Camp Utopia & the Forgiveness Diet (9781940192567) (17 page)

What kinds of things did she mean? “Like fondue?”

Liliana laughed so hard and loud I really thought she'd wake up half of Utopia. “Yes. By all means, go have a fondue with Gabe. He could use one.” She pulled her curtains closed and told us she had to go—she really had to go and piss herself now.

Cambridge and I traveled a little farther down the path while Gabe skated circles around us. The sky was dark and a few stars blinked above MontClaire Hall. “What should we do now?” Cambridge asked. She turned to Gabe, teeter-tottering on his skateboard. “What have you been doing at night?”

He cleared his throat, tugged at his band T-shirt with the word “SPOOGE” spray painted across it. “Well, sleeping, mostly. Sometimes homework.”

“Don't you guys party in math camp?”

Gabe chuckled. His shoes, silver and black Vans, shimmered a little in the night. “It's robotics and rocketry camp. Not exactly a frat house over there.” He looked at me. “What do you want to do? I mean, tonight.”

I sure as hell did not want fondue, if that's what he was getting at. “I need to really figure some stuff out, you know.”

Looking a little embarrassed, he pumped his back leg off the skateboard and pushed down the path. Cambridge and I walked back to the gym, the moon rising like a sucked-on peppermint above us.

From:
[email protected]

To: Bethany Stern

Subject: still waiting

Dear Bethany,

Other stuff I remember.

Because I wore glasses, your mom reasoned, I would be a natural expert on eyesight. A future in optometry would earn a lot of money for our family. It was a respectful career. I'd get to wear a white coat. The program director at UMBC sat me down and told me how fascinating the eye is. After two classes, I found it complicated and boring.

Jackie was a toddler, and you were a baby then. I didn't care about lenses and corneas. What I liked was hanging out with you two kids and reading books. God, how you both loved one called IF YOU WOKE UP WITH WINGS. Do you remember it? It was about this ravenous caterpillar that eats six watermelons, seven cabbages, and then goes on to consume fifteen carburetors and then an entire neighborhood. Everyone gets tired of waking up to missing cars and depleted pumpkin patches, and the neighborhood prepares to confront this nuisance. Only then the caterpillar wakes up as a butterfly, and says, very self-righteously, “I was growing wings.”

I read that book so often to you girls that I didn't even need to look at the words. I could recite it from memory. Still can. I've forgotten your birthday, Bethany. More than once. But I do remember some things. Please write me back. Tell me about Utopia. I checked out the website. Looks nice!

Yours truly,

Dad

From:
[email protected]

To: Bethany Stern

Subject: Oversight?

Bee,

I'm supposed to get an update from Hank and Belinda with a chart of your progress. I did not get one tonight. I'm sure there was an oversight somewhere. How did this week's weigh-in go? I'm sure it was meaningful! I was also wondering if you've heard from your sister. I keep trying her cell phone, but she doesn't pick up. I'm beginning to worry. If you hear from her, tell her to call me right away.

Write soon…Mom

30

TREMOR

MONDAY MORNING AT the gym. Tennis shoes squeaked, headphones leaked out techno. The whirlpool slopped in the background. University girls jogged around in sports bras and thongs like any other ordinary day, I guessed, but here's the thing: I still didn't want to go back to Utopia.

Cambridge stretched on the locker room's bench. “We have to be back by power-walk, Bethany. Come on.”

There was a part of me that really believed I might wake up and think,
OK, enjoyed the night, now it's time to head back to fat camp
.

“Not happening,” I said, rubbing my crusty eyes and wishing desperately for toothpaste. “I can't do it, Cambridge. I'm sorry.”

“Bethany, be real. Where are you going to go?”

“I'm going to call my sister.”

“And you seriously think she'll pick you up?”

“I seriously think she might.”

Cambridge washed her face and shook her dreads out. “Do you realize the consequences of this?” she asked, looking like a TA again. “You're making a very bold decision.”

I told her yes, I was aware of the consequences, and I'd have to charge the phone soon, especially if she planned on calling me on it, but this was my decision. I was standing by it.

