Summer on the Short Bus (5 page)

The corner of his mouth begins to twitch. “What kind of dog was it?”

“A beagle. His name is Mr. Katz.”

“Mr. Katz,” he says, sounding amused. He relaxes his stance
against a tree. “That's a cool name. What happened to poor Mr. Katz?”

“He died.”

“Oh man, I'm sorry. . . .”

“I'm just kidding,” I say, easing my weight against a neighboring rock as I start to feel more relaxed. “You could drive a truck over that dog and he wouldn't die. He's got some weird doggy superpower or something. Anyway,” I change gears before I start rambling again. “Why are you out here?”

“I saw you leave Pete's cabin and wanted to make sure you were feeling all right. When I didn't see you at the girls' dorm, I figured you were out exploring.”

Exploring. Right.

“So, is it safe to assume that was your first encounter with a deer?”

I nod. “I thought for sure it was an escaped serial killer.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Until you showed up and scared the crap out of me. Then I thought you were the killer.”

He laughs, and I notice that his bottom teeth aren't perfectly straight—a quality I usually frown upon, but on him it's surprisingly cute. “Well, I really am sorry,” he says. “Believe it or not, I try not to make a habit out of scaring people. At least not on their first day.” Now it's my turn to laugh. Conversations with boys are never this easy. “So what were you really doing out here? Looking for an
escape route?”

And so much for easy conversation.

“What do you mean?” I say.

He points to my phone.

“Oh yeah. I was just . . . going to see if we get any coverage. My dad will be wondering if I got here okay, and my best friend Katie . . . well, she can't go more than an hour without talking to me.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, fighting another grin. “And you're sure it doesn't have anything to do with Fantine?”

My head tilts to one side as I consider a question I wasn't prepared for. He thinks I want to escape because of Fantine?

“Look, I don't pretend to understand why girls do the things they do, but for the most part she's a pretty cool chick. She's been saddled with the new counselors the last couple of years and they seem to be getting worse and worse, although I'm sure you'll buck the trend. If she throws attitude at you, don't take it personally.”

Note to self: now is definitely not the time to tell Quinn that wheelchairs far outrank Fantine on my Things That Scare Cricket list.

“I think she's going to kill me in my sleep.”

His grin stretches into a full smile. Apparently I'm amusing.

“Well, if she does make an attempt on your life, scream really loud. Our cabin's not that far from yours. Although I sleep like the dead, so the odds of me hearing you aren't in your favor.” I can't
help but smile. A sleeping Quinn is a nice visual. “In the meantime, there's a phone in the mess hall that you're allowed to use. Just dial nine to get an outside line. But as far as the cell goes, if you climb up by that water tower over there”—he pushes away from the tree and leans in close to me, pointing to a hill a few hundred yards away—“you should be able to get service.”

I catch the faint scent of cinnamon on his breath and have to swallow hard before I can respond. “Thanks. I'll keep that in mind.”

Neither of us move for a moment, and though we're not looking at each other, I can't help but wonder if he's feeling the same thing I am. That there's a connection between us that feels . . . electric.

“It looks like you need to make a trip back to Pete's office,” he says suddenly, stepping away from me to survey my knee again. “It probably just needs some Neosporin and a couple of Band-Aids, but you really should let him check you out.”

So much for electricity.

“Yeah, you're probably right.”

“Come on.” He motions toward camp. “I'll make sure Pete fixes you up, and then we'll head down to the lower field to meet everybody.”

Crap. Ten minutes with Zac Efron's doppelgänger and I almost forgot where I was.

“Right. Meet everybody. . . .”

“Don't worry,” he says coolly. “Everybody will love you.”

Though it's not
everybody
I'm hoping for. . . .

“See, that wasn't so bad,” Pete says.

I look down at my knees to find two gigantic yellow Band-Aids covered with face shots of Edward Cullen and the rest of his immortal family. “You can't be serious. I can't walk around with these on my legs.”

“Why not? I heard they were really good books.”

“Oh my God. Can you help me out here?” I look beyond Pete's full-blown grin to the other side of the room where Quinn is perched on an empty milk crate. His arms are crossed over his chest, and there's not a hint of emotion on his face.

“I don't know what to tell you, Cricket,” he says with a shrug. “According to every magazine at the grocery store, that guy is the hottest guy on the planet. I'd think you'd enjoy having his mug plastered across your body.”

I want to laugh, but there's no way I'm giving either of them the satisfaction. “You two are real a-holes, you know that?”

“Well, I can see if I have a
High School Musical
one down in the depths of the drawer here, but it'll be old and probably won't stick very well.” Pete spins around on his doctor stool, and now I can't help but laugh. Quinn has suddenly ditched his cool act, and is halfway out the door.

“Come on, Cricket,” he calls back to me. “Time for us to go. See ya later, Pete.”

