Tug-of-War (9 page)

2. I have a gorilla for a roommate.

1. When did I get drafted into the army?”

When she was finished, she took a deep bow. We all applauded and cheered. Everyone was laughing hysterically. The list by itself was funny enough, but with Devon reading it in her usual ultra-sarcastic tone, it was even better. At least she was being a good sport about this little prank. I doubted I would've reacted the same way if someone had done that to me.

“Oh my gosh! Who wrote that? This is a crack-up,” said Shelby.

“I don't have a ridiculous nickname!” Betsy protested. “I'm the only one on Side A who doesn't have a nickname. Someone want to give me one?” she asked over all the laughing.

“That really is funny,” said Boo, pushing her glasses up her nose and bending down to inspect the face on the pillowcase. “I'd recognize you anywhere.”

“Thank you. I'm glad you all find my misery so amusing.” Devon handed the note to Maggie. “You misspelled ‘manicure,' by the way.”

Maggie looked at the piece of paper. “Hey, I can't take credit for this. I wish I could, but it wasn't me. Okay, who did this?” She looked around at everyone.

“Whatever,” said Devon, obviously not believing her. “I'll kill you if you ruined my eyeliner.”

Maggie dropped the note on the floor like it was a hot potato. “It wasn't me! I'd be the first to admit it if I had thought of something so brilliant. But I didn't do this. I swear. Ask Chris. We were stuck in Senior Lodge.”

“That's true. Maggie's been with me ever since rest hour. Boo was there too. Whoever did this must have been in the cabin during the rainstorm,” I reasoned.

“One time at school, this girl I know dressed up like a—,” Laurel-Ann started, until Boo put her hand over Laurel-Ann's mouth to shut her up.

Betsy picked up the note. “Hey, I know. Let's do a handwriting analysis. Maggie, copy these exact words over on another sheet of paper. Then we can analyze both notes.”

We all looked over her shoulder at the handwriting. It was written in capital letters on a piece of Pine Haven stationery. Just about anyone could have done it.

“Fine. Be happy to,” said Maggie. “I know I'm the prime suspect, and I'll submit to handwriting samples, fingerprinting, DNA—whatever you want. But I didn't do it. I'm completely innocent.”

“Well, okay,” said Betsy. “But if you didn't do it, who did?”

“I don't know. Who's the first person who found it?” asked Maggie.

“We were,” said Shelby. “Kayla, Laurel-Ann, and I came in right after the rain stopped, and we found it. Then Devon walked in after us.”

Maggie pulled on her gorilla socks and climbed up to her top bunk. “Then you're the guilty ones. Case closed.”

“We didn't do it!” Shelby protested. “We don't have anything against Devon.”

“Well, I don't either,” said Maggie, and when everyone laughed at that, she went on, “I don't hate Palechild. I just can't stand her.”

When none of us could stop laughing, Maggie said, “There's a difference! There is!” She grinned at Devon, and Devon just fluttered her eyelashes. She was sitting on her bottom bunk, sorting through her makeup bag.

“I don't even care. It's not like you hurt my feelings. Why don't you just admit to it?” She took out her eyeliner and lip gloss and held them up to inspect them.

“Because I didn't do it!” bellowed Maggie. “For the umpteenth time! I
wish
I'd thought of it. Maybe I should just say, ‘Okay, I did it,' so you'll all get off my case.”

“But Maggie, if you didn't do it, who did?” asked Betsy.

“You tell me.”

We all looked around at one another, and I noticed a lot of eyes were falling on me.

“I was with Maggie and Boo,” I said defensively. “Anyway, why would I do it? Devon and I are friends.” The minute I said that, I felt bad. It made it sound like I thought Maggie was the obvious culprit because she and Devon
weren't
friends.

I turned to Devon. “I didn't do it. Honestly. I know how you feel about your lip gloss.”

