Camp Utopia & the Forgiveness Diet (9781940192567) (31 page)

The redheaded counselor wore tie-dyed pajamas and eyeglasses. “Oh,” she said in her much-too-loud-for-morning voice. “You don't need to blackmail me. I always liked you, but I thought you hated it here.”

I certainly wasn't about to win “camper of the year” or anything, but hate is a strong word. “I want Liliana to get better,” I said, “and me too.” It was much easier to say this to my flip- flops. “I need to figure this whole madness out.”

Despite having the loudest voice of anyone I knew, Miss Marcia was a thinking woman. When she took to her desk chair to ponder things, she did so quietly. Finally, she asked, “You know what I think would help Liliana the most?”

“What?”

“New leadership. I think there needs to be some changes at Utopia.”

I nodded in strong agreement. Miss Marcia knew a thing or two about camp dynamics, for sure. She continued, “The emphasis needs to shift from weight loss to weight management. Weight confidence. Finding the right weight for your body and accepting it. Maintaining it.” She rubbed her hands together. “It doesn't help seeing skinny people all the time and thinking they're brilliant because they can button their pants.”

Miss Marcia was nothing short of a genius.

She stroked her chin. “Kids need someone they can identify with, not someone trying to squeeze into a prom dress. They need to see someone who's struggled. Someone who didn't necessarily want to change but had to. Someone smart and irreverent and funny.”

Funny is good
, I thought.

“So,” said Miss Marcia, “are you up for it?”

“Of course,” I said. Absolutely! Things definitely needed to change at Utopia, and all the innovations Miss Marcia mentioned were good ones. I watched her open her closet and remove a T-shirt adorned with the words “Captain Thin.” Fabulous. A new captain. That was exactly the kind of thing Utopia needed. Our redheaded counselor smiled a toothy grin. “So, Baltimore?”

“Yes?”

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“You're the new captain.”

“What?”

Each word was like a slap to the face.
You. Are. The. New. Captain
, she repeated.

“Good one, Marsh.” I began to sweat. “Did you have a few brownies for breakfast?”

She balled up the pink shirt and threw it at me. “You're funny,” she said. “You're irreverent. You've struggled, and people will relate to you.”

“I'm fat.” I waved the shirt. “This says ‘Captain Thin.' ”

“So what?”

“I hate exercising.”

“You're inspirational. I've made up my mind, Bethany. You can come back to Utopia, but I think you should be captain. It would make Liliana proud. Plus, Hank and Belinda will want some sign of commitment after all the trouble you caused.”

“But what about—”

“No buts,” said our counselor. “It's all you.”

Just then Hollywood walked into Miss Marcia's room. I'd never been more relieved to see her. Surely she would not let Miss Marcia dethrone her. I'd bet once the former captain saw the pink shirt in my hand, she'd fight me for it. No one was more attached to being Captain Thin than Hollywood. “So you're Captain Thin now?” she asked, not even meanly.

“No,” I said. “I don't want to be. I mean you're good at it. You were born for this kind of thing. Please,” I said, trying to pawn off the T-shirt, “take it.”

Hollywood hid her hands behind her back. “I don't want it,” she said. “
You
can wake everyone up for power walk. Thank God.”

“What? You don't want your job?”

“No way,” said Hollywood. “I quit.”

You've got to be kidding me! How does one walk into a room and walk out fifteen minutes later as Captain Thin? Even Batman had a choice. I threw the shirt on Miss Marcia's bed and prayed to God that Hollywood hadn't called her dad.

“Tell me your dad said no.”

Hollywood nodded toward Miss Marcia. “He said yes. You were technically never signed out to begin with. My dad talked to Belinda and Hank anyway. They think you're just the kind of change we need around here. You're totally back in,” she said and punched my arm, “Captain.”

57

QUEEN BEE

A few hours later, Hank, Belinda, Miss Marcia, and I were gathered around a table in the common room trying to keep an open mind. They were there to listen as Miss Marcia and I addressed some of Utopia's problems. It was like some serious United Nations negotiations in that room, but, eventually, we compromised. For example, we would no longer have guest speakers whose only claim to fame is that they were not fat. The girls would have the omelet chef every other day and, as captain, I got to institute a policy.

