I try to picture what Gigi might be doing right now. Probably relaxing in the screened-in porch of the little house next door to ours that my father built for her and Edouard as a wedding present. Sophie was probably with them too, playing cards—the three of them are mad about gin rummy—or looking at fashion magazines. Sophie’s my new cousin, thanks to the fact that her grandfather married my grandmother a couple of summers ago. She flies over from France every school holiday and every summer to hang out with us and help in the tearoom, bewitching the boys of Concord while she’s at it. With her dark curls and green eyes, petite Sophie is très chic and très French.
If I don’t stop thinking of home, the roof won’t be the only thing leaking. I’m feeling perilously close to tears.
I roll over and adjust my pillow, trying to get comfortable in an unfamiliar bed. Why on earth had I turned down that internship at Flash? I could be in a plush apartment in New York City right now, instead of in the middle of nowhere. The nearest slice of civilization is a town called Pumpkin Falls. Pumpkin Falls! What kind of a stupid name is that?
At least there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Come September, I’ll be in New York, and I’ll be staying there for the next four years. My mother’s been in mourning ever since I got my college acceptance letter this past spring, but by now she’s mostly resigned herself to the fact that I’m not headed for MIT or one of the Ivies like she’d hoped, but rather to Parsons for a BFA in Fashion Design. If there’s a silver lining for my mother, it’s the fact that Parsons offers a focus in sustainable design. That cheered her up. My mother’s all about the environment. She was elected mayor of Concord a couple of years ago, and coming up with green initiatives for our town has kept her busy ever since.
My dad doesn’t need a silver lining and neither does my grandmother, but there’s one for her anyway: Parsons has a Paris campus! I’m already fantasizing about my junior year abroad.
Gigi loves Paris. She loves everything French, and likes to brag about how she brought Edouard home as a souvenir. The two of them go back to visit as often as they can, as my new grandfather has a little cottage on an estate where he used to work as the chauffeur.
Gigi is the only one in the family who’s totally, unreservedly thrilled about my college choice. She understands how I feel about fashion, because she feels the same way. It’s our passion in life. Gigi is already talking about how she’s going to come and visit me in New York, and take me to all her favorite spots in the city. I can hardly wait.
But first, I have to get through this summer.
Which right now is stretching out ahead of me like an endless bolt of fabric. Blank, boring, colorless fabric.
I bury my head under my pillow, trying to block out the rhythmic drip of rain. I’d better get some sleep. Tomorrow will look a lot worse if I don’t.
* * *
“Megan! Wake up!”
Becca is shaking my foot. I crack open an eye, peer at my alarm clock, and groan. I can’t believe it’s morning already.
“You can’t be serious,” I tell her. “Go away!”
“Look!” she insists. “The lake is so beautiful!”
Groggily, I raise myself up on one elbow. Becca has opened the heavy wooden shutters, and a cool, pine-scented breeze is wafting in through the screened windows. Our cabin is perched right on the edge of the lake, and I can hear it lapping against the shore. The rain has stopped, the sun is out, and mist is rising from the surface of the water.
Becca’s right. It is pretty.
But it’s also way too early to be admiring the view.
I flop back down and burrow under the covers again. It’s no use. Becca sits on the edge of my mattress and jiggles it a little. I sigh. She’s wide awake and clearly wants me to be too.
Grumbling, I sit up and reach for my hoodie. The rain may have stopped, but it hasn’t warmed up a speck since last night. “I thought Gwen said we don’t have to get up until we hear the morning bell.”
“She did,” says Becca, smiling.
“What are you so happy about?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Do I need a reason?”
I stare at her. Is this the same Becca I know? Night-owl Becca, who doesn’t do mornings? Then it dawns on me. “You heard from Theo, didn’t you?”
Her smile widens.
“Did he text you?”
She shakes her head. “How could he? We gave our cell phones to Gwen last night, remember? ‘Camp Lovejoy is a tech-free zone’ and all that?”
I make a face. When I saw that rule in the brochure, I thought it meant the campers, not the counselors, too. Gwen had to practically pry my cell phone from my hand. Just one more reason for me to wish I was in New York City.
