CHAPTER 5
Dear Mom and Dad,
Please send bug spray. You forgot to pack some. See—even parents make mistakes.
Z
“Do they serve coffee here?” Dori asks Madison as we go down the breakfast line in the mess hall. “I need coffee.”
“No substances with physically or mentally altering chemicals,” Madison says, like she’s reading straight from the brochure again.
“Coffee isn’t a chemical. It’s life support.”
Cassie was in bed when I woke up this morning, her leg dangling over the edge of the bottom bunk. I was relieved and then frustrated that I cared, so I lay there staring up at the top bunk, daydreaming about my boring two-story stucco home that always smells like grapefruit-scented cleaner. But the longer I lay there, the quieter the cabin became and the more I wanted someone to make some noise again. Luckily, Cassie woke up a few minutes later and picked a fight with Madison that ended with Cassie threatening to tell her Aunt Chey that she contracted crabs at camp.
“We’re going to work on you being your own life support,” Madison says, grabbing Dori’s shoulders, like a coach giving a pep talk. I sprinkle a few berries on my oatmeal and yawn into my hand. The more they talk, the more my ears begin to hum.
“Well, this machine must be broken. Because it needs coffee to stay alive,” Dori says.
“That’s why I’m here. To help you fix your broken machine.” Madison smiles.
“Life support only keeps you alive,” I say softly over my shoulder. “It doesn’t help you live.”
“And what’s wrong with being broken? Are you perfect or something?” Dori asks Madison.
“No,” Madison says, slightly taken aback. “Of course not.”
Grover and Alex Trebek sit in the same spot as yesterday. I hesitate going to the table for a second, but sitting anywhere else at this point seems useless. Something tells me it would only incite more attention from Grover and Cassie anyway.
I set my stuff down next to Grover and pull on the thick straps of my too-tight bathing suit under my clothes. Grover picks up an apple from his tray and tosses it in the air to me. I barely manage to catch it before it falls on the table.
“Did you know that apple seeds are poison?” Grover asks.
“Really,” I say flatly.
“One apple won’t kill you. You have to eat, like, a whole bunch of apples.”
I set it back on his tray. “Interesting.”
Grover gives the apple back to me. “This is for you.”
“Are you trying to poison me?”
“I just told you, one apple wouldn’t kill you.”
“I don’t want it,” I say.
“I know you said you don’t like them, but you don’t have to be afraid.”
“I said I don’t want it,” I bark at him and shift uncomfortably in my seat. Why did my mom pack this suit?
The tension between us doesn’t break until Cassie sits down.
“I can see you’re having your usual breakfast. Air and diet pills,” Grover says to Cassie.
“No fork needed.” Cassie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
Grover passes her something that rattles and sounds suspiciously like pills behind my back.
“I can’t believe you’d actually give her that,” I say.
“It’s not what you—” Cassie starts, but Grover cuts her off.
“Why not? It makes her happy. And she needs more happiness in her life.”
“But it hurts her.”
“Only a little. And everything that makes us happy will eventually hurt us,” Grover counters.
“I just thought you cared about her.” I look down at my bowl of oatmeal.
“I do care about her,” Grover says.
“Then how could you give her more pills?”
Cassie laughs and holds up what Grover gave her. “It’s candy, moron.” She shakes a box of Lemonheads at me.
“Candy?” I ask.
“I have to eat something to stay alive,” she says.
“Candy.” I glare at Grover. A puckered smile sits on his face.
“I never eat,” Alex Trebek says. His round cheeks are extra puffy with the smile on his face. He takes a bite from the mound of scrambled eggs on his tray. “Never,” he says with a mouth full of food.
“Nice one, Bek.” Grover pats him on the back.
“Why is the liar sitting with us again?” Cassie groans.
“Because he told me he’s dying of cancer. He only has a few days to live. I feel bad for him.”
Cassie dumps the entire box of Lemonheads in her mouth. I can smell the sugar from across the table.
“Don’t you ever get sick of those?” I ask. “They’re so sweet.”
Cassie leans toward me with full cheeks. “They’re the only sweet thing in my life. So no, I don’t get sick of them.”
“Fine.” I poke at my oatmeal and take a few bites, but I’m not hungry.
When all of us are finished eating, Kerry stands at the front of the group and claps three times. “The only way to be found,” he yells.
“Is to admit we’re lost,” the rest of the counselors say back to him.
“The first step in finding yourself is acknowledging what you already have,” Kerry says loudly. For such an early morning, he’s finely groomed in a sexy kind of way. I didn’t notice that yesterday. I was too focused on his face vein. “Before we start our day, would anyone like to acknowledge something this morning?”
No one moves. I stare down and twist my napkin around my finger until the finger turns blue. I yawn. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Grover raise his hand and stand.
“I’d like to acknowledge that Zander doesn’t eat apples,” he says.
“What?” I look up at him.
“I meant acknowledge something about yourself,” Kerry says.
“Oh.” Grover nods. “Then I acknowledge me acknowledging that Zander doesn’t eat apples.”
I gasp at him and stand up. “I’d like to acknowledge that it’s none of Grover’s business what I eat.”
