Camp Utopia & the Forgiveness Diet (9781940192567) (22 page)

“I mean, is it fast? Count it.”

I guessed Daddy Home had heard about me from Hollywood. Heard about my departure and fat camp revolt. “I can't count right now.”

“Open her eyelids then. Do her eyeballs come down, Bethany?”

“Yes.”

“Can you see her pupils?”

“They're giant.”

Then I heard this from Cambridge: “I'm sweating.”

“She's sweating,” I repeated to Hollywood's father.

Cambridge patted my arm like someone nearsighted pats a table for their glasses. “It's OK, Bee. It'll be OK. Is that your sister?”

“She says she's OK.”

ICE Daddy Home sighed. “I think she's OK, Bethany.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Let her sleep.”

“She won't die?” I asked.

“She won't die,” he assured me.

“Did she peak?”

“Peak? I don't know, but she needs to sleep. Give her orange juice too.”

“Well if that wasn't peaking I don't know what is.” I paused. “She's fine now.”

“OK.”

“Thanks,” I said, which must've sounded terrifically stupid.

“You're welcome.”

“We aren't going to be doing anymore drugs this summer sir.”

“That's good. Are they doing drugs at Utopia?”

“No. I mean. Not everyone. Sorry to wake you.”

“Be careful, Bethany.”

“I will.”

“Thanks for calling.”

“I'm sorry we stole Holl—I mean, your daughter's phone.”

“No need to apologize. Amber can come on a little strong.”

“I guess you're right.”

“She has issues, you know. With food. She can't help being so—”

“Mean?” That came out of nowhere.

“You could say that. Good night, Bethany.”

I hung up feeling like an ignoramus, but whatever, Cambridge was alive. She snored loudly beside me.

There were certain times in life when people—all people—required a cigarette. This moment, I resolved, removing one from the fanny pack encircling Cambridge's waist, qualified. I needed a break before I hauled Cambridge across campus. Lighting the soggy butt, I watched my hands quake.
OK,
I said to myself.
Now what?

I sunk down on the edge of the football field, next to mud-covered Cambridge, and smoked. Hollywood's father sounded like a doctor. Then again, his knowledge of drugs had been impressive. I'd bet he was a rock star. Liliana had tried to convince us he was a famous actor, though. Maybe he played a surgeon on TV. He had that kind of voice—one that made people jump.
Scalpel! Scalpel!
It was a familiar voice, though. I swore I'd heard it before.

At the other end of the field, I saw someone walking toward campus. Dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt, and a skull cap, it must've been the other only clothed person at the party. It was definitely a guy, I could see that now, a bit on the scrawny side, but he'd have to do. Carrying Cambridge back by myself was impossible.

I screamed down toward the end zone, “Hey! You leaving?”

“Not exactly my scene,” said the dude, not turning around, not stopping either.

“I could use a hand back here,” I called. It felt like our sentences took a long time to get to one another. When he finally stopped and turned around, I had to do a double take. It was Gabe, Liliana's brother.

“Gabe?” I asked quietly.

It was really him, minus the skateboard. He jogged down the field so fast I hadn't even finished my cigarette when he barreled into me. “What happened here?” he asked.

I didn't know how to answer that. After so much nudity, you'd think I wouldn't notice Cambridge's anymore, but with Gabe there, it brought it forward. My first instinct was to cover Cambridge. I guess it was Gabe's too, because he pulled off his black hoodie to reveal his signature SPOOGE T-shirt which, I must mention, glowed in the dark. He knelt down next to Cambridge and eased one of her wilted arms into the sweatshirt. This was practical, but also sweet. I found myself staring at his hands.

Seeing him beneath our dorm window all those nights, I would not have guessed how skillfully he'd maneuver a naked girl. We dressed Cambridge, Gabe positioning her other arm inside his hoodie while I zipped it over her ample boobs. Even though I didn't ask him to, he donated his jeans and his shoes to the charity, tossing them to me in a denim lump. I knew the jeans wouldn't fit her, so once I got her legs in, I stretched the sweatshirt down to cover her stomach and crotch. Then Cambridge sat up, and in a wavery moonlight, hurled down the front of Gabe's sweatshirt.

Just barely, I saw a very Tabitha-like smirk on her face. “Pardon me,” she said.

