Chapter Seven
BlakeOver
Mallory
When Mallory woke up, the dove gray light of early morning was just beginning to illuminate the bunkhouse. Despite some raucously loud songbirds outside the window, the campers were sleeping soundly. She should be more excited for today, her first full day as Blake, but…ugh. Thoughts of yesterday made her forehead wrinkle with all sorts of feelings she’d hoped to leave behind—guilt about lying, not to mention physically injuring Ben (though it had looked worse than it was), insecurity, and basically all of the feelings that made her want to retreat into a book in her normal life.
Instead of burying her face in the pillow she sat up and reached for her journal. Blake hadn’t journaled since fourth grade, when it was still cool to write in a locked diary with a puffy pen, but Mallory methodically started each day with pen and paper. Today, she would reflect on the Rules of Being Blake. Maybe if she could just figure out Blake’s magic, today would go better.
Never apologize.
I hereby declare that I will stop apologizing for everything. No more “I’m sorrys.” What am I even apologizing for? My existence, it seems sometimes. Not to mention, I say it so much, it’s meaningless. Apology to Ben Iron Cloud will be my last. No more “I’m sorrys.”
Be fearless. Try new things.
That was the part of her sister that Mallory really admired. Blake didn’t worry about what other people thought, at least that Mallory could tell. She didn’t care if she knew how to do something or if she’d end up looking silly. Blake would just jump in and try whatever it was that struck her fancy—snowboarding, surfing, acting—it didn’t matter. If she fell on her butt, she’d laugh at herself and get back up again. It was like a superpower.
Never wear brown (per Blake’s comment last week regarding new shirt: “Who are you supposed to be, the UPS man?”).
Mallory actually thought she’d looked okay, but America is a democracy, and it had voted Blake. Even though it stung a little, she was going to listen.
Use flat iron.
Blake’s hair was a lie, a beautiful lie. Mallory told the truth, one sloppy ponytail at a time, but it was time for that to end.
Find cute friends to hang with.
Blake always hung out with three girls (Monique, Angela, and Angelina). They were basically her bridesmaids. Blake wore the fanciest dress and ate the first slice of cake. Hanging out with people because of how they looked went against everything Mallory stood for. She might have to skip that one.
Use witty insults.
This would be a problem, as Mallory was the kind of person who normally only thought of proper insults two hours after the fact. Maybe there is a reference book? If there wasn’t, she could write one after this summer, assuming she figured it out: Being Cool for Dummies by Mallory Jones. Maybe it would be her big break.
Find a camp boyfriend… Options: Luke Culpepper, that cute lifeguard. Anyone but Ben.
Luke would be a solid choice. He was at Pembroke, the camp down the road, for the summer. The real Blake probably would have already snuck out in the middle of the night to go skinny-dipping with him. That was some advanced Blaking. After failing at something as simple as walking in wedge sandals, Mallory needed to start with intro level stuff.
Whatever she did, she needed to up her game. Super masculine and attractive guys always turned her into a blithering idiot. Back at Bellevue she’d almost talked to Ben once, when he asked directions somewhere (it had been his first week), and she’d just stared dumbly until Jill, who was standing next to her, answered. Since then, he never seemed to look twice at her. He probably didn’t even know Blake had a twin!
After locking her optimism down in semi-permanent gel pen, Mallory let her more skeptical self review what she’d written. Skeptical Mallory frowned. The list seemed daunting, almost undoable. Not only did it require her to become another person but required skills she didn’t have (making boys like her and using eyeliner). But if she ever wanted to experience life outside of books, she needed to go outside her comfort zone. No one would ever be interested in plain old Mallory.
In the shower, she used Blake’s fancy shampoo and conditioner. It smelled more chemical than she expected. She wouldn’t have picked out something that stinky, but who knew with Blake. As long as it cost a lot, her twin believed it worked. Their dad was always blustering about her sister racking up the AmEx bill. For all his complaining, he always paid.
In a pair of shower shoes and a towel, Mallory schlepped to the mirror to get all Blake’d up. She squinted in to the mirror. Something seemed off. It was probably just bad lighting, but she reached for her glasses to get a better look.
“Dammit,” she muttered when she realized she didn’t have them.