Becca waves an envelope at me. “He wrote me a real letter! Someone left it here in our cabin for me, but I didn’t see it last night in the dark.”
“Sweet! What did he have to say? No, wait—let me guess. Instructions for collecting rare New Hampshire snakes, right?”
“Megan!”
“He mentioned snakes, though, didn’t he?”
She flushes. “Just twice,” she admits, then laughs. “That’s pretty good for Theo, actually.”
Shivering, I throw back my comforter and wiggle my feet into the pair of flip-flops I left on the floor last night. My feet recoil and I give a little yelp. The flip-flops are freezing too. “Do you remember where the bathroom is?”
Becca shakes her head. “Somewhere near the flagpole, I think. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
“We might as well take our showers, while we’re at it.” I grab my towel and shower caddy and we head outside, the cabin’s screen door slapping shut loudly behind us. I shoot a glance over at Nest, hoping I didn’t wake Emma. Poor thing—she looked so stricken last night when she got the news about the switcheroo with Felicia. None of the rest of us have met Jess’s cousin, but we’ve heard all the stories. Especially the ones about that disastrous Christmas trip back in tenth grade, when Felicia almost torpedoed Jess and Emma’s friendship.
As Becca and I scuff down the pine-needle-carpeted path toward the flagpole, the door to Twin Pines creaks open.
“Wait for me!” whispers Jess. No surprise there. She’s always up early. Her family lives on a farm, and they all get up at the crack of dawn. She disappears back inside, then reappears carrying her stuff.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Becca asks her. “Are we headed in the right direction?”
Jess nods. “Keep going past Primporium.”
We give her a blank look.
“You know, the cubie house?” She jerks her thumb toward the long building on our right.
“Oh, yeah,” says Becca.
Cubies are another Camp Lovejoy tradition. I guess whoever founded the camp a zillion years ago decided that every girl deserved a space of her own for the summer, so they designed these two buildings full of cubicles that serve as private dressing rooms. Ours is called Cubbyhole, and we’ll be sharing it with Nest and Twin Pines. Primporium is shared by the other three cabins in Lower Camp: Blue Jay, Meadow, and Shady Grove.
“What’s this cute little place?” I ask as we pass a tiny cottage with flowers spilling from its window boxes.
“Shhhhh!” Jess whispers. “People are sleeping! That’s Cabbage. It’s the head counselor’s cabin.”
We tiptoe past it and past the flagpole in the middle of the grove, then head toward the Dining Hall.
“The Biffy’s over there,” says Jess, pointing to another building beyond it.
“Biffy?” Becca looks puzzled.
Jess smiles. “ ‘Bathroom in the Forest for You,’ remember?”
“Oh yeah. Dorky.”
“But kind of funny,” I add.
It’s primitive inside, just bare wood walls and floors, but there are flush toilets at least, and the showers are spotless. There’s plenty of hot water, too. I feel myself start to relax a bit as I shampoo my hair. Maybe camp won’t be so bad.
&
nbsp; I change my mind a few minutes later when a huge daddy longlegs crawls across my foot as I’m brushing my teeth.
“Shhhhhhh!” Jess warns me again as I let out a bloodcurdling shriek. “You’ll wake up the entire camp!”
“I don’t care!” I reply, flapping frantically at my toes with a towel. Becca starts to laugh, and I give her the stink eye. “It’s not funny!”
“Yes it is,” she replies. “Too bad I don’t have my cell phone—that video clip would be hitting the Internet by now.”
Spider vanquished, we head back to our cabins. The morning bell clangs as Becca and I are getting dressed. Gwen told us we don’t have to wear our uniforms until the campers arrive, so I opt for jeans and a T-shirt. Camp Lovejoy’s uniforms aren’t all that bad—navy blue shorts and white polo shirts that sport the camp emblem (the letters CL interlocked inside a large circle, with the silhouette of a pine tree underneath)—but ever since the fiasco with the hideous ones we had to wear in middle school, I haven’t been a big fan of uniforms.
I trade my flipflops for running shoes, since I don’t want to take any more chances with toe-loving spiders, and on my way out the door I grab my navy Camp Lovejoy hoodie. Becca grabs hers, too. It hasn’t warmed up much yet.
