Spells & Sleeping Bags Read online

  “Slight difference there,” Carly says. “Poodles has a chance with Harris, and you have no chance with Will.”

  “Alison, want me to talk to Blume for you?” Poodles asks.

  Carly looks disturbed. “Wait a sec—”

  “You just said you weren't interested!”

  “I know, but still. This is all kind of sudden.”

  “I'm not interested in Blume,” Alison says. “I like boys who are more studious.”

  Morgan snorts. “Nerdy, you mean?”

  “Bookish.”

  Deb interrupts them by turning off the lights.

  “Good night, everyone!” Carly says.

  Poodles: “Good night, ladies.”

  Morgan: “Good night, horndogs.”

  Alison: “We're not horndogs.”

  Morgan: “I was talking about myself.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “Teddy says good night,” Carly pipes up in a squeaky voice.

  Morgan groans. “You're not going to talk in that teddy bear voice every night again this summer?”

  “Of course she is,” Poodles says. “It's part of her charm. Did you see her new bear? He's wearing a tuxedo.”

  “He's not a bear,” Carly says. “He's a penguin.”

  “You seriously need a life,” Morgan tells her.

  “Missed you guys,” Carly says.

  “Missed you, too,” the other girls sing back, and then Alison adds, “And we're glad you're here, Rachel.”

  Moonlight streams through the blindless windows, casting a silver glow over the floorboards.

  “I'm glad I'm here,” I say.

  The bunk is so quiet. Too quiet. I hope I'll be able to fall asleep without the sound of honking New York taxis.

  Squeak! Scrape!

  Every time any of the girls move, creaks echo through the room.

  Ah, I think. That's better.

  I turn onto my side, smiling to myself.

  5

  MORNING GLORY

  “Time to get up! Let's go!”

  Why is my mother screaming?

  “Flagpole in thirty minutes!”

  Oh, right. I'm at camp.

  My eyes spring open, and I sit up and look around the cabin. The sun is streaming through the windows, but my bunkmates are all still fast asleep.

  Itch. Ouch. My knee is on fire. A mosquito bite. Another one on my ankle. And another . . . on my nose. The nerve of that mosquito! Now I really don't feel guilty about banishing him to Never Never Land. I am so getting West Nile virus.

  “Time to get up,” Janice says, stomping through the bunk like she's wearing tap shoes. “Flagpole's in thirty minutes.”

  Yikes, it's freezing in here. My nose has morphed into an ice cube. An itchy ice cube. I'm about to climb down the ladder, but nobody else is budging. Well, if they're not moving . . . I lie back down, pull my flimsy blanket over my face, and go back to sleep.

  About twenty minutes later, I hear squeaks and peeps and remove my blanket to see Carly on the floor doing her stomach crunches. Morgan is on her feet and yawning.

  It's so cold in here I can practically see my breath. I hope the Gap makes ski jackets.

  Alison groans in the bed below me. “It's not morning already, is it?”

  “It is,” says Morgan.

  “What time is it?” Alison whimpers.

  “Ten past eight.”

  My bunk bed creaks as Alison pushes herself out. She grabs her glasses from our shared blue wooden shelf, pops a piece of gum into her mouth, throws her baseball hat over her messy brown hair, slips her socked feet into her Tevas, and says, “Ready.”

  Is she kidding me? “You're going in your pajamas?”

  “Of course. It's breakfast.”

  “You're not even wearing a bra!”

  She shrugs. “I'm pretty flat.”

  There is no way, nohow I'm wearing these oversize flannel pajamas to breakfast. They are so not for public viewing. “I think I'd rather put on clothes.”

  “Then you'd better hurry,” Carly says, peeling herself off the floor. “We were supposed to leave, like, two minutes ago.”

  “Bunk fourteen better be on the porch in five seconds!” orders Deb.

  I fly down my ladder and sprint to the cubby room, where I frantically search for a new pair of women's underwear. Nope. (Mental note: ask Miri for reversal spell!) I put on yesterday's jeans and a sweatshirt that looks like it might fit but doesn't. No time to change. I need to find my shoes. Where did I put them? After finding them in a heap under Alison's bed, I run to the bathroom to pee. I'm in midflush when Deb screams, “Move it, girls!”

