Текст книги "Unlikely Allies "

Автор книги: Tiffany King

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Chapter 6

The rest of the morning flew by with one activity after another. Rick began the day by covering the camp rules, like never venturing beyond the camp without a partner, staying within the confines of the camp once the sun set and no visiting the cabins of the opposite sex.

"The trails here are marked relatively well, except for the expert trails we have set up for the older campers’ survival classes. You have to be in your last year to take the two expert trails. I have this set up for your own safety. Got me guys?" he asked, looking at a group of teenage boys who were grumbling about not being babies. I heard one of them brag that he could do the hardest trail with his eyes closed.

"Right, of course, tumbling down the mountain doesn't count as a completion," Mason teased him as he nudged him with his shoulder.

Mason's teasing started a chain reaction as the older guys became rowdy as they wrestled around.

Rick put two of his fingers in his mouth and blew out a shrill whistle that rang out around us. The guys stopped wrestling and straightened up their clothes, but I saw the original instigator nudge Mason one last time, earning him a stern look from Rick.

"Mason is right. The trails are labeled from easy to hard for a reason. Falling off the mountain may seem like a far-fetched idea, but the conditions along the trails can become dangerous from weather conditions and erosion. Even expert guides have been known to get injured on these trails. So, once again, the two expert trails are for our fifteen-year-old campers only, and only after they have completed every other trail with an average score of an eight or better.

"Score?" I whispered to Amy.

"Yeah, Rick came up with a checklist of certain things he expects the campers to accomplish with each trail they take. It rates you by aptness, speed and general knowledge of your surroundings. Most of the girls really don't care and never make it to the harder trails, but to the guys, it's like the Holy Grail or something," she whispered loudly to me, earning us a glare from Mason.

Without thinking, I stuck my tongue out at him, earning giggles from Parker and the blonde camper, Grace, who had asked me about Rick earlier.

"That’s mature," Amy teased, smiling at me.

"I can't help it, he brings out the worst in me," I grumbled, slouching down on the rough bench underneath me. I refrained from wiggling around. With my luck lately, I’d find a way to get a splinter in my ass for sure.

Rick closed up the opening comments by handing out schedules for the campers. I grabbed one of them and saw that I was scheduled to do arts and crafts in one-hour blocks. I had one session before lunch and three afterward.

"I'm off to row with the munchkins," Amy quipped, pointing toward the canoes by the lake.

"You teach rowing?" I asked, surprised. I somehow expected that to be Mason's forte.

"When it's cooler, like it is this summer, I do rowing. When it's warmer, I do swim lessons. By the way the weather seems to be acting this summer, I don't see a whole lot of opportunities for getting in the water."

"That's cool. I would have expected rowing to be more Mason's kind of thing," I admitted.

"LOL, I could see that. God knows the guy has the pecks and arms for it, but he teaches archery and is a guide," she said before loping off for the lake.

I made my way to the mess hall where the art room was located. Anxiety began to set in as I went through a mental checklist, reviewing everything I had spent the previous day setting up to my liking. At least I had an impressive amount of supplies at my disposal and had planned different projects that would take several days to complete.

My first group arrived as I was pulling out the necessary supplies for the day. It was the older boys, definitely the most intimidating group I would have. They were only three years younger than me, and it was obvious I was being blatantly checked out. I expected to hear some kind of innuendos, but at least they were remaining respectful, even though I could feel all their eyes watching every move I made. I couldn't help wondering if that was due to Rick.

"Okay, so today I thought we’d work with clay," I said, indicating the chunks of burnt orange-colored clay I had set on each table. "I've worked with this kind of clay before and it's pretty cool because it doesn't require baking to set..." My words were cut off when one of the boys chucked a rolled-up ball of the clay at his friend across the room. I knew I needed to say something, but it seemed awkward getting onto someone so close to my age. I was debating the best approach in my head to let him know I was in charge when another blob of clay flew across the room, nearly pegging me in the cheek. Before I could get a word out, an all-out clay war erupted among the rowdy boys who were all trying to tag each other. A boy across the room picked up one of the folding chairs to use as a shield and another climbed on top of the table for more accuracy. I ducked under the table, out of the line of fire after a small piece pelted me in the forehead. I knew I'd suck at this, I thought to myself as the shrieking and whooping hit painful decibels.

