“Okay,” Leigh said, dragging the second syllable out into a needle point. She skipped in front of me, putting her tiny frame between me and my next step. “Then are you ready to tell me what happened with Brandon?”
I gripped my hands into fists, holding back the urge to pick her up by the shoulders and move her out of the way. It wasn’t neighborly to put your hands on other people. Or so Beth always said when I threatened to practice my Muay Thai on Ethan.
“No,” I said. “I’m not.”
“Because something happened,” she said, pretending not to have heard me. Or possibly actually having not heard me. It was hard to tell with her. She started skipping toward the dining hall again, leaving me to jog to keep up. “There’s no point in denying it. You guys were holding hands like you were teddy bears with magnets sewn into your paws.”
I couldn’t help imagining a magnet being cut out of my palm. Gross, yes, but not entirely inaccurate. It was a constant kick in the teeth to realize that all of my Brandon privileges had been revoked in the span of one conversation. No hand-holding. No secret smiles. No murmured comments during meals or team meetings. Like the Langoliers had come in and eaten all of the first two weeks of camp, leaving us with only the worst of it. I’d hurt him, too. Even more than I’d hurt Isaiah. At least Isaiah never had a reason to expect me to be anything but what I was.
And Brandon had liked Ever. She hadn’t felt that much different than me for the first couple of weeks of camp, but it turned out that she was. Ever wasn’t the kind of girl who kicked her brother in the stomach. She wasn’t the kind of girl who pushed away the boy she liked.
But I was. Apparently. Because I had done all of that without even thinking about it.
“I’m not denying it,” I said. “I’m just not talking about it. It doesn’t need to be talked about.”
Talking about it wouldn’t fix it. It wouldn’t fix me or undo what I’d done.
Leigh made a sound of disagreement, but let it drop. Together, we dashed up the dining hall stairs. Lunch was already in full swing for the teams that hadn’t had skirmishes that morning. Chatter bounced off the wooden beams on the ceiling, filling the entire room with cheer. It had been like this all week. Once the final skirmish of the day was completed, everyone seemed so free.
I wondered if that was why the binders had been stolen from us. Having no opportunities to study after lunch meant that everyone’s days opened up for hanging out or recreation or the occasional Cheeseman event.
Kate had come in second place in yesterday’s extreme hokey pokey, which I had recused myself from because I was zero percent interested in sticking my Jordans ankle deep in a mud pit. Onobanjo had won again, tying us for the lead in the Cheeseman, with only two more events to go.
You’re always looking to the end.
Brandon’s voice was starting to slip in with Oscar Wilde’s, both of them finding the perfect combination of words to make me feel like I’d been slugged in the face with the power loader suit from Aliens.
The buffet was filled with sandwich and salad makings. While Simone was a better cook than Ben had been, it was rare that our meals needed much actual cooking. There wasn’t much to be done in the way of classing up the deli meats and iceberg lettuce selection.
“God, I would kill someone for a nonlettuce option,” Leigh said, picking up a plate. She used a pair of plastic tongs to toss some turkey onto her plate. “Like spinach or kale or arugula.”
I grudgingly reached for a dusty-looking slice of wheat bread. “What about a nonsandwich option? I can barely remember meals that weren’t served between two wads of old bread.”
She gave a gasp and faked a swoon. “Oh, to be close to the rest of the food pyramid. I wish I still had my binder just so I could dig through the bylaws and see what the rules about outside food are. I would pay like fifty bucks to have a different kind of grain option delivered. Barley or couscous or rice. Oh God, I miss rice. Do you think we could have food delivered without being disqualified?”
It was almost depressing that something so small could spark so much hope in my chest, but I would take any glimmer at this point. “Would restaurants come all the way out here?”
“All the way out to one of the five universities in town?” Leigh snored. “Uh, yeah. Delivery was basically invented to get food to the dorms.”
The front door of the dining hall opened. Hari and Meg came in, with the rest of our team in tow. I ignored the way my organs tightened at the sight of Brandon, even when he was scowling and hiding under his hair. I abandoned my plate on the buffet table and turned my attention to the smaller of the two counselors.
“Meg,” I blurted. “You have all of the camp rules memorized, right?”
She frowned at me. “Yes? It is my job, Ever.”
“Right. So, is it against the rules to have food delivered to campus?”
Her mouth quirked to one side as she considered this. “In what quantity?”
“A pizza or two?” Leigh said. “Or fifty pounds of sushi rice?”
“You could do the first one,” Hari said, drolly. “Not the second.”
“You’re such a spoilsport, Hari.” Leigh pouted at him. “But pizza is always a morale boost. Sleepovers, Academic Decathlon tournaments, little league soccer. Everyone deserves a pizza of victory!”
Hunter pushed forward. “Pizza? Like real pizza? Not the gross crunchy thing that they’ve been putting out and calling a pizza?”
“I think it’s matzo crackers with ketchup and cheese on it.” Jams shuddered.
“I’ve had better pizza in a Lunchable,” Galen said, joining the growing clump.
“Can we get a vegetarian pizza?” Kate asked, clambering toward us. “With real vegetables?”
“And name-brand sodas?” Galen asked.
Perla’s eyebrows rose and she took a couple of steps toward the group. “I’d put in money for a real Coke.”
“Bran,” Hunter said, turning to Brandon, who was still hovering near the door. “You must know a good pizza place in town. We deserve a real victory dinner before we move on to the finals tomorrow morning!”
“Uh, sure,” Brandon said, glancing up from the floor. “You’d have to look up their phone numbers, but there’s plenty of decent pizza.”
“If you guys are willing to chip in money for it,” Meg said carefully, “I don’t see a problem with it. We could set up a picnic outside during dinner, so it doesn’t look like we’re lording it over the other teams…”
Leigh punched her fist in the air. “Tonight we dine in hell!”
“I was thinking the quad,” Meg said. “But I always appreciate your enthusiasm, Leigh.”
*
“Why didn’t we do this weeks ago?” Jams said, his eyes closed in delight as he stretched out on Meg’s My Little Pony blanket, a plate heaped with pizza in front of him.
“And can we do it forever?” Galen asked, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Crappy camp food is a time-honored tradition,” Meg said, carefully selecting a slice from one of the three open boxes in the center of our haphazard circle of blankets.