On the Loose (5 page)

I swat a bug crawling up my arm. “Should I have gotten some shots or anything before I came?”

Frances and Millie leave me standing there, swapping camping stories as they go.

God, if you’re up there, I pray I would get a better attitude. We both know this is going to be a long three days, but I have to put on a brave face for Millie’s sake. I pray you would keep us safe and bear-free. And Lord . . . when Frances finds her Brazilian bats, I hope I’m nowhere around.

“Hey, Katie! Come help me here.” James holds a few poles and motions me over with a jerk of his chin.

With one last slap at something crawling on my arm, I walk over to offer my assistance, enjoying the sound of the rocks crunching beneath my feet. I hand my foster dad some stakes at his command, and watch Frances and Millie setting up lawn chairs. My eyes scan the horizon for Maxine. Where is she?

The three tents go up almost effortlessly (no doubt thanks to all my help holding poles and stakes), and Frances and I pick one and move our stuff inside. I roll out my three sleeping bags—one to sleep in and two for extra cush. I would’ve brought my bed if they’d let me.

“Want to go for a walk?” I ask Frances, who is jotting down some notes in her science journal.

“Yeah, that’d be great. I can scope out the area for the various wildlife.”

“Like cute boys?”

Her pencil stills. “No, like fish species and bird varieties.”

I open the flap open, and we step out of the tent.

“Millie, we’re going on a walk of the campground. Do you want to go?”

“You girls go ahead. I’m going to get lunch ready.”

Frances and I each grab a drink and wander down the road. We pass a cluster of motor homes that make me stop and gawk in appreciation. Satellites, TVs, and air conditioners. These people are probably not going without comfy beds and indoor plumbing.

Frances points to one of the RVs. “It looks like a hotel room on wheels. Ohhh, look at those awesome mountain bikes—”

Coming to a dead stop, Frances is frozen in place, her mouth wide open, her eyes big.

“What is it?”

“
Shhhhh
!” She waves her hands wildly in front of her face. “Don’t you recognize that car?” She points to an old Mustang.

“No, not really, I—”

“
Shhhhh
!” Frances tugs on my arm. “Come on. Keep walking.”

“Are you gonna tell me whose—”

The front door of the RV flies open and out walks the source of Frances’s mental meltdown.

“Well, hello, ladies.”

Nash Griffin, a fellow sophomore at In Between High, saunters our way. I take in his vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt, all holey and wrinkled, his long, baggy shorts, the scruffy hair hanging near his chin. He always looks like he just rolled out of bed.

“Ohhh, he’s the cutest,” Frances whispers out of the side of her mouth.

The cutest what? Cutest dude with bed head? Cutest guy whose clothes have never been touched by an iron? Or maybe most attractive boy in need of a deep conditioner?

“Hey, Nash. What’s up?” I give scruffy boy a big smile, my eyes darting to Frances, who has yet to unfreeze.

Nash holds out a fist, and I make one of my own and lightly bump his. He then greets Frances in the same manner.

Frances just stares.

“You gonna leave me hanging?” He tries again.

She blinks.

“OK, how ’bout one of these?” His hand goes up for a high five.

Frances’s eyes are glazed over, like she’s just seen something shocking. Such as Maxine streaking through the forest.

Our classmate clears his throat. “So what brings you ladies out to the lake? Gonna do some fishing? Some boating? Maybe work on your tans?”

Hysterical laughter bubbles from Frances. “Oh, that’s a good one. You’re so funny, Nash.” More wild giggles.

Oh, no. I have to get her out of here. She must’ve gotten too much sun already. Maybe she’s dehydrated. Or distraught over not making any bat discoveries.

Nash shakes his head then directs the rest of the conversation to me. The one who currently does not sound like a hyena.

“You ladies camping?”

“Yeah, we’re here with my foster parents. Gonna stay through Saturday.”

“Camping . . .” Frances begins a sentence then spaces out. The giggles start yet again.

I roll my eyes and force a smile. “I think she’s inhaled some bad fish or something. We better walk on. See you around?”

