Swoon at Your Own Risk (25 page)

"The yearbook is going to have a blog that Sonnet's in charge of—and Jack is like a whiz at the computer stuff."

"Whatever. I think I need to move my tent to the other side of the lake."

"Come on, Polly."

"What? Since when does playing video games at the mall give you graphic design credentials?"

"He attended that design camp? You watched his dog?"

"Shut up, Jane. Maybe I've blocked out that bad experience because, you know, I'm completely damaged by my lack of fatherly attention."

"God, Polly. Just have some fun for a change." She rolls her eyes.

And then Hayden shows up! "Now I know
he's
not on the yearbook staff," I say. "Did you hire Gareth to be our hiking guide? Maybe get Kurt up here to do some off-road racing for the yearbook crowd? What's with Hayden?"

"Oh, since I invited you, I figured I'd invite another student council member, too. And he's Rowdy's friend."

I squint into the sunshine angling across the campground. "How considerate of you."

"Relax. You're going to have to work with him all year, you know."

"Not if I die trying to swim to my dad's cabin so I don't have to put up this freaking tent. Not to mention the random displays of public affection popping up like mosquitoes." I slap my arm as another bug bites me. I ignore the shadow porn on Sawyer's now zipped tent.

Just to prove my point, Rowdy rushes back over. He sweeps Jane into his arms, rescuing her from my tirade like a gallant knight, and plants a big kiss on her mouth. "Help me gather firewood?"

I kick at our not-yet-assembled mess of a supposed tent. "Just go."

"I'll help you when I get back, unless you find some handsome lad to help you first."

"I don't see any of those around here." Nearby Hayden helps loquacious Emily put up her tent. "Plus, I'm going to be self-sufficient and alone, remember?"

"Yeah, right. That's what you think."

"Just go get your wood or whatever."

Jane giggles like I've said something dirty again. Really! I watch them walk off hand-in-hand, not even searching for firewood. Just a bit of privacy. Good luck! This place is crawling with yearbook staff the way the ground around my tent is crawling with ants.

An hour later the sun dips behind the mountains, casting a shadow across the campground, but I'm still struggling with my tent. I've refused help from several I-didn't-notice-if-they-were-handsome-or-not lads. I'll just roll up in this damn nylon piece of crap and go to sleep.

"Having trouble?" A warm hand clasps my shoulder. I spin around to see Xander standing out here in the middle of nowhere. "I used to be a Boy Scout, so..." He tilts his head and smiles kind of shyly. And way too cute.

"Why are you here? You're not—"

"Arts and Entertainment Editor."

I drop the tent pole to the ground. "That figures. I'm killing Jane! This is such a setup."

"Except for the tent."

"Are you trying to make a joke? Because I'm not in the mood."

"Well then, we might be getting somewhere."

"We're not getting anywhere. I already made that clear. You can make a million paper cranes with a million charming little messages, but that—"

"Charming?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not falling for it. So you might as well save your time. I'm going to put this tent up myself." I reach down and pick up a random tent pole; I have no idea where it goes.

"I can't let you struggle. It's against my Boy Scout code of honor."

"Oh! Go find an old lady to help cross the street or something."

I stab the pole into the sandy ground. Xander puts his hand over mine, and my whole body shudders. Does he notice? "Just let me help."

I take a step back, still feeling the warmth of his hand on mine. "Fine, but only because it's getting dark. And Jane has left me all alone. But it doesn't mean anything."

"Of course not."

I do
not
notice the smile flickering across his face. He becomes all business. "Pick up that corner of the tent."

We have the tent up in just a few minutes, and I feel like such an idiot. I barely have a chance to utter "Thank you" before Xander rushes off to help start the campfire.

I decide to walk down to the marina. Not that I completely want to torture myself by looking at Dad's boat, but whatever. I can't stand to be around the uber merriment of roasting hot dogs. And I don't even want to risk hearing Jane make a joke about wieners!

Sonnet has already quoted me a fake Xander love poem: "I put the pole in your tent. A more romantic moment I could not invent."

"I think that might get you disqualified from taking AP English next year," I'd said.

Sonnet giggled. "I love you, Polly. Now that I'm off blonds..."

"I'm not interested in humans."

"Kinky!"

"Go jump in a lake."

"Not worthy, Polly. You can do better than that."

