We only made it through the first verse before Donna stopped us. She exhaled, aiming a jet of air at her bangs, but they were plastered to her forehead. “Five-minute break,” she said, grabbing her water bottle and taking a swig. “Hydrate. Stretch. Come back ready to try again.”
Heading outside with my own water bottle, I checked my watch. I couldn’t believe practice was only half over. I felt worn out, mentally and physically, like I’d just completed some horrible combination of oral report and cross-country run.
Make that half completed—ugh.
“Hanging in?” Adeline said.
“Um, yeah. I think I’ll survive. Probably.” It was funny, but the second Adeline started talking to me, I didn’t feel so tired anymore. “Is it always like this?”
“Which part of it?” Adeline asked. “Working so hard? Or worrying we’ll suck forever?”
“Both,” I said, and laughed because she’d read my mind.
She grinned. “It’s always work, although I will say”—she lowered her voice—“Donna’s tougher than most of the teachers I’ve had.” She shrugged. “Starting out with a new group is always hard, though. We’ll get better.”
“I hope so,” I said, “or I may never be able to show my face at Camp Rockaway again.”
“Now, that would be a tragedy,” Adeline said. “Want to practice with me this afternoon? I figured I’d do that for a while, then hang out at the lake.”
“Oh! Maybe,” I said. “I should probably ask Olivia first, though. She was bummed out about our band assignments. We came here together, and it was kind of a shock when Damon split us up.”
“She could come, too,” Adeline said. “It’s cool to see what other bands are playing.”
“That would be great.” I hesitated. Olivia had been blowing off steam when she called Adeline a hippie. Still, she hadn’t said it in a very nice way. I added, “But I’ll have to ask her.”
Adeline nodded. “Sure. Just let me know.”
I thought maybe the hardest part of our morning practice was over. Donna interrupted the song frequently to walk us through transitions, make us try a measure again when we flubbed it, and point out details from the recording that hadn’t made it onto our charts. But as time went on, Caleb’s fingers got faster and sloppier. David seemed to shrink into himself, his bass mumbling as much as he did. It was all I could do to hold down the beat.
At least Adeline kept her cool. Maybe it was because she’d come to Camp Rockaway before. Maybe it was because she was Gladeline. Whatever. I’d take it.
Donna’s watch beeped at noon. We’d finally—barely—made it through the entire song.
“Not bad, people,” she said, but it sounded like she was saying it out of habit, not because she believed it. “I want you to run through it some more in your free time.”
I swallowed a groan. At this point, I never wanted to hear it—much less play it—again.
Donna continued. “Respect your bandmates by coming to practice prepared. Remember, we’re all in this together. Caleb, Adeline, stay behind a minute. There are a couple of things I want you to focus on as you work independently.”
David left ahead of me and quickly loped toward the lodge for lunch. I’d only taken a few steps before Olivia pounced on me. “So, how’d it go?” she asked.
“Well . . .” I tried to figure out how to put the best spin on things. “It was our first time playing together.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Let’s just say there’s plenty of room for improvement,” I said. “How about you?”
Olivia sighed. “Considering you weren’t there, I guess it was okay. I asked Candace how long she’d been playing violin, and you know what she said? Since she was three. Three! Why isn’t she at Interlochen? Or in a country band with Shauna, fiddling till the cows come home? And the drummer, Bret? He said, ‘Call me Brick.’ How pretentious is that? It’s like he thinks he’s already famous enough to have just one name, like Flea, or Moby, or—”
“Madonna?”
“Yes! Admittedly, he’s shaped like a brick. Still, there’s no excuse.”
“What about the last guy?” I asked.
“Oh,” Olivia said in a very different voice. Quiet. Careful. “That’s Noel.”
“And?”
She gazed at the treetops. “He’s a really talented acoustic guitarist. And he’s got a good voice.”
“And?”
She sighed. “And he’s got this dark brown hair that kind of curls over his ears. And these melty brown eyes.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Plus, afterward, he said I was one of the best bass players he’s ever worked with.”