His eyes linger on my friend, the one I am currently dragging along beside me. “You know it. I’m here ’til Sunday afternoon, so I’ll see you later.”

My free hand flaps out in a parting wave. “Later.”

We round a corner, and I steer Frances toward a swing set area.

“OK, just take some deep breaths now, Frances.” You space cadet.

I push her into a swing and plunk down in one myself.

“What was that all about?”

My friend hangs her head and moans. “Oh, my gosh. I’m gonna die. Seriously, I’m gonna die.” She puts her head in her hands. “Please tell me it wasn’t as bad as I think it was. Tell me I didn’t just make a total idiot of myself.”

This gravel sure is interesting. So many different shades of brown here. There’s light brown. A few pieces are almost white. Dark brown. Medium beige. Or would these rocks be considered tan?

“Katie!” Frances jerks on my swing chain.

“What?” I laugh. “What do you want me to say? Frances, it was like you were having an out-of-body experience. I’m afraid it was just as ugly as you think it was.”

“It was ugly?” she squeaks. “How ugly?”

“Like sumo wrestler ugly.”

“Oh, no.”

“Like uni-brow ugly.”

“You can stop now.”

“Mole hair ugly.”

“Enough!” Frances’s voice echoes through the camp. “Can we go home now? Would James take us back?” Her face is pitiful.

“No. Look, I’m sure Nash didn’t think you were being weird.” If he hails from a planet in which drooling excessively while repeating the word
camping
over and over are considered normal.

With a big stomp of her feet, Frances puts herself in motion, like she’s trying to swing away the last ten minutes. Or maybe she’s hoping she’ll take to the air and magically fly far, far away.

“Look, I know Nash isn’t exactly eye candy, but he’s a really nice guy. You could’ve tried to make some polite conversation with him.”

“That’s not it.”

“I know he’s all into the skateboard thing, and there’s his whole alternative band he’s got going on. But it’s not like you to totally clam up and shut down on someone just because you don’t hang out in the same social circles.”

“That’s not it either.”

Understanding dawns. “Oh, it’s his hair, isn’t it? You were so engrossed in the dead ends you couldn’t focus on conversation?”

Frances drags her feet in the rocks, her swing slowing to a stop. She inhales loudly. “I have had a crush on Nash Griffin since the first grade.” She looks for my reaction.

“And
that’s
how you show a guy you like him?” I gesture toward the distant RVs.

Frances wrings her hands. “I’m no good at that stuff.”

“What stuff? The acting like a normal human being stuff?”

“Boys,” she sighs. “The male species. Gentlemen. Dudes. Hotties.”

“Okay, for starters, nobody says hotties anymore.”

“See!” Her dark eyebrows disappear in her bangs. “That’s what I mean. I’m clueless. Is there a book for this sort of thing? Like a manual?”

Oh, if only. In fact, I wish there was a manual for every aspect of teen life. Guys, zits, school, waxing. Parallel parking.

“I . . . I seriously can’t believe you’re into . . . Nash.”

“I know! He’s nothing like me. He’s totally not my type. My parents would freak if I brought him home to meet them.”

Frances’s parents, her dad an overly protective Mexican, and her mother, an ultraconservative woman of a proud Chinese culture, would bar the doors and windows, not letting Frances out ’til she’s forty, if they knew she had the hots for Nash. “Well . . . this thing with Nash . . . you’ll get over it.”

Frances’s face crumbles. “I don’t want to get over it. Help me, Katie.” She grabs my swing and gives it a shake. “Make me cool—somebody the boys will find irresistible. The magnet that attracts all the guys with an invisible force they are powerless to resist.”

I turn away, desperate to get my composure and not laugh.
Think of serious things, Katie
. Hunger in Africa. War in the Middle East. Days without my flatiron.

Swiveling back around, my face is stern and composed. “Look, I don’t know a whole lot about the men-folk myself. I’ve only had a couple of boyfriends, and I don’t think most of those even count.” Like Jesse Cantrell, a boy I briefly dated in the sixth grade just because he would share his Twinkies with me at lunch. “But you are the smartest girl I know. And I think between the two of us, we can have you struttin’ it like a Victoria’s Secret model.”

