“I think they’re maybe from Japan,” Dinah said. Her chest went up and down. “I’m not going to Japan. I’m not! He can’t make me!”
“Slow down,” I said. I put my hands on her shoulders and got her to look at me, which was no small feat as her eyes were skitting all over town. “Breathe. That’s right. In”—I inhaled to show her, and her nostrils flared and she tried to mimic me—“and out. Good!”
“Now explain,” Cinnamon demanded. “Your dad’s making you go to boot camp?”
“Cinnamon!” I chided as Dinah went right back into lack-of-oxygen mode. She swayed, and I guided her to her bed. I sat beside her and rubbed her back. A moment passed, and then another, before she shakily began to talk.
Her dad loved her so much that he wanted the very best for her, she told us, and he’d come up with a great idea to help her achieve her full potential. He knew she wasn’t going to like it, his idea, but he hoped she’d come around. Even if she didn’t, she was still going to have to do it. Because he loved her. So much.
Eee, I thought as I kept tracing circles on her back. This didn’t sound good at all.
“He doesn’t want me to be a follower,” she said, staring at her purple shag carpet. “He doesn’t want me to be the sort of girl people walk on.” Her hands found tufts of her floral bedspread and gripped them. “I’m not the sort of girl people walk on, am I?”
“No,” I said. “Absolutely not!”
“Mary Wo-oods,” Cinnamon said under her breath in an ominous singsong. I shushed her with a glare.
Dinah let out a big sigh. “Well, anyway, I’m starting high school next fall,” she said dully.
“Nuh-uh,” Cinnamon said. “For reals?”
“Cinnamon,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Winnie, I am fully aware that Dinah is starting high school next fall,” Cinnamon said. “Dinah does not need to tell me that she’s starting high school next fall, as I will be starting right there next to her. And so will you. We will all be starting high school together, unless—” She gasped, and it wasn’t for effect. It was a true and honest gasp that made me jump and even roused Dinah from her zombie slump.
“Unless what?” I said.
“Is your dad sending you to boarding school? Cinnamon said. Her expression grew long with horror. ”Is he pulling you out of Westminster like weird Mary’s parents did?”
I clasped both hands to my mouth. After the makeup hording incident, weird Mary’s parents had claimed Mary wasn’t being academically challenged at Westminster, and that’s why she’d turned to a life of crime. According to a girl named Bella, who eavesdropped from outside the counselor’s office, Mary’s parents had wished out loud they didn’t have to take such drastic measures, but poor Mary was just so bored. What other option did they have?
I made a teeny-tiny crack between my fingers, just big enough for my teeny-tiny voice. “Please tell us you’re not being pulled out of Westminster. Please!”
“Omigosh, no!” Dinah cried. “I would never let him do that! I would ...” She worked her face muscles in strange contortions as she struggled to come up with an adequate threat. “I would chop all my hair off first!”
“How would that stop him?” Cinnamon wanted to know.
I drew my hand to my chest. All I cared about was that she wasn’t leaving us. “Thank God. In that case, whatever it is can’t be that bad.”
“Yeah-huh,” Dinah said. “Because he’s making me spend the summer ‘building moral fiber and enhancing my assets.’” Her lower lip trembled. “Only, I don’t w-want to enhance my assets! ”
“And we don’t want you to, either,” Cinnamon avowed. “No asset-enhancing on my watch, nossir!”
“Did you try telling him no?” I asked.
“What do you think?” Dinah said. “Duh.”
“Yeah, duh,” Cinnamon said. Dinah hardly ever smart-mouthed me, so Cinnamon delighted in the times she did.
“Well, surely we can find something better than Strugglin’ Teens Boot Camp,” I said. I got off the bed and took a seat on the bouncy ball Dinah used for a computer chair. I did a Google search for summer camps and came up with a neat thirty-five million. “See? Tons to choose from. You’re going to be fine.”
“Unh,” Dinah said.
“Let’s see ...” I scrolled through some obvious no-go’s, like Highlands Military Camp, or Alabama Tech Computer Camp, or Handy-Kids Camp for Future Farmers of America.
