How to (Almost) Ruin Your Summer (10 page)

Let Victoria Take a Walk in the Woods

Monday morning held no surprises except for the fact that King Arthur was where I last left him—in his stall. I'm sure it was a first. Our veterinary medicine group spent a couple hours taking care of our animals and learning about animal husbandry, which, as it turns out, has nothing to do with being married.

Midway through our lesson, Victoria showed up to collect the eggs for the cake kitchen. Charlotte was in the restroom, so Doc asked me to help.

Victoria stood several feet away from the coop and pranced around every time a chicken got close to her. “I'm not going in that nasty coop. It looks like something your gross elephant belongs in.” Barbecue, Ranch, and Sweet 'n' Sour seemed particularly interested in her shoelaces and followed her every step.

“They're just chickens. They're not going to hurt you.” I went in alone, watching carefully for spiders, and quickly filled Victoria's basket with eggs.

“I'm sure they carry diseases,” she called to me from outside the coop. “Like chicken pox.”

Along with teaching us animal care, Doc had also taught us a little about animal diseases.

“You can't get chicken pox from a chicken—it's only called chicken pox because the rash looks like peck marks.” I shoved the basket of eggs into her hands.

“What's the quickest way out of this stinking place?” she huffed. Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the path that ran around behind the coop.

“Uh, Victoria…” I said, pointing to the path. “I don't think—”

“I don't care what you think,” she said, turning on her heel and marching through the knee-high plants down the path. Right past the NO TRESPASSING sign.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Suit yourself.”

• • •

In the late afternoon, as I was putting fresh wood shavings in King Arthur's stall, Doc popped his head around the door and said Director Mudwimple wanted to see me in her office.

Immediately.

A pit formed in my stomach. Maybe Director Mudwimple realized she was missing a massive pair of underpants and put two and two together about Saturday night. Or maybe she'd found out that I'd purposely been flushing toilets during Victoria's shower. With two demerits to my name already, I had to watch out. Each step toward Mudwimple's office brought new guilt to mind.

The office door was the only thing between me and Director Mudwimple. I swallowed and knocked.

“Come in,” Director Mudwimple said.

A splotchy, puffy Victoria, who, for once, did not look like a perfectly polished princess, glowered from across the room.

“You are so busted,” Victoria seethed.

“I'll handle this, Victoria,” Director Mudwimple said, motioning me to sit.

I couldn't peel my eyes away from the sight of Victoria, who was madly scratching. An ugly, red rash covered her legs and arms, and she had patches of it forming on her face. Poison ivy.

Director Mudwimple clapped her hands and startled me. “Miss McCorkle, Victoria tells me you purposely sent her down a path that you knew was covered with poison ivy simply because she got the last cake decorating slot.”

“No, ma'am!” I gasped, shaking my head. “I tried to tell her
not
to go down that path—but she wouldn't listen. I promise!” I stumbled my way through the morning's event, trying to remember word for word what I'd said to Victoria. If Director Mudwimple thought I sent Victoria through poison ivy on purpose, I would get a demerit for sure!

Director Mudwimple turned to Victoria. “Is that true? Did she tell you not to use that path?”

Victoria rolled her eyes and scratched her cheek.

Director Mudwimple looked over her spectacles at Victoria. “Quit scratching, dear. You'll make it worse. If Chloe tried to warn you and you didn't listen—”

“She could have tried harder to stop me.”

Director Mudwimple met Victoria's gaze and didn't look away until Victoria squirmed and looked to the floor. I hoped Mudwimple saw Victoria for what she really was—a spoiled, self-centered, spiteful camper. Maybe Director Mudwimple was on Team Chloe! Solidarity, that's what it's all about—that and the hokey pokey.

“Victoria, I think you need to apologize to Chloe for your accusation.”

I thought Victoria's face couldn't become any redder, what with the poison ivy rash all over it, but I was wrong. I think steam even shot from her ears. Through a clenched jaw, Victoria hissed an apology. Even though it was totally
not
sincere, I took it. Better than nothing. And now at least Mudwimple was onto her.

“I suggest you revisit the nurse's station, Victoria, and get more itch cream,” Director Mudwimple said.

I stood to leave.

“Chloe, I would like you to stay, please. I want to talk to you for a moment.”

I stepped aside to avoid touching Victoria as she stomped past me, seething and muttering something unintelligible. The last thing I needed was poison ivy. I jumped as the door slammed behind her.