“Oh, I would never be allowed to wear—”

“With the flair of the girls in the Abercrombie ads.”

“My mom says those ladies don’t wear enough—”

“With confidence, Frances,” I nearly shout. “With confidence. Look at everything else you tackle. You succeed at everything you do, and never have I seen you act unsure of yourself.” Until today.

“You’re right. I can do this.” She smiles for the first time since the incident.

“Sure you can. Now you put that giant brain of yours to work. Start brainstorming some things we can do for damage control, and I’m gonna go right over there and use the bathroom.” I point over my shoulder.

“In the shrubs?”

I point further to the left. “The bathrooms.”

I lift myself out of the swing, briefly wondering at the way my rear doesn’t fit in those things like they did when I was five. As soon as I round the shrubbery and near the concrete bathrooms, the smell hits me.

Lake bathrooms. An aroma like no other.

Pulling my shirt over my nose, I take a giant breath, swing the door open, and enter into the ladies bathroom. Finding the first stall empty, I make a toilet paper wreath around the seat. Okay, here goes nothing.

“And I told you we would tell the family when I was ready.”

My ears perk at that voice.

“Well, then I guess I’m not ready . . . What? . . . Well, of course there isn’t anyone else. How can you even ask? Have you been inhaling paint fumes again?”

I’ve just found Maxine. On her cell phone with Sam. On the toilet.

“Awww, I miss you too, sweet muffins.” She makes kissie noises into her phone. “No, I miss you more. No, I do. No, I miss you the most.”

The breath I’m holding bursts out of my cheeks, as I fail miserably at containing a laugh.

“Who’s there? . . . Sam, gotta go.” Her voice lowers. “Don’t even think of following me out here.”

Maxine’s stall door is thrown open, banging against the wall, and her head appears below my door.

“Hey! How rude!” Just when I thought lake bathrooms couldn’t get any worse.

Her yellow head disappears. “You got five seconds to tinkle, wipe, and flush, little missy, then I want you out here where I can see you.”

Five seconds pass.

“Are you gonna go?” she barks.

“Well, now I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t pee under this kind of pressure.” I flush and exit the stall.

“How much did you hear?”

Turning the sink on, I put my hands under the cool stream. “Who cares? Your relationship with Sam is so yesterday.” Though I’m proud to say I am instrumental in bringing Sam and Maxine together. “I have a new focus.”

She hands me a rough, brown paper towel. “And what might that be?” Her eyes glisten with interest.

“Operation: Get Frances A Boyfriend.” I nod at her raised eyebrow. “Are you in?”

She taps a hot pink nail to her lips. “Oh, yes. I’m in.”

A
hh . . . This is
the life. Frances and I are each sprawled on lounge chairs next to the lake. I’m sunny side up, with one arm over my face, the other holding a paperback. I pull my light jacket closer and shut my eyes. Out here next to the water, with the sun warming my skin, there’re no problems. No mom in prison. No foster parent waiting to hear if she has cancer. It’s just me and the lake. Birds call overhead. Fish jump in the distance. Boats roar far away. I could get used to this camping stuff.

“Make way for the queen!”

Frances and I sit up, gasping as Maxine throws her lime-green inner tube into the water. She locks her hands into dive position, squats, then launches her body toward her float.

Landing flat on her stomach.

A spray of water covers both Frances and me.

I wipe my face, smearing my sunscreen, and shiver. “Are you crazy? Maxine, that water has to be freezing!”

Maxine adjusts her bathing suit straps and treads toward her tube. “For babies maybe. This builds character. Strength. Separates the wimps from the—”

“Insane lunatics?” I wipe my book off with my jacket.

She flips the raft under her, so she’s sitting in the center hole, her legs in the water for all but her freshly painted toes, sticking straight up. “That’s a fetching hat you have on there, Frances.”