Breakout! Read online

  Captain: Wonderful question, TJ. The Hatchet can only be hunted an hour before reveille, during Rest Hour, and during Free Play. All other times are off-limits.

  TJ: So, basically, no ditching your activities to go looky-looky. But, if you find the Hatchet at your activity, that’s fair game. What happens once the Hatchet is found?

  Captain: Another stellar question. The answer is: Bring it to us. In exchange, your team will earn a Sealed Envelope.

  TJ: This summer, the Hatchet is worth—!

  Captain: You’ll have to wait to see.

  The loudspeaker went off with a sharp squeal.

  Worth how much?! Play Dough couldn’t believe he’d have to wait four more days to find out. He thought back to previous Color Wars. The Hatchet had never been worth less than sixty points and never more than two hundred, which, compared to activities like the Novelty Relays, which were worth thirty to eighty points, was a lot. The hunt was on.

  Suddenly, the door of the Boat Shack began to rattle and then burst open, ripping Play Dough from his Hatchet dreaming. “I’m putting the fishing rods away!” he cried. “Hold on, I’m just—!” He frantically looked up at the boobs hovering above him. “Oh, it’s you.” He wanted to sigh with relief, but Jenny was no less intimidating than who he’d thought it was. Just more hot.

  “Who’d you think it was?” she asked.

  Uh, General Power. It would be just like him to catch Play Dough binge-eating when they were both supposed to be leading their team. But before he could answer, Jenny climbed into the canoe, buried her face in her hands, and started to wail.

  “Uhhhh, are you OK?” Play Dough asked.

  “Do I look OK?” Jenny snapped, lifting her face from her fingers. It was blotchy and red. Somehow, she still looked really pretty.

  “You look sad, but—”

  “My whole life is O-V-E-R, over.”

  Play Dough wondered why she’d come to the Boat Shack then. “Are you here for the canoe?” he asked. “Were you going to row out and then drown yourself in the lake?”

  “WHAT?! NO!”

  “Good. ’Cause that would suck.”

  “Why?” Jenny asked. “No one would miss me anyway.”

  “That’s not true.” I would miss you.

  “Name one person.”

  “Jamie.” Me.

  “Jamie is bigger and better without me.”

  “Uh, OK. Your boyfriend then.” Play Dough didn’t want to say his stupid name aloud. Mostly because he was jealous of him, but also because “Christopher” was the name of conman Columbus. And news flash: He didn’t find America. Amerigo Vespucci did.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore!”

  The news hit Play Dough like a ton of frozen pizzas. Did that mean Jenny was single? It had to mean she was single. Right?

  Jenny took a piece of paper from the fold of her shorts and tore it up into a million pieces, all while making the sound of a killer whale: “AHWWWWAHHOOOOOOOW.” It was spectacular. “Christoph. Er dumped meeee. In this. Letter,” she said between sobs.

  Say whaaaat? Christopher Columbus dumped Jenny? This dude had to be dumber than a single serving of potato chips. “Uh, why did he dump you?” he asked.

  “Probab. Ly ’cause he’s. Intimidated by. My beauty.”

  “Probably,” Play Dough slipped. Panicking, he looked at the shack’s wall in search of a new conversation topic. “Nice wood,” he blurted. He probably should have said, “Nice oars,” or “Nice life vests,” or “Nice fishing rods.” But in that moment, Boat Shack vocab had escaped him.

  Mid-sob, Jenny let out a laugh. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “I’m into wood,” Play Dough said, relieved he’d turned her frown upside down. “Wood walls, to be specific.”

  She laughed again. “I meant the part where you agreed that Christopher’s intimidated by my beauty.”

  “Oh! I thought you meant you’re intimidated by my beauty.”

  Jenny laughed even louder. “Stop making me laugh. I should be crying.”

  Exactly, Play Dough thought. He made her laugh. Christopher Columbus made her cry. Who was the catch here? Play Dough would never break up with Jenny in a letter. In fact, he would never break up with her PERIOD. “Do you want me to tape it back together?” he asked, picking up a few microscopic pieces of the letter. “Dover’s got duct tape under his pillow.”

  “No thanks,” Jenny said. “I never want to look at that letter again.”

  “Why not?” Play Dough asked. He loved hearing her trash-talk this guy. A little Kettle Corn on his lap and this would be the greatest E! True Hollywood Story, a show he sometimes watched with his sister, her dolls, and the cats.

