The Captain laughed. “What would you like to know?”
“Was it love at first sight?”
The Captain snorted and then covered her smiling mouth.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well, TJ and I weren’t the most likely couple. He was a goofy soccer specialist who lived in the moment, and I was a head lifeguard with dreams of the navy. TJ had never had a girlfriend, and I’d had my fair share of relationships. TJ was nineteen, and I was twenty-two. I was ready to buckle down with someone mature. TJ was the opposite of mature!”
Jenny grinned. She could totally picture a silly nineteen-year-old TJ and a super-mature twenty-two-year-old pre-navy Captain interacting like complete aliens, stumbling over their words and sharing their first super-awk kiss! Aw! “So what happened? How’d he win you over?”
“He didn’t.”
Jenny cocked her chin.
“I won him over.”
“You did?!” Jenny cried. “Why?”
The Captain sighed happily. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”
Jenny’s mind leapt to Play Dough. Something clicked hard. “Like, love just finds you in the most unexpected places, right?”
“Exactly,” the Captain said.
Jenny beamed, but she didn’t want to be so obvious about her feelings. “I want to be a relationship therapist when I get older, so this is really good to know.” And then it hit her that, sure, the heart is free to love whomever, but what about what the rest of the world thinks? “Wait, so did you, like, lose your whole fan base?” Jenny asked.
“Sorry?”
“Like your friends, and family, and everyone on social media, if the Internet was a thing back then?”
The Captain smirked. “Everyone who loved me was thrilled—said I could use a goofball in my life. And everyone in TJ’s life was thrilled, too—he needed someone practical with lifelong goals. We were good for each other, and twenty summers later, we still are. In fact, Psychedelic Sixties and Awesome Eighties were the Color War themes the summer we were Generals together. We revived the themes this summer as a sort of anniversary gift to each other.”
“It’s the summer of love,” Jenny swooned.
“I guess it is.”
Totally randomly, Jenny’s sight went blurry. She dabbed her eye, and a tear flew down her cheek. The Captain’s love story was just so touching! Suddenly, the million butterflies in Jenny’s belly fluttered awake. All she wanted to do was kiss Play Dough and taste his pepperoni breath. She didn’t even eat pepperoni! What was happening to her body?! Maybe Jenny was done with the Prince Hanses out there, because she had found her Kristoff. Maybe the stars were aligning. Maybe it didn’t matter what was in her followers’ hearts, just hers. Her true friends had to understand. And if they didn’t, maybe they weren’t her true friends after all. “Sorry, I have to— I think I can write my letter now.”
Jenny tossed the Captain’s “To-Do List” notepad at her feet and pulled her hearts and lipstick kisses stationery to her lap. She gave her romantic life one final thought: In a heated moment, when love overpowered anger, Play Dough had held Jenny in his pudgy arms, made her giggle, and wiped their slate clean with the sweetest kiss. What more could she possibly want?
Jenny put her pen to paper, and this time, the letter wrote itself.
Gaining Momentum
TJ: Wow. What a burn this summer! With us tonight are our Generals, minutes after the Rope Burn of the century!
Captain: Who won?
General McCarville: B-B-L, B-L-U-E, Psychedelic Sixties to victory!
TJ: Well, let’s hear those rhymes! White, you’re uuuuuup!
General Ferrara: Tonight’s burn was a total thrill / Steinberg’s formula was utterly brill.
General Silver: Our rope came to break just seconds behind / A more resilient team you’ll never find!
TJ: Niiiice. And representing Blue will just be General McCarville. General Power is in the infirmary getting his hand glued back on.
Captain: TJ, the children!
TJ: Hi, children!
General McCarville: Blazing dreams, our fiery Blues / Kick off those love beads and soak in the news / Our MVP tonight did not give a stink! / Let’s give it up for Play Dough Garfink!!!
TJ: Garfink in the Hamburger Hoouuuuuuse! The current scores are: 503 points, two Sealed Envelopes—White. 589 points, three Sealed Envelopes—Blue. Sweet dreams!
“PLAY DOUGH’S ARMY!” Dover and Smelly chanted. “PLAY DOUGH’S ARMY!”
Play Dough was up on his teammates’ shoulders, about to make the grandest of grand entrances into Hamburger Hill Cabin. He was six feet from the ground but felt on top of the world.