“At least walk me back, OK?” she asked. “Walk me as far as the fountain.” I could tell by the way she dawdled in front of the steamy mirror and tied and retied her tennis shoes that she hoped I'd change my mind.

Walking back to MontClaire Hall was like swimming through marshmallow fluff. The fog hung densely, and the campus stood eerily quiet. In the distance, birds cawed from unseen branches. Though we were late, hurrying was impossible given how cloudy everything looked. By the time we made it to the trickling mermaid fountain, Miss Marcia's words boomeranged around us: “Where're Cambridge and Santa Fe? Did you get Baltimore?”

Hollywood's voice stopped me dead in my tracks. “I tried. They locked the door last night.”

A rustling sound from a clipboard followed. “That should have been your cue to apologize to her.”

“Why on earth would I do that? You know who my father is.”

Miss Marcia sighed. “Not everyone wants to be a size two, Hollywood.”

“Well not everyone wants to be a size twenty-two either. Plus, I think the black girl took my phone. Maybe it was the Mexican. I bet they ordered pizzas all night. That's probably why the door was locked.”

I couldn't see her through the fog, but I didn't have to. As horrible as Hollywood was in my imagination, she was worse in person. All around us, her voice echoed.

“I'll just make them run harder today.”

“Hollywood,” Miss Marcia hissed, “I think you might be taking this captain role too seriously.” MontClaire's main door squeaked open.

“Where are your roommates, Santa Fe?” asked Miss Marcia. “I haven't seen them since yesterday.”

Poor Liliana. We shouldn't let her squirm like this. I nearly pushed Cambridge out from our station behind the tree, but she wouldn't budge.

“
No escuchas
.”

Hollywood inquired sharply, “Baltimore? Cambridge?
¿Donde?
”

“
No hablo Inglés
.”

“Where are the other girls, Santa Fe?” asked Miss Marcia.

Someone coughed. I thought I heard the shuffling of feet.

“Ummm,” said Liliana. She was a very bad liar. “They wouldn't wake up. They're still sleeping. Must've been those painkillers. Knocked their asses down,
verdad
.”

“Were they in bed this morning?”

“
No comprendo
.”

“Did they even come back, Liliana?”

“
¿Qué?
”

“Good riddance,” said Hollywood. I'd bet you a million bucks she flipped her hair here. “Dead weight anyway. Let's get started with the run, ladies.”

“The run? Forget the run, Hollywood,” Miss Marcia's voice rang out loud and panicked. “We are missing two campers.”

“Obviously you are missing them more than me,” said Hollywood, her voice bent down in a stretch.

This was the exact moment we stepped through the fog and said, “Liliana! Girls! Campers! We missed you. Let's run, run, run. We're back and ready to work harder than ever.”

Only that moment never happened.

What did happen was my stomach growled so intensely the earth shook. At least I thought it was my stomach when then the tree swayed, and the bikes chained to racks rattled. Then the ground, well, it rolled
—
not dramatically, but it vibrated a snitch. Not ever having experienced the sensation except when standing on the sidewalk while a semi darted past, I was convinced it was the end of the world.

“Did you feel that?” Cambridge whispered. Before I could answer, we both looked at the canopy of leaves quivering above us as if a breeze tickled them. Only there was no actual breeze. Then a deep sound growled below our feet. Cambridge went to scream, thought better of it, then pulled me away. We ran aimlessly through the fog, the earth grumbling. We hurried past the duck pond that shifted and splashed, until we found ourselves in the library café again. The barista said, “That was a four point two, easily.”

Then a bzzz, bzzz, bzzzz, zip. Darkness.

“There goes the electricity,” said the cashier, like this sort of thing happened all the time. “The generator should click on in a few.”

In an inky black, the earth now quiet beneath us, I barely got the words out, “What. Was. That?”

I heard Cambridge breathing heavily beside me. “I'm no seismologist, but I think that was an earthquake.” She paused to catch her breath. “For a minute there I thought the world was ending.”

“Me too.”