  I slam open the door and hurry to wash my hands. And that's when I spot my hair in the mirror. Omigod. It's a disaster. Where is my brush? I need to find my brush! Did I bring a brush?

  Poodles struts out of the end stall as I'm staring at myself in despair. She's wearing silky pink pj bottoms and a tight white hoodie. Her long blond hair is pulled back into a high ponytail. No fair. Why does she look dining-room presentable even in pj's while I look like a lumberjack whose head got caught in a thunderstorm?

  I need a hair spell, pronto. I close my eyes and wish.

  Hair, I'm running late.

  I really need you to get straight!

  Cold air! Zap!

  I open my eyes. The results stare back at me from the mirror.

  Well, it worked. It's straight. It's standing straight up like porcupine quills, or like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket, but it is straight.

  Now what?

  I rummage through the stuff on my shelf for an elastic, return to the bathroom mirror, and tie my hair into a high

  ponytail.

  Not terrible. Kind of cheerleadery.

  “Weinstein, on the porch!” Deb commands, coming to get me. I notice with a smidgen of anxiety that she's still in her pj's. Will I be the only one not wearing pj's?

  The flagpole is beyond the mess hall, on Lower Field. Since this is my first time on Lower Field, I can't help feeling awed as I make my way down the road with the rest of my bunk. This camp is humongous! We pass a small park and then the infirmary, a place I hope never to visit. I mean, can you imagine getting sick at camp? Whenever I get sick, my face gets all puffy and my breath reeks like week-old uncooked chicken.

  After the infirmary, the road opens up into Lower Field, which is basically a flagpole, a baseball diamond with bleachers, and a basketball court, also with bleachers. Surrounding the field is a circle of green cabins that look like the tiny green houses on a Monopoly board. Kids are now streaming out of these bunks to line up at the flagpole. “Let's go, let's go!” counselors are shouting. We all line up by bunk, and I scan the circle for Raf.

  It's not until I spot him (in his flannel pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt!) talking to one of the other guys that I realize I didn't brush my teeth.

  Omigod.

  How could I have forgotten that? I have never left my apartment without brushing my teeth. This is not good. Not good at all. I have horrendous morning breath. It's worse than my sick breath. Honestly, when I first wake up, my mouth should be declared a nuclear wasteland.

  I will not utter a single word until I return to my bunk.

  Anthony begins tugging on a rope, pulling up the flag. “Can the Koala unit please lead us in the national anthem?”

  The counselors of the youngest unit cue their campers to begin singing. “One. Two. Three! Oh, say can you see . . .”

  Obviously, I cannot sing. Instead, I cower behind the other girls, keeping my lips zipped throughout the entire “Star-Spangled Banner,” realizing that almost the entire camp (including Miri) is wearing pajamas, or at least pajama bottoms.

  As the end of the song approaches, the campers start getting fidgety and moving toward the mess hall, even though their counselors are attempting to hold them back.

  “Walk, don't run!” Anthony hollers as the younger kids ignore him and take off toward the mess hall.

  On
the walk to breakfast, I do my best to mime instead of talk. “How did you sleep?” Shrug. (I don't know the hand signal for lumpy mattress.) “Did you lose weight? Your clothes seem kind of big on you.” Nod, nod. (Why not?) “How do you like camp so far?” Big smile. (Big closed-lipped smile.)

  I hide when I spot Raf. I cannot let him see me this morning. With my porcupine hair and killer breath, forget it. I follow Alison up the stairs and then have a brainstorm. Hello? Why do I keep forgetting I'm a witch? I can just zap up something that will help. Once inside the mess hall, I sit down at the end of our table, shut my eyes, and wish.

  My morning breath is quite obscene.

  Please help me make it clean!

  My body turns cold, so it must be working. I open my eyes, cover my mouth with my hand, exhale, then breathe in with my nose. Ew. Guess not.

  And then I notice the basket of cutlery in the center of our table. Or what used to be a basket of cutlery. It is now a basket of multicolored toothbrushes.

  Whoops.

  I have to fix that before anyone notices. How do I fix that so no one notices?

