Witch Twins at Camp Bliss (6 page)

Luna stuck out her hand, too. “Team player!”

“Dandy.” They shook on it, and Pam blew on her whistle, which seemed like the right thing to do after a deal had been struck.

E
LLA WAS THE REBEL
witch. Claire could feel it in her bones. She could sense it in her skin. She could smell it in the air.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” said Luna, peering down from her perch on the dock. “Come out of the water. I’m getting dizzy just looking at you. Don’t you feel dizzy?”

“Nuh-uh, it doesn’t bother me anymore. I love-love-love Lake Periwinkle!” To prove it, Claire spun herself around in her inner tube. This made her horribly dizzy. But a real Camp Bliss Girl should not be scared of water!

“Besides,” Luna continued, “what do you have to go on, besides your dramatic hunches?”

Claire gritted her teeth. It was hard to explain. “Ella Edsel’s a cootie-faced Jerk from Berserk,” she said.

“So is Angelica Antonio,” Luna reminded her. “She’s the snootiest girl in the whole school, remember? But we never thought Angelica was a rebel witch. Actually, I’m surprised you don’t get along with Ella. You’re both good at all the same things.”

“Never, ever, lump me with Ella Edsel,” said Claire sternly. “She is rotten. She is wrecking my chances to win the you-know-what.” Claire never liked to say those wonderful words “loving cup” out loud. It seemed like a jinx.

“She might be rotten, but she’s not a rebel witch,” said Luna.

Claire stretched out her arms and recited:

“From A to zed and here to there,

In buckled shoes and wild red hair,

With warted chin and toothless smile
,

Shalt spy a witch from o’er a mile.”

Luna snorted back a laugh. “That’s from our nursery school book of spooky poems, Clairsie! You might as well hunt down Ella’s broomstick and cauldron, if your hunches are going to be that old-fashioned.”

“There’s a grain of truth in every poem,” said Claire haughtily. “And you have to admit, Loon. Her hair is
wild
red. Besides, you don’t watch Ella Edsel the way I watch Ella Edsel.”

On that point, Claire was certain. Nobody at Camp Bliss was watching Ella Edsel as carefully as Claire Bundkin.

That was because, in addition to being (probably) the rebel witch of Camp Bliss, Ella Edsel was a
saboteur.

“Saboteur!” Claire would mutter under her breath whenever she saw Ella loping along on her spider-skinny legs. Claire was very happy she had learned that word. It meant someone who wrecks another person’s plans, and it fit Ella perfectly (better than
traitor,
which was too soldierly, or
weasel,
which sounded almost cute, like a pet).

Ella Edsel’s name even sounded saboteurish, with that stylish double E. For the first time, Claire was glad she wasn’t a triple-B name, like Bonnie-Blue (her favorite name in the entire world).

“Bonnie-Blue Bundkin is not a stylish name! It’s vile. It sounds like a bunny rabbit,” her mother had insisted. “You’ll thank me later, Claire.”

Ella Edsel is also a vile name, Claire thought, because it’s attached to a vile person. A pusher and a kicker and a cheater and a two-faced
saboteur.
If Ella Edsel was also a rebel witch, that was just one more thing to add to a long list of bad qualities.

It was frustrating to Claire that Luna never saw how bad Ella was. In fact, most everyone missed it. For some reason, girls liked Ella. They never appeared to notice her non-stop cheating. Such as how she would call, “Safe!” when she was really out, or how she didn’t quite show people her time on the stop-watch, and how she always took do-overs for archery and gymnastics.

Once, during afternoon pottery, Claire saw Ella’s vase collapse on the wheel. After Pam redid it, Ella took full credit for Pam’s work.

“Mine turned out great,” she bragged into Claire’s ear. “Mine’s the best!”

“Um, I think you mean
Pam’s
is the best?” Claire sneered.

“She only helped me for a sec,” said Ella. “Jealous, much?”

“Cheater, much?”

Ella just batted her eyes and skipped away to place her vase in the kiln.

It would have taken nothing to cast a “puff-o’-the-wind” spell. One unexpected breeze to smash that vase to bazillion pieces. If only Grandy hadn’t said No Spells! Well, it was probably for the best. Claire didn’t need anyone to think she was a bad sport. Bad sportsmanship was not part of the Camp Bliss Girl identity.

Ella knew that, too. She had also figured that she and Claire were neck and neck for the silver loving cup, even though Claire had played dumb about the whole thing.

