My Extra Best Friend (8 page)

Connor nods. Then he cups his hands around his mouth and tips up his chin.
“Figaro…Figaro…Figarooooo!”
he bellows, like an opera star. Not a very good one.

Connor waits until we unplug our ears. Then he says, “The monster took off and we haven’t seen him since. The end.”

The boys applaud.

“Dumb,” Jenna says. “Singing wouldn’t scare away a monster.”

Connor gives Jenna a very serious look. “Never doubt the power of a well-placed song,” he tells her. “Especially when you sing it with your friends.”

Jenna steps closer to me.

Rusty tips up his chin, just like Connor.
“Figaro…Figaro…Figarooooo!”
he belts out.

All the boys join in.

All us girls plug our ears.

Alex stays at the dining hall after breakfast for a staff meeting while the rest of us head back to Chickadee. We’re supposed to clean it up. The group that keeps their cabin the cleanest wins the Silver Paddle Award at the end of the week. It’s really just an old canoe paddle that somebody painted silver.
Cleanest Cabin
is printed across it. But the way the counselors cheered when Connor brought it out—pumping it in the air like a football player who just won a Super Bowl trophy—made you believe that even an old canoe paddle could be worth fighting for.

“We have
got
to win the Silver Paddle,” Jenna tells us as we hike back to Chickadee.

“Yep,” Randi says. “Do or die.”

“What’s the big deal?” Brooke asks. “It’s just
a stupid painted paddle. It doesn’t even have any glitter.”

Jenna looks at Brooke like she just suggested that gravity is stupid. “The group that wins the Silver Paddle gets their picture taken, Brooke. They put it on display for everyone to see.”

“I could take the picture!” Meeka says, pulling out her camera and clicking a shot as we walk along.

“No, you couldn’t,” Stacey says helpfully. “When we win the Silver Paddle, you’ll be in the picture too!”

“Oh, yeah!” Meeka says, clicking a shot of Stacey.

Brooke flicks back her hair. “Nobody told me it would involve a photo shoot. Fine. We’ll win the stupid paddle.”

Elizabeth rushes ahead to Chickadee and holds open the door for everyone, like she’s trying to earn a Brownie badge or something.

“You can’t win a Silver Paddle for holding open a door,” I tell her.

“I’m not trying to win anything,” she says as everyone files past. “I’m trying to be
nice
.”

She narrows her eyes into slits behind her glasses.

“Keep practicing,” I reply. Then I bump past her and head inside.

We get busy cleaning. Randi and Elizabeth sweep. Meeka and Jolene straighten suitcases. Stacey sorts flip-flops. Jenna wipes toothpaste off the bathroom sink. I finish moving to my new bunk. Sketchbook. Pencils. Pens. The notepaper from Mom. A flashlight, in case George gets scared at night.

I climb up and get everything organized, being careful to keep the pens and pencils away from the crack that’s between the bunk and the wall. I don’t want them to fall through.

I don’t want
me
to fall through either.

So I do a little test.

But the only part of me that fits through the crack is my arm.

Good. The last thing I want to do is fall on top of Elizabeth Evans.

“I can only do soft chores,” Brooke announces. She’s sitting crisscross-applesauce on her top bunk, fluffing a pillow. “Otherwise, I might damage a nail. That would be tragic because I forgot to pack extra polish.”

Randi sweeps around Brooke’s bunk, mumbling something about damaged brains. Her broom accidentally knocks Brooke’s fat backpack to the floor.

Thunk!

“Hey!” Brooke snaps at Randi. “Be careful. You’re breaking the chips!”

Randi hoists the backpack onto Brooke’s bottom bunk again. “Then we better eat them before they go bad.” She looks around the room at everyone. “Snack time!”

Elizabeth stops sweeping. “Oh?” she says, all innocent. “You brought snacks?”

She shoots that grin at me.

“Duh,” Brooke says. “What did you think? We’d starve all week?”

Jenna peeks out from the bathroom, a wad of toothpastey paper towel in her hand. She looks at her watch. “It’s nine thirty-seven in the morning. That’s way too early for snacks.”