“My back. Ow.” Dover cringed. “My back.”
“I think,” Smelly started. “I think my shoulder is coming out of its socket.”
Play Dough pressed his palms to the top of their heads for better balance and also encouragement. “Guys, two porch steps and we’re at the door.”
The guys pushed forward, and Play Dough fumbled with the doorknob. Finally, they made their grand entrance, chanting: “PLAY DOUGH’S ARMY!” They were met by Steinberg on Totle’s and Wiener’s shoulders, chanting: “STEINBERG EQUALS MC SQUARED!” The Blue and White Hamburgers were like mirror images of each other, and the pure coincidence of it made them stop in their tracks and break into laughter.
“Don’t move!” Yoshi called, scrambling to get his heavy-duty camera.
Steinberg froze his whole body mid-laugh as a joke. Play Dough dug up some earwax and touched it to Steinberg’s nose.
“Dude-a-wax, no!” Steinberg cried, unfreezing and smacking his nose clean.
Yoshi fiddled with the lens and the focus and the angle and the flash. “Just hold it! This moment is too good.”
Play Dough and Steinberg obeyed Yoshi for a second. But then Steinberg sneezed. To avoid getting sprayed, Play Dough lunged from Smelly’s and Dover’s shoulders into a pile of dirty socks. Steinberg toppled on top of him, and they fake-wrestled until Steinberg called time-out to take a puff of his inhaler. Play Dough took a puff, too, just to get the taste of stinky socks out of his mouth.
“Oh well,” Yoshi said. “I guess we’ll have to rely on memory.”
“The memory that Hamburger Hill is dominating this war,” Totle said. “Play Dough and Steinberg both got shout-outs!”
“You really turned things around, PD,” Dover said. “Mad props.”
“Thanks, Dov.”
“General Power’s got nothing on you now. He says another doubtful-poutful thing about you, and I’ll be like ‘No one messes with my boy, PD. He’s a fire sensation is what’s up!’”
“I second that,” Smelly said. “How’d you even know how to start a fire like that? YouTube?”
Play Dough smiled. “Let’s just say it’s in my blood.”
“Blood,” Steinberg repeated. “Cool.”
Dover threw his Eagle Scout sash over Play Dough’s head. “You should join us. Work your way up to Eagle Scout like me.”
Play Dough cocked his head in consideration. “Do you sell cookies like the girls?”
“No, dude. Fertilizer.”
“Is it edible?”
“Not sure. It’s poop, though. So probably not. But do you know what is edible?” Dover climbed to his top bunk and tore through his underwear cubby. He whipped out a can of Cheez Whiz. “I saved this for a special occasion!”
“CHEEZ WHIZ!” Play Dough cried. “Oh, how I’ve dreamed of you!” Ever since he ran out two weeks ago, he’d been craving it on the quarter hour.
The guys gathered around Dover as he sprayed cheese toward their mouths. Most of it landed on their faces and in their hair and on the beds behind them, so Yoshi stepped in. “All right, guys, let’s put the can of—”
“ROPE BURN COLOGNE!” Wiener interrupted, suddenly emerging from the bathroom. Play Dough hadn’t even realized he wasn’t part of the Cheez Whiz mosh pit. “Guys. The sweet smell of campfire ’n
’ competition year-round. We make this, we’ll be billionaires! Steinberg, how can we capture its essence in a bottle?”
“Rope divided by burn equals cologne,” Steinberg joked.
“No, c’mon, really.”
“I know!” Dover cried. “Come close.”
Wiener obeyed, and Dover cheesed him in the face.
The guys melted with laughter.
There was a knock at the cabin door. The guys instantly hushed, thinking it was the Captain doing noise control. But then Jenny’s face peered in through the window, her hands cupped around her eyes. Everyone seemed to sigh with relief. Except for Play Dough. He threw himself against the cabin wall, out of Jenny’s sight.
“Pssst. Play Dough!” she called, not actually whispering at all. “I have to talk to you!”
He knew the mature thing to do would be to step outside and deal with Jenny head-on. To tell her that, if she wanted to gain cred like he had, she’d have to do it on her own. That he was done with her plans, once and for all. But he also knew that was dangerous. What if, instead of anger, all that L-O-V-E rushed back, like when his belly beckons for a third burrito, even though his brain is telling him he’ll get butt-blasted with bowel bombs?