“I know it's ridiculous, but here I thought the ground was going to crack open and lug me down into its gut, and I was going to die.” She exhaled. “I was going to die at Utopia. During a power walk.” She grabbed my elbow and squeezed. “My life flashed before my eyes like in the movies.”

“It's OK,” I said. “I think the earthquake's over.”

“No,” said Cambridge, “you don't understand. When my life flashed before my eyes, it was so quiet. And serene.”

“So?”

“It was boring, Bethany. A total yawn.” Her voice was thick, like she might be crying, only it was too dark too tell. “I've always done everything right. I've never even had detention.” She loosened her grip on my elbow. “I should have taken off my bra with Tampa Bay.”

“That's what you were thinking?”

“Well, yes. You have to do the stuff you're afraid to do. And I haven't done anything.”

“Example?”

“Like everything. I want to try every single thing.”

We heard a loud metal click followed by a whining whir. The café stirred to life. Cambridge faced me in this new light, which was somehow brighter than before. Her shoes and calves were splattered with mud. Hands on her hips, eyes shiny with tears, she pulled her dreads back and wrapped the rubber band around them. Then she looked at me, serious as a heart attack, and said, “I'm not going back either.”

31

TWO TO GO

THE THING ABOUT California earthquakes was that life there went back to normal about twenty seconds after the last aftershock trembled. Lights flickered on. Conversations started up again. Coffee resumed its drip. But for me and Cambridge, we needed some time to adjust. We tiptoed through the café, found a table, planted our feet on the floor, and gripped the table's edges just in case the earth took to wobbling again. Given we were both from the East Coast, we kind of assumed that things—things like the ground—stayed put. Not so. Now the world seemed doughy, much like the still-warm chocolate-drizzled croissants and blueberry scones on the plate between us.

“I want to drive across the country,” said Cambridge. She drank her frappuccino with gusto. “I want to see the whole country. I want to make dinner reservations and be late. And then,” she said, smiling like a fool, “I want to eat non-organic food. Mashed potatoes and gravy. I want to purchase tobacco products and smoke them.” She bit into a croissant. “I want to talk on my cell phone while I drive.”

Did she just say drive? Of course! I'd almost forgotten she was older than me by a couple of years.

“So let's do it,” I said. “Let's rent a car and drive across the country!”

“Erm,” Cambridge started. She bit her cheek. “I was speaking metaphorically. I actually can't drive.” She cast her eyes downward. “You don't really need a car in Boston or boarding school, and my mom's always been a mite overprotective, so I never learned.” She dunked a cloud of whipped cream into her coffee. “I thought you said Jackie'd come get us.”

“My sister's kind of a long shot,” I admitted.

Cambridge nodded toward my bra where, tucked inside, the cell phone ran low on power. “This seems to be the summer of the long shot. Give her a call.”

I swallowed a decadent bite of scone and glugged my iced coffee. I steeled myself and touched the phone. “What if I just text her?”

“Absolutely not. You need desperation in your voice, not emoticons.”

“I'll use extra exclamation points.”

“Not the same thing.”

“Did I mention that she despises me?”

“Several times, but she's still your sister.” She fixed her gaze on me. “There aren't too many other options here, Bethany. Call her.”

Luckily someone picked up on the first ring. Only thing was, it wasn't my sister.

“Doug?”

“Is this you, Bethany? What the hell are you calling for?”

In the background I heard thumping bass. “I wanted to talk to my sister.”

“Jackie can't talk right now. What do you want?”

Knowing Jackie never left her cell, I tried again. “Put her on the phone, Doug.”

“What part of
she can't talk now
don't you understand?”

I looked to Cambridge for guidance. She mimed note-writing.

“Fine, Doug. Can you give her a message then?”

Doug's silence went on for at least fifteen seconds. “A message. That's great. Yeah, I'll give her a message.”

Cambridge fanned her fingers around her heart, urging me to amp up my emotions.

She mouthed
speaker
.

“So where is she?” I asked, clicking the speaker button.

“Bethany, are you calling for a reason? What's your message? I'm not exactly over the whole road trip either. You were a complete shit with your little heartbreak jar. You ruined my life.”