Because she couldn’t see a thing, she put in her contacts. Was it just the lights or did her hands look orange? After blinking the contacts into position, she looked directly at her reflection and stared in horror. The screams were trapped in her throat. She reached up and touched her hair. Holding the long strands in front of her face, she stared, horrified.
Her hair was orange. Her hands were orange. It didn’t make any sense. A bunch of girls ran in behind her. A few of them gasped. One girl said, “Wow, that’s…different.”
In a refusal to accept the facts before her, Mallory kept staring and touching her orange hair.
“I don’t know what happened? All I did was”—she touched her hair again—“wash my hair. I don’t get it.”
Calmly, Zoe walked over and inspected the evidence. She held up the bottle of fancy shampoo. “Is this the shampoo you used?”
When Mallory nodded, Zoe read the label and then unscrewed the cap. She wafted it under her nose, cringing a little, and then peered inside.
As Mallory feared, she pronounced her hair dead at the scene. “It’s hair dye. Someone dyed your hair orange.”
Mallory dropped her face to her hands. For a moment, she felt like she might die, right along with her beautiful golden hair. It would have to be a closed casket funeral because of the orange. The only thing she really liked about herself was her hair. And now it was gone!
“Who would do this?” Everyone was supposed to love Blake and she was Blake.
Zoe moved smoothly from her role as crime scene detective to victim advocate. “Don’t worry. We don’t have time to fix it this morning, but we’ll figure something out.”
“Really?” Mallory asked. “You can do that?”
“I’m the queen of hair dye. I dyed my hair pink last fall. When everyone else came to school with pink hair, I stripped it and dyed it turquoise.” She shook her head. “I gave up, though. It was too hard to find the perfect one, you know, that one hair color that represents everything I am.” She shrugged and pointed to her real hair. “I just dyed it back to normal for a while.”
Zoe had gorgeous hair, a multiracial mix that managed to capitalize on the best hair features of every one of her ancestors, leaving her with a boisterous head of almost black curls. Mallory would have killed for hair like Zoe’s.
“You actually look cute. I mean, orange isn’t the best color for you, but it could be worse. It’d be perfect for a Pippi Longstocking costume.”
Mallory snorted. That is not what a girl wanted to hear about her hair. She didn’t have any choice, though, so she ran with it. She put her hair in two braids while Zoe threw on a Camp Pine Ridge T-shirt she’d ripped the sleeves off of and a pair of cut-offs. It took Zoe about ten seconds to swipe some liquid eyeliner on and give her hair a casual scrunch. From all appearances, the urban edge look was far easier to maintain than the polished Taylor Swift thing Blake had going on.
On the way out the door, they took a selfie and hashtagged it #PineRidge #dayone #hairdrama #ginger.
Outside the mess hall, Mallory and Zoe had to walk through a forest of TP. Someone had flung a Costco-sized pack through the trees.
Looking around, Mallory commented, “Were we the only cabin that slept last night?”
Mallory scanned the room for Ben. It didn’t seem like his style, at least from the little she knew of him, but there wasn’t anyone else who had it out for her at Pine Ridge. She saw him look her way. He elbowed George who also turned to look. With a heavy heart, Mallory said, “There’s a distinct possibility that super cute guy you admired last night is the one who dyed my hair.”
Zoe sighed wistfully. “Well, if someone has to torture you, it might as well be him. Why would he prank you, though?”
“Maybe he thinks it’s his turn.” Mallory’s eyes bored into his back. If this had happened to the real Blake, she would have laughed, but not now. The injustice of the whole situation made her bubble with rage.
In the middle of breakfast, Fozzie stood up and called for everyone’s attention. It took a minute for the clinking of silverware against plates and the noisy conversations to die down.
“Good morning, campers! The sun is shining, and I hope you are all raring to go. I have a few announcements. First of all, I’m planning a hike up Mount Mitchell, the highest peak east of the Mississippi. Anyone who I don’t have to carry up the mountain on my back is free to join. I’ll put a sign-up sheet on my office door.” There wasn’t much of a reaction from the campers. “Looking ahead, we’re planning a few fun evening activities—at least one more bonfire and a dance on Friday.”