“Hold on there,” Cinnamon said, stopping me from clicking past that last one. “Why so hasty? It says here that Handy-Kids is all about fun.”
“But I’m not handy,” Dinah said. “And I don’t want to be a farmer.”
“So? Talk about learning leadership skills. You could totally dominate a bunch of ... wheat fields ... or whatever. Think about it!”
Dinah and I shared a look. I removed Cinnamon’s hand from the keyboard and moved on.
“This one could be cool,” I said, clicking on a new link. “‘White-water adventures, hikes through the scenic Rocky Mountains, a nighttime of stars ... all of this and more at Camp Crested Butte.’”
Cinnamon chortled. “Camp Crusty Butt? You nix Handy-Kids, but you want to send your dear friend to Camp Crusty Butt?”
“Inappropriate,” I said.
“But funny,” Cinnamon said, giggling.
Dinah sank to her purple shag carpet. She lay all the way back and stared at the ceiling. I just knew she was going to end up with purple fuzz clinging to her hair.
“Maybe y’all could come with me,” she said in a too-casual tone.
“To Camp Crusty Butt?” Cinnamon said. “No thanks.”
I understood Dinah’s pain. If I were forced to go to camp, I’d sure want my buddies with me. I, however, planned to spend the summer with Lars, kissing and swimming and, you know, kissing.
“Ooo, Dinah, I don’t think so,” I said.
“Why not?” she whined.
“I’ve kind of got other things going on. I mean, I wish, but ... yeah.”
“But if we all went ...”
“I know,” I said. “And maybe if you’d mentioned it earlier ...”
“I didn’t know earlier! My dad just told me!”
“Maybe Cinnamon can go,” I suggested.
Cinnamon lasered me with her eyes. “Sorry, Charlie. I already said no. In fact I was the first to say no, thanks muchly. But I will find you something fab, just wait and see.”
She plopped down beside me, making Dinah’s super ball roll to the left. I jutted out my leg to stabilize us, while Cinnamon flapped her fingers against mine until I relinquished the keyboard. She typed with brisk efficiency.
“Cultural immersion in Costa Rica,” she read. “Now this sounds awesome. It says you’d build a rural school in a cloud forest, and—hey! You’d be exposed to a rainbow of colorful flowers and birds! While rolling up your sleeves, working hard, and speaking nothing but Spanish! ”
“But I don’t speak Spanish,” Dinah said.
“Bet you would after living in the cloud forest for a month,” Cinnamon said.
“No,” Dinah said.
Cinnamon moved on. “Ooo! Ooo, this is even better. Fire-walking camp!!!” She swiveled and looked at Dinah. “Dinah, you could liberate your inner spirit. How cool would that be?”
I peered at the screen. “They also offer Thai massage, henna tattooing, and improvisational dancing.”
“No,” Dinah said.
“In addition, you can learn the ancient art of ga-ga,” I continued. “What the heck is ga-ga?”
“No.”
Cinnamon cocked her head at the computer. “Wow, look at the position that girl’s in.”
“They list it as a sport,” I commented.
“No!” Dinah cried. “Done! Move on!”
Cinnamon and I fought over the mouse.
“Are you interested in sea-kayaking?” I tried.
“No,” said Dinah.
“Herding cows?” Cinnamon said.
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“I don’t think they’re cows,” I said, cocking my head at the computer. “I think they’re water buffalo. And stop clicking back to the Costa Rica one. She already said—”
“No,” Dinah said.
“Well, personally, I think you’re being a little picky,” Cinnamon said. “I think cows are cute.”
“Water buffalo,” I said, as Dinah bellowed, “NO!”
Cinnamon clicked on a new link, and its home page blossomed on the screen.
“Omigod,” she said.
My eyes bugged. “Oh. Omigod.”
“What?” Dinah said. Then, “No, don’t tell me. Whatever you’re omigod-ing, I’m vetoing it right now.”
“But, Dinah,” Cinnamon said. Her voice was reverent. “You have got to do this, please please please. It’s”—she put her hand to her chest—“a teen nudist camp.”
“Cinnamon,” Dinah warned.
“The site has pictures,” I mentioned.