I wasn’t too stupid to know where this was going. I’d had a crush on a boy named Arjit, a fellow percussionist, for most of seventh grade. He always made snarky comments about the music we were playing. It didn’t matter how many times he called John Philip Sousa “John Philip Snooze-a”—I laughed. Sometimes he juggled his sticks. Since we were in the back row, we got away with a lot, and since we paid attention when it counted, the most Ms. Estrada would ever do was shoot us a look if we got too boisterous.
But that was as far as things went. We didn’t hang out together outside of band, not even at lunch. We had other classes together, but if we weren’t playing drums, we basically ignored each other. Sometimes I imagined what it would be like to kiss Arjit. If I’d had the chance and didn’t completely chicken out, I’d have probably done it. I liked him better than any other boy. But I wasn’t about to break down the door separating me from the kids with boyfriends and girlfriends.
Olivia, on the other hand? Total door breaker.
She’d never had a boyfriend, either, though she’d gotten her first kiss playing Truth or Dare at Stella’s birthday party. But she couldn’t wait for it to happen. I’d lost track of how many notes she’d asked me to pass, asking so-and-so to ask so-and-so if so-and-so liked her. How many times she’d texted me before school to say, HELP! What should I wear?!?! because there was a chance she’d pass the boy she liked in the hallway. If I’d thought Camp Rockaway would be any different, I’d just been proven wrong.
“There’s one problem,” Olivia said. “I think Candace likes Noel, too.”
Suddenly I smelled drama on the breeze.
Seven
Poppy and Blair told us that by state law we had to rest quietly for an hour after lunch. And because this was Camp Rockaway, rest hour wasn’t called rest hour. It was called B-flat.
Get it? Be flat?
The four of us were in bed. Toni lay perfectly still on her back, her hands clasped over her chest. She looked like a corpse but insisted she was meditating. Shauna propped herself on an elbow and wrote in a spiral-bound notebook. Olivia was engrossed in an issue of Bass Player. Theoretically I was reading The Beat of My Own Drum, a memoir by drumming great Sheila E. My parents had given it to me for my thirteenth birthday back in May. In reality I was struggling to keep my eyes open.
A knock came on the tent pole. “Mail call,” Poppy announced. “Toni, I’ve got a couple of letters for you. Olivia, one for you, too.”
Olivia rolled her eyes as she reached out from under her mosquito netting for the pink envelope. “I swear, my mom is such a helicopter parent. It’s barely been twenty-four hours!”
“And she must have mailed it last Friday for it to get here today,” I pointed out.
“Worse,” Olivia said, pointing at the postmark. “Wednesday. It probably got here before I even packed my suitcase.”
“At least she cares,” I said.
I knew it was silly to think my parents didn’t care—it was only Monday, for Pete’s sake—but given what happened over the weekend I kind of felt like they owed me. On the other hand, what could they have possibly written? Dear Melly, guess what we’re doing this weekend? Ruining your life and sending you hundreds of miles away without another word!
It was just as well they hadn’t. I didn’t want to think about them an
yway.
Shauna said, “If anyone has helicopter parents, it’s Toni. Two letters, already? Sheesh!”
“Ha,” Toni said glumly. “Every summer they get the entire family to write me letters. The catch is I’ve got to write back to every single person. I can kiss meditation good-bye for the rest of camp.” She sighed and hung over the side of her bed, digging a pad of paper and a pen out of her suitcase. “Dear Aunt Crystal,” she dictated before lapsing into grim silence, her pen scratching across the page.
For some reason, Toni’s pouting cheered me up. I lay back, smiling, and actually read a few pages of my book before Blair called that B-flat was over.
“So what’s everyone doing this afternoon?” Olivia asked. I suddenly realized I’d forgotten to mention Adeline’s invitation to hang out.
“Shauna and I were talking about practicing for a while and then going to the lake,” Toni said, tossing aside her letter writing.
Shauna set down her pen, too. “After all, it wouldn’t be camp without me getting a massive sunburn.”
