Jenny started to think about sad stuff—abandoned baby deer, lipstick testing on sloths, Caesar salads with anchovies—but they weren’t doing the trick. She let herself fall into hurtful memories, like when she and Willamena weighed themselves side by side, and Willamena bragged about being 5.6 pounds lighter than her. And the Snapchats that went out about how, compared to Willamena, Jenny was a hotless tamale. And the time that Willamena pulled a Mean Girls and wouldn’t let Jenny sit at her lunch table because she was wearing baby pink, not neon pink as they’d discussed the month before. Now her eyes felt prickly. One last step. She popped her lids open, stared at her bed lamp, and let her tear ducts work their magic. She blinked, and two tears flew down her face. Success!
No one seemed to notice. The problem, she guessed: It was dark. So she sniffled. No response. She coughed. Nothing. She whimpered. Nada. The bigger problem, she realized: It was loud. Missi’s and Jamie’s giggles were bouncing off the cabin walls, drowning her out. She’d have to ditch subtlety. “JAMIE!!!” she screamed.
The giggling stopped. Jamie craned her neck up at Jenny. “Ummmm, yeah?”
“I’m crying,” Jenny told her.
“OK.” Jamie smirked at Missi. Missi smirked back.
“It’s about Christopher.”
“Omigod,” Jamie said in a way that sounded familiar, but not nasal like how she normally spoke. “Do you miss him?”
Jenny slipped into a montage of Christopher memories. (1) The time they danced at the Disney Club for teens. They’d stayed out till midnight, reenacting the famous Titanic pose at the bow of the cruise ship. (2) The time they texted for an hour exclusively using emojis. What was the meaning of mustache, turban, kimono, angel, mountain bike, pumpkin?!? she’d wondered. Nothing, she’d learned—she’d been texting with Christopher’s dog, Felix! (3) The time they shared their fifth kiss at the movies watching . . . something? Jenny couldn’t remember because they’d been so busy making out!
“Hello, Jenny? Are you having a brain cramp?”
Jenny snapped back to Jamie, who was standing there with her little hands on her little hips. “Oh. No, about the cramp,” Jenny said. “Yes, about Christopher. I do miss him.”
Jamie shook her head, baffled. “I was making fun of you when I asked that. I don’t care if you miss Christopher.”
That’s when Jenny realized why Jamie had sounded familiar. She’d been imitating her. Jenny felt her heart crack, like the emoji in her poem. “Why don’t you care?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?”
Missi stood, swatted a jack from her butt, and threw her lanky arm around Jamie’s shoulders. “After what you said to Jamie yesterday, she doesn’t want to hear anything but an apology.”
“I just said I’m sorry.”
“No you didn’t,” Jamie said. “You fake-cried and said you miss Christopher.”
Jenny should have known Jamie would pick up on the light-staring trick. Did Jamie know Jenny better than Jenny knew herself? Now Jenny wanted to cuddle-spoon with Jamie even more. “Well, I meant to say it. I’m sorry, OK?”
“Are you actually sorry?” Jamie asked.
“Um, yeah, are you deaf? GOD.” Silence. Even the crickets stopped chirping. “Why are you being mean to me?” Jenny bit her tongue to keep her face from contorting into real, ugly crying. “You’re not embarrassing yourself, OK? You’re doing a good job. Now are you happy?”
“That’s not the only reason why I’m mad at you,” Jamie said.
“Why else are you mad at me?”
Jamie shrugged.
“Is it because I was mad at you first?” Jenny asked. “I have a right to be mad at you.”
“So you are mad at me for getting Lieutenant?” Jamie asked.
“No,” Jenny lied.
“So you’re a liar.”
“What?! No. I don’t know!”
“You don’t know if you’re a liar?”
Jenny scream-grunted, threw off her comforter, and bounced to her knees. “I should have been Lieutenant, and you know it! As my best friend, you should have made me feel better!”
“As my best friend you should have supported me,” Jamie said. “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“The sun’s first name isn’t Jenny,” Missi interjected.
“SHUT UP, MISSI!” Jenny yelled.
“Hey,” Scottie called, hustling into Faith Hill Cabin. Melman trailed behind her. “What in the bloody ham is going on?” Jenny, Jamie, and Missi went quiet. “C’mon, no Color War in the cabin. We are on neutral grounds here, oi. Can we settle?”