A loud piercing whistle broke up the noise of the room and I peeked out from under my hiding place. Rick was standing in the doorway, looking anything but happy. "What the blazing hell is going on in here?" he asked to the now silent room.

"Dude, Trent totally started it..." a short shaggy-haired kid said, pointing to the tall kid on the far side of the room.

"What the F, Paul, I thought you had my back," Trent shouted, glaring at Paul.

"This is NOT the kind of behavior I'm looking for from you guys. I'm all for screwing around, but when supplies and furniture are compromised, that's not cool. Folks spend their hard-earned money to make sure this camp is functional and you show your respect by climbing on it like it’s playground equipment," Rick said in a stern "don't mess with me" kind of voice.

Brushing dust off the knees of my skirt, I stood up, embarrassed to be caught looking like an imbecile.

"Kimberly, can I see you out here for a moment," Rick asked, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Um, sure, Rick," I said, feeling defensive from the look on his face. I tried to tell him I wasn't good at this sort of thing. This was not my fault, I couldn't help thinking as I closed the door smartly behind us.

I looked up defiantly, ready to tell him this whole thing was his fault for entrusting a complete novice with the job. My insolence, however, deflated like a balloon as he just stood there in silence, studying me.

"I'm sorry," I said, cracking under the pressure. "The situation just got out of control. I'm not used to telling kids near my age what to do," I added as I scuffed the toe of my shoe against the doorjamb.

"I know I shoved you into this position. I wanted you to learn to love the camp as much as I do in the short amount of time you will be here. I can see now I was unfair in assuming you'd want to be a part of this," he said, sweeping his hands out to indicate the space surrounding us. "I can make arrangements and get your position replaced, but you might have to still camp out in one of the cabins if you don't mind," he added.

My stomach dropped. He doesn't think I have it in me to do this, I thought despairingly. Only day one and I had shattered his faith in me and stomped on his dreams. All I could think about were my complaints that now seemed insignificant when I looked into his hurt eyes.

"I can do this, Rick," I said with more bravado than I had felt since my plane had landed days ago. I would show him I had it in me or die trying, a silent voice mocked me.

"Are you sure? I'd understand if you wanted an out. I know I kind of sprang all of this on you."

"I'm positive," I said, meaning it for the first time.

"Fantastic," he said, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. "Now go in there and show them who's boss," he added, indicating the closed door behind me.

"Um, right. How do I do that?" I asked as he burst out laughing.

"Be firm. They respect an authoritative tone."

"Right," I said doubtfully.

He laughed again. "You got this," he said, winking at me before strolling away.

Obviously, it made him happy that I didn’t want to give up. Now I just had to prove to both of us that I wasn’t going to disappoint him again. I twisted the doorknob and stepped back into the craft room. Several catcalls followed my entrance. Taking a deep breath, I turned to face the offenders.

“Shut it!” I demanded. They looked surprised at first and then grinned at me.

“Is that funny? I’ll tell you what, embarrass me like that again in front of Rick, and I’ll make sure every girl here knows you wet the bed at night. And I can be awfully convincing.”

You could hear a pin drop for a moment as I stared directly into their eyes. I knew they were waiting for me to flinch, but I maintained an unreadable poker face, all the while, trying to hide my shaking legs under my skirt.

“Works for me,” one of the boys finally answered, cracking first.

"Teach found herself some balls out there in the hall," a voice in the back called out.

"I want all the clay picked up in the next two minutes with a piece roughly this size in front of each of you," I said in a deadly serious voice as I held up a piece of clay the size of a softball. "Time starts now, or you can choose to ignore me and spend an extra rotation this afternoon with me instead of archery or canoeing."

Without hesitation, everyone jumped from their chairs and began picking up the mess of clay that was scattered about the room. I watched as they exchanged stares, trying to appear cool and unconcerned. "It's your pick. Of course, I have cute origami flowers picked out for the afternoon class that you might be interested in," I added, digging it in a little further.

"Hell no am I making some pansy-ass flower," Trent said, dropping down to the ground so he could pick up the offending balls of clay.

I turned away again, letting out a deep breath. It worked, I could do this, I thought gleefully.

"Nice job, teach," a small skinny boy said quietly beside me.

"They're a good lot, but just need a firm hand," he said wisely.

I fought the urge to laugh at his adult like choice of phrasing.

"I see. What about you?"

"I'm the good boy who’s always in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, running his finger over some angry looking scars that ran up the back of his left hand disappearing under the cuff of his worn flannel shirt.