“I’ve got sunscreen if you want it,” I said.
“Oh, I’ve got gallons,” Shauna said. “But trust the redhead: the only way for me to avoid a sunburn is to walk around with a blanket over my head.”
“I think we should sign out a practice stall,” Olivia said to me. “This’ll be our only chance to play together today. Besides, it’ll be fun—just the two of us, like at home. We’ve got the whole afternoon, and we don’t even have to worry about keeping the volume down!”
Just like that, I knew practicing with Adeline wasn’t going to happen, and neither was the lake. Olivia had used the word fun, but I could tell it wasn’t just fun to her. It was important. She felt bad about the band assignment snafu, and she wanted to make it up to me with some one-on-one time. Even though I was suddenly conscious of the sweat trickling down my neck, of my skin sticking to the shiny fabric of my sleeping bag, I said, “Sounds good to me.”
I got up and slung my stick bag over my shoulder. Music folders and water bottles in hand, we hiked to the lodge to get Olivia’s bass and sign out a practice stall and an amp, pausing along the way to flip our picks at the Fretboard.
The practice stalls in the lodge basement were tiny, not much bigger than our bathroom at home if you took out the tub. It was a squeeze. The drums took up nearly the entire space. You had to have three or more people to sign up for one of the larger stalls.
The floor was covered with old rugs, and the walls had rippled foam stapled all around—even the ceiling and the back of the door. Music came through the walls from other rooms, but it was muffled, just the bass. The only surface that wasn’t covered was a small window facing into the hallway, so whichever counselor was on duty could peek in.
“Here we are,” Olivia said, “the rhythm section! Back together and better than ever.”
She set up her bass, moved the music stand so we could both sort of see it, and stacked up the charts. Except for “I Knew You Were Trouble,” they were all hers. Obviously her teacher didn’t buy into the one-song-at-a-time approach. I wasn’t sure what she’d said at her audition, but judging by the artists, she’d ended up in a classic rock band: Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, Pat Benatar, Queen. Then it was just like being at home in my basement. The difference was the basement was always chilly, and here it was hot and stuffy.
But after the morning, it was such a relief playing with Olivia. Even though I didn’t know the songs very well, I could count on her to keep time with me. My hands relaxed on my sticks, and instead of all my energy draining into the drums, it felt like the drums were pumping energy into me. I sat up straighter. My head started bobbing. Olivia and I grinned at each other.
Still, there came a point when my forearms got tired, my shirt clung to me, my throat dried up, and my butt hurt. Each time Olivia said, “Let’s try that again from the top,” I groaned inside. My drumming high was over. All I could think about was that lake down the hill, and how Adeline was probably there by now, and Toni and Shauna, messing around and cooling off, while I sweated to death in the lodge.
Finally I said, “Olivia? I’m out of water.”
“Oh! Are you thirsty? I think there’s a drinking fountain upstairs.”
“Actually, I was thinking maybe we could take a break.”
“Sure. You want to take five? Ten? I’ve got to pee, anyway.”
“I . . . I was thinking maybe we could stop for the day.” I felt bad, but I couldn’t lie.
“Oh.” Olivia’s face drooped. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I mean, my arms are getting kind of tired. And it’s really hot in here.”
To my relief, Olivia shrugged and put on a smile. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. Anyway, we worked hard. No one can accuse us of slacking. Should we change into our suits and head to the lake?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, the amazing Olivia Mendoza!” I said. “She plays bass. She reads minds. Is there anything she can’t do?”
She laughed, and it was all good.
Under the clear sky, surrounded by tall evergreens, the lake shone royal blue. Camp Rockaway shared the lake with a sheep farm, and I heard their distant bleating. Unlike the non-ribbiting frogs, they really did seem to be saying baa—with the bass cranked.
As we approached the water’s edge, a sign pointed to the boathouse. It said Joan Jetty. Another sign, pointing to the swimming area, said Let It Beach.
“Har, har,” said Olivia mildly. We slipped off our shoes and socks and hung our towels on the fence. I wiggled my toes in the sand. It was soft.