Now I stood in the mailroom, Hollywood next to me, about to implement what I believed would be the best fat camp rule of all time. I stood among the same desks and chemistry posters, the same file cabinet and mail slots. The only thing missing was Cambridge. I sure wished she'd been beside me instead of Hollywood, who looked a little confused. She gazed at the scissors I held in my hand. “Bethany?” she asked. “What are you doing with those?”

It was late afternoon and hot in the mailroom. Someone had propped the window open with a chemistry textbook. The sounds of laughter and far away music drifted in.

“I'm implementing my change,” I told Hollywood.

She raised an eyebrow. “And Hank and Belinda. They approved of this?”

“Yes,” I said, “reluctantly.”

“Are you sure?”

I looked at the deluxe Electrolux scale positioned in the corner. “I'm sure.”

Amber sat down behind a desk and sighed. “Go ahead then.”

Like a scene in a B-horror flick, I cocked my arm back and thrust the scissors into the scale's LED display. It split open like flesh. I did it again. And again. The scale's black screen bled to an oily green. I jumped up and down on the platform, hoping to destroy its springs. Hollywood watched me, disgusted at first, like I was stabbing a bunny. Then she said the strangest thing. She said, “Let me help you.”

Downright medieval in her chunky sandals, Hollywood jumped on the platform too. She strangled the machine's long neck until it snapped in half. With hair falling in points around her sweaty face, she grabbed the metal piece and thwacked it on a desk. She tore it apart like an Uma Thurman in
Kill Bill
. I didn't ask who she imagined the scale to be as she cracked it over the radiator a few times. For all I knew her fantasy included my face at its center, so why ruin it for everyone? I just went on liberating tiny corkscrews and silver batteries and other debris like a butcher. Once the scale's innards and plastic shreds flew around the mailroom, we called it quits. All in all, it was a sad, crazy, pissed-off but quasi beautiful moment.

We collapsed on desk chairs and composed ourselves. I scratched my ankle with my flip-flop. “I wish we could do that to the salad bar next,” I said.

Amber laughed, a lilting chuckle that filled the room like light. “Too bad you only got to make one suggestion.”

Obviously the salad bar would stay. But the scale? The scale would go. Correction: The scale did go. Correction: The scale went.

“Please open your notebooks and take note of Bethany's rule: No more Weigh Days, people. That is all.”

58

MY FELLOW UTOPIANS

NEEDLESS TO SAY, my transformation from fat camp fugitive to team captain wasn't easy. It proved most difficult for the other campers who were now ordered to listen to me. In the few days that followed, no one took me seriously. If you're ever bored, try rousing twenty-three sleeping trolls at six o'clock every morning. Good times. Want to cultivate self-loathing? Ask a group of tweens if they want to swim laps … for fun. Then try telling them that after they swim laps and eat salad, they won't be getting weighed.

In no time at all I could see why Hollywood resigned. The Captain Thin gig kinda blew.

Adding even more suck to a suckful situation, I didn't have anyone around to distract me either. I hadn't heard from Cambridge at all. I swore I saw her walking around campus one time, but it must've been a mirage. I'd assumed she'd flown back to Boston by now. Maybe she'd rediscovered her preppy self and went back to being perfect. Being in the dorm room alone made her absence unbearable, especially at night when I reclined on the bottom bunk and tried to convince myself she didn't hate me. Liliana probably hated me too, but since she was in the hospital with IVs sticking out everywhere, she couldn't exactly verify it. I called every day to check on her, but the nurse only confirmed that although she was getting better, she still had diabetes.

Then there was Gabe.

I thought about him constantly and even went as far as folding the most intricate airplane, walking down to Copernicus and then, at the last minute, talking myself out of sailing it through his window. I had a feeling he needed time to think things through.
Entra más profundo
and all.