  “He actually congratulated me for being Lieutenant.”

  “What a moron,” Play Dough scoffed. “You’re not Lieutenant.”

  Jenny’s face went rigid.

  “Whoops. Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. It’s just—” She shook her head and her face relaxed a little. “I really, really wanted to be Lieutenant. And I thought Melman might be one. But not Jamie.”

  “I was surprised by that, too,” Play Dough admitted. “No offense. I know she’s your best friend.”

  “Was my best friend,” Jenny said. “I lost her and my boyfriend and Lieutenant all in the past two days.” She looked up at Play Dough with her wet blue eyes. “What did I do wrong?”

  “Look,” Play Dough said. “I’ve never met Christopher, but he sounds like a jerk.” He waved his hand dramatically. “Good riddance! And Jamie? You didn’t lose her. Color War can be intense, but it’s over in less than a week. She’s gonna be around until we’re at least Junior Counselors, if not until we’re playing Bingo in old-people homes with no teeth.”

  Jenny cringed. “Um, I will always have teeth.”

  Play Dough ate his lips to hide his whites. “Me ooh.”

  Jenny playfully shoved Play Dough, and the canoe rocked back and forth. They gripped the sides to steady themselves, giggling.

  “And as far as Lieutenant goes,” Play Dough began, “you and me—we would have made a good team.” He took a breath, and then, nervous he’d said too much, plowed on. “Melman’s cool, but I think if you were by my side, I might not be messing up so much.”

  Jenny burst with a little too much enthusiasm: “You’re NOT messing up!”

  Play Dough shot her a doubtful look.

  “Fine.” She sighed. “But honestly, it’s not like you’ve done anything terrible. It’s all been freak chance stuff. You just have to prove how awesome you are.”

  Play Dough bulged his eyes in horror. “How dare you use that word.”

  Jenny laughed. “Sorry, not ‘awesome.’ You just have to prove how ‘psychedelic’ you are. ’Cause you are. Psychedelic, I mean.”

  Play Dough really wished he had a proper definition of that word right now. Not knowing, all he could say was a lame “Thanks. Same, uh, to you.”

  Luckily, Jenny moved on. “So what exactly are you doing here?”

  “Yeaaaaaaaaah.” The truth was, Play Dough had started coming to the Boat Shack to eat in private when he was a Bunker Hill camper and his mom put him on a summer diet. He’d gained seven pounds. Of course, he didn’t want to draw attention to his poundage around the best body in camp, so he tried to reframe his answer. “I got tired of screwing up. I came here to unwind.”

  Jenny looked down at Play Dough’s feet, where a half-eaten loaf of white bread sat. “And eat carbohydrates?” Nothing got past her.

  “When I rest, I get hungry.” Manners, he thought. “Want some?”

  “Isn’t that for the fish?”

  “There was leftover.”

  “Omigod, ew.”

  “Only some of it was in the lake.”

  Jenny chortled and rolled her eyes, which he found sexy, because when she rolled them she also tilted her head back and her neck showed. Plus, he could see up her nose, and she had no boogers. Girls were amazing. Amendment: Je
nny was amazing.

  Jenny suddenly slapped her thighs. “LET’S MAKE A PLAN!”

  “Uhhhhh.” Play Dough was a little wary of Jenny and her plans since the last one brought about a raid war.

  “What would you need to do to show you’re the bestest Lieutenant?” she asked, her eye contact triggering yet another pool party in his pits.

  Easy, he thought. “Find the Hatchet.”

  Jenny nodded to herself, plotting. “Yeah, I could help you with that. Since I’m not Lieutenant, I have a lot of free time to pick apart the clues.” She laid her hands on Play Dough’s shoulders. “And then, we’ll find the Hatchet together! I’ll get to do something Lieutenant-worthy, and you’ll get to prove your amazing value to the team.”

  Play Dough grinned. There was no way Christopher appreciated Jenny like he did. Anyone with eyes could see she was beautiful, but Play Dough had a whole list of other reasons, real reasons, why she was so perfect-sauce. Jenny was passionate about plans and leadership, her giggles made him feel superhero tall, her crying was crazy like a whale’s, and she had a good sense of humor even after a breakup. Maybe she did have what it took to be Lieutenant after all.