“Navy is not really my color,” I complain, then tilt my head as I consider my friend. “You can rock it, though.”
It’s a good shade for Becca’s peaches-and-cream complexion and blond hair. Which is currently ahead in our little summer competition. The two of us decided to let our hair grow out this summer, just to see whose is longest by the time we head off to college. Mine just barely brushes my shoulders at the moment, and hers is about an inch longer. She’s got it pulled up in a high ponytail this morning; I just tucked mine behind my ears. I figure I’d better get used to a low-maintenance beauty routine.
The two of us stop in next door at Twin Pines to get Jess, but she waves us on. “You guys go ahead. I’m going to wait for Emma.”
“Where’s Cassidy?” asks Becca, shading her eyes as she peers through the screen door.
Jess smirks. “You mean Ms. I’m-Always-First-in-Line-for-the-Breakfast-Buffet? Three guesses.”
Sure enough, Cassidy is already seated at one of the long tables by the time we reach the Dining Hall.
“Hey, guys!” she calls, waving us over. I stare at her plate, which is piled high with food. Typical Cassidy. My father says she has a hollow leg. She eats like a horse but never gains an ounce. I know it’s because she’s an athlete and all, but still, it’s really annoying.
“Don’t miss the cinnamon rolls,” she mumbles, taking a bite. “They’re phenomenal.”
Becca and I get in line. I’m suddenly starving. Skipping the cold and hot cereals, I pile my plate with fruit, yogurt, scrambled eggs, and a cinnamon roll, which must be homemade because Cassidy is right, it is amazing.
Jess joins us a few minutes later, sliding into the last seat at our table.
“Where’s Emma?” I ask.
“Still sleeping.” She frowns. “I told her to hurry up or she’d miss breakfast.”
The other counselors at our table introduce themselves, and as Cassidy starts grilling them about camp stuff, I glance around the Dining Hall and do a little math. In addition to the six cabins in Lower Camp, there are three on the Hill, as Upper Camp is called: Far, Farther, and Outback. With two counselors per cabin, that makes eighteen of us, plus Gwen; her husband, Artie; the extra staffers in charge of stuff like the waterfront and the trips programs; and the kitchen help. Altogether, I count about thirty-five people.
“Hey, isn’t that Sergeant Marge?” asks someone at our table, a tall girl named Brianna Peterson. She’s from L.A. and she’s already sporting a tan.
Brianna points toward the door and a dozen heads all swivel around to look. A short, stocky woman with no-nonsense gray hair is standing there. She’s wearing the regulation Camp Lovejoy uniform, accessorized with navy blue knee socks, navy running shoes, and a navy lanyard around her neck. A whistle dangles from it, and in one hand she carries a clipboard.
Uh-oh, I think. This is not a good sign. My mother and Mrs. Chadwick love clipboards too.
“What’s she doing here?” whispers Melissa Yee, Brianna’s co-counselor in Meadow. “I thought she was retiring after last summer. Remember all that hoopla in her honor at the final banquet?”
“Summer wouldn’t be summer at Camp Lovejoy without Marge the Barge,” quips someone at the far end of the table, and the other counselors all snicker quietly at this.
Jess takes a bite of cinnamon roll. “What the heck is taking Emma so long? She should have been here by now.”
Cassidy turns to her. “So what’s the deal with your cousin, anyway?” she asks, swatting at a stray bit of food dangling from a strand of her red hair. Her hair bounces between short and longish, and this summer it’s nearly the same length as mine. She’s wearing it tucked behind her ears this morning too, I notice, and for some reason this pleases me. Maybe there’s hope that I’ll get the hang of camp after all. “Emma looked like death eating a cracker last night when she heard that she and Felicia were going to be in Nest together.”
Jess puffs out her breath, sending her blond bangs fluttering upward. “Felicia’s okay, but she can be a real know-it-all, and now that she’s in college, it’s only gotten worse.”
Jess’s cousin is even more of a brainiac than Jess is, apparently, which is pretty hard to believe.