Dinah hesitated, still in corpse pose. Then, reluctantly, she got up. She leaned between us, digging an elbow into each of our backs.
Her inhalation cleared the room of all oxygen.
“See?” Cinnamon said.
“That is so wrong,” Dinah whispered.
The site was hi-tech, with photos scrolling across the top. Photos of, well, teen nudists. The pictures were waist-up only, but still. The girl campers had breasts! I could see their breasts! Breasts and breasts and breasts!
“Check out the nipples on that one,” Cinnamon marveled. “They’re the size of pepperonis.”
“Ew,” Dinah said.
A new photo came into resolution. We screamed.
‘Ahhhh!” I squealed. ”Nekkid boy bottoms!”
“It burns! It burns!” Cinnamon said, covering her eyes. She madeaVwith her fingers and peeked through. “Use some Clearasil, dude!”
“I bet he hates that picture,” I murmured. “Can he not call the camp directors and ask them to take it down?”
“It says you can do a multitude of activities, dry, wet, and tanned,” Cinnamon said.
“Not going to happen,” Dinah said. But like me and Cinnamon, she was riveted.
“‘Naked step aerobics’?” I read. “Why???”
“The same reason they’d have naked badminton, I guess,” Cinnamon said. “Which is to say: because they’re ker-ray-zee.”
There was a link called “Testimonials.” I clicked on it. A picture of a (topless) girl appeared, and we learned that her name was Hannah. The caption beneath said she was a Nude Youth Ambassador.
Silently, I read Hannah’s testimonial, which was typed in a font meant to look like cursive. I could tell Cinnamon and Dinah were reading it, too. Dinah, because her lips moved, and Cinnamon because of her repeated utterances of horrified delight.
At Camp Buff, I learned to embrace my body, warts and all! wrote Hannah. Being nude is very comfortable, and life in the nude is more fun than life with clothing. Plus, at Camp Buff there are hot dogs for sale at the nude volleyball tournament and soft drinks, too.
Now that I’m back home, I go nude in my room almost always. But I can’t wait till next summer when I can return to Camp Buff! After all, if you’re going to make a lanyard, why not do it in the nude?
Cinnamon guffawed. “Why not, indeed?” she said. “You, guys, this has got to be a joke.”
“Only, look,” I said. “There’s a telephone number and an address. They even have T-shirts for sale.” I clicked to get to the T-shirt page. “Now call me dumb, but why would a nudist camp have T-shirts?”
“‘Nude’ JUST MEANS BAREFOOT ALL OVER,” Dinah said weakly, reading one of the slogans.
Cinnamon nudged Dinah. “What do you say, toots? You like going barefoot.”
“No I don’t.”
“Talk about Camp Crusty Butt,” Cinnamon continued, giggling.
“Gross,” I said.
Dinah leaned in between us and jabbed the power button on the computer monitor.
Are you sure you want to shut down your computer? a message asked.
Dinah punched the “you bet your nekkid boy bottoms” button so fiercely that her laptop jumped. “I am not going to camp. End. Of. Story.”
That night, Lars and I babysat Maggie so that Mom and Dad could go grab a bite with just each other.
“You can’t neglect your husband after the birth of a baby,” Mom told me as she handed me the squirming cuteness of my sister. Lars had yet to arrive, which was fortunate, because I felt a Mom-inappropriateness coming on.
“And that goes for ... romance, too,” she elaborated.
“‘Kay, Mom. Great. Bye, now!”
“Even if you aren’t”—she lowered her voice, but not nearly enough—“in the mood, if you know what I’m saying. And believe me, you won’t be. Not with a new baby.”
Oh good Lord.
“Ellen!” Dad called from the back door. He jangled his keys.
“Bye, sweetie,” Mom said, giving Maggie a peck. She tousled my hair. “Bye, Winnie. You only need to change her if she poops, all right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And you’ll know if she poops.”
“Yes, Mother. Good-bye, Mother.”
“And you know the rule: no boys in your room.”
“We will stay in the den. We will watch our movie.”
“But you’ll—”
“Pay more attention to baby Mags than to each other, yes yes yes.” I paused. “Unless Lars is feeling neglected and needs some”—I lowered my voice—“romance.”