  An accidental squeal over the PA interrupted Play Dough’s internal love letter.

  “So, are you down with the plan?” Jenny asked, stepping out of the canoe and offering her hand.

  “Yeah,” Play Dough said proudly, letting her pull him to his feet. “Just one thing. Maybe try to make up with Jamie?”

  Jenny shrugged, confused. “Why do you care?”

  Play Dough wasn’t sure why he cared. He just thought it would make Jenny happy to have her best friend back. Friendship was the F in STARFISH, after all. He let his logic flow like poetry: “You’re not bacon. You can’t make everyone happy. But you can try. And I think, in turn, making up with Jamie will make you happy, too. But not as much as bacon.”

  “I don’t eat bacon,” Jenny confessed.

  “Then you’re a lost cause.”

  She giggled some more. “OK, fine! Whatever. I’ll try.”

  Play Dough watched Jenny stuff the breakup confetti inside her pocket. He wasn’t delusional—boyfriend or no boyfriend, he knew she’d never go out with a guy like him. But if this plan meant he could reclaim respect AND spend time with the girl of his dreams, then it was a win-win.

  They walked out of the shack together, but Jenny turned toward the lake. “You coming?” Play Dough asked.

  “You go ahead. I think I’ll stay here for a few seconds on my own.” She patted her pocket. “I’m gonna toss the pieces of this dumb letter into the lake.”

  “Cool.”

  “But thanks for cheering me up. And don’t be so down about messing up. We have four more days to turn it all around.”

  Play Dough smiled. “Wars are won because of psychedelic leaders like us.”

  Playing Nice

  Captain: Hello, Blue and White teams. Congrats on completing the second day of the war. Your Generals have some words of encouragement, and then TJ and I will announce the scores.

  TJ: It’s tied! Just kidding. It’s not. But maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t look.

  Captain: TJ.

  TJ: First up, let’s hear it for the Blue Psychedelic Sixties Generals!

  General McCarville: Trippy dreams, our bell-bottomed Blues / Kick off those platforms and get in a snooze.

  General Power: From sports to cheers to the Bucket Brigade / Keep it up, team, and we’ll have it made!

  TJ: Diggin’ the rhymes, Blue. Next up, the White Awesome Eighties Generals!

  General Ferrara: Sweatbands off and leg warmers down / We are the ones who run this town.

  General Silver: Bucket Brigade’s a minor loss / Tomorrow’s Apache—we’ll show Blue who’s boss!

  TJ: Oooooh!

  Captain: I almost forgot to reveal the second Hatchet Hunt clue . . .

  TJ: Dryer Sheets.

  Captain: Great! And now for the scores! The following Sealed Envelopes have been assigned. Tug-o-War: White. Novelty Relays: White. Bucket Brigade: Blue.

  TJ: And the sports ’n’ spirits points so far . . . The anticipation . . . it’s sucking your souls . . .

  Captain: 256—Blue. 347—White.

  TJ: OK, you warheads, nighty—

  Jenny pulled her pink comforter up over her lap, flicked on her bed lamp, and looked out at her quiet cabin. Sophie was on her belly, reading a book about Woodstock. Slimey was listening to “Livin’ on a Prayer” through leaky earphones while sketching scenery ideas for SING. On the porch, Jamie and Missi were squealing like dumb hyenas while “working” on White team rosters and Melman was politely asking them to zip it so she could concentrate on the rosters for Blue. Scottie, who was also on White, was out there saying stuff Jenny couldn’t understand. Whenever Scottie got excited, she sounded like she had Pop Rocks in her mouth.

  Jenny reached up into her cubby, knocked aside her standing ChapSticks, and grabbed a stack of letters from Christopher. Sometimes she liked to read through all five of them, admiring the way he chicken-scratched his letters, and asked deep questions about camp, and wrote sweet things that made her feel like a princess. But leafing through them now, her eyes stung with embarrassment. In some letters, he spelled “Jenny” with one n. The deepest question about camp was “How’s kamp?” And the sweetest, most princess-y thing he’d ever written was “U r hott.” Maybe Play Dough was right—Christopher was a jerk.

  Even so, Jenny never imagined she’d get dumped, and that betrayal hurt. She flipped over one of Christopher’s letters and wrote:

  My heart cracked open, emoji in two,

  Pining dumbly over the memories of you.

