Cash’s version of “Hurt” and her sadness filled the room. I didn’t know what was going on with Maisy. I didn’t know why her father forced her to go to camp for the first time at twelve years old, or what she had to forgive her mother for. I didn’t know why she woke up one day and decided not to be my friend. But I suddenly and completely understood that Maisy was sad in a way that I had luckily never been. I sat there with her while she played, and I became a witness to her sorrow. I had the strong sense that’s what she needed: someone to see that she was hurting, even if she didn’t disclose the source of her pain. So I sat there while she played one depressing song after another. When my back got tired from sitting on the hardwood floor, I lay down next to her. I stayed with her, the way I wish she had stayed with me last year. Gradually, as she played, I felt that distance between us close, that space that had opened up like a chasm last summer.

  She abruptly stopped playing in the middle of a Beatles song, and the cabin was suddenly quiet. She put the guitar back in the corner of the room and the twang of the strings hitting the wall echoed through the room. She turned back to me.

  She breathed out and gave me a small smile. “Thank you, Bea. You’re the only person I could do that with.”

  That’s when I knew we were going to be okay, and at the end of the summer, we would still be friends, and I would be part of the M & Ms with her. Maybe they would even come up with a cool new name for the group since I wasn’t an M. Or they would give me a nickname that started with an M. I didn’t really care. As long as I belonged. As long as I wasn’t alone when we went back to school. As long as I didn’t lose Maisy again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MAISY

  From: @madisonave

  To: @maisywintersiscoming

  Miss you too! Can’t wait till you get home! Things have been a little better with the girls. ILY!

  From: @maisywintersiscoming

  To: @madisonave

  Glad things are better. Can’t wait till I get home too. ILY!!

  From: @madisonave

  To: @maisywintersiscoming

  Good news!!! I found a twenty in the lint thingy in the dryer. So I paid Tim to tell Mia that girls in his grade were making fun of us for all having M names.

  From: @maisywintersiscoming

  To: @madisonave

  OMG!!! Did she believe him?????

  From: @madisonave

  To: @maisywintersiscoming

  YES!! She told us all as soon as Tim told her. Meghan is so dumb. She started talking about changing our names. Then I said all we had to do was add a new girl to change things up. They all thought it was the best idea ever!! Now we have to figure out who the new girl should be.

  From: @maisywintersiscoming

  To: @madisonave

  Leave it to me. I will have our new girl by the time I get home from camp.

  Dr. Beth handed me a mug with a picture of a yoga lady, and fancy cursive that said, Smile, Breathe, Be Brave. Then she curled up on a floor pillow with Fozzy Bear, a chocolate-brown cat who had gotten very fat since she found Dr. Beth.

  I groaned and said, “As if I could just smile and then all of a sudden I would be brave.”

  “Drink up,” said Dr. Beth. “It’s my homemade tea and herb blend. It can stop a panic attack in its tracks, or in this case before it even starts.”

  “Too late for that,” I said.

  My fingers were tingly, my mouth was dry, my hands were sweaty, and I was somehow freezing cold and burning hot at the exact same time. The tea smelled like skunk and garlic. But I was desperate to get my act together before the Mom call, so I tried it.

  “It tastes much better than it smells,” I said. “Kind of like licorice mixed with honey.” I took another sip. “With a kick of cayenne pepper.”

  Dr. Beth laughed. “You’ve come a long way this summer. Not every camper I’ve handed that tea to has been brave enough to take a sip.”

  “When does this stuff kick in?” I asked. “My fingers are all tingly and my heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest.”

  “The tea will help. But you also need to give in to the overwhelm. A panic attack is what happens when you resist whatever it is you’re scared of. Just let yourself feel it,” Dr. Beth said, while she rubbed Fozzy Bear’s belly.

  I put the mug on the table so I could pace across the cabin, because if I didn’t move, I was going to lose my mind. “I don’t want to feel these things. I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to talk to Mom,” I said.

  Dr. Beth jumped up from her floor pillow, and Fozzy Bear gave her the stink eye as she walked across the room to me. She grabbed both of my hands in hers. “Look at me,” she said.