Everyone laughed, but I hadn't meant it as a joke. I glanced around at the others. “Anyone ready to admit to this brilliant joke?” I asked.

But everyone kept quiet, and we were all looking at each other, waiting for someone to step forward.

I was seriously expecting someone to say something. Obviously, Maggie was the logical suspect, but I knew she couldn't have done it.

I looked at Maggie sitting on her top bunk. She was combing the fur on her gorilla socks, a habit she had because she knew it drove Devon crazy. It looked like she was grooming a couple of black terriers stuck on the ends of her legs.

“Maybe Devon did it to herself,” said Maggie, from her perch above the rest of us. “Any of you Sherlocks think of that?”

Devon looked up at us. “Yeah, right. I would never waste makeup like that.”

We all cracked up over that comment. Even Devon couldn't keep from smiling this time, although she tried very hard not to.

Still, I couldn't help wondering. I knew Maggie hadn't done it.

So who had?

“Devon, for the last time, don't come near me with that thing,” I warned.

“Chris, you might like it. Just let me do one strand.”

Devon waved her hair straightener around in front of me, but I backed away. “No. Absolutely not,” I said firmly, so she gave up and went back to straightening her own hair instead.

We were in Middler Lodge, along with about five or six other people who were getting ready for the Camp Crockett dance. Since the cabins didn't have electrical outlets, the lodge was the one place we could plug in hair dryers and straighteners.

Shelby and Kayla were with us too, and while Shelby waited a turn to borrow Claudia Ogilvie's hair dryer,
Kayla sat at the piano pushed up against the far wall and played a classical song that sounded familiar. Her fingers rippled up and down the keyboard, never missing a note.

“Wow, you're good,” I told her. I liked Kayla, but she was sort of reserved.

“Thanks. It's horribly out of tune, though.”

“Hey, Devon, could I borrow your hair straightener when you're done? I've never tried it before,” said Brittany, a girl from Cabin One.

“Of course. Your hair will look amazing when you're finished,” Devon told her. Brittany already had fairly straight hair to begin with, so I didn't really see the point, but who was I to discourage experimenting with a new look today?

Everyone was so excited about the dance, even though the counselors were acting like they didn't know why so many girls were standing in lines for the showers. It was a little mind game they played about whether we were actually having a dance tonight.

I was glad to borrow Claudia's hair dryer, because it took forever for my thick hair to dry. Ordinarily, I didn't mind just running a comb through it a couple of times and letting it air dry, but today I was paying a little more attention to my appearance.

In just a few short hours, I'd be seeing Maggie's brother, Jackson.

“If I can't touch your hair, can I at least do your makeup?” asked Devon.

“Okay,” I agreed, “but keep it light. I don't want to overdo it.”

“Don't worry. I happen to be an expert at this,” said Devon.

“I know. I trust you,” I told her. I sat still on one of the wooden benches and closed my eyes. Devon's makeup brush stroked my face, and I tried to keep from scratching my nose. Kayla's playing was nice background music while we got ready.

It had been really fun spending the afternoon with Devon. Even though she had complained for fifteen minutes about the lack of hot water in the showers, she was obviously as excited as I was about the dance coming up.

Maggie was getting ready too, but she just wasn't as into the whole preparation as much as Devon and I were. We'd left her back in the cabin to get dressed.

“Is your lip gloss okay after that little incident yesterday?” I asked, as I sat there with my eyes closed. Devon was brushing eye shadow on my eyelids.

“Yeah, it's fine. Gorilla Face didn't screw up any of
my makeup. In fact, I couldn't tell that anyone had used it at all.”

“Devon, honestly, I don't think Maggie did it.”

Maggie was pretty smart, despite the cutting remarks Devon was always making about her intelligence, but that prank didn't seem like the kind of thing she would've thought up on her own. She'd probably want me in on something like that.

“So these Camp Crockett guys—are some of them actually cute?” Devon asked.

“Definitely,” I said. “Some of them are totally gorgeous.”