  I’m feeling lost, so far from me,

  I’ll steal your credit card for a shopping spree.

  BECAUSE YOU ARE THE WORST.

  Jenny felt instantly better, even if just for a few seconds. At home, she wrote poetry a lot when Willamena made her feel like she didn’t have what it took to be Second Most Popular. No one but Jenny’s mom knew she wrote poetry. It was one of the uncool things about her that she’d shed, or in this case kept secret. Willamena would never let her stand by her side if she knew that Jenny preferred curling up with a pen and Moleskin notebook to long phone chats about who was the Most Popular in all of North Shore, Long Island.

  Jenny looked down at her poem, and it kind of reminded her of bittersweet alma mater lyrics written for SING on the last night of Color War. Alma maters brought everyone together with rhyme schemes and heart-tugging imagery. Only, this poem was all bitter, no sweet. Like an anti-alma!

  Now, thinking about almas, Jenny nostalgically tumbled into the memories of last summer’s Blue Far Far Away SING songs, all from the Shrek soundtrack and featuring original lyrics written by last summer’s Generals, Rick and Sara. First the march, to the tune of “Accidentally in Love.” Next, the alma mater, to the tune of “Hallelujah.” Then Jenny started to sing the White Land of Oz songs in her head. The march was to “If I Only Had a Brain” and the alma mater was to “Over the Rainbow.” Even though Jenny and Jamie and Missi had been on Blue last summer, after the war, they’d learned the White songs, too. Their favorite lyrics covered the first verse of “Over the Rainbow”: “Sunsets over the rolling hills galore / Camp’s a magical place where friendships grow and soar!”

  Wanting to share the nostalgia with her BFF now, Jenny looked through the window to the porch. Jamie and Missi were hand-clapping and laughing, excluding her to the max. Jenny swallowed last summer’s SING memories, back to feeling hurt and neglected. But hey, she tried to assure herself, this is normal. Color War was always cutthroat the week leading up to SING. It wasn’t until the winners were announced that everyone was reunited as one.

  Jenny wondered if that was how Real War worked, but quickly decided that only in Color War did the opposing sides have preexisting superglued friendships that made forgiveness possible. Real War didn’t have songs about Shrek and Dorothy, and dances to
“Ease on Down the Road,” and funny bits about Sara and Rick as Fiona and Shrek. And that was just so sad. Real soldiers could learn a thing or two from Rolling Hills.

  Just then the cabin door swung open, and Jamie and Missi jumped inside, performing the swim-dance move. Their arms made long, unflattering shadows on the floor, and when they squatted with pinched noses, their shadows looked like Oompa Loompas. Jenny wanted to claw her eyes out. Forget patiently waiting for the war’s end. Missi needed to be out of the picture STAT.

  “Um, I’m reading,” Sophie said.

  For whatever reason, that made Missi collapse with laughter. Her bony elbows went into her sides, and she began sucking air in and out of the gap between her buckteeth.

  “Omigod, wear your night retainer,” Jenny snapped. “Normal people don’t laugh like that. Also, we’re all trying to concentrate on tasks for Color War.”

  “Sophie is. Slimey is,” Missi said, twirling in a circle and pointing around the cabin. “But you’re just”—she glanced at the papers on Jenny’s lap—“reading letters from your boyfriend!”

  “I know, but—”

  Missi did the chicken. Jamie jumped on her back. They fell to the floor, laughing and saying “Ow” because there were jacks stabbing their butts.

  Sophie ducked under her Halloween-themed comforter. Slimey upped the volume on her iPod. Jenny sat up, dumbstruck. How was it that her entire world had been turned upside down? What was next? Were brownies set to replace kale on the food pyramid? Was Miss Universe going to get thunder thigh implants? Was Melman the next Head Cheerleader? Was Jenny destined to be a garbage collector instead of a relationship therapist? What the what was going on?

  She wanted to cry. It seemed like the natural thing to do in this sort of bizarre situation. Plus, it was probably the best way to get Jamie back on track. Right now they should be doing healing I just got dumped things like eating Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy and making fun of Christopher’s dumb summer haircut—a fauxhawk with his initials, CAZ, buzzed into the back of his head. All Jenny could do was hope Jamie noticed she was upset. That Jamie would put aside her anger and cuddle-spoon Jenny back to health. Together, they’d plot to find a new, hot, popular Christopher type who could complete Jenny’s image.