  My hands were shaking so badly that Dr. Beth’s thick silver rings kept knocking into each other while she held on to me. But I didn’t want to look at her. I just wanted to be back in my cabin, making friendship bracelets in my new world that didn’t have Mom in it.

  “You have a choice, Maisy. If you don’t want to talk to your mother today, you don’t have to,” Dr. Beth said.

  “I can’t do this!” I looked up at Dr. Beth. “I’m not ready to forgive her. I’m still too mad.”

  Dr. Beth kept her warm hands on mine and I hoped her calm energy was contagious. “This isn’t some TV show where everything gets wrapped up in thirty minutes,” she said. “Forgiveness isn’t something that can be scheduled and it doesn’t happen in one conversation. It happens on your own terms in your own time.”

  I dropped Dr. Beth’s hands and asked, “Then why do I have to talk to her today? Why can’t I wait till she gets home?”

  Now Dr. Beth was the one taking a deep breath. “Because the longer you put off talking to your mom, the harder it will be. I’m here with you right now, so let me help you.”

  I collapsed onto a floor pillow and grabbed my tea. I was going to need it.

  “We have a minute or so until that phone rings. Let’s use it. What are you nervous about specifically?” asked Dr. Beth.

  Dr. Beth’s all about naming your fears to get power over them, but it was something that was still kind of hard for me.

  “What if she’s the same? What if she isn’t any better?” I asked, then I took a long sip of tea.

  “That’s a valid concern. But my guess is that her therapist wouldn’t have set up this phone call with you if she wasn’t doing at least marginally better.”

  “You don’t know Mom. She’s a really good liar,” I said.

  “But you know her. If you think she’s faking it, we can talk about it after you get off the phone.”

  “What should I say?” I asked.

  Dr. Beth put her cell phone in between us and a gray kitten started pawing at it. “You could start with hi.”

  It felt good to laugh out the knot in my chest. “Then what?” I asked.

  Dr. Beth reached out and smoothed down my hair. “Say whatever’s in your heart. And when you don’t have anything to say, just listen.”

  My hands got that tingly feeling again as soon as the phone rang.

  “Are you ready?” asked Dr. Beth.

  I nodded and she leaned over Fozzy Bear and put the call on speaker.

  Dad’s voice was rough and raspy like it always sounds when he hasn’t gotten enough sleep. Usually,
it’s from doing a late surgery, but I can guess the same thing that kept me up all night kept him up, too. “How’s camp, honey?” he asked.

  I swallowed back the lump in my throat and the words came tumbling out because talking to Dad about camp was easier than talking to Mom. “My bunk just won the talent show for best choreography and I can get through the ropes course without having a panic attack. Thanks for the water shoes. I’ve been doing much better at my swim lessons now that I don’t have to worry about touching the slimy seaweed on the bottom of the lake.”

  Dad cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded rumbly. “I am so proud of you, Maisy. I knew you would make it work.”

  I closed my eyes and held on to Dad’s words. He never says things like that. At least not to me.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but I can kind of swim now.”

  Dad whistled through his teeth. “No way? You mean you actually get your hair wet and everything?”

  “Yeah. But don’t get too excited. I only passed the shallow water test,” I said.

  “That’s amazing, Maisy. We need to go to the pool as soon as you get back so you can show me,” Dad said.

  “I’ve been getting really good at making friendship bracelets. I sent one to Addy and made a matching one for me,” I said. “I sent her an actual letter with the bracelet.”

  “I bet that made her very happy,” Dad said.

  A man’s voice cut in. I could tell right away that he’s one of those people who talks differently to kids than he does to adults. “Hi, Maisy. I’m Dr. Robbins, your mother’s therapist.”

  I took a deep breath and Dr. Beth gave me one of her super-sized encouraging smiles.

  “Your mom is really looking forward to talking to you,” Dr. Robbins said, in a sing-songy way, as if I was a kindergartner.

  Even after all the tea I just drank, my mouth was suddenly so dry that my teeth were sticking to the inside of my mouth. I tried to talk, but nothing came out.

  “Maisy?” Mom’s voice filled the cabin and my whole body started shaking from head to toe.

  Dr. Beth put her hand on her chest and inhaled in a deep and exaggerated way to remind me about my breathing. I tried to breathe in, but the air felt trapped in my chest.