  Since my bunkmates are still shuffling into their seats, no one has spotted my most recent magic snafu just yet. I nonchalantly yank the basket toward me and dump it onto the floor. I hold my breath (both because I'm praying no one saw and because I'm afraid of scaring them all with its smell).

  “Deb, they forgot to bring us cutlery,” Carly complains.

  “I'll get some when I get the food,” Deb says.

  Phewf. Problem solved. And luckily, no one seems to have noticed the random toothbrushes on the floor. I exhale with relief.

  Ew to the power of two. Not totally solved.

  I miraculously manage to avoid talking all through breakfast and all the way back to the bunk for cleanup. The first thing I'm cleaning is my mouth. I head straight for the sink. When I return to our side of the cabin, I discover that my bunkmates are back in bed. “I thought it was cleanup,” I say.

  “That's code for extended sleep,” Alison explains from beneath her duvet.

  Fine by me. I kick off my sneakers, climb up my ladder, disappear under my covers, and fall right asleep. It must be the cold air that's making me so tired.

  Deb bangs on the wall. “Girls, you've got to get up.”

  No one moves or responds.

  “I'm serious! You know Janice is going to bust my butt if this place is a mess. I made you a work wheel”—

  Alison and Morgan both groan. Slightly curious about what's causing all this groaning, I peek through my covers. Deb is sitting on Poodles' bed, holding up some sort of red and yellow wheel-thingy.

  —“that tells you what your chores are. I have sweep, dustpan, bathroom, porch, and free. ‘Kay? And Penelope made the same one for fifteen except it has cubbies instead of porch, and two frees.”

  Our work wheel looks like pizza pie with five slices. Our names have been written in block letters around the wheel. “Today, Poodles, you have sweep; Rachel has dustpan; Alison, bathroom; Morgan's on porch; and, Carly, you're free.”

  Carly cheers. “More sit-ups for me!”

  No fair! Each of us gets excused from chores one out of every five days, but in fifteen, two of them are excused every six days, which means the girls in fifteen end up being free 33.3 percent of the time while we're only free 20 percent of the time! Humph. But I don't say anything. I wouldn't want the others to think I'm some kind of math geek.

  “We'll get up in five minutes,” Poodles says. “Hey, Debs, why don't you go check the schedule to see what activities

  we have today? Tell Janice that we want to have sailing.”

  “Definitely,” Morgan says. “Harris is hot.”

  Poodles nods. “Since he's a leader for canoe trips, I'd like to put in a request for an overnight.”

  “One day at a time,” Deb says, heading toward the door. “I'll go see what I can do, but you have to get out of bed.”

  Poodles plants her feet firmly on the floor. “No worries, I'm up.” As soon as Deb leaves the bunk, Poodles giggles and gets back under her frilly covers.

  We all go back to sleep for another ten minutes, then we hear, “Guys! You promised you'd clean up! We have our swim tests in ten minutes!”

  Swim test? So soon after breakfast? Is that legal? Anyway, people should be prohibited from using the word test during the summer months. I wonder if I can wish that up?

  “Boooo!” says Poodles. “I told you I wanted sailing.”

  “Unfortunately, Janice makes the schedule, not you, Poodles. If you want sailing so badly, choose it as one of your electives.”

  “When do those start?” Alison asks.

  “In the next few days. Today: swimming tests, then drama, pottery, lunch washup, lunch, rest hour, soccer, tennis, snack, and then general swim, or ‘GS.’ So throw on your bathing suit and sunscreen and grab a towel.”

  Poodles shakes her long blond hair. “I can't take my swim test today anyway. I have my period.”

  Why didn't I think of that?

  “Me too,” says Carly.

  “Me three?” I try.

  Deb laughs. “You are such little liars,” she says, standing up and stretching her arms above her.

  “I swear, I do!” insists Poodles.

  “What, you've never heard of tampons?” Deb asks.

  Poodles pulls her covers tightly around her. “But I have cramps.”

  “Exercise is good for cramps,” Deb says.

  Poodles exaggerates an eyebrow raise. “I assume you'll be joining us in the lake?”

  “Not on your life,” Deb says, laughing.