“Ah, come on dude.” Pete is now laughing harder than me. “You've gotta learn to embrace your inner Efron.”

“Yeah, Quinn, embrace your inner Efron!” I say, surprising myself by joining in on the banter.

Quinn flips Pete and me a tanned middle finger, while I hop off the table and stumble toward the door laughing. If only camp consisted of hanging out with these two all day.

“Thanks, Pete,” I say. “I'm sure I'll be back in a couple of hours with a new injury. Maybe you can hook me up with a Troy Band-Aid next time.”

“I'm pretty sure Troy Band-Aids are extinct, but I do have a few fancy Biebers to choose from. Or a Littlest Pet Shop if that's more your style.”

“Pet shop,” I say. A girl's gotta have standards.

I follow Quinn out the door, and feel my amusement fading when I realize that we're alone again.

“You don't really mind the comparison to Efron, do you?”

“I don't know,” he says a little sheepishly. “It's not so bad now that he's older and people take him more seriously, but I was only in eighth grade when
High School Musical
came out. Do you know how crazy middle school girls can be?” I have to laugh. I was in sixth grade when that movie came out—I know damn well how crazy middle school girls can be. “They were stopping me for pictures,
asking me for autographs—”

“Do they still ask you for autographs?”

“Sometimes.”

“And do you actually sign his name?”

“Nah. I just sign my own name really sloppy. I figure they won't know the difference.”

“That's pretty awesome.” As I say this, I see his sapphire gaze travel to my hands. Somehow they've gone and wrapped themselves around his arm.

“Hey, you two!”

Oh, for the love of God
. I pry my eyes—and hands—from Quinn the moment Rainbow comes into range. She's just feet from us with two mesh bags of sporting equipment thrown over each shoulder. “Are you feeling any better, Cricket?”

I want to say, “I was until you showed up,” but all I come up with is a nod.

“Glad to hear it. Would you guys mind taking these bags down to the lower field while I get Sam started on dinner? Colin says they're eager to start playing and they just cannot
wait
to meet you, Cricket!”

Oh boy.

“Sure thing,” Quinn answers easily. He must be immune to the grating quality of her voice after all these years. “We definitely don't want to mess with dinner.”

I take the smaller of the two bags and heave it over my
shoulder with a grunt. Unlike me, Quinn doesn't seem at all irritated with the idea of doing manual labor.

“I hope I didn't offend you back there,” he says, once Rainbow's out of earshot and we're alone again.

“What are you talking about?”

“When I was saying how crazy middle school girls can be. For all I know
you
asked me for my autograph.”

I laugh. “Not likely. Troy was cute, but Captain Jack was the only man in my life in middle school.”

“Johnny Depp?” He reels his head back. “No way.”

“Yeah way. He's hot.”

“Johnny Depp?” he asks again, still sounding shocked.

“Yes. Johnny Depp.”

“But he's so . . . old,” he says. “And short.”

“Dude, I'm not recruiting him to play basketball. I just liked him as that character. He was unique and quirky and mysterious all at once. Plus he rocked the black eye liner. Most guys can't pull that off.”

He considers this for what seems like a while, before slowly shaking his head. “I will never understand girls.”

The smile that stretches across my face is as genuine as any I've ever felt, and takes me by surprise. Four hours ago I never would have imagined I'd be enjoying myself. But I am. For this moment, anyway.

FIVE

“C
ricket's here! Cricket's here!”

Before I can even ditch my load of playground balls, I'm attacked by a blonde girl whose smashed-in face strongly resembles a Pekingese.

“What are you doing!” I say, dropping the bag and raising my arms like she's carrying a rare infectious disease.

“Cricket, this is Claire,” Fantine says, coming to my rescue by gently easing the human leech from my body. “Claire is going to be in your group this summer.”

She can't be serious. I turn to Quinn, hoping for some sort of salvation, but he's looking just as stoked over this meet 'n greet as Fantine and Claire. “Um . . . hello, Claire,” I say, determining this is not the time to tell her she looks like a dog. “It's . . . nice to meet you. I'm Cricket.”

“Duh! We know who you are. You fainted.”

Either my fainting spell was funnier than I remember, or Claire is the resident comedienne. Every wonky-eyed freak in sight is laughing like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard.

Recognizing my obvious unease, Quinn strides over with an
easy look on his face. He squats down beside me.

“You're right, Claire, she fainted, but she's fine now. Dr. Pete took good care of her. You see, he even gave her these supercool Band-Aids.”

“Oh! I love vampires.” Before I can retreat, she drops to her dimpled knees for a better look. “I love Edward,” she explains while I shoot eye daggers at Quinn. “His skin is cold all the time, but his orange eyes are so pretty! Do you love his eyes, Cricket?”