First her eyes widened, and then they narrowed. “Winnie.”
“Kidding! Love you! Have fun!”
I lifted Maggie’s arm and made her wave. “Bye, Mommy! I said in a teensy baby voice.
After one last kiss for baby Maggie, and then kisses from Dad for both his girls, Mom and Dad finally left. Twenty minutes later, Lars arrived, and—ah, bliss. It was just me, him, and Mags. Sandra was off with Bo, and Ty was being brave and spending the night at his friend Lexi’s house. It was kind of like Lars and me were the mom and dad ... not that I would ever say that to Lars out loud. But practicing being older was one of the items on my list of things to do, and here I was doing it. Yay!
I smiled to cover my thoughts and gave him the most recent Dinah update.
“If she has to go, she might as well make the most of it, right?” I said. “But the problem is, Dinah has no desire to see the world.”
“Seeing the world can be overrated,” Lars said.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Go on.”
“I just think she should see it as an opportunity.” I snuggled closer to him on the sofa and pressed my jean-clad thigh against his. “Don’t you?”
I was being a little sneaky, I admit. Lars’s family was big on traveling, and last year they’d spent the whole summer in Prague while his mom did some fellowship thing. It sucked, as I had no secret portal that led from my closet to the Czech Republic.
What that meant in the context of our conversation was that yes, in theory I was in favor of embracing travel and adventure. But I was feeling happy at the thought of him saying, “Yes, Dinah should see it as an opportunity. But my opportunity is right here. My opportunity is you.”
“I can understand why Dinah wouldn’t want to go out of town,” he said. “That’s all.”
“Oh yeah?” I said coyly. What he was expressing was nice, if I read between the lines. But I wanted more.
He put his arm around me. “Yeah. What’s wrong with Atlanta?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“What’s wrong with wanting to hang with people you already know?”
I liked this game. “Not a thing.”
“Go somewhere new, and you’ll experience things you otherwise wouldn’t. I’m not saying you won’t. But do you have to travel the world to be happy? No. You can be happy anywhere ... as long as you’re with the right person.”
A thrill tickled my spine, because wha
t he was saying was that I, Winnie, was the right person. His right person. As if to prove it, he pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head.
I melted into him like warm butter. Baby Mags was warm and buttery, too. We were a big warm buttery family, and I thought I might dissolve from happiness.
“I wouldn’t leave, if I had the choice,” he murmured. “I’d stay right here with you, all summer long.”
My body stayed where it was. But my muscles contracted. “I’m sorry, what?”
He exhaled.
I pulled away. “Lars?!”
He couldn’t meet my gaze. “My mom got offered another fellowship. In Germany this time.”
I felt sick. I wanted to say, So? Just because she got offered another stupid fellowship, that doesn’t mean she has to take it, does she? And anyway, what’s sogreat about Germany?
“Tell her you don’t want to go,” I said. Show some spine. Stick up for yourself!
“Winnie ...”
I scooted to the far end of the couch with baby Maggie in my arms. She whimpered, perhaps because I was separating her from her cuddly boy-shaped stuffed animal. Well, I was being separated from my cuddly boy-shaped stuffed animal, too.
“You could stay with Bryce,” I said.
“My parents would never let me.”
I pressed my lips together. I could feel sullenness coming on, and although I didn’t like myself when I was sullen, there was nothing I could do to stave it off. Or maybe there was. Maybe I just didn’t want to.
“Have you asked?” I said.
He stretched his legs out in front of him and let his head drop onto the sofa cushion. “I thought you didn’t like Bryce.”
Maybe not, but I liked him better than I liked Germany. My face by this point had hardened into a petulant mask. Especially my jaw. I would probably get TMJ, or whatever that disease was where you had to have your jaw wired shut and live on a liquid diet and use a computer activated voice synthesizer in order to talk, and it would be all Lars’s fault. Except actually it would be mine for being so tightly wound that I was unable to say, normally and without accusation, But I’ll miss you. And I’m so bummed. And Do you really have to go?
Baby Maggie squirmed and reached for Lars. I looped my arms over hers and straitjacketed them to her pudgy body.