“It’s never too early,” Randi replies. She pokes the backpack with the end of her broom. “Let’s eat!”

Brooke hops down. “Fine, but the snacks have to last four more days. I’ll ration them out.” She
unzips the backpack. Chips, gum, cookies, cherry whips, Choco Chunks—it all spills onto her bottom bunk like lava from a volcano. A real one, not some dumb valentines box.

Jenna steps up. “But you
promised
not to eat in the cabin.”

“I had my fingers crossed,” Brooke replies, “so that promise doesn’t count. Besides, one teeny bag of potato chips isn’t going to attract anything bigger than a fly. We’ll split it eight ways.” She rips open a shiny yellow bag. “Leftovers go to me since I’m the brains behind this operation.”

Randi mumbles something about brains again. But Brooke is too busy concentrating on counting out potato chips to pay attention to Randi. A minute later, everyone is munching. Even Jenna. It’s hard to follow the rules when a pair of potato chips are staring you in the eye.

“Look!” Stacey says, licking her salty fingers and pointing at Elizabeth. “Liz got a green one. That’s good luck!”

“It is?” Elizabeth pinches up the potato chip she’s holding. Its edge is as green as a shark wristband.

“No it’s not,” Jenna says, rubbing her greasy hand on her shorts. “Green means
bad
luck.”

“No refunds,” Brooke quips, shaking crumbs from the chip bag. She sucks them up like a vacuum cleaner. Then she tucks the empty bag back inside her pack, stuffs in the other candy, and zips it shut.

“That’s
it
?” Randi says. “I only got two chips!”

“I told you,” Brooke replies. “We have to make the snacks last.”

Elizabeth steps closer to the window while Brooke and Randi argue over snack rations, turning the green chip in the sunlight like it’s edged with emeralds.

I watch her, nibbling and thinking about what just happened.

Not the green potato chip part.

The part where Brooke said, “We’ll split it
eight
ways.”

She didn’t even need to stop and count us up.

She just knew.

Elizabeth sticks the green chip in her mouth and munches away.

“Crayons? Glitter? Pinecones? Why is everything at this camp for little kids?” Emillie wrinkles her nose at the baskets of craft supplies that are sitting on the tables in the crafts cottage when we get there later on Monday morning. Brooke made us stop at Hawk cabin to invite Emillie and Nat along.
Us
meaning me, Stacey, and Elizabeth. Stacey invited
her
. Randi and Jenna went to kickball. Meeka and Jolene went on a nature hike.

Nat walks over to one of the tables. It’s covered with white paper.
Draw on me!
is written across it in friendly print. The other table is set up the same way.

She picks up a crayon. Sniffs it like it’s skunk scented. “And to think I used to
love
this kind of stuff.” She draws a frowny face on the table and then plops down on one of its long benches.

Emillie sits across from her on the other bench. She takes a pinecone from a basket, breaks off a spike, and flicks it at Nat. “Told you we should have gone to kickball,” she says. “At least there would be boys there.”

The door creaks open.

Tom walks in. “Hi!” he says, giving us a friendly wave.

Emillie rolls her eyes. “I mean
real
boys.”

Brooke shoots a look at Tom. “What are
you
doing here?” She scoots in next to Nat. “Art is for
girls
.”

Tom cocks his head. “Was Picasso a girl? Was van Gogh? Was Monet?”

Brooke squints. “Who knows, who cares, Tom
Thumb
.”

Emillie snickers. “Good one.” She reaches across the table and gives Brooke a high five.

Nat gives her one too.

Brooke smiles so big I can see her molars.

Tom sits at the other table.

Elizabeth joins him.

Brooke pulls Stacey in next to her.

“No vacancy,” Emillie says to me, stretching her long, tan legs across the bench she’s sitting on.

More campers come in. They pause, look at Nat and Emillie, and then head to the other table.

When I get there, the only spot left is across from Elizabeth. I don’t want to spend a whole hour not looking at her.

I glance at the door. “Maybe I’ll play kickball.”

“But you love art,” Tom says, picking up a brown crayon and sketching a tree on the table paper.

“And you
hate
kickball,” Elizabeth adds, drawing a purple rabbit under Tom’s tree.