Jenny chewed on her lip, thinking about how Willamena dealt with hierarchy rebellions. Anytime Jenny spent too much time with Riley, for example, Willamena would put Jenny down and give Riley the silent treatment. Other times, she pretended to be obsessed with Riley, and told Jenny she should just make new friends. That was the way Popular girls stayed Popular. So, no, Jenny would not settle quietly while Jamie and Missi walked all over her. She dished Jamie the final argument: “Lieutenant Nederbauer is a mistake. A joke. Everyone’s thinking it, and I’m the only one brave enough to say it.”
“Oh, I think you’ve made that super-clear,” Jamie said. She took Missi’s hand. “Let’s go, Twenty-seven.”
“Yes, please, Lieutenant Twenty,” Missi answered. “Leave Fifty to her fakeness.”
Jenny scrunched her eyes in confusion. Why were they speaking in numbers? Was it a White team thing? An Eighties thing? Why had they called her “Fifty”? Did she have early onset wrinkles or something? Maybe now that she was so close to real, ugly tears?
Jamie pulled Missi into the bathroom, whispering. Words like “selfish” and “bully” and “conceited” floated to Jenny’s ears. She had the urge to scream: “STOP IT! DON’T YOU GET IT? CHRISTOPHER DUMPED ME!” But surely Missi and Jamie would think she was lying to get attention. Or, even worse, they would laugh and tell her that she deserved heartbreak. That she deserved to be single and lonely and obese from Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy.
Jenny shoved Christopher’s letters back into her cubby and slipped into the same montage of memories. But now she saw their relationship for what it truly was: pathetic. (1) Jenny had tricked Christopher into doing the Titanic pose for Instagram likes. (2) The emoji-texting with Felix was actually pretty humiliating. (3) When they made out, Christopher used too much tongue, like he was giving her a tooth cleaning. Jenny hadn’t told a soul. Because what would her followers do? Unfollow her, that’s what.
Except for Play Dough. He was the kind of guy who’d follow her to the moon and back. He hadn’t judged Jenny for getting dumped. And soggy lake bread was no Chocolate Therapy, but still, it was food, and he’d offered it to her to make her feel better.
Jenny suddenly felt moved to help Play Dough just as she’d promised. What would she do if she lost him, too? She wouldn’t pull a Melman and chop off all her hair, or drown herself in the lake, but she’d probably text her mom, demanding that she be picked up early like some friendless loser. To ensure that it wouldn’t come to that, Jenny stuck her earplugs in to block out Missi and Jamie’s mean whisper-giggling, snuck her diary out from inside her pillowcase, and began to decipher today’s Hatchet Hunt clues.
Clue 1: Lady and the Tramp
– Lady and the Tramp is a movie, so maybe it’s in the office, where they store old movies. But that’s a private space, so no.
– Lady rhymes with . . . ? Oh! Shady!
– Tramp rhymes with: camp, damp, lamp, ramp, stamp
– Hiding spots: somewhere in camp, somewhere damp, inside a lamp, by the ramp (is there a ramp?!), in a mailbox, somewhere shady
Clue 2: Dryer Sheets
– Laundry—like, inside one of the machines?
– Rhymes with: higher cleats—so, soccer?!
– Dryer Sheets scrambled is: She Steer Dry—so a dry canoe?
– Is it just inside a dryer sheets box or is that too obvious?
Jenny crossed the
whole page out and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. These clues were hard. Even with time on her side, she didn’t have a brain for puzzles. Whenever her dad did the Sunday New York Times crossword, he’d ask her the five easiest questions. And never once did she get any of them right. “That’s OK, Jennifer,” he’d say. “Show me your endangered polar bear PowerPoint again. Very impressive!” But she wasn’t impressive. And she needed to be in order to find the Hatchet.
Jenny decided to think positively like Slimey might, or even Melman. My diary! She flipped through to find Hatchet Hunt inspiration. And that’s when she stumbled upon something weird. Her “Faith Hillers—Strengths and Weaknesses” page was unfolded. Had she left it that way by accident? No way. Which meant—OMIGOD—someone had snooped! But who knew about Jenny’s diary? Maybe Jamie. Who knew where she kept it? No one. But . . . Wait a second . . . OMIGODOMIGOD.
The final tallies of Jenny’s chart jumped off the page. Jamie was worth twenty points. Missi was worth twenty-seven. Jenny was worth fifty. That’s what those numbers meant! Jenny’s mind flashed to the night before Color War. Nosybody Missi had caught her writing in her diary. She’d shone her flashlight onto it. She’d watched Jenny put it away!