“Better out than in,” offered Gabe, shivering a little in his gym shorts.

He lifted her beneath her armpits and draped one of her arms over his shoulder, and I stood beneath her other one. In shorts and SPOOGE T-shirt glowing ghoulishly, Gabe and I crossed the football field. We staggered along the path, Cambridge roiling between us, dry heaving every twenty feet. Gabe swiped his card at his dorm's back entrance, and, while still supporting Cambridge, held the door for me, and said, “
Despues de que usted, senorita
.”

39

WATCH ME UNRAVEL

AS MORNING SPLINTERED the sky, Gabe flopped Cambridge on his bed, made a pile of T-shirts and boxers for himself on the floor, and now slept in the flannel nest. I studied all the boy stuff scattered about: Deodorant. Razor. Tennis shoes. Skateboard. How are boys so economical with their things? His room seemed so much less complicated than ours. And he fell asleep so quickly! Who does that?

I positioned the metal trash can next to Cambridge, prepared for more peaking, but she was through with that, apparently. She'd had a few moments I'd mistaken for lucidity, but they were followed by nonstop stupid talk or catatonic staring. It was hard to tell whether the drugs were working their way in or out of her system.

From Gabe's bed, Cambridge stared at the ceiling and swatted imaginary flies. I wondered how long she planned on being stoned. After five hours, it was getting old.

“Whose pants are these?” she asked, trying the zipper. She stretched out her body in an effort to zip them up, a move I knew all too well, but it wasn't happening. She sighed. “I'm surely ravenous.”

“You're still not right, Cambridge. You need to sleep it off.”

When she sat up, she looked like hell. Her lips were chapped, and her cheeks were smeared with dirt. We probably smelled like road kill. “You know what I could eat? Hawaiian pizza.” Remembering the steaming box of yum we abandoned back in Olive's room, I grunted, “We ordered pizza and you left it.”

She puzzled over this event obliterated from memory. “That's very uncharacteristic of me. On second thought, you know what I want? Breakfast. Like pancakes stacked in different sizes, homemade ones with chocolate chips in them. Some toast and scrambled eggs too.”

This wouldn't have sounded so good had I not been so hungry myself. I was practically salivating while Cambridge mused, “Don't you just love when syrup gets on the bacon? Just a smidge?” She flung back her head. “God, what I wouldn't give for bacon now. Even Canadian bacon. Hey, didn't I have money?”

Great
, I thought, noting that the fanny pack no longer circled her waist. “How will we eat without money?” Cambridge asked. “What's today? Wait.” Clearly she'd injected espresso into her veins when I wasn't looking. “Is today the fifth? Is it? Don't I get a free breakfast at Denny's on my birthday?”

Gabe, who I assumed was sleeping, groaned, “
¡Dios!
Do you ever stop talking?”

“Today's your birthday?” I asked Cambridge.

“Today's the fourth,” answered Gabe. He covered his head with a T-shirt. “Now go back to bed.”

We should really let Gabe sleep. He lugged Cambridge across the entire campus and offered up his own bed. He didn't even look annoyed that two fat-camp escapees were in his dorm. In truth, he kind of seemed happy about it. The least we could do was stay quiet out of respect for the guy. So we did. For three whole minutes.

“Baltimore?”

“Shhh. Gabe is sleeping.”

“Bethany?”

“What?”

“I'm so glad I met you.”

I know that sounds trite, but coming from Cambridge, who was not prone to sentimentality, it was the nicest thing she'd ever said to me.

“Roger that.”

“You saved my life. Do you remember?”

“I remember alright.”

“The least I can do is buy you breakfast.”

“Are you even sober?”

Cambridge stood up and wobbled a little, which basically answered my question. “Not quite,” she said, “but breakfast would help.”

Well, I reasoned, a girl had to eat.

40

NI MODO

WHO NEEDED DENNY'S when Copernicus Hall had its very own dining hall two flights down from Gabe's room? After tickling his neck and dripping Gatorade across his toes, Gabe woke up convinced that securing our breakfast was his civic duty. As soon as I saw the long, gleaming buffet in the center of Copernicus's dining room, I nearly took off running toward it. I knew we were pushing our luck grubbing out in the open like this, but it was very early, and, if you wanted to know the truth, I didn't care. Nothing could have stopped me from those buckets of food suspended over blue Sterno cans. Coffee. Bacon. Rapture.