“You want to talk to her?” Yoshi mouthed, even though his eyebrows were saying it was a bad idea. Even Play Dough’s counselor knew about his forever crush and how he’d gotten wrapped up in Jenny’s manipulation with the Hatchet. How embarrassing.
Play Dough looked from Smelly to Dover to Steinberg to Totle to Wiener, searching for whatever advice they could quickly lend, but they were all looking to him to make the decision. Finally, Play Dough shook his head no.
So Yoshi let Jenny down with a “Play Dough’s got to focus on writing tomorrow’s rosters,” and she left. Then Play Dough and Totle really did step out to the porch to write tomorrow’s rosters. They didn’t sit on opposite sides like normal. They sat side by side, with just enough room between them so they couldn’t see the other’s strategies.
As Play Dough began to brainstorm the next day’s kicking order for Mass Kickball, and the running order for the Twelve-Hill Marathon, and the event breakdown for the Boating Regatta, he felt his body buzz with warmth. He may not have been on White like his family, but he had been chosen for Lieutenant, and he had it in him to lead his team to victory. Yesterday, he’d failed his team for the last time. He’d come too far to get sucked into any more drama.
“You’re doing good,” Totle said out of nowhere, his fist out for a pound.
Play Dough pounded him back. “You too, man.”
BOATING REGATTA
Canoe/Paddleboat/Kayak Relay. One camper canoes to floating iceberg. Another paddleboats to trambopoline. Another kayaks back to the dock.
Surf Bike Relay. From dock, around trambopoline, and back.
Lake Obstacle Course. Surf bike to trambopoline, climb up, jump five times, jump off, swim to iceberg, climb up, jump off, surf bike back to dock.
Making Herstory
“We gotta! We gotta! WE GOTTA WIN THE REGATTA!”
Jenny hiked down Forest Hill toward the lake, where the entire camp was assembled for the boating relays. With every step, the cheering got louder. She squinted through the masses and finally spotted Play Dough by the shore, dumping residual rainwater from a canoe. His biceps had a little bit of definition, she noticed. Also, his hair was enthusiastically flipped up today, kind of like a ramp. He looked really nice. Did she look nice?
She frantically pulled up her fringed jean shorts so they didn’t sag in the butt and zipped her FAITH HILL FOREVER sweatshirt to her belly button. Her hair was in a too-tight side braid, so she pulled some strands out to make it look carefree. Her bangs were cooperating. Her legs were shaved. Her skin, she could feel, was glowing underneath the face-painted peace signs. Yes, she looked nice now, too.
Jenny had gone to bed last night wondering why Play Dough had refused to see her, but she’d assured herself it was because of Yoshi’s stupid rules, not his. If Play Dough had had his way, he’d have come out to the porch and locked lips with Jenny all over again. Now Jenny really couldn’t wait to give him the apology letter she had in her pocket and congratulate him on his newfound popularity. Play Dough had transformed. He’d saved Rope Burn. He’d become a walking legend. Her lips had gifted him the confidence he’d needed to soar. And from this Regatta on, they’d soar together.
First things first: They needed to plot the recovery of the Hatchet. The two-day freeze was over at last, and now was the time to emerge as Color War Hatcheteers! Jenny wasn’t sure yet when or how they’d reveal the Hatchet, but it was obvious what would happen once they did: Jenny would hop onto Play Dough’s back. He’d hold the Hatchet in the air, and she’d plant a kiss on his cheek. This would, of course, be the featured photo of the Hilltopper. The headline would read: “Jenny & Play Dough: Redefining ‘Cutest Camp Couple’ and Inspiring Fat Boys Everywhere.” Jenny “Hatcheteer” Nolan would be added to this summer’s Color War plaque as an honorary Lieutenant. Her life would be back on track. And lastly, her doughy grandkids would one day feel proud generational fame.
Jenny uprooted a yellow dandelion and tucked it behind her ear. With only seven canoes between them, she locked eyes with Play Dough and waved. He looked down at his clipboard and then out to the paddleboats, pointing and counting. There were four. He didn’t need to point and count. What was he doing? Jenny waved again. He counted the life jackets on the ground. There were three. Why was he counting what didn’t need counting? Why hadn’t he waved back? Was he nervous? Jenny thought that was just so adorable. She was nervous, too, and she couldn’t wait to chat with him about how their emotions were totally in sync.