Ugh, Jenny thought, feeling mad and guilty all at once. Maybe she could explain herself to them. She could say something like “I didn’t mean to rank you, I swear.” But then they might ask, “If you didn’t mean it, then why did you do it?” And Jenny didn’t have an answer to that question. She frantically yanked out her earplugs. From the bathroom, Jamie and Missi’s trash talk pierced her ears.
Missi: “Omigod, wouldn’t camp be so much better if Jenny hadn’t crashed the party four summers ago? Remember how close we all were in One Tree Hill Cabin, and how everything got so cliquey as soon as she came for our Two Tree Hill summer?”
Jamie: “That’s so weird to think about. We’d all be best friends still and have no drama!”
Missi: “Drama-free is the way to be! Go Miss-Jam!”
Jenny felt a stabbing pain in her chest. Had Missi and Jamie seriously come up with a mash-up name for themselves? Did they honestly wish she’d never come to Rolling Hills at all? Her mind flooded with memories of her very first summer at camp. She’d been so nervous coming into a cabin where the social ladder was already in place. But when she’d gotten there, she was shocked to find that “Popular Girl” was up for grabs and no one was grabbing! Naturally, she’d grabbed it. It wasn’t her fault that Jamie followed her around like an untrained puppy. Or that Missi then followed her and Jamie around like some hyper farm cat. It wasn’t her fault that Melman and Slimey began to stick together like almond butter and jelly. Or that Sophie retreated into even weirder weirdness. Nothing was Jenny’s fault. When new kids came to camp, things changed.
“Are you Hatchet Hunting tomorrow morning?” Missi asked Jamie.
“I can’t,” Jamie said. “The officers have a SING meeting.”
“Cool. Then I’ll just wait to hunt with you at Rest Hour.”
And then the dynamic duo strolled out of the bathroom, arm in arm, past Jenny’s top bunk. They paused, eyed Jenny’s diary, and smirked at each other.
“Is that your diary?” Missi asked.
“That’s none of your business,” Jenny responded.
“Were you just writing about us?” Missi asked.
“Not everything is the Jamie and Missi Show,” Jenny said.
“We go by ‘Miss-Jam,’” Missi said proudly. “I don’t know if you’ve heard.”
“I haven’t,” Jenny lied. “But wow, that’s such a creative name.”
Miss-Jam nodded.
“If you weren’t writing about us behind our backs,” Missi asked, “then what were you writing about?”
“The Hatchet Hunt,” Jenny answered.
Missi and Jamie looked at her, puzzled. “Why?” Jamie asked. “You’ve always said you’re bad at clues and hunts and stuff.”
“Yeah,” Missi agreed. “Did you forget that last summer Play Dough hid a rotting fish in your cubby, and you couldn’t even find it?”
“Neither could you,” Jenny snapped. “And I’m not bad at clues and hunts and stuff anymore. I know exactly where the Hatchet is. And I’m going to find it with Lieutenant Play Dough, who believes I’m a Hatchet prodigy.”
“He said that?” Jamie asked.
“Obviously,” Jenny said. “Tomorrow I’m going to make camp herstory. No one’s going to remember the mini-Lieutenant who unfroze her T-shirt.” She glared at Missi. “Or her lame follower friend. They’ll remember me.”
Miss-Jam gasped in shock. But then, because they had the luxury of each other to lean on, they laughed it off. “I can’t believe you just said that!” Jamie squealed.
Missi joined in: “The day you make camp herstory will be the day I—!”
Jenny plugged her ears and curled up in a fetal position facing the wall. What the what have I done?!? She didn’t know where the Hatchet was! Sure, it could be in a mailbox or in a dryer sheets box or somewhere shady, but she could search those places for days and still not find it.
She went to slip her diary inside her pillowcase. But then she hesitated. She needed a new hiding spot. If she stuck her diary back inside her pillowcase, then Jamie and Missi would find her pathetic Hatchet Hunt brainstorm.
And then an idea hit her so hard, the plugs nearly popped from her ears. What if she could create a new brainstorm—one that didn’t seem pathetic at all? What if she could lead Missi and Jamie to a Fake Hatchet in a forbidden hiding spot, costing the White team the Sealed Envelope? And Play Dough could help. She tapped her pen against her chin in thought. Where was off-limits other than past hiding spots and toilets? Hmmm. She tapped harder. Hmmmmmm. PRIVATE SPACES!