All three of us sat together at a table still sticky with syrup.

“It might overwhelm me to go up there,” Cambridge said, dropping her plate on top of mine. “Get me one of everything and pour syrup on the side. In all honesty, Bethany, I'm afraid my hallucinogenic trip won't ever end.”

“It will end,” said Gabe sagely. “Everything does.”

While Cambridge talked herself down, I visited the buffet. God bless the fine CUP administrators who made breakfast at Copernicus possible. All that steam and deliciousness pooling around me. How I missed the silverware tidily rolled up in a napkin! The packets of jelly! Self-service toasters popping up chubby bagels! Waffles! Butter! And, and, and … hallelujah—an omelet chef.

Under other circumstances, I'd be too nervous to eat in front of a guy but, for whatever reason, Gabe didn't count. I was hungry and my cheddar-jack mushroom omelet sang to me.

Gabe's plate starred every item on the buffet drenched in blueberry syrup. He beamed at the smorgasbord just like Liliana when someone mentioned chocolate. Come to think of it, Gabe looked like a taller, skinnier version of his sister. He wore his usual SPOOGE T-shirt—a drawing of two dogs humping on the front and the words “Stolen Moments Tour 2011.” His skin was shiny, like he'd been misted in olive oil. His black, poker-straight hair had been cut bluntly to his neck. I didn't remember if Liliana had a dimple in the center of her chin, but her brother did. It disappeared when he smiled, which he was doing now, watching me. I felt my cheeks redden. Had I not noticed how cute he was before?

“I must look awful,” I said, opening my omelet like a gift.

“Not at all,” he said. “
¡Comemos!
”

Liliana did not inherit the super-speedy metabolism her bro had. Gabe ate like a robot sent on a mission to destroy everything on its plate. He slopped up eggs with toast and held his fork awkwardly, like he wasn't sure what purpose it served. He spattered ketchup indiscriminately. In record time, all three of us, including slow-eater Cambridge, were done. By way of announcement, I guess, Gabe belched loud enough for people to turn around. I almost called him out, but since he was the one who swiped his meal card, I let it ride.

Thankfully, the stack of chocolate chip pancakes did Cambridge good, because she looked less narcotized. “How about that party last night?” she asked, squeezing hazelnut creamer in her coffee. “Were drums involved? And frogs? Were people naked? I can't tell if I am having flashbacks or what.”

Our champion brownie-consumer didn't recall her initiation into the vomit hall of fame. She didn't remember Gabe dragging her back to his dorm either. Gabe, who had the perfect opportunity to mention some other mortifying event, just said, “The party wasn't all that memorable.” Then he plucked some watermelon off my plate, wrapped it in a napkin, and asked, shyly, “It's cool if I take this to Liliana, right?”

Outside the dining hall's window, California University's main administrative building was cushioned by a glut of fog. If only the mist would do us the extraordinary favor of swallowing the entire campus as easily as I'd swallowed my delicious omelet, we could forget about our life on the run and stay in Copernicus forever.

I turned to Gabe. “That first day of camp when you drove by me, I noticed your …” I paused.
What was that thing anyway?
“Your vehicle. Would you be willing to drive us somewhere?”

Whoever cut his long black hair must have chopped it with an axe. It was an odd contrast to his teeth, which were a little crooked. He covered his mouth when he spoke, like maybe he was self-conscious about them.

“Ah,
ni modo
. Drive you where?”

“San Francisco? Oakland? Baltimore?” I didn't think it mattered as long as it wasn't here. “Or maybe LA?” I asked him suddenly. “We'll go to the
American Envy
studios and wait for TJ. When he wins …” Wait. That was the old Bethany. “Oh forget it. Never mind.”

Gabe leaned back in his chair. He adjusted his skull cap, and I saw the part in his hair, a zigzag down the center of his scalp. “Your boyfriend's on
American Envy
?”

“He will be. He can levitate.”

Cambridge kicked me under the table. “He's not her boyfriend.”

Gabe leaned perilously further in the chair. “I think you guys are righteous on the one hand for leaving but then, on the other, you lack
cerebros
.” He tapped his head. “You need to approach this mathematically.”