The good news was that Hank, Belinda, and Miss Marcia really did change a few things around at Utopia, so it didn't suck half as much as it used to. For instance, since I'd eighty-sixed public weigh days, Sundays took on new meaning. Instead of getting publicly humiliated on the scale, Hank and Belinda decided that campers should do fun things—like eat. The owners instituted a Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy. That meant Monday through Saturday, we counted calories. We monitored protein. They drew food pyramids on white boards and read our weight loss journals. Monday through Saturday the salad bar reigned. Guest speakers now included a chemistry student who broke down the equation of an actual calorie and a nutritionist who spoke for thirty minutes about the difference between fast and slow carbohydrates. Tuesday and Thursdays consisted of tag-team therapy sessions where Hank and Belinda channeled their inner Dr. Drew.

However.

On Sunday they left us alone. Campers could roam the campus, visit the gym, and if they accidentally wandered into a cinnamon bun along the way, Hank and Belinda only asked you not to brag about it. Then, on Sunday evenings, Hank and Belinda promised that campers would take part in activities that did not involve sweating or sports bras or scales.

After five days as Captain Thin, it was now Sunday, our first ever official unweighed weigh day. Hank and Belinda decided that they'd host an evening barbecue by the lake where campers were encouraged to dress “clashfully.” It was a far cry from the naked hippie orgy a few nights ago, but what can I tell you, most of the campers wouldn't be into naked hippies anyway. I showed up late and was glad to see that the younger campers had spray-painted their hair and wore plaids and polka dots, a few had polished their nails different colors, and many wore unpaired flip-flops, etc. The boys wore their boxers outside their shorts or they showed up in drag. I was counted on to participate so I wore my Captain Thin shirt inside out and put on (CUP) underwear outside my shorts. My hair was crazy green and turquoise and I'd bedazzled my flip-flops with studs. Liliana would have been impressed.

From the looks of things, Hank and Belinda had kept their promise because chicken hot dogs, turkey burgers, and sugar free s'mores were distributed generously. I sat at a picnic table and watched the younger campers charge in and out of the water. If it was hard for them being away from home, you couldn't tell now. They looked like they were having a great time with their silly costumes and temporary tattoos inking their arms and legs. This was a moment when being team captain did not entirely suck. The kids let their guard down and romped up and down the shoreline, oblivious to their jiggling bellies or double chins. When I glanced further down the shoreline, I made out the shape of a figure sitting on a log. I knew immediately by the hooded sweatshirt and slant of the shoulders that it was Gabe. I felt suddenly embarrassed in my blue/green hair and underwear outside my shorts. I expected he would say something cruel or, fueled by his hatred, interrupt our evening. How dare we have fun when his sister was so sick? But our eyes found each other's and held steady. His stare was not friendly, true, but underneath the coolness was something else. Maybe it was surprise—seeing me out there with all these Utopians. But it felt different than that. It was almost as if he'd been waiting for me. A few minutes later, squishing marshmallows between graham crackers around a campfire, I looked up and he was gone.

59

ACCEPTANCE SPEECH

LIFE AS CAPTAIN Thin got a little better each day. However, morning power walk was a different story. Everyone was all nicey-nice until six thirty rolled around and suddenly it was,
Bethany, who
?
Power walk, what? I never agreed to that
. Even Hollywood was over it. As much as I tried to motivate everyone—as much as I wore my Captain Thin shirt with pride, no one budged. It was dead silence until breakfast. This eventually led me back to my too-empty and too-quiet dorm room. Not so much as a paper airplane floated through my window. These were the times—in the quiet, early morning—when I really wanted to eat. Instead I leaned back on the bottom bunk, lifted my legs, and tapped my feet on Cambridge's mattress above me. I wrote e-mails to my dad. I read books on my e-reader. I tried to figure out how to get everyone out of bed.

Finally Miss Marcia had had enough of everyone's power walk avoidance and called an emergency meeting. In the common room, after twenty minutes of her loud interrogations, it came out that the older campers didn't trust me. Hell, they didn't even like me. Tampa Bay shot me a dirty look and said, “Why power walk with Baltimore? She obviously doesn't know anything about losing weight.”

“No,” I said, in spite of the fact that the question was directed at Miss Marcia. “But I know a boatload about getting fat.” The campers arranged on the floor were silent—probably because truer words were never spoken. I spent my whole life gaining weight; it just might've been the one thing I was indisputably good at. “I know even more about ignoring the problem or pretending there isn't one in the first place. I get an A-plus in running away. But then Liliana got sick.”