With my eyes closed, I tried to picture Jackson's face in my mind. It had been a whole year since I'd seen him, but I could still remember the way his soft blond hair fell across his eyes. He had blue eyes like Maggie, but the resemblance pretty much ended there. His hair was as straight as hers was curly.

This year he was a JC, a Junior Counselor. That's what Camp Crockett called their version of CATs. Like Pine Haven's CATs, JCs weren't in charge of any campers yet, but they had more status than just regular campers.

“Listen, you and I should hang out with Maggie tonight,” I said.

“Open your eyes, and do your lips like this,” Devon
instructed, opening her mouth so that her lips were parted. “And I refuse to be seen in her presence tonight. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if she wore her favorite hairy socks to this dance.”

I parted my lips while Devon stroked on the lip gloss. When she was finished, I said, “You remember me telling you that Maggie has an older brother who goes to Camp Crockett? His name is Jackson, and he's sixteen.”

Saying Jackson's name out loud made my heart squeeze. I knew he was too old for me.
Now
. But in a few more years, the age difference wouldn't matter at all. Like when I'm eighteen, he'll be twenty-two. That's not so bad.

Devon made a gagging noise. “A male version of Beefaroni? That's really disturbing.”

“He doesn't look that much like her,” I assured her. I told Devon about how the Camp Crockett JCs and the Pine Haven CATs always supervised at the dances, so we could spend the whole night talking to Jackson—as long as we stuck close to Maggie.

I could actually feel my heart beating faster while I talked about Jackson. I didn't know him that well, but I could tell he was a fantastic guy. Maggie said he'd been elected president of his junior class for the coming year, so he was obviously a real leader. And popular.

There was something else I had wanted to tell Devon all day, but so far I hadn't gotten up the nerve. I took a deep breath. “I have a huge secret to tell you, okay?” I said softly.

The sound of Kayla's playing made it hard for anyone else to hear me. Devon paused, waiting for me to go on.

“I kind of have a major crush on Jackson.” I could feel my face getting warm.

Devon held her makeup brush in one hand and stared at me. “Oh, yeah?” she said, in a tone of complete disbelief. I knew she was picturing an obnoxious, loud redhead covered in freckles.

“Yes, and don't sound so skeptical. Just wait till you see him. And don't you dare say anything to Maggie. You know I can't trust her to keep this secret.”

“Don't worry,” said Devon. Brittany was finished using her hair straightener, so she unplugged it. “Of course you can't trust your ape friend, but your secret's safe with me.”

“Great,” I said, letting out a relieved sigh. “I'm glad I told you.”

Back at the cabin, Maggie was dressed and ready to go.

“What do you think? Do I look presentable for the
big event?” For the first time all week, she wasn't wearing Jackson's old Camp Crockett hat. She had on a cute pair of jeans and a white polo with thin stripes of blue, purple, red, and green.

“Great outfit,” I assured her. I knew Maggie didn't like dressing up at all, but I thought it was fun.

Tonight I was wearing a new skirt I'd just bought with some of my birthday money. It was pouffy and had four different shades of color, from dark red at the bottom, to a hot pink, followed by a soft baby pink shade, and at the top an even paler pink. With it I wore a pink cami with a lacy trim. I loved the fact that I'd never worn this outfit before, and that Jackson would be the first one to see me in it.

Devon for once didn't go for her usual black-and-white look. She had on a dark red V-neck shirt and white capris. With her black hair and fair skin, the red looked amazing.

“That's a great color on you,” I told her. “You should wear red more often.”

“Thanks.” A slight smile played across her lips. It had taken a whole week, but at last there was going to be an event that Devon would enjoy for a change.

“Oh, shoot!” wailed Betsy, dropping to her knees and cupping something on the floor in her hand. “I just
lost a button. I really wanted to wear this shirt tonight.” She looked up at us from the floor. “Does anyone have a needle and thread?”