At the mention of a dance, everyone started talking over him. “Quiet down, people! A few last things.” He glanced at his sheet. “I’m missing medical information from some of you.” He listed their names and with a more serious tone, he said, “Blake Jones, I need a word with you privately as soon as you finish breakfast. Please meet me in my office.”
Mallory sat up straighter and felt her pulse quicken. Something was wrong. With a feeling of dread, Mallory followed Fozzie back to his office and sat down in the chair opposite his desk.
Fozzie gave her a penetrating stare. Had he realized she wasn’t Blake? She couldn’t imagine any other reason for her to be in trouble. Trying to keep herself from panicking too much, she took a deep breath.
He shook his head and said, “Blake, I’m very disappointed that we’re already having a conversation in my office. I thought I made my expectations very clear. While the toilet paper mess is more silly than serious, you are on a tight leash. I thought you understood that.”
What? Her mouth dropped open in shock. Why would he think it was her? “Sir, I didn’t do that.”
He didn’t even blink. “Some of the other campers saw you. Given your record, I’m inclined to believe them.” Fozzie wrinkled his forehead and tapped the top of his desk. “I want to give you another chance, though.”
“But I didn’t do it! I was in my bunk all night!” Mallory wanted to scream, but she knew that wouldn’t help. This was so unfair. First someone dyed her hair orange and now they blamed a TP mess on her. She didn’t know how to convince him that it hadn’t been her, especially when Blake’s word didn’t count for that much.
Fozzie’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “Okay. Maybe it wasn’t you.”
Mallory breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“You’re not getting off scot-free, regardless.” He stopped and chuckled. “Isn’t that a brand of toilet paper?”
How could he crack jokes at a time like this? She was being falsely accused of totally immature pranks, and someone had wrecked her hair. Mallory had no words.
Fozzie filled in the silence with punishment for the crime she had not committed. “I want you to clean up all the toilet paper.”
“All of it?” How she was going to get it out of the trees?
“You’re a resourceful girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I’d like it if it was cleaned up by the time I get back from Costco.” Mallory was willing to bet he was going on a toilet paper run.
After swallowing her pride, Mallory threw on sunscreen and a ball cap—because she didn’t need any more freckles than she already had—and set to work. Holding an armful of toilet paper, she had to wonder if she really understood the rules of being Blake. She might have to revisit her previous assumptions because this was not going to plan.
A chuckle made her glance up over her armful of toilet paper. It was Ben, walking by at a leisurely disaster-appreciation speed. Mallory glared. He was definitely getting an eyeful. Between the orange hair and the streamers of toilet paper, she was a full-on catastrophe. The smile plastered on his face was smug, and he had the nerve to call out, “Nice hair, Blake.”
Before she could think of a smart retort, Cook Betsy, a no-nonsense woman with a head full of familiar orange-colored hair poked her head out of the kitchen. “That shade does look lovely on you, dear.”
Mallory almost died when she saw that Cook Betsy sported the exact same shade of orange. Whoever pranked her must have stolen Cook Betsy’s supplies, which was just sad. Mallory sucked in her pride, though, and complimented Betsy. “Thanks so much. I love your hair, too.”
Based on his expression, Ben found this exchange highly amusing. He stuck around a few seconds too long, though. Betsy said, “Young man—Benjamin, is it? Why don’t you scurry up the tree and help this young lady clean up the top branches. She’s been hard at work all morning.”
Ben only looked slightly sullen before he agreed.
Mallory would have laughed and pointed if Betsy hadn’t still been standing there. Then, Ben had the gall to say, “I was going to offer anyway. I’m pretty sure Blake can’t even climb a ladder.”
She volleyed back with the best smart retort she could think of: “Oh, I can climb a ladder, Ben. In fact, I can climb a tree.” The minute it came out of her mouth, she wanted to kick herself. She couldn’t climb a tree. At least she’d never tried. But he was so arrogant. She wanted to make him eat his words.
When he scoffed at her boast, she had no choice but to climb the tree. After a quick prayer, she grasped the lowest branch and started to pull herself up. It was the most unnatural thing she’d ever done in her life. If she hadn’t already committed, she would have given up, but now that he’d seen her awkwardly hoist herself onto the lowest possible branch, she was in. Trying to act casual, she unwrapped the toilet paper from the one measly branch and flashed a smile, just to let him know he needed to eat his words.