“Plus, she’s, well, kind of awkward,” Jess continues, slanting a glance in her cousin’s direction. Felicia has attached some sort of a cape to her T-shirt, and her hair, which was coiled around her ears like Princess Leia’s from Star Wars last night, is now piled on top of her head in a tangle of complicated braids. “She’s really into medieval history, and sometimes she talks like she’s from the Middle Ages or something. She’s just a little, you know . . .” Her voice trails off.
“Got it,” says Cassidy. “O-D-D.”
My friends and I all grin. “O-D-D” is mother-daughter book club code for “odd.” People always think we’re referring to the abbreviation for some affliction.
Jess pushes back from the table. “I’m going to go check on Emma again.”
Before she can, though, Emma droops through the door. She looks like she hasn’t slept a wink. I can tell she hasn’t showered yet, either, because her short, curly brown hair is mushed down on one side and sticking up in the back, plus she’s wearing glasses instead of her contacts, which is a dead giveaway. Emma hardly ever wears her glasses anymore. Only when she’s super tired.
She grabs a banana and some yogurt from the buffet and shuffles over to our table. “Shove over,” she demands, and Jess and I immediately oblige. Emma squeezes in on the bench, then shakes her banana at us. “I’m going home.”
We all gape at her.
“Don’t be an idiot,” says Cassidy.
“I am not spending the summer trapped in a cabin with Felicia.”
“C’mon, Emma,” says Jess. “Felicia’s kind of goofy, but she’s not that bad. I actually thought you guys hit it off that Christmas we spent at the inn. I mean, before the other stuff happened. Don’t you remember all those conversations about Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen?”
Cassidy grins. “Sounds like your soulmate, Hawthorne.”
Emma gives her a withering look. “It’s no use trying to talk me out of it,” she says, ripping open her yogurt container. “I’m calling my mother after breakfast and asking her to come get me.”
Jess frowns. “Ems, you can’t just quit. You’re helping run the waterfront, remember? Plus, aren’t you going to do the Birch Bark?”
The Birch Bark is Camp Lovejoy’s newspaper. Emma was the editor of our high school paper back in Concord, and when Gwen found out, she signed her up to be in charge.
“And what about that creative writing workshop you volunteered to lead during free period?” Jess continues. “The campers will love that.”
Emm
a lifts a shoulder.
“I know you’re disappointed with the way things turned out, but once your campers get here, I’ll bet you’ll be having so much fun that you’ll hardly notice Felicia,” adds Becca.
“Fat chance,” mutters Emma, but she doesn’t sound quite so belligerent.
“The mother-daughter book club has your back,” Cassidy assures her. “You just let us know if you need us to run interference. We’ll do anything it takes—anything at all. You know, short-sheet Felicia’s bed, hide her shoes, put a chipmunk in her underwear drawer. . . .”
Emma gives her a grudging half smile.
“You’ll feel better once you’ve had a shower,” I tell her. “Trust me, I did.” I decide not to mention anything about spiders.
Jess passes her half of her cinnamon roll. “Eat this, you’ll feel better.”
Emma takes a bite. “Maybe I’m overreacting a little. But it’s not fair! We had the summer all planned out.”
“I know.” Jess puts her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “We’ll still be spending plenty of time together, though. The other counselors told me that the youngest cabins team up for a lot of stuff.”
Before she can continue, Gwen, who is seated at the head table with her husband and Sergeant Marge, taps a spoon against her orange juice glass. “Attention, please!” she says, rising to her feet. “Good morning, everyone! I trust you all slept well, and I know you’ve eaten well. How about a round of applause for those bodacious cinnamon rolls?”
The Dining Hall erupts in thunderous cheers.
“I’m sure many of you have noticed a familiar face here in the Dining Hall this morning,” Gwen continues. “Dorothea Buckman had a family emergency and won’t be able to join us as head counselor this summer, so Marge Gearhart, our intrepid former head counselor of many years standing, has very kindly agreed to step in as a last-minute replacement. Our heartiest thanks to you, Marge, for your devotion to Camp Lovejoy.”
“Marge the Barge,” whispers Brianna, igniting another ripple of giggles at our table.
There’s a spattering of polite applause for the head counselor, but no cheers. The cinnamon rolls are the winners in this morning’s popularity contest, apparently.