Jenny brainstormed private spaces, but all the ones she could think of were inside cabins. Jamie and Missi knew better than to fall for a Fake Hatchet in an obviously forbidden domain. Hmmmm. What if . . . It hit her. Insanely hard. THE CAPTAIN’S GOLF CART! Jenny’s mind flashed back to three Color Wars ago when she’d shadowed Lieutenant Acosta, who’d bet the Hatchet was hidden inside there. All the officers debated whether that was a “Private Space.” Technically, it lived outdoors and was used by a lot of other staff for camp tours. And it was no more private than a toilet, where the Hatchet had been hidden before. So they’d asked the Captain if her cart was off-limits. Her response: “Absolutely.” But Jenny had never shared that story with Jamie or Missi.
Jenny smiled to herself, opened her diary, thought hard about the clues, and scribbled:
Clue 1: Lady and the Tramp
– Who is the “Lady” in charge of camp? Answer: THE CAPTAIN.
– What is something she has that could trample stuff? Answer: HER GOLF CART.
Clue 2: Dryer Sheets
– Who uses dryer sheets so that her staff shirts come out pressed and fresh? Answer: THE CAPTAIN.
– How does she get her laundry to the laundry room? Answer: HER GOLF CART.
Jenny folded the page over and wrote TOP SECRET: HATCHET HUNT on the flap. She waited until Missi had an eye on her, and then, pretending to be stealthy, she shoved her diary in a new hiding spot—under her mattress. Then she set a two-hour timer on her pink sports watch and tried, tried, tried to quiet her excitement for a couple hours of shut-eye.
Jenny’s eyes popped open a minute before the timer was supposed to go off, which she took to be a sign that her plan, however risky, was exactly right. She threw on black leggings and a black hoodie, climbed down her bunk ladder, and tiptoed past Miss-Jam cuddle-spooning. She gathered a towel, Melman’s blue hairspray, Missi’s white hairspray, Sophie’s flashlight, and Slimey’s colored pencils. She shoved it all in Jamie’s backpack. Then she snuck out the front door.
Jenny climbed up and down three hills, hopping into as many shadows as she could. It was a pretty night—the stars were glistening like diamonds. The wind whipped her cheeks, and drowned out the crickets, and made the fallen leaves rust
le into mini-cyclones. As Jenny approached the forest, part of her wondered if this plan was insane. Sneaking out? In the middle of the night? Into the woods? Yes, it was absolutely nuts. But sometimes crazy is the only way, she reminded herself.
She put her hood up and tied the drawstrings into a bow beneath her chin. Then, feeling a bit warmer and more secure, she began the last leg of her trek. She dodged a skunk, a chipmunk, a plastic bag she thought was a bat, and then a real bat before she reached her first destination: the Tool Shed. She’d survived! This was it! Hoorah! She went to push the door open but it was chain locked. Nooooooooo! Great for safety, disastrous for her plan.
Jenny did a lap around the shed, desperately searching for a way to break in. She rounded the last corner and, Holy Bingo! At ground level, a rotting piece of the wall had been gnawed away at (presumably by a feral opossum), leaving a jagged hole. Jenny felt the wood—it was damp and nasty. She prayed that (a) she’d be skinny enough to squeeze through without getting splintered to death, and (b) she wouldn’t get attacked by any opossums in the process.
Jenny took a deep Am I really doing this? breath in. She exhaled, thinking, Yes, girl, you are. She climbed through the hole, arms first, then her head, then her torso, and then she wiggled her hips to fit the rest of her body inside. She collapsed onto a muddy floor littered with sawdust. Victory!
Her heart slamming, Jenny flicked on her flashlight and shone it around. Lots of cobwebs, lots of tools: gardening hoes, rakes, brooms, saws, drills, hammers, and . . . YES, A HATCHET! She pulled a creaky stepladder out from the corner, climbed up four rungs, and pulled it from the wall. It was heavy and a little rusty and was absolutely perfect for her con.
Covered in sawdust, wood, and probably opossum poop, Jenny crawled out of the shed and unpacked her supplies. She sprayed the Hatchet blue and white and penciled COLOR WAR on the handle. She wrapped it in the towel, slunk out of the forest, and crept ten paces to the side of Hill Hall where the Captain’s golf cart was parked. Where should I . . . ? She knew she couldn’t leave the Hatchet in an obvious spot, like on the seat or in the back basket. But there was no glove compartment, or any other compartments for that matter. Maybe it will fit in the . . . She lifted the white cushion seat and slid the Hatchet underneath. It fit, totally lump-free.
Breakout! Page 7