When she looked down, she saw that she had Ben’s attention. He was gazing up with the expression of…was that concern?
Bravely, she climbed up even higher and pulled down a bunch of TP. When she was ready to come down, she realized that she wasn’t so sure how to get out. To avoid moving, she cleaned up every tiny square inch she could reach from that branch, feeling more and more nervous. If only he would just leave for a minute, to use the restroom or get a drink of water, she could call out and ask someone else for help.
Ben must have noticed her dilemma because he held his hand up. “Let me help you.”
Channeling Blake, Mallory stared at him imperiously. “I can get down just fine by myself, thank you very much.”
He didn’t look convinced, but how hard could it be to get out of a tree? She stepped from where she was onto the lowest branch, thinking she could just sit down and then hop off like she was getting off a couch.
“Uh, I wouldn’t do that—” Ben started to say.
Her idea was fine. She’d wipe that skeptical look right off his face—there was more than one way out of a tree. On the count of three, she’d just slide down the branch. “One, two—”
“No! Lower yourself down fir—”
Like she was going to listen to him. Three.
The moment she jumped, Ben shouted, “No!” and stepped in front of her, either to catch her or stop her. It was hard to tell.
Whatever he’d intended, he became the thing she jumped out of a tree onto. She launched herself from the branch onto Ben. His arms were out, as if to catch her, but he failed. Essentially, she clobbered him and knocked him into a bush.
“Why did you do that?” Mallory shouted from her spot sitting right on top of him.
He lifted his head up a little and groaned. “How much do you weigh anyway?”
She propped herself up on her elbows. “Are you calling me fat?”
He snorted. “No. That was a solid flying tackle, though.” He rubbed his head.
Even if he dyed her hair orange, Mallory didn’t want him dead. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I just thought you were going to break something. I thought I could catch you.”
Mallory glanced over her shoulder. True. It was a little high. That was nice, but dumb.
“You’re okay, really?”
“Yep,” he said. “Fine.”
That’s when she really noticed that she was lying on him. The horrible guy who’d made her whole morning total hell, but also a guy. She’d never been pressed up against a guy, let alone an attractive football player. He didn’t seem like the type to wear cologne, but he smelled amazing. Her brain went haywire. Instead of being suspicious and mad, she suddenly wanted to press her face into him and inhale. She wanted to tell her pulse to slow down because he was a stupid jerk, but it kept on racing.
When she took in Ben’s expression, his dark eyes looked even darker. Knowing Ben, it was probably an idea to torture her. But for a moment everything fell away and she could feel nothing but the two of them pressed up against each other. It made her breathe too fast.
For a few seconds too long he seemed speechless. When he shook it off, his voice a little softer, a little less caustic, he said, “You don’t look too bad in orange hair, Jones.”
Was that a compliment or… From the look in his eyes, she decided it was a jab. The spell was over.
When she scrambled to her feet and brushed some stray leaves and sticks off her clothes, Derek, one of the counselors, trotted over. “Nice tackle,” he said. He gave Mallory an obvious up-and-down look and said, “I’m having a bonfire later on tonight, if you’re interested.”
She was. This was exactly the kind of thing she’d been hoping for—acceptance! As Mallory, she never would have been invited to a party. Maybe her Blake charade wasn’t going as poorly as she had thought. She looked over her shoulder to make sure Ben was fully aware of her success.
Clearly, he was trying to look unimpressed, but she thought he looked a little sulky, just a smidge.
As an afterthought, Derek glanced at Ben and said, “You can come, too. If you want.”
Ben gave a perfunctory, “Thanks, dude.” He didn’t look impressed by the invite.
Hopefully Ben disliked Derek enough to stay away from the party. She’d never had so many things go wrong in her life. It had been a whole lifetime of quiet and—Bam!—two days of complete chaos. Pretending to be Blake was part of the problem, but not all of it. If she had to assign blame, she would say, 60 percent Ben and 30 percent Blake (for causing the problems to begin with), and 10 percent her for going along with it. That meant, if her math was right, avoiding Ben would make her life 60 percent less chaotic and confusing.