  “Way to lead by example,” Poodles grumbles.

  “Wait till you guys see my new bikini,” Morgan says, slipping on her flip-flops. “I look like a Victoria's Secret model.”

  Carly snorts. “I think you have to be taller to be a Victoria's Secret model.”

  Morgan wags her finger. “Watch it, or your penguin teddy bear is going to accidentally fall into the lake.”

  “Let's clean up now, so we don't have to later,” Alison says, getting out of bed.

  “Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! Attenthion all camperth and counthlorth! It ith now the end of cleanup. Pleathe protheed to firtht morning activity!”

  Deb: “Move it, girls, move it!”

  Morgan laughs. “Saved by the announthment.”

  Unfortunately, since I forgot to ask Miri to stop by my bunk and reverse my clothes, I don't know if I have a bathing suit. And I'm quite sure the camp frowns on skinny-dipping.

  I search through my cubby. Here's one! A plain navy suit that looks about my size.

  Perfect. Now all I have to do is change into it—which means I have to get totally naked in front of everyone. Hello, embarrassing.

  My heart starts racing and I try to calm it.

  I notice that Carly keeps her shirt on while she changes, and kind of sneaks her bra out. Interesting technique. I pull my suit on and try to do the same, but I somehow end up strangling myself, with my bra tangled around my neck, and then I feel hot and cold and hot and cold and—

  Poof.

  Ouch! Omigod! I look down at my bare stomach. Then I turn around and get a glimpse of my mostly exposed backside.

  My one-piece bathing suit just morphed into a thong bikini.

  Why did I do that? And now what am I going to do? I can't have my butt on show for the entire camp!

  I grab a towel off the top of my cubby and cover my butt.

  Breathe in, breathe out. I need to calm down, or who knows what will happen next?

  What if the Lion boys are taking their swim tests too?

  Poof!

  Holy crap. My thong bikini just lost all its color. In fact, it's completely see-through.

  No, no, no! I wrap the towel around me, shower-style. Did anyone see? I peek at the girls still changing, but they don't seem to have noticed.

  I need to think of a swimsuit spell. . . .

  “I'm counti
ng to ten and whoever is not on the porch is stacking lunch!” screams Deb. “Ten. Nine. Eight—”

  Ready, Alison heads for the front of the bunk.

  “Seven. Six—”

  I can't be creative under all this pressure!

  “Five. Four. Three—”

  I pull the checkered boxer shorts and a new T-shirt from my cubby and throw them over my practically invisible suit. I'll just have to swim in clothes.

  “Two—”

  With my towel in hand, I bolt for the door. Here goes nothing. At least I've covered up my see-through bathing suit. If I hadn't I'd have to say here goes, and shows, everything.

  6

  WHY I HATE DOLPHINS

  Help! I'm drowning!

  Okay, fine, I'm not really drowning—not yet, anyway—but I'm quite close. My arms and legs and even Bobby are numb with cold, and if I have to stay in the water for one more second, they might all fall off.

  I touch the dock, then push off again for my eighth lap.

  Campers are allowed to swim only in a designated area, which is marked by three docks that make a square with the beach. The swimming area is divided into three sections, from shallowest to deepest: turtle (up to my knees), dolphin (up to my chest), and whale (way over my head). This place is obsessed with naming things after animals. Anyway. I'm currently in whale, trying not to drown, taking my swim test.

  I'm expected to swim twenty laps and tread water for ten minutes to get my whale bracelet. Those who don't get one won't be allowed to go windsurfing or waterskiing and will be able to go up only to dolphin for general swim.

  But of course I'm going to get it. And if I can't do it on my own, I'll just whip up a swimming spell.

  Almost there, almost there . . . Nine, I think as I touch the other dock and then push off again, careful not to bump into any of the other twenty or so Lion girls still in the water taking their tests. Not an easy feat for someone who never officially learned to swim. I do know how to float, but lying on my back doesn't seem to get me anywhere. I believe what I'm doing is called the doggie paddle. Not much style, but hey, so far it's working.

  Eleven more. Groan. Cough. Swallow? I just swallowed a mouthful of water. I hope no one has peed in it. Why did I have to think of that? Now I have to go.