Hey! Another chapter for you all - hope you like it! I really can't think of anything else to say in here other than I HATE REVISION. Seriously, I've been doing so much of it. And I have the worst case of writer's block ever and can't think of any ideas for my next story. :( Still, here's the next chapter.
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“Are you okay now, Bailey?”
I look up from my tray (containing considerably smaller portions than this morning), which is laden with a plate of chili con carne, to see Cindy smiling at me.
Oh, great.
I’d been trying to ignore her for the duration of this meal, especially after the mortifying day where I: told Blake I was on my period for no apparent reason, capsized a kayak, almost drowned in the lake, and had to be carried off to the sick bay with my arms round a probably lesbian nurse.
Just a standard day in the life of Bailey Cunningham.
When I see Cindy’s slightly bemused and prompting expression, I realize that I have not yet responded to her. “Um, yeah...” I say awkwardly. “I’m fine.”
“You seemed pretty bad earlier,” she continues, as if this is the best thing to say. “When I saw you lying on the bank, it was such a shock to me. I wanted to come over and see if you were okay, but my hands were tied helping with the equipment...”
Yeah, right. She’s such a liar. She wasn’t even helping set out any of the equipment, and there was no way she wanted to come over and ensure my well-being. If anything, it’d be the opposite.
“Oh,” I respond, pushing my fork around my plate, as if this will somehow reduce the awkwardness that is settling in. Apparently, though, Cindy seems blissfully unaware of this. “Well, I’m okay now.”
“Good.”
She smiles at me brightly, but it’s so false I want to laugh. How can one person be so fake? The most irritating part is she doesn’t actually say anything bad directly to me, so it’s almost as if I have no reason to hate her. Ha. Like I’ll let that stop me.
I look around the room and pretend to be interested in a potted plant that is residing in the corner of the room, close to the hot food hatch. At least it prevents me from having to look at Cindy’s sickly expression... and to be perfectly honest, the plant my gaze is focused on is probably more interesting than her. There’s only so much fake perfection one person can take and I’m close to my limit.
Good to know there’s still five and a half weeks of her artificially sweetened personality to go.
“You were a long time in the nurse’s office,” Savannah states, directing her gaze towards me.
Before I can respond, Tom’s amused tone interrupts me and my unspoken answer. “That’s because her and the nurse were having some fun,” he says, winking.
I roll my eyes and turn back to my best friend. “Uh, no.”
However, much to my dismay, Savannah grins at Tom. Looks like he just roped in another member of the Bailey’s lesbian lover club. Great.
“I would’ve come to visit you,” Cindy pipes up. “But I had to do something with the girls in my cabin. You know, they are so awesome. I think I got like, the best cabin in the whole of camp. I feel bad that you were in there all day alone.”
Why is she even bothering to lie? Her untruths are so transparent – it’s obvious that all six of us can see through them. Well, maybe not Blake. Following a stolen glance, I notice that his gaze is directed at her, and he has a slight smile on his face that makes me want to puke. Even though that’s probably the result of the insane jealousy that I am experiencing.
“Don’t worry about it.” I force a smile onto my face, even though it almost pains me to do so. Seriously, how does Cindy keep up with this the whole time?
“As long as you’re not mad.”
“Nope.” Actually, I’m glad you didn’t come to visit. I think I’ll leave that part out...
A silence settles over the table after my answer leaves my lips. I dig my fork into my food and bring it to my mouth, hoping this will serve as my excuse for not trying to kick start the conversation. It’s not as good as yesterday, but the standards are nowhere near as low as the ones in the school cafeteria. My school back in Bay City, Michigan, is probably the crappiest looking school you’ll ever come across, with the food to match. So anything they serve at camp (even if it’s Cindy’s mutilated blonde head) is good compared to those lunches.
“So you up for the activities tomorrow?”
Blake’s voice startles me slightly, and even more so when I realize he’s talking to me. “Oh, um...”
“They’re still on the lake.”
I grimace. “I think I’ll pass. I don’t really fancy another drowning incident.”
Blake sighs, shaking his head as he bites into a fry his fork has speared. “You should know how to swim by now. I won’t always be around to drag you to the shore.”
“I’m sure I would’ve managed to get out by myself...”
I am interrupted by a stifled snort from Tom’s direction. Immediately, my head snaps to him and shoots a questioning look in his direction.
“You would not have got out by yourself,” he says, still in the midst of repressed laughter. “You would have been waving your arms around for another five minutes before you finally sunk to the bottom.”
“Aren’t you supposed to wear life jackets whilst you’re kayaking, anyway?” Danny raises his eyebrows from across the wooden table.