“No I don’t,” I tell her, even though I do.

Elizabeth glances up. “We used to hide behind that cow hedge on the schoolyard when our teacher made us play.”

“Bessie,” Tom says, drawing leaves on his tree. “I’ve hidden behind her too.”

“It never worked, though,” Elizabeth continues. “Our teacher always found us and hauled us back to the game.”

I lift my chin. “Things change,” I say in my icy voice. “I don’t hide behind cow hedges anymore. Neither do my
friends
.”

Tom looks up. He does a fake shiver. “Brrrr,” he says. “I should have worn a sweatshirt. It’s chilly in here.”

Elizabeth draws a fluffy white tail on her purple rabbit, which is dumb because the paper is white and it barely shows up. “Well then, maybe
you
should
play kickball. With your
friends
.”

My eyes turn into ice picks. So do Elizabeth’s. We poke them at each other.

“Yep,” Tom mumbles. “Definitely sweatshirt weather.”

The door opens. Alex sidesteps in, carrying a stack of cardboard. “Sorry I’m late!” she says. “Pete was helping me cut up boxes so we’ll have something to set our pinecone critters on.”

“Oh, goodie!” Emillie squeals, patty-caking her hands like a baby. “Pinecone critters!”

Brooke and Nat laugh. They start playing patty-cake too.

“I’ll help,” Stacey says, getting up quickly and taking the cardboard from Alex. Stacey’s not a fan of patty-cake.

“I’ll help too,” I say, joining Stacey. Because, right now, I’m not a fan of sitting down.

“Thanks!” Alex gives us a smile.

We hand around the cardboard slowly, and then set the extra by some shelves that are loaded with more art supplies. Paper. Beads. Paint in every kind of color. Even glow-in-the-dark.

“Do you want to switch seats?” Stacey asks me
in a low voice, glancing at Brooke, Nat, and Emillie. They’re playing table hockey with a pinecone.

“I like pinecone hockey even less than kickball,” I say to Stacey. “And I like sitting by Nat and Emillie even less than sitting by Elizabeth Evans.”

Stacey sighs. “Don’t blame you,” she says, and trudges back to Brooke.

I plop down across from Elizabeth.

Elizabeth looks up. Blinks, all innocent. “How was kickball?”

Tom snickers.

I pick up a red crayon. “Your tree could use some apples,” I say to Tom, ignoring Elizabeth.

“Be my guest,” Tom replies.

I start drawing bright red apples on Tom’s tree, secretly wishing one of them would fall off and thunk the purple rabbit right on its fluffy white tail.

“It could use some birds too,” Elizabeth butts in. She picks up an orange crayon and draws a bird on the branch I was planning to draw an apple on.

I frown. Shoot my ice pick eyes at her again. “
No
vacancy,” I say, and draw a big red
X
over her dumb orange bird.

Elizabeth shoots a look back.

Tom chatters his teeth.

Alex steps to the front of the room and starts showing everyone examples of pinecone critters she’s made. A mouse with felt ears and a yarn tail. A bird with feathery wings. A hedgehog with toothpick prickles and googly eyes. “Let your imaginations go wild,” she says. “Literally! Make any kind of critters you want!”

Tom picks up a pinecone and studies it from every angle. “I’m thinking…fox,” he says. “How about you two?”

I don’t answer.

Neither does Elizabeth.

She’s too busy drawing birds. I’m too busy drawing apples over them.

Then, just like that, she jumps up and clomps over to the supply shelf in her clunky cowboy boots. She takes a piece of paper from the
Help yourself!
box, clomps back, sits down, picks up the orange crayon, and starts drawing.

She keeps her arm crooked around the paper like she doesn’t want me to cheat off her work. Dumb. Why would I need to copy
her
picture? She’s not as good of a drawer as me.

I stretch my neck, looking.

She crooks her arm harder.

Dumber.

A minute later, she folds the paper like a card, flipping it over so fast there’s no way I can see what she drew. Not that I care. Then she picks up a pinecone.

“I’m going to make a dog,” she tells Tom.

Tom nods, gluing red felt ears to his pinecone. “The fox and the hound. Cool!”