Director Mudwimple strummed her chubby fingers on her desk. “Have a seat again, Miss McCorkle. We have another issue to discuss.”

I mentally ticked off
my current
issues:

–
I was a dork.

–
Victoria hated me.

–
King Arthur hated me.

–
Mr. Snuffles had been eaten.

–
I was earning demerits faster than a highly motivated Girl Scout was sewing badges to a vest.

I really wasn't sure which of those she was referring to. “Which issue? If you mean the poison ivy, I bet a healthy dose of weed killer on the path will take care of that.”

Director Mudwimple shook her head. “I do
not
mean the poison ivy.”

She shuffled through some papers and picked up a familiar pink form.
Disciplinary Action Report.
I gulped. The underwear!

She cleared her throat. “Victoria's frustration with you is not confined only to poison ivy. It seems you are also flushing toilets every time she showers.”

Okay, it wasn't about the underwear. I put my hands up in defense. “I'm only cleaning them—she's the one who made the chore list. I've had bathroom detail
every
day. Isn't there some rule against that?”

“We all have to work together to keep our camp looking nice. I want the flushing to stop. Understand?”

“Yes.” I stood.

“We're not done, Miss McCorkle.”

I ran my hand over my face and sat back in my chair.

Director Mudwimple stared me down. “Apparently, our first talk involving animal cruelty and trash cans had no effect on you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You hurled a chicken at King Arthur! She's so upset she's molting!”

I dropped my chin to my chest. “I do feel bad about that.”

Director Mudwimple nodded. “King Arthur was dreadfully upset as well.”

“I was referring to the chicken,” I said under my breath.

“Miss McCorkle!” Director Mudwimple's cheeks were bright red. “And then you tried to drown that poor little goat in the lake!”

“I didn't try to drown him,” I said, my voice rising. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I was trying to save him. He ate through the rope that keeps the dock tied to the pier and floated himself out to the middle of the lake. I grabbed a life jacket and canoe to bring him back to shore. Halfway across the lake, he got crazy. I didn't tip the canoe on purpose. I promise.”

“Hmmfph.”

“The life jacket proves I was trying to help.” I thought for a second and shrugged. “Actually, he ate most of it before the canoe tipped.”

Director Mudwimple stared at me like I'd just told her I was a fairy princess who ruled over a great kingdom of singing oysters. “Miss McCorkle, I am giving you another demerit for your actions—be glad it's not more than one. Your lack of compassion for King Arthur and your fellow campers is most distressing.” She tidied the papers in front of her. “It may be against my better judgment that I am not removing King Arthur from your care, but I think you may be able to learn something from him, given time.”

I stared at her as though she just told me I could learn something from a deranged goat.

Oh, wait…she
did
tell me that.

Start a Food Fight

Victoria walked by and paused at our table at dinner that evening. “Well, if it isn't Goat Girl,” she said with a smirk. “How's that animal working out for you?”

“How's that poison ivy working out for
you
?” I said. “The rash still looks bad.”

“Nothing a little makeup can't handle.”

“I'm pretty sure you shouldn't wear makeup if you have poison ivy on your face,” said Pogo. “But maybe you could ask your mom to send you something from Europe—the stuff over there is more natural anyway.”

I looked at Pogo. I couldn't tell if she was making fun of Victoria's constant comments about her mom being in Europe or just trying to be helpful. Pogo was a genuinely helpful, nice person, so she was probably making a good suggestion.

Victoria sneered at her. “Well.” She adjusted the tray in her hands to scratch her neck and leaned in. “At least
I
have a mom.”

Our table went dead quiet. Pogo's mouth fell open. Nathan dropped his fork, and Sebastian stared at Victoria as he slowly slid his chair back. He probably would've started hurling one insult after another in Spanish, but at that exact point, I squeezed the ketchup bottle with such force that the ketchup shot a fry straight off my plate and onto Victoria.

And I kept squeezing the bottle.

All over Victoria's face.

And I remember Victoria howling like a big baby.

Oh, and Victoria's plate of mac and cheese somehow ended up on my head.

We both were sent to Director Mudwimple's office.

“Sit!” Director Mudwimple's tone undoubtedly turned her sweet tea into cough syrup.

Victoria plopped onto the metal folding chair and immediately slid off—apparently ketchup is slippery. I, on the other hand, stuck to my chair. But then again, macaroni and cheese is a starch.