The swimming area was bordered by long white docks on either side. The deep end was marked with yellow ropes connecting to a blue raft. Campers splashed in the water, playing Marco Polo. Others played on the raft or lounged on the beach. A few kids were actually building sand castles on the shore. Two lifeguards wearing red swimsuits and white T-shirts paced the docks, keeping an eye on everyone.
Just looking at the water refreshed me. I waded in.
“Ack, it’s cold!” Olivia said, dipping in a toe and pulling it right back out again.
It was. I swallowed my shock, loving the way the water sucked at my ankles, then my shins, as I moved deeper. The ground was pebbly under my feet. Tiny fish circled my ankles but zipped away when I dipped my fingers in to catch one. It was so different from the pool at the Y, which had so much chlorine it burned my eyes and nose.
“What are those things?” Olivia said, backing away—right into Adeline.
Adeline caught her elbow and steadied her. “Hey,” she said. “You two made it!” She wore an orange swim cap over her braids, and her purple bikini was bone dry. She must have just arrived, too, which made me feel better about having been cooped up at the lodge so long.
“Yeah!” I said, smiling back at her. “You made it, too!”
She laughed, and I turned pink. Of course she’d made it. It had been her plan all along. Why did I say such inane things?
“Hey,” Olivia said, not nearly as enthusiastic as I was.
“What were you two looking at?” Adeline asked. I pointed down into the water, and she leaned over to look. “Oh,” she said, “minnows. They won’t bite. Leeches, on the other hand . . .”
Olivia was alarmed. “Leeches? Like, bloodsuckers? Where?”
“Sorry, that was mean,” Adeline said. “There aren’t any leeches in here. They like really mucky water.”
“This water doesn’t exactly look clean,” Olivia said. “It’s all brown.”
“No, actually, the water’s so clear you can see the sand. That’s what’s brown,” Adeline explained. “Look, there’s your feet.”
“It’s still cold,” Olivia said. She rubbed her arms.
“It helps if you duck in all at once,” Adeline said. “You have to keep moving. It’s when you stop that you get cold. Come on. Race me to the raft, and I’ll prove it to you.”
“I don’t think so,” Olivia said. “I’m going
to lay out for a while.”
I knew Olivia’s real problem wasn’t the cold, the minnows, or the possibly dirty water. The real problem was, unlike me, she’d never taken swimming lessons. She’d never admit it, but she could barely dog-paddle. She tugged at my hand, steering us back toward shore. “Come on, Mel,” she said. “This is our time to hang out together, remember?”
Out at the raft, kids were jumping and diving and cannonballing, then splashing around the side to climb back up the ladder. Others sat back, talking and warming up before they jumped in to cool off again. They seemed to be having the best time of anyone at the beach.
It was easy to imagine myself with them, wearing my brand-new swimsuit covered in turquoise swirls. It was easy to imagine myself with Adeline—Adeline, who wanted to be my friend even though I was shy and said stupid, obvious things.
But Olivia needed me more. “Next time?” I said to Adeline.
She shrugged. “Sure, if you want.” Without waiting for me to say anything else, she plunged into the water. A few seconds later, she burst back out and swam toward the raft.
Olivia and I got our towels and settled onto the scalding sand. My chin propped in my hands, I watched as Adeline organized the kids on the raft into a game of follow the leader. In my mind, I leaped after them, the delicious water swallowing me up. I paddled below the surface until my lungs were empty, and then I drifted, face up, toward the sun.
It was so tempting to join them—to join her. But I couldn’t do that. Olivia was always there for me. I couldn’t ditch her for some kids’ game with someone I barely knew.
That night was firebowl. After dinner, everyone hiked to the amphitheater. It was nestled in the hills, with rows of log benches set in a semicircle overlooking the lake. The counselors had built a towering log cabin of wood, more like a skyscraper, really. As we took our seats, flames began to lick out between the gaps in the logs. Smoke funneled out the top.
Drum Roll, Please Page 5