"I can do better in a lot of ways."

"Not better than him." Sonnet cut her eyes at Xander standing by the campfire. "He's smoldering hot, like the coals some cute sophomore brought."

"Um, give up the verse," I said. "I'm going to go buy a pack of gum."

"Freshen your breath—"

"Don't even try to rhyme that with death."

"Well, you know what those old-timey poets said about orgasm."

"Go sic yourself on that redheaded sophomore," I'd said.

The little marina store has closed for the day. Briefly I glance at Dad's pontoon boat bobbing at the end of the dock, which makes me feel worse than watching Sawyer with his hands all over Kipper by the fire. I look at the little bulletin board outside the store. Lost dogs. Fishing equipment for sale. Boats for sale. Cabins for sale. I look closer at a newish-looking flyer. Beautiful log home! South side, five bedrooms, fully furnished, great views. A very familiar phone number. Dad is selling the cabin? Now I peer at the boat flyers. He's selling the boat, too!

I run down to the end of the dock. Sure enough there's a For Sale sign stuck to the side. I feel punched in the stomach.
How could he just up and sell our childhood memories like this? Does this mean that he never wants to take us here again? It's like he just wants to erase all memory of us from his life. What's he going to do now? Buy a condo in Hawaii where he can create entirely new memories with one of his Barbie clones? Without us?

I stand on the dock staring out at my dad's cabin across from the marina until it gets too dark to see. A breeze blows across the water and I shiver. I left my sweatshirt back with my duffel bag, but I don't want to go back to the campground. I can hear their laughter—and possibly singing, but that might be a pack of coyotes yipping. I'm not in the mood. I stumble up the path in the dark. Clouds drift over the mountains, blurring the moon.

A flashlight bobs toward me, catching me in its glare. I stop walking, hoping for an ax murderer, but not with my luck. It's Xander. Out doing his Boy Scout duty again.

"You okay?" He wraps an arm around me. I let him, but only because I'm cold. He pulls off his sweatshirt and slips it over my head. It's warm with his body heat.

"You don't have to do this," I say.

"I want to."

"I don't want you to want to, and I don't want me to want you to, either."

He takes my hand in his. "Your hand is so cold." He brings my hand to his mouth and blows warm breath on it. "Give me your other hand."

I do. Just because I'm cold.

We walk a bit in silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Xander asks like he's coaxing a scared child off the high dive.

I shake my head even though he can't see me in the dark. "I don't ever want to talk about anything. You can ask approximately three quarters of the campground if you need to confirm that."

"I'm just asking you," he says.

"I don't have anything to say."

I watch the flashlight bob along the trail as he nods.

I twist my hand out from his and walk faster, making Xander catch up. I'm so pissed. Why is
he
the one being nice to me? I don't want his sympathy. As soon as we approach the campground, I run toward the fire. A few guys pass around cans of beer. I take one and guzzle it down. And then I make a big show of belching. The guys all laugh. Sonnet actually looks shocked. Polly = bad girl, after all.

"Bet you can't do that," I tease, squeezing between a pair of sophomore boys who are sitting as far away from Xander as I can get.

My performance sets off a huge burping contest. I sit back, feeling a little bit dizzy. I really haven't eaten anything today. Rowdy hands me a hot dog and I take it, wolfing it down, once again impressing the sophomore boys. Hey, they're a whole new dating pool and I'm sure they're more interested in physical than emotional relationships. Maybe I've found my niche!

Not that I'm interested in any relationships. I pretend to swat a mosquito, sneaking a look at Xander. Our eyes meet briefly, but I quickly nudge the sophomore next to me. "Bet you can't burp the alphabet," I say.

The kind of cute—not that it matters—sophomore shakes his head but offers me another beer. I drink it more slowly—no more belching—but I finish it. Jane goes off into the shadows with Rowdy. Sawyer sneaks off with Kipper. Jack leers at me but takes Sonnet's hand (is that other girl watching the bulldog?). Even chocolate-peanut-butter-fudge-obsessed Emily goes off with one of the cute sophomores sitting next to me. Poor Hayden heads to his tent alone.

