Camp by Elaine Wolf

wind of what you did—sending me home for no reason at all, no reason except maybe … maybe I turn you on. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what this is about. Scary thought, though. A girl your daughter’s age. Your daughter’s friend, in fact. Maybe you want to do pretty Patsy and me at the same time. How does that sound, Mr. B.?”
    We clustered in silence around the table, Rory’s words more seductive than ice cream. “What’s she saying about Patsy?” Aunt Helen called, giving up on the bear.
    “Nothing, dear,” Uncle Ed said, his voice as sugared as sundaes. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Helen. Just Rory talking nonsense, that’s all.”
    Rory slammed down her bowl. I watched whipped cream topple to the table as if in slow motion. “You call that nonsense?” she said. “Well, I gotta differ with you there, Mr. B. Ask anyone. Go ahead. Anyone with eyes can see you’re a ladies’ man. And just wait till I tell my parents. Why, you won’t even know what hit you when the word gets out and you start losing campers. Yes indeedy. Great first season, huh, Mr. B.?”
    Aunt Helen marched to the table. “What’s she talking about, Ed?”
    “Nothing, Helen. She’s finished. Aren’t you, Rory?” Uncle Ed’s red face belied the calm in his voice. “Because I’ll tell you this: This is your last warning. You clean up your act or I will send you home, and I’m sure you don’t want me to do that.”
    “You don’t know anything about what I want.”
    “That’s not so. I know you don’t want to get kicked out of camp. But one false move, Rory, and I’ll do it.”
    Rory lowered her head, then spoke in a voice filled with sadness. “Please, Mr. Becker. I'm sorry. Please don’t send me home.”
    “Okay, gals,” Patsy said. “Y’all finish making your sundaes and go on enjoy ’em before they turn to mush.”
    I took three scoops, one of each flavor, and every topping on the table—including marshmallow, which I don’t even like. To hell with what-ifs . I grabbed a spoon and joined Donnie on the bear rug.
    “Watch it now, girls,” Aunt Helen said as she handed out napkins. “No drips. Right? Heaven only knows how to clean a bear.”
    “Very carefully,” Jessica said. “Very carefully. Get it?”
    Everyone smiled but Rory. She sat strangely silent, head bowed, shoulders hunched.
    I ate my sundae and thought about what might happen to her at home. How could a father abuse his own daughter?

Chapter 8
    An Eye for an Eye

    S ometimes during rest hour, Erin and I visited Nancy in the head counselor’s cabin, and sometimes we went to the boathouse. Erin brought whatever treats her mother had stashed in her latest care package: candy hidden in a stationery box, gum sealed up in envelopes, cookies tucked into T-shirts.
    “You know, parents send stuff like this all the time,” Erin told me the first day she showed up with snacks. She handed me a Sugar Daddy. “My mother hides the good stuff so it’s not obvious. You know, ’cause we’re really not supposed to have food in the cabins.”
    “I didn’t know that.”
    “Yep. No junk food allowed. Except on visiting day, when everyone eats like crazy. But tell your mother she can still send whatever you want. She just has to make sure her care packages don’t look like they’re filled with food.”
    “Okay. Thanks.” I popped the Sugar Daddy into my mouth. Care packages. Someone would have to care about you to send them. I shut my eyes and savored the sweet Sugar Daddy.

    Erin and I headed to the boathouse separately the day after the ice cream party. Why give Rory a chance to sneer at our friendship? Why risk Robin seeing us?
    “Better not let your cousin know we’re meeting today,” Erin said, lagging on her way out of breakfast that morning. “I mean, Robin’s getting as bad as Rory, always putting her nose into everyone’s business and sticking with Rory as if they were glued together. No offense, but it’s hard to