“Takes more than beginner’s luck to be C. B. G,” Ella said after their first competition. They had tied for the win in the junior wind-surfing race. She stood over Claire after she had collapsed on the bank, woozy from too much time on Lake Periwinkle.

“What’s C. B. G.?” Claire wheezed.

“Oh, like you don’t know, Flea!” Ella scoffed. “Camp Bliss Girl, obviously. It’s the best camper award. Julianna Becker won it last year! This year she’s not here because she’s working as a lifeguard in Newark, New Jersey. She taught me everything I know. And you might as well give it up and settle for second-place ribbons. The trophy never goes to a rookie camper. Like you.”

“I’d rather be a rookie camper than a cootie monster.”

“Listen, for the last time, I don’t have cooties!” Ella stamped her foot. “Stop telling people that!”

“Cootie germs, no returns,” Claire answered, sitting up to punch Ella’s ankle with the last of her strength. On the inside, her hopes felt as crunched as an old tin can.

Was it true? Could a loving cup only go to a returning camper?

No way!

Ella Edsel was also a liar, Claire reminded herself. A liar who was feeling the heat of competition.

Because it was always Claire or Ella. Ella or Claire.

At any game or relay, at any sailing or swimming race, at any fitness test, and even at any contest that girls made up for fun—such as who could long-jump farthest off the top of the stone barbecue grill, or who could eat a slice of pizza in the fewest bites—Ella and Claire finished too close for comfort.

Sometimes Claire won. Sometimes Ella won. Sometimes they tied.

And mostly, Claire decided, Ella cheated.

When Ella’s cheating was too obvious, Claire had to speak up. “But Ella didn’t touch the buoy!” “Ella added ten points to her scorecard!” “Ella netted the ball twice and didn’t call it!”

“You’re nuts!” Ella yelled. “You’re blind!”

In such a loud voice that Pam would let her off. Probably, Claire figured, because it was easier to allow Ella to get her way than to question her.

So Claire had to be content with whispering. “Cheater!” “Liar!” “Jerk!” “Saboteur!”

“Takes one to know one!” Ella always whispered back.

Which made Claire grit and grind her teeth. How long could she keep being a good sport without going crazy?

The last straw was the afternoon mountain hike for advanced hikers only. Midway up to Bluefly Ridge, Ella jumped directly ahead of Claire. Then, while pretending to clear the path, she snapped back some pricker branches so that they scratched Claire’s arm.

“Ow!” Claire yelled, extra loud.

“Sorry, Fleabite,” said Ella in a singsong voice. Then she muttered a few words under her breath.

Claire gasped. Was it a spell? A rebel-witch pricker-stinging spell? It had to be! Proof, at last!

Suddenly, the prickers seemed to sting more fiercely. After they descended the mountain, Claire raced to the first-aid office, where Talita and Luna cleaned and dressed her arm.

“What did I tell you!” Claire exclaimed once Talita was out of earshot. “Rebel-witch Ella Edsel snapped the pricker branch on purpose! Then she chanted a spell to make it sting worse! It feels like fire on my arm!”

“Really? A pricker-sting spell? How’d it go?”

“Well, I didn’t hear it, exactly.”

“Could it have only been your imagination?”

When Claire didn’t answer, Luna looked skeptical. “Careful, Clairsie,” she warned.

“Whatever Ella did or didn’t do, you don’t want to come off looking like the baddie.”

“
She
hurt
me
! How’m I the baddie?”

“Well … the way you tell those jokes at dinner, saying Ella has cooties. Or how you say that she has lice, and that her lice probably have red hair and freckles, too.”

“Oh, that’s just camp spirit! Haven’t you ever heard her call me Flea or Fleabite? Ella Edsel’s like a—a human pricker! I wish I could figure out the best spell to get her back.”

“Ignore her.”

Claire wrinkled her nose. “You sound like Mom and Dad.”

“Rise above it.”

“Luna! That’s not real advice.”

“And whatever you do, don’t sink to her level.”

Claire snapped her fingers. Aha! She would sink to Ella’s level. She would pretend to be friends, and then when nobody was looking—
bam!
Right back at her. “Thanks, Loon! Great advice!” she said, giving her sister a hug.

She bided her time and waited for the perfect opportunity. It would be just a one-time warning, she decided. To show that two could play saboteur, ha ha! She practiced jabbing her finger right in Ella’s face and saying, “How’s that for a taste of your own medicine, cootie monster?”