I stand up, half stumbling. I'm not used to drinking beer. In the dark I can't tell which tent is mine. Again Xander appears like the total Boy Scout he apparently is. I decide I hate nice guys. And bad boys. Pretty much any and all males. I'm going to turn into one of those rabid feminists who never
shave their legs and write long essays about how the planet would be a better place without men. They can all go to Uranus! Ha. Ha. Ha. Maybe if I ever get to attend college, I'll even invent a way to reproduce without them. Win the Nobel Peace Prize.

"Take my flashlight."

I reach for it, stumbling. He catches my arm. "I'm not going to let you take advantage of me." I giggle. "Not this time."

The cute sophomore perks up. "I can walk her to her tent."

"I don't think so," Xander says.

On the way to my tent, Xander launches into a drinking-doesn't-solve-anything lecture.

I push his hand off my arm. "Guess we can't all be like you, Mr. Perfect."

He shakes his head. "I'm not perfect."

"Doesn't show. You're always acting so ... so ... good. Not like me. I'm so ... so ... completely—" I trip over a rock. "Drunk!"

Xander curses.

I laugh. "Ooh! I'm gonna tell the Boy Scouts on you!"

Xander doesn't help me as I fumble climbing into my tent.
Where's Jane
? I have no idea where Jane is, but I crawl into the tent anyway.

"Just sleep it off, Polly." Xander walks away with the flashlight, which I refuse to keep, leaving me alone in the dark. God, even the tent smells like fudge. I flop down on my air mattress: blown up with Xander's helpful breath.
Don't think about his breath!
I crawl into my sleeping bag: unrolled with Xander's helpful hands.
Don't think about his hands!

"Ouch!" My cheek hits something sharp. I feel around, finding a small box on my pillow. I don't even need to open it. Rocky Road Fudge. My favorite. I unzip the tent and toss the fudge to the ants.

"How dare you presume to buy me my favorite flavor of fudge!" I yell.

Through the mesh netting above me I watch a bank of clouds cross the sky wiping the stars away like one of the dark gray dishtowels Mom sometimes accidentally brings home from work. I wait for Jane, even though I know I'll pretend to be asleep when she comes back.

I hate him
! How dare he sell the cabin and the boat without even telling me? I'm so sick of letting him hurt me, Grace, Mom ... Tears stream down my cheeks, dampening my pillow.

I spend half the night waiting for Jane, plotting revenge on Dad.

Dear Miss Swoon:
Is there ever a situation in which revenge against an ex is warranted?
—Plenty Of Reasons

Dear Plenty:
You will be much happier if you focus your energy on yourself. Go to my new website and find an affirmation to get you started on the path to Positivity.
—Miss Swoon

My sweatshirt wraps her like a hug, but she refuses the light I offer.
—
X.C.

I wake up alone. Jane must've stayed with Rowdy. I've got an achy head, but I'm not sure if it's because of the beers, tears, anger, or general suckiness of my life. Above my tent there is a patch of blue sky, but I can see thick gray clouds hovering over the mountains. If I didn't know the difference between cumulus and cumulonimbus clouds, I'd think they were a metaphor for the pain hovering around me. But really it's just going to rain. Literally not literarily.

In spite of the pending rain but because of my sore, puffy eyes, I slip on a pair of sunglasses, along with a Polyamide smile, and exit my tent. A pair of sophomore boys who've failed at the natural selection thing (no hookups) have built a campfire and rigged up a system to set their Pop-Tarts on fire.

"If you're attempting to toast your breakfast pastries, you might want to utilize the indirect heat," I say, peering at the charred remains of several Pop-Tarts. "Any strawberry left?"

They gape at me like I'm speaking a foreign language.

"Do I need to belch that out for you?"

They shake their heads, kind of smiling, and the cuter one hands me the foil package he's holding.

"Watch and learn, boys." I rip open the package and proceed to impress them by toasting my Pop-Tarts to a lovely, even shade of golden brown.

"We have cocoa, too."

"Make mine a double."

They laugh nervously, which confuses me a little until a hand brushes my arm.

"Hey." Xander sounds almost shy.

I turn around, daring to look at him through my sunglasses, which unfortunately doesn't seem to unnerve him at all. "Would you like a delicious, prepackaged but perfectly toasted breakfast pastry? I mean, I don't even know if you like this kind of thing and maybe you already ate something in your tent." My cheeks provide more radiation than the sun now struggling to shine through the clouds. "But you can have one if you want."