“I’d like to acknowledge that that’s probably true.” Grover nods.
“Thank you.” I begin to sit down.
“But.” When Grover starts to speak again, I stay still. “I’d like to acknowledge that just because I’ve acknowledged that it’s none of my business doesn’t mean that I haven’t acknowledged that Zander doesn’t eat apples.”
“Please set an example and take this seriously, Grover,” Kerry says.
“I am being serious. What I think you mean to say is please make this about me. But I’m much more interested in Zander.”
“That’s avoidance of your problems.” Kerry crosses his arms over his chest. “You know this, Grover.”
“Yes. It is. But problems are depressing and there’s enough depression around here.”
“Amen,” Cassie pipes up.
“I think we’re done with this exercise, since you’re clearly not going to benefit from it.” Kerry begins to sit down.
“But Zander might,” Grover says.
“Leave me out of it,” I say loudly.
“Too late.” Grover shrugs. “It’s already been acknowledged.”
I plop down in my seat, my napkin balled between my fingers.
“Thank you, Grover,” Kerry says, unenthusiastically.
“One more thing.” Grover sticks up his pointer finger and gets out his notebook. He starts writing. “So I remember. I’d also like to acknowledge that Zander is wearing a black bathing suit and I’d like to see her in it. Whether she eats apples or not.”
“Boy-girl relationships are not allowed at camp.” Kerry repeats one of his rules like a robot.
“Well, then I’d like to acknowledge the stupidity of that rule. Plus, Zander and Grover sounds like a gay couple.”
“Okay.” Kerry shakes his head.
Bek raises his hand and stands next to Grover. “I’d like to acknowledge that Cassie is pretty and I want to see her naked. Forget the bathing suit.” His voice is loud and kind of shaky as he stares across the table at Cassie, his blue eyes shining.
“Is he lying, Cleve?” she barks with wide eyes.
Grover shrugs. “I can’t tell.”
“Sit your fat ass down, Porky,” Cassie says.
“Anything you say, beautiful,” Bek says and winks.
I stay frozen in my seat, even after Kerry gives up on the morning’s exercise. I wish I was numb, but I’m humming, vibrating, practically shaking in my chair. As Grover collects his things, he leans over to me and sets the apple he’s eaten to the core on my tray. “Sorry about the bathing suit comment, but I had to say it. Heightened emotional state and all.”
I can’t look at him.
“I’m an ass. I acknowledge that. And I’ve got problems,” he says, touching my shoulder.
“No touching,” I bark.
“You know one in two people will contract an STD in their lifetime, but the likelihood of getting one through touching is, like, zero.”
I storm away without a word, but before I leave the mess hall, I grab a packet of sugar from the food line. I glare down at my barely eaten bowl of oatmeal that tasted like little flakes of cardboard.
Oatmeal is a heart-healthy meal. My mom’s voice rings in my ears. Don’t ruin it by dumping pure junk on top.
But Cassie is right about sweet things. I rip open the sugar packet and shake the whole thing into my mouth. Then I eat another one. Then I think I might puke. Then I think someone will peg me for a purger and I choke it down.
And as I hold the empty packets in my hand, I can’t believe I just acknowledged that Cassie was right about something.
“Every time you come to the beach, you are required to hang your metal circle on this board, so the counselor on duty can know who is in the water and what their ability levels are. Each of you will be given a different color.” Madison stands in front of a large wooden board with the words AT CAMP PADUA THERE’S FUN IN FUNDAMENTALS written across the top. The board is covered in hooks and divided into three different-colored sections: red, yellow, and green. She swings a whistle around her fingers as she talks. “If you’re a red, you must wear a life jacket and stay within the shallow end of the H dock.” Madison points to the section closest to shore that is enclosed by three sides of the metal dock. “The life jackets are in the equipment shed. If you’re a yellow, you can go out as far as the end of the dock, which is marked by that line of buoys. If you’re a green, you can go as far out as the raft just offshore. That is the end of Camp Padua property.”
The raft Madison is referring to is square with a ladder and floats a little distance away from the H dock. It probably fits about five people tops.
I look out at the green water. Other than the few steps I took into Lake Kimball yesterday, I haven’t been in a large body of water since I was asked to leave our high school’s swim team last year. The water is smooth again today—just small, insignificant waves coming to shore. I count them as they lap against the sand.
“Zander,” Madison says.
“Huh?” I snap back to her.
“This is important.” She continues to drone on about the test. “It consists of a stroke check, a five-minute tread, and a diving test.” Madison finally smiles and says, “I’m sure you’ll all do great. Let’s get started!”
We strip down to our suits, each of us glancing at each other, one more self-conscious than the next, except for Cassie who looks too comfortable taking off her clothes. It gets even weirder when Hannah leaves her long-sleeved shirt on.
“I don’t want to get burnt,” she says, even though her skin is caramel colored and I doubt the sun has ever done any damage other than giving her a nice brown glow. I cringe, guessing she’s more worried about exposing the damage she’s inflicted to herself.
We wait by the edge of the lake as Cassie sits down on her towel in her hot-pink bikini and leans her face back into the sun.
“Cassie, would you please join us?” Madison says.