Dover’s ’fro was suddenly in Jenny’s line of sight, blocking her view of Play Dough’s bloated, sun-kissed cheeks. “Uh, Jenny, can we talk?”
“What?”
“I have a message from Lieutenant Play Dough.”
“He wants to talk to me?” she chirped. “Why didn’t he say so! It’s cute that he’s being shy and all, but I can just go over to him, no problem.” She smirked. “I know he’s busy counting boats and stuff, but trust me, I’m worth it.”
“Cool. So Play Dough told me to tell you that he’s a free agent. Whatever you’ve got planned for today, you’re flying solo.” He spread his arms like an eagle. “Caw!”
Jenny’s heartbeat grew into loud, stomping pounds. WHAT THE FLYING WHAT was Dover talking about? No way did Play Dough sanction that birdbrained message. She shoved past Dover’s outstretched arm and zipped toward Play Dough, who was now dumping residual rainwater from a kayak.
Dover was stuttering to the back of her head: “Um. Jenny? Uh. Where are you—? Jenny, I don’t think—!”
“Are you ready?” Jenny asked Play Dough, stepping between him and a paddleboat.
“Uh.” He ducked down like he was going to tie his laces, except he wasn’t wearing any—he was sporting water shoes. So he scooped around his toes. “Lodged pebble,” he croaked.
Jenny chalked it up to nerves and forgave him. “Dover just said the weirdest thing to me. Like, it was funny how deranged it was.”
Play Dough rose and wiped his muddy palms on his shorts.
“By the way, you look—” Jenny halted her compliment because she noticed that a part of Play Dough’s tank tucked into his waistband. She went to fix it, but Play Dough stumbled back awkwardly. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Play Dough said. “Only Color War officers on the front lines.”
“Do you mean the shoreline?” Jenny joked with a smile.
“You’ll have to take a seat on the hill like everyone else.”
“But I’m not everyone else! We’re not everyone else!”
“Huh?”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “What about”—she cupped her hands around his ear and whispered—“our Hatchet? We need to make a plan!”
Play Dough swallowed, and his Adam’s apple slid up and down li
ke a pinball. “You’re welcome to get it on your own.” Then he absentmindedly glanced at his clipboard and walked toward the Blue guys on the hill.
“But, wait! I have a letter for—”
The Captain blew a series of whistles from the dock and megaphoned something about the proper way to use an oar, but Jenny was too dumbstruck to listen. Instead, she threw her hood up over her head and popped a squat by Sophie, whose nose was so buried in her newest book, 1960s: What-
a-Decade, that she was oblivious to the broken, angry heart beside her.
What the what is happening?! Jenny thought. This was not Play Dough being cutesy-nervous. This was him straight-up rejecting her. He had so much going for him now, he didn’t need credit for finding the Hatchet. Nor did he desire Jenny’s kisses. He was too cool and too popular and too heroic to be associated with her. Their featured photo on the Hilltopper? Play Dough’s PR nightmare.
“Paddle, peddle, push, row. Watch out White, WE’VE GOT PLAY DOUGH!” Nearly everyone on Blue was on his or her feet, chanting.
Jenny didn’t have it in her to stand, especially not to that stupid cheer, so she peeked through the Anita Hiller legs in front of her to catch the action. Apparently, the Regatta had begun. The Lauryn and Jonah Hillers were already kayaking back to the dock. The Notting Hillers and Wawel Hillers were on deck, boarding surf bikes. Play Dough was waddling back and forth on the shore, riling the crowd by wearing a life jacket as a diaper. Yes, a diaper.
You know what? Jenny thought. I don’t need to mourn the loss of this oversize baby! She watched him do squats as the life-jacket diaper slipped to his ankles. The Blue team laughed. Some White campers couldn’t contain themselves and laughed, too. Why was everyone acting so immature? This was war. Not some video gone viral. Whatever, Jenny thought. She didn’t need to share the Hatcheteer fame. She was Jenny Nolan. She was the one who’d found the Hatchet in the first place. She was the one who’d planned all the plans. Katniss needed Peeta—real or not real? NOT REAL.
Breakout! Page 11