The golden moment came during an afternoon pickup soccer match out in Cow Patty Pasture. Soccer was one of Claire’s favorite sports. It got a lot of her running energy out. She liked to play offense, but usually she had enough steam in her to play defense, too. Basically, she just followed the ball wherever it went.

Ella had extra running energy, too. She played by Claire’s same rules of following the ball all over the field, only more aggressively. Her usual trick was to swipe the ball to the extreme sideline, so that it was almost out of bounds. That’s when she would drive it all the way down the field, yelling, “I got it! I got it!” so loud that nobody else came near her.

Usually, Claire stayed out of Ella’s way, too. Safe from her bumps and shoves.

This time, she was ready. As soon as Ella got the ball, Claire streaked up alongside, tapped her knees, and softly chanted:

Knock these knees
—

Fall to thine!

Immediately, Ella stumbled and fell flat as a skinny squished spider.

In the next instant, Claire had recovered the ball. She pointed her finger and began, “How’s that for a taste of your own—” but already Ella had bounced back up, so Claire had to pass the ball, quick. Which she did, to Zoë, who popped it to Janna, who smashed it past Penelope and into the goal.

Everyone cheered. Ella scowled.

Ella pointed at Claire indignantly. “She tripped me!” she yelled to Pam.

“How did I?” Claire bellowed back.

“You said bad words to me, Fleabite!” Ella shouted. “You used intimidation tactics!”

Pam narrowed her eyes, called a timeout, and trotted over from the sidelines. “Keep it down, girls; they can hear you in Kentucky. That doesn’t sound like you, Claire. Did you say anything intimidating?”

“Crumbs, of course not!” said Claire. She made herself look Pam in the eye. “
I
never cheat.”

Lying was weird. Kind of like telling a campfire ghost story, as if the zombie version of Claire were channeling bad words through her real self.

Pam looked from Ella to Claire and back again. She seemed to be trying to decide something. “No penalties,” she called finally, blowing her whistle.

As soon as Pam’s back was turned, Claire stuck out her tongue. Ella mouthed a curse word. Claire mouthed a worse curse word back. Ella yawned and tapped her hand over her mouth, then scooted off before Claire could do anything more.

Uneasily, Claire waited for Ella to cast her knock-these-knees spell, or worse, but nothing happened.

Ella’s team evened the score, ending the game in a tie. But a spell-cheat tie, Claire realized, did not feel the same as a real one.

After everyone shook hands down the line, Pam signaled for Claire and Ella both to come stand on either side of her. She flung an arm around each of their necks and drew them into a three-way huddle.

“Look here, sports fans. Healthy competition is part of Camp Bliss’s identity, but in the end, we’re all on the same team, Team Bliss,” she said. “So you girls better call a truce.”

Ella smiled. “I’m real sorry, Claire,” she said in a sticky voice. “Maybe I was hearing things. I’m sure you didn’t make me trip on purpose. Truce!”

Claire swallowed. How could Ella be so two-faced? Why couldn’t Pam see how fake Ella really was?

“Okay I’m sorry, too,” she said. “Truce.”

“Dandy.” Pam blew on her whistle. “Now let’s go eat. It’s corn dogs and three-bean salad tonight. Hup two.”

“Yee-haw!” Ella leaped and sprinted away to catch up with the rest of the team.

Truce
for now,
Claire thought sourly as she straggled alone up the field.

She had a feeling that, like most truces, it was waiting for the right time to be broken.

L
UNA NOTICED THAT THE
rebel witch was changing the food.

The tacos became crunchier. Fresh oregano flecked the spaghetti sauce. The stale lemon squares now tasted lemony and didn’t crumble to dust.

Soon, everyone else noticed. The counselors were mystified. They discussed it endlessly. “Maybe the chef from Camp Haligalouk has become friends with Chef Sue,” Tammy said. Camp Haligalouk was the boys’ camp. It was way over on the other side of Lake Periwinkle. Sometimes the girls would see one of the boys’ maroon-painted boats on the lake or smell the smoke from their grill, but for the most part, the camps did not bother with each other. Besides, Sue, the Camp Bliss chef, was rather short-tempered. It did not seem likely that she would make friends or trade her recipes.

Other girls guessed it was a ghost.

Luna did not have to guess. She knew. The improved lemon squares were a dead giveaway. They had a perfect, no-mistakes taste. A witch’s work, without a doubt.

“At least the rebel witch is not tripping Pam anymore,” Luna remarked after a delicious dinner of savory vegetarian chili.