“I’m not taking the test.” Cassie’s face doesn’t move from looking skyward.
“Then I’ll be forced to give you level red. I don’t want to do that.”
“Like you care. And like I’m gonna go in that water anyway. There are probably leeches in there.”
“I do care and there aren’t leeches,” Madison says.
“Well, I’d rather work on my tan.”
“Your tan?” Madison tries to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Cassie is darker than all of us combined. “Fine. If that’s how you want it, I won’t force you. It’s your decision.” Madison gets a red washer out of a bag and throws it down on Cassie’s towel with a black permanent marker. “Please write down your name and hang it on the wooden board. The rest of you can get started.”
My toes squish into the sand as we walk out to waist-deep water, but it feels good. The air is warm and soggy today, like a damp sponge. I skim my hands over the water and feel the liquid course between my fingers.
“For the stroke test, you must swim from dock to dock twice in the red zone with any stroke you choose. Pick your strongest stroke,” Madison says.
When I submerge my head in the cold water, my breath gets tight adjusting to the temperature. It’s like jumping into my school’s barely heated pool at five thirty every morning for two months. I feel like I’m right back on the varsity swim team. But when I open my eyes under water, all that’s around me is green and brown. The water is so murky, I can barely see in front of me.
I glide doing the breaststroke, using as little energy as I can. When I feel the dock, I flip underwater to switch directions. I lag a bit on my turn. My coach would be disappointed my turns are not the speed they used to be.
“Nice job,” Madison says when I’m done.
Next is the five-minute tread.
“You must stay afloat for five minutes, your entire face never going below the surface of the water. If you get tired, come to the dock. Don’t risk it,” Madison says.
I float on my back, looking up at the sun, my legs kicking lightly in the water as my arms flap like wings at my side.
That’s what I always liked about swimming. The way I could get lost in the rhythm. I won every meet by doing that. Every meet until the last one. After that, my dad hung the Camp Padua brochure under one of my mom’s inspirational magnets on the fridge. I walked past it every morning and evening on my way to and from school. One day, I actually stood right in front of it and looked at the smiling faces of the campers posed on the cover.
“What’s that?” Coop asked, chomping on the kale chips my mom made earlier that day. “These taste like ass.”
I touched the glossy paper and almost picked it up, but every few seconds my eyes would drift to the magnet with the word HOPE written on it in script. What a ridiculous word. I made out with Coop on the couch instead of reading the brochure. He didn’t taste like ass from the kale chips, more like a weed.
I close my eyes as the memories come back to me and my chin starts to dip under the water.
My dad cried when I got kicked off the swim team. He begged the coach to let me stay on. He said that I would do better, that I wouldn’t put myself or the team at risk again, but those were his words, not mine. Life is a risk. In the end, my coach said I was a liability.
My dad yelled at me when we got home from the meet, though I’m not sure what he said, I was so lost in French conjugations. When he raised his hand to smack me, my mom grabbed his arm. That’s when my dad started crying. He fell to his knees and hugged me around the waist. My hair was still wet and making the back of my shirt cold, so when he finally let go, I went to the bathroom to blow-dry my hair.
To hope in French: espérer.
I look up at the sky, my mouth so close to the surface of the water I can taste it. A muffled ringing sound brings me out of my trance.
Dori, Katie, and Hannah hold on to the dock as Madison waves her arm calling me back to them.
“Nice job, Zander,” Madison says again. My coach would always say that, too. Nice job, Zander. And he’d pat me on the head like a dog.
“I think I’m done,” Hannah says, pulling herself out of the water.
“Are you sure? You were doing so well,” Madison offers.
“I don’t plan on swimming a lot this summer anyway,” Hannah says and takes a yellow washer.
Madison looks disappointed as Hannah leaves the dock to sit by Cassie on the beach.
“Okay, ladies, the diving test is next. You must swim to the bottom of the lake, find one of the diving sticks, and bring it back to me on the dock. It’s about twelve feet, so if you feel like you’re not going to make it, do not hesitate to come back to the surface. We’ll do this one at a time. Who would like to go first?”
Dori and Katie both take their turns and are successful bringing the yellow diving stick to the surface. When Madison calls on me, I stand, my toes curled over the end of the H dock as she tosses a yellow stick into the water.
My hands hit the water, like slicing ice. The coolness travels down my body, and the deeper I get into Lake Kimball the colder it feels. The yellow stick sits in the sand and I grab it, but stop. I float inches from the bottom, my hand skimming the sand. It’s smooth and falls through my fingers, and I think I could stay here where things just float through time sink to the bottom.
When my lungs start to squeeze as my breath runs out, I slam my feet on the sand and come back to the surface.
“Zander!” Madison yells from the end of the dock. She looks like she’s about to jump in. “I thought you weren’t going to make it for a second. You scared me.”
I give her the yellow diving stick. “Sorry.”
“Kerry said your parents told him you had an issue with swimming.”
“My parents told him that?” I ask. Madison nods. I can tell the concern on her face is real and it only makes me angrier. I don’t want her concern or pity.
I don’t respond. I write my name on the green washer she hands me and hang it on the board. Fini.