Camp Utopia & the Forgiveness Diet (9781940192567) (19 page)

Using the mouse, I followed the Greyhound's cross-country route through Nevada, across to Utah, Colorado, down to New Mexico, then across Oklahoma, Kansas … Just think! All the places I could see with Cambridge. Not Jackie and not Doug. It would be a real adventure this time, without secrets and emotional breakdowns. I was about to book two seats when Olive turned on the TV.

“Oh my God!” she cried. “Come look at this.”

Cambridge and I turned our attention toward the television. There the campus station aired a promotional tour of the university. I didn't see the problem until I caught sight of the bottom half of the screen.

White letters. Blue background. Infinite loop.

Full vegetarian lunch served in Copernicus 1:00 PM … University fireworks display set for July Fourth 9:00 PM MontClaire Hall … One African-American teen and one Caucasian teen missing from weight loss camp. Last seen in gymnasium. Contact campus security 5510 with info … Full vegetarian lunch served in Copernicus 1:00 PM …

In case we couldn't read, Olive did us the favor of repeating it out loud. Then her eye started twitching. “Did you see that? Did. You. See. That?!”

I could barely say the words: “Holy f—,” before Cambridge got up and turned off the TV.

“Who watches public television anyway?” she said and lit a cigarette. “Don't worry about a thing, Olive.”

Nice try, Cambridge. “Don't worry?” Olive asked. If there'd been a trapdoor beneath me and Cambridge, Olive would've already pulled the lever. “DON'T WORRY?” She peeked behind the tapestry in the window. “Campus security will be all over this.”

I wanted to argue with her, but hell, I'd just seen the evidence. Not only had we run away from Utopia, people were actually looking for us. Chances are this would not end well. Knowing this, Olive dropped her cigarette in a water bottle. “You two need to be out of here by tomorrow morning.” She picked at her toes again. “Sorry.”

Cambridge sat in the window and the tapestry, fat with wind, billowed behind her. “Can't you give us a bit more time?” she asked, exhaling a column of smoke. “Time enough for us to figure out a proper course of action?” Cambridge reached into the fanny pack and removed another bill. “No one watches the crawl,” she assured her. “We'll be discreet,” she added. “Pretty please.”

Olive fondled the lid to her brownies. “No way. There's too much at stake. I have so many customers in and out of here too,” she started. “They'll see you.”

Right then, as if this were some perfectly orchestrated drill, someone knocked. All three of us stopped, completely unsure of what to do next. After a few tense seconds, Olive snatched the bill from Cambridge, opened the closet, then whispered, “Get in there, you two. Go.”

Hidden behind Olive's closet doors, our feet separated by terrariums, I allowed myself to panic. True, my anxiety had started long ago, but now, hidden in the hot cramped red-lit closet of a drug dealer, it was gaining momentum. I took three big breaths and nudged Cambridge. “Remember your research?” I whispered. “In the library? What happened to all those other girls who ran away from fat camp?”

I couldn't see anything, but I felt Cambridge's shoulders shaking beside me. Oh no, Cambridge was losing it too. I patted her back, hoping to calm her down. Turned out she wasn't even crying. Cambridge was laughing like a hyena—a silently laughing hyena. Tears, happy ones, streamed down her face. “We totally set the precedent,” she said, giggling. “Isn't that amazing?”

From:
[email protected]

To: Bethany Stern

Subject: Re: re: IF U WOKE UP WITH WINGS

Dear Bethany,

So Caleb and Cullen, my sons, are now five. They both have ADHD. I have tried and tried to read them the WAKE UP WITH WINGS book and they want nothing of it. Caleb only picks up books to shred them, and Cullen only wants to read about farting dogs.

All of it serves to remind me what great kids you and Jackie were. Jackie was always happy to be hula-hooping in a tutu. And you had this magnificent temper! You used to throw your diapers around and bang your fists on the ground and then, afterward, you'd be quiet as rain, flipping through books in the basement. On some level I always knew you'd become the storyteller of the family.

One last thing: I'd like to talk to Jackie. Do you have her number? I don't know what I want to say to her, only that, I don't know. She deserves better, I guess. I know she's in California, but I could call her cell.