"I see, so you're just a silent observer?" I asked, trying to hide my horror at the scars that marred his skin.

"Exactly," he said, grinning at me. "I'm Quinn," he said, holding out his hand so I could shake it.

"Kimberly," I said, holding out my own hand.

He laughed. "We all know who you are. I'm just relieved you pulled on your big girl panties and showed these lugs you're here to stay," he whispered conspiratorially as the others finally slid into their chairs.

I smiled at him, enchanted with his mature dialect. "Well, Quinn, you just remind me of that if it looks like I'm losing control again."

"Will do, teach," he said before pulling his own chair up to the table.

His words spurred me on as I instructed the now silent class on how to construct the lumpy ball of nothing into something that would inspire them. I forgot that I was talking to a bunch of unruly boys as I lost myself in my craft. Art had always been second nature to me, as natural as breathing. From as young as I could remember, I had used artistic tools to express my feelings, whether in pastels, chalk, watercolor or with just a plain piece of paper and a blunt pencil. I was always able to capture what was in my mind.

The hour flew by as the guys listened to me with rapt attention, trying to work the clay in their hands like I was mindlessly working mine as I talked. I had them line their various projects along the shelves before they exited the room and told them we'd continue the next day.

As the room emptied, I approached the shelves along the back wall to check out their first attempts. I couldn't help smiling when I saw several that looked to be the shape of a woman's breast, typical boys. They'd die if they attended some of the nude art classes I had been to. I wasn't a huge fan of nude art, but needed the exposure for my college applications, no pun intended. Continuing on, I grimaced at several unrecognizable shapes until I stumbled onto one that was the exact replica of a mountain lion. Reaching over, I picked it up and studied the detail in awe as I turned it over in my hands. The person who had created this had true talent. Clay wasn't the easiest material to work with, but somehow he gave the shapeless lump life that most artists spent their lives trying to perfect. Turning it over in my hands, I was shocked to see Trent’s name scrawled across the belly of the lion.

Trent the instigator had done this. The thought seemed crazy considering the way he had acted earlier.

"Hiding out, or contemplating death by clay?" Amy teased, coming into the room.

"Ha, an hour ago, I would have said both, but now...," I said, smiling crookedly at her.

"Hot damn, I mean, hot dog. It went well?" she asked with sparkling eyes.

"Not at first. I literally thought I was in hell, but one of the campers and Rick helped me pull it together," I said, linking my arm through hers as we headed out of the room toward the dining area.

"Really? Who?" she asked.

"Quinn."

"Aw, Quinn. That kid is freaking awesome," she said affectionately as she headed to the kitchen to grab the overflowing serving bowls for all the tables.

"He really is," I answered, juggling two heaping bowls of french fries. "He talks like an adult, but looks way younger than the other guys."

"He is," she said, balancing a glass pitcher of lemonade and a stack of glasses in her hands.

"Really?" I asked, heading back to the kitchen for more fries.

"Yeah, he's only twelve. Rick moved him up to the Eagle cabin last year."

"Seriously? The older guys didn't mind?" I asked skeptically.

"Nah, he could shame anyone with his sophisticated speech. Plus, they pretty much treat him like a mascot anyway."

"Is that why Rick moved him to the Eagle cabin?" I asked, confused at the wisdom of pulling Quinn from his own age group.

"Not really," she hem-hawed, looking uncomfortable.

"Amy, seriously, you're not going to hold out on me are you?" I asked, intrigued by her sudden secretiveness.

"I just hate being a gossip on something like this," she said quietly, juggling a platter of corn dogs.

I raised my eyebrows at her since we'd pretty much done nothing but exchange tidbits on everyone since I got here.

"Okay, I was trying to turn over a new leaf, especially when it comes to Quinnie. We all sort of love him here. Anyway, Rick moved him because he has ferocious night terrors and it was freaking out the younger kids."

"Night terrors?" I asked, confused over the term.

"Yeah, freaky dreams that make him wake up screaming like the hounds of hell are after him. Rick researched it a lot when Quinn first got here last summer and it's not all that rare. Anything can trigger them, but we're all pretty sure his stem from his asshole father. And no, I'm not apologizing for that one because I'm pretty sure Louise would agree with me," she said with venom in her voice.

"What would I agree with?" Louise asked, coming up from behind and startling us both.

"Quinnie’s father," Amy said, grabbing another pitcher of lemonade while I grabbed the cups.