“Perhaps one of you can explain what on earth happened! You were both just in here this afternoon!” Director Mudwimple barked. Clearly, she was more than a little perturbed. Her face was bright red, but I was willing to bet it had nothing to do with running around or the heat of the evening.

“She started it!” Victoria said, pointing at me.

“Did not!”

I was going to keep Pogo's name out of this. I didn't want Director Mudwimple to think she was involved and give her a demerit. She'd been a little too demerit-happy lately. “It was an accident. The ketchup bottle was jammed—sort of.”

“I don't care who started it. Food fights in the mess hall, or anywhere else for that matter, are prohibited. You will both be on kitchen patrol for the next three days. And you each have
another
demerit.”

Victoria gasped.

Director Mudwimple shuffled around some papers on her desk until she found her clipboard. She glanced down. “Victoria, you will have the after-breakfast shift, and, Chloe, you will take the after-lunch shift.” She tossed the clipboard back onto her desk and peered over her spectacles at us. “Understand?”

I slouched in my chair. “Yes, ma'am,” I muttered.

Director Mudwimple sighed. “You owe each other an apology.”

Victoria opened her mouth in protest, but Director Mudwimple held up her hand in silence. “Like I said earlier, Victoria, it doesn't matter who started it. I think you two need to have a long talk with each other. This incident is finished, and we're going to forgive and move on.”

“Sorry, Victoria,” I said flatly.

She rolled her eyes. “Me too.”

Director Mudwimple stood and opened the door to her office. “Now please get yourselves cleaned up.”

Victoria stomped out the door. Director Mudwimple tapped me on the shoulder as I followed. “Chloe,” she said, then looked at her hand and wiped it off on a napkin before continuing. “Mindy, tells me your bed is near Victoria's. I want you to move to a different bunk.”

My shoulders dropped. “Do I have to?”

“I think it's best if you and Victoria gave each other some space—at least for the next couple days. Your cabin's not full—there's room for the change.”

“Can't you just move Victoria to a different cabin?” I pleaded.

Director Mudwimple folded her hands and rested them on her desk. “I could, but I am of the belief that we should fix our problems, not run away from them.”

Running away from problems seemed like a perfectly good option to me, but arguing was pointless—adults always won arguments. “Yes, ma'am.”

“And, Chloe?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful. You're at four demerits—and in record time I might add.”

I decided to shower before moving my things over—I didn't want to be dropping chunks of mac and cheese into my sleeping bag or suitcase. By the time I got clean and into my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and dried my hair, the lights were already out in the cabin. I felt my way to my bed and gathered up my sleeping bag and pillow. Then, I made my way to the empty bunk near Mindy's bed, stubbing my toe on Victoria's dumb makeup box in the process. I flicked on my flashlight and went back for my suitcase.

I reached down to the bottom of my sleeping bag for Mr. Snuffles and brought him up, along with my journal. I held him close, grateful he was with me.

Monday, June 21

8:54 p.m.

WORST DAY EVER!!!! (and I mean it this time)

Camp Minne-BOO-HOO is dumb and Victoria is the WORLD'S BIGGEST DRAMA QUEEN!

How many things can go wrong in one day? I mean SERIOUSLY!?!?!?

Things that went wrong today:

#1 Victoria got poison ivy and blamed me.

#2 Director Mudwimple found out about the chicken I hurled at King Arthur. She gave me another demerit. At least she doesn't know about the underwear…yet.

#3 I got in a food fight with Victoria after she said something horrible to Pogo. I got another demerit, but THIS ONE was worth it. I guess I'm at four demerits!!

At this rate, I don't know if I'll make it through camp without being kicked out. I've never been kicked out of anything before (except for that time in Girl Scouts). I would die multiple deaths of embarrassment.

I can't believe
Nath
n
saw me with mac and cheese all over my head. I am so embarrassed! If he didn't think I was dork after the whole swimming with a goat incident, I'm sure he does now, after the food fight with Victoria. Ugh!

Sebastian and
Nath
n
were both saying how wicked smart Pogo is with science. She was showing Dreamy Dave something with transistors, and even he was impressed. I feel really bad that I lied to Pogo about Victoria wanting me to hook her up with
Nath
n.
But if I tell Pogo about sneaking into Mudwimple's cabin, she might think I'm a thief (which I am
).

'Night.

PS On a side note, when King Arthur does kick the bucket, he'd look great hanging on the wall in the Registration Office next to the llama.

PPS The kindness award went to Callie Morse. She's in the vet med group with me. She got it