Yours truly…Dad

34

#HASHTAG

PART OF ME wished Jackie still had her phone, because imagining their awkward conversation was so much fun.

Kudos on getting preggo, Jackie. Thanks, Dad. Sorry about the abortion. Sorry about your own stupid kids. How about coming over to swim in a giant inflatable pool? Let me just check my calendar, Dad. Oh yes, it seems that hell is set to freeze over, so I'll be right there, OK?

In the end, though, I ignored the e-mail. I wasn't in the mood for a renaissance with Richard Goodman, and I had more important problems to worry about—namely, being AWOL from Utopia. With each passing hour I'd become more nervous. Lawn mower motors were suddenly hovering helicopters. Noises in the hallway became approaching SWAT teams. When my phone rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“I think it's the FBI,” I told Cambridge, holding it far away from me. “I'm afraid to answer it.”

Cambridge, who was taking all this very lightly, grabbed it. “Fat Camp Fugitives,” she answered. “How may I assist you?” Silence. “Oh hey, Liliana. What's up?”

So maybe it wasn't the FBI, but Liliana didn't exactly have good news either. She told us that someone had seen us on campus yesterday, hence the AMBER Alert. Now Hank and Belinda were searching our room looking for clues. Liliana's brother, who had watched one too many episodes of
Bounty Hunters
, suggested his sister put them on the wrong trail. So she did. Liliana told the owners that we'd ordered plane tickets and were headed back East. She said it all confessional-like too, the way Gabe'd told her to. Liliana couldn't say for sure, but she thought it might've worked. “Even though it was his idea,” she said, “I executed it. That's what really matters. A small token of your appreciation would be freakin' awesome,
verdad
?”

God bless crime television and our youngest roommate. In order to thank her, I ordered twelve long-stem chocolate roses from Olive's computer. I even made them promise to deliver them real late, so they'd get past Miss Marcia. I didn't know for sure if Liliana's plan had worked, but I was grateful for her effort. I mean, at the rate we were traveling up shit creek, any paddle would do.

“Cambridge?” I asked. We were back in the closet again. Olive's brownie customers averaged one every ten minutes. “Don't you have a bad feeling about all this?”

Cambridge pawed her way around the plants. “Not really,” she said. “Liliana sent Hank and Belinda to the airport. We have a place to crash for the night. All we need now is dinner and we're set.”

“How can you think about food at a time like this?”

Cambridge scratched her chin. “You're telling me you aren't hungry?”

“I don't think so.”

From:
[email protected]

To: Bethany Stern

Subject: Re: re: re: IF U WOKE UP WITH WINGS

Dear Bethany,

I haven't heard back from you. Is it because you're so busy at Utopia? I bet you've met a friend, and you love the place now. What are your roommates like? The other campers? Perhaps to help pass the time, you'd like me to send some books to your e-reader. What authors do you prefer reading?

Oh, one more memory came to me recently. Right before your mother and I separated, a family moved in across the street. The dad was a religious man. I seem to remember the mom had a lot of birds. Doves, I think. The kid was a bit sneaky, always playing tricks. He was about your age. Maybe a year older. Was that TJ?

Just curious

~Dad

35

EXTRA LARGE THIN CRUST

I'D VENTURE THAT Olive earned at least a thousand dollars in the last three hours. Half the campus wanted to sample her product. Now that night had fallen, Olive checked her dimples in the mirror. She combed her hair into two Pippi Longstocking braids—flaunting her hairy armpits while doing it—and slid her feet into a pair of sandals. “Time to go to work,” she sang out.

Cambridge made one last effort. “Please let us come with you.”

“That's really funny,” Olive responded, and stuffed a few more brownies into her Rastafarian purse. “This is a business matter. Besides, no one would let you in anyway. You don't have costumes.”

Of course this only enticed Cambridge more. “Costumes?” she asked, trying to veil her excitement. “What if we make one?” she lawyered. “Then Baltimore and I will be disguised. No one will know a thing. We'll wear elaborate get-ups. We'll even paint our faces. This might be our only chance to attend a real-live college … business matter.” Cambridge cocked her head. “I mean, what's the big secret?”