Well, no one had told me that. Although, even if they had, I would’ve been reluctant to obey anyway. That fluorescent orange? So not flattering, especially when your skin happens to be as pale as mine. Don’t even get me started on how orange clashes with everything...
My train of thought is interrupted suddenly by a loud crash coming from the other side of the room. I snap my head instantly in that direction in an attempt to identify the cause of the intense noise. That’s when realization strikes me… the cold hard (increasingly familiar) realization that triggers an unpleasant sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Oh my God!” Cindy screams. She turns to me. “Isn’t that one of the boys in your cabin?”
She’s referring to the dark haired boy in the middle of the cafeteria, who is currently engaged in a violent brawl with another kid. This involves Jake lying on top of the victim, whilst continuing to punch the crap out of him.
Well, at least my hair’s still spaghetti free.
“Do something!” she squeals.
I’m not too keen on the idea of taking orders from the blonde bitch, but as much as I hate to admit it, she’s probably right. Any responsible counselor (i.e. not me) would march right over there and intervene. Even though I probably couldn’t be further away from being that sensible employee, it occurs to me that I still shouldn’t stand by and watch an innocent kid get beaten to a pulp – by someone I’m responsible for.
I’m sure that’ll look great on my college application.
When I look around the table, I see that everyone else is also looking at me expectantly. Reluctantly, and a lot slower than I should be moving in the current situation, I rise from my seat and start towards the middle of the cafeteria, where a considerable crowd has already gathered. I guess a live wrestling fight between two eight year olds does have its attractions.
“Uh, Jake…” I say awkwardly, after I have pushed through the crowd of people no taller than my waist. “Wanna… stop that?”
Well, what else am I supposed to do? I’m not qualified in how to stop two kids (well, just the one) from throwing punches at each other! This isn’t the sort of thing they teach you in high school (although it would be a whole lot more useful than learning how to calculate the square root of x, or whatever pointless crap algebra involves).
To no one’s surprise, he doesn’t.
“Jake!” I am trying as best as I can to make my voice sound authoritative, but it’s evidently not working.
He looks up for a second and catches my eye. A mini feeling of triumph washes over me as I realize my feeble attempt may have just worked, but it soon evaporates when he looks downwards again and continues hitting the other kid.
I think I better try a different approach. One that actually works.
“Stop it!” I say defiantly, maneuvering myself so I am able to grab Jake’s moving arms and yank him backwards. I pull him off the other kid, who although is trying hard to keep up a tough persona, appears as if he’s dangerously close to crying.
With the weight of Jake lifted off him, the kid scrambles to his feet as quickly as possible and scarpers off to the other end of the dining hall.
“What was that for?!” I demand, shooting the unruly boy the most menacing look I can manage. However, I am still well aware that Blake is watching from the other end of the room, so I try my hardest to keep the menacing expression pretty (which, believe me, is way harder than it seems. You try mastering a look that reads I am a fierce camp counselor whilst still saying I’m up for making out if you are).
Jake folds his arms defensively and narrows his eyes at me. “I’ve told you before; you can’t stop me from doing what I want.”
“Yes, I can. I’m a camp counselor and that means I’m in charge.”
“Do I look like I give a shit?”
I am slightly taken aback by his language. Where did he learn to trash talk? “Don’t speak to me like that.”
“What are you going to do about it?” he asks challengingly.
“I…” My speech trails off when it dawns on me that I don’t have a smartass comeback (what a surprise). Oh my God, this is embarrassing. I’m losing an argument with an eight year old… in front of the entire camp, too, who are all watching avidly. “I…”
I am locked in a bubble of intense thought when I suddenly collide with the floor a lot more roughly than I was expecting (well, saying that, I wasn’t really expecting it at all…). It takes me a couple of seconds to realize that Jake’s arms (which are abnormally strong for a little kid) are the cause of this. Little brat.
I am trying to pull myself to my feet as gracefully as possible when he forces me back again, the impact of his body launching onto mine more painful than I had predicted. My back crashes against the dark wooden panels of the floor, about the same time as a pained “Oof…” leaves my lips.
Then he starts punching me.
As much as I struggle to push him off, I can’t. Wow… I’m getting beat up by an eight year old. Can life get any better?
“Jake!” My voice sounds weak and strangled as the air is forced out of my lungs with each swift punch he packs. “Get off me!”
Might as well accept it, hadn’t I? I let my head rest against the floor and prepare myself as best I can for each collision between Jake’s fist and my stomach. Better just wait for Jenny to come and pull him off me.
Oh, my life is just great. That’s what crosses my mind as I lay on the floor. Another thing to add to my growing mortifications of the day list. Getting beat up by an eight year old.
Can this day get any better?
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