"You mean, the prick asshole," Louise said with the same venom as Amy.

"Yep, that'd be the one," Amy said, shooting me a smile despite the heavy topic.

"Why, what'd he do?" I asked, delivering the stack of cups to the Raven table before heading toward our own table.

"He set him on fire," she said, dropping in a heap in the chair next to me.

"What?" I screeched. Bile rose up my throat as I recalled the scars on the backs of his hands and his words about always being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Shhhhhhhhh," Amy hissed as several people turned our way.

"Are you serious?" I asked, lowering my voice to a whisper.

She nodded. "He did other bullsnot stuff to him before that, one even sent Quinn to the hospital when he was seven. They took him away and arrested his dad, but when he was released, some pansy dick head judge was convinced he was rehabilitated and gave him back temporary custody. He showed his gratitude by setting Quinnie's bed on fire while he was sleeping."

I looked at her, completely appalled as my eyes filled with tears. What kind of world did we live in that parents did sick-ass stuff like that to their own children? The table around us filled as the other counselors claimed their seats. Their voices floated around me in a haze as I tried to keep from looking at Quinn on the other side of the room, sure that he would know we had been discussing him.

"Kimmie, you okay?" Rick's voice broke through my thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, swallowing the bile that was burning its way through my throat.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, looking at my empty plate with concern.

"Um no, I think I just need some fresh air," I said, bolting from the table before I embarrassed myself.

I barely made it to the woods beyond the building before I lost the contents of my stomach. Dry heaves pulsated through me as tears coursed down my cheeks. I was surprised at my reaction, having never been much of a crier. I just always felt it was a wasted emotion that never got me what I wanted anyway. Maybe I was feeling overly emotional from meeting Rick, or putting up with Mason's crap, but something had me feeling overly sensitive.

"Corn dogs not your usual cuisine, beach bunny?" the one person I wished to avoid mocked from behind me.

Forgetting the tears on my cheeks, I turned around, deciding now was the time he was going to take a punch in the nose. The sudden movement coupled with my puke-fest left me lightheaded. I took a staggering step forward before crumbling in an unceremonious heap at his judgmental feet. I wish I could say I'd never felt more embarrassed, but this was just another clip from my weeklong blooper real around Mason. All I could do was sit there and try to clear my head so I could run to the cabin and hide.

"Hey, are you crying?" Mason asked, kneeling beside me, concerned.

"What do you care?" I asked, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles to clear away the rest of the fogginess and tears.

"Did someone say something to upset you?" he asked in a tone I didn't recognize.

"You mean besides you?" I said, staggering to my feet. He gripped my arms to help steady me, giving me a sudden sense of déjà vu. Just that morning, he had gripped me the same way. Which, by the way, why did it seem like he was always holding me up? No wonder he thought I was a weakling.

"Yeah, I guess besides me," he said in a voice that almost sounded regretful as he took a step closer to me. "You have clay on your face," he added in a husky voice, swiping his thumb across my cheekbone.

My skin tingled at his soft touch and suddenly I had a hard time catching my breath. The look on his face was intense. Fighting to compose myself, I wanted to go on the defensive, unsure if he was just messing with me again.

"Well, if you must know, Amy told me about Quinn," I said, sick of the feelings he was able to stir up inside me. "So there, now you can tell me how weak I am. I know it. I can't handle a story without bursting into tears and losing my breakfast. You're right, I don't belong here," I added, wrenching my arms from his grasp and stumbling toward my cabin.

He stopped me in midstep. "You're not weak. I was an asshole to ever say that. I'm not usually like this," he added, looking frustrated.

"Then why?" I asked, dying to know what it was about me that drew out his inner devil.

"I don't know," he answered, running his fingers through his short blond hair. "I guess because I don't think you belong here."

His words crushed me. "F you," I replied before turning away without another word and stalking off to my cabin.

Slamming the door behind me, I sank onto the cot, filled with rage. Who is he to say I didn't belong here? He may have claimed my dad first, but I wasn't giving up my place in his life just because Mason felt threatened. I would show him I did belong here if it was the last thing I did.

I spent the rest of the lunch hour in the cabin trying to calm down. By the time my next lesson rolled around, I felt I was ready to face the world again. My stomach still growled unhappily, but I was able to quiet it down with a dinner roll Louise let me snag on my way to the arts and crafts room. I was ready to tackle my afternoon classes head-on.