A Post-it note helicoptered to the floor. Olive picked it up and stuck it back to the wall. “It's just not a good idea for you two to be there,” Olive explained. “The students, well ... the kids left on campus fit into one of two categories: complete slackers or shameless overachievers. You put these kinds of extremes together, and it's total mayhem. Things could easily get out of hand.”

Cambridge smirked. “We'd behave, Olive.”

“This is California University of the Pacific,” Olive snorted. “No one behaves.”

“Five minutes?”

Olive shook her tangled mane. “Just sit here, eat your pizza, and watch TV.”

“You sound like my nanny,” Cambridge sneered, “minus the British accent.”

Olive straightened the lap of her blue dress. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” said Cambridge, crossing her heart.

And then Olive was gone, her patchouli stench trapped in the room—just like us.

Now that we had the place to ourselves, we could direct our energy to more important matters—like designing an exit plan. Even though Cambridge assured me things were fine, this campus felt snugger than last year's pants. Had Hank and Belinda checked the airport yet? I wondered. Were they torturing Liliana? Either way, I sure hoped Cambridge had seen
Shawshank Redemption,
because I might need some help tunneling out of Poindexter with a spoon.

Yet our fate seemed the furthest thing from Cambridge's mind. Instead of planning our escape, Cambridge only wanted to discuss pizza. She wouldn't even consider a Greyhound ticket until after I ordered an extra-large thin crust with an obscene amount of toppings. Finally, I turned to her.

“Just so you know, Cambridge, Liliana's pretty sure they called our parents.”

I watched her closely as I said this, but her face revealed nothing. I pressed, “What do you think your dad will do? You know, when they tell him?”

Cambridge petted a potted plant. “My dad will be cavalier about everything: very
I see. I see. I will discuss things with her mother and get back to you
.” She did the best impressions. “What about your dad, Bethany? What will he do?”

“They wouldn't bother telling him. My mom paid for it.”

Cambridge's eyes widened. “You know what you should do?” She stood up straight, dusted off her knees. “You should tell your father first, in one of your e-mails. Tell him before your mother does.” She closed the closet door. “Play your parents against each other, see. Like all the divorced kids do. Tell him how awful Utopia is, and then he'll feel bad, Bethany. He might even sign you out! He'll blame it all on your mom. Then you won't even have to worry about getting busted, because you'll be free and clear!”

“I haven't seen my dad in a long time.”

Cambridge stroked her chin. “So call in a favor.”

“He doesn't extend favors.”

“He's sent you fifty e-mails in the last two days. He must be feeling guilty about something. And that e-reader? With his diet recommendation.”

“So?”

“So exchange it for something better.” She twisted a lock around her finger. “What do you have to lose?”

Sure it sounded unlikely, but Cambridge had suggested it so convincingly. She did look a little loopy, rubbing her hands together like a mad scientist, but what can I tell you? I was caught up in a moment. There was something downright magical about the twilight leaking in the window, an enchanted forest growing in the closet, and my dreadlocked cohort imparting me with her wizardry. It was worth a shot, right?

Maybe I'd get lucky.

From: Bethany Stern

To: Richard Goodman
[email protected].

Subject: Re: re: re: re: IF U WOKE UP WITH WINGS

Dear Dad:

TJ? Yes, he was our neighbor. He was actually the magician @ ur twins' b-day party one year. U or Penny musta hired him. i was there too, tho I wasn't invited. U saw me but pretended u didn't.

As far as more book recs, i don't think that'll be necessary b/c I 4got to mention (wait 4 it. Wait 4 it.) I ran away from utopia. As in I am no longer @ fat camp. I “considered” returning for 20 secs and survey says… No TY, Richard Goodman.

The place is plum awful. The campers are shallow and mean. They bow down to Hollywood and lock up our phones. The owners beat and starve us and then contort our limbs into pretzel positions for fun. If you want to do anything then do this. Sign me out. Consider it my birthday present. It's much better than a rec for the forgiveness diet.

Anyway, utopia? Over and out…It's done…you should be grateful. They would have killed me there. Just need ur lil john hancock and we can put it to rest. Fax it over, rich. Do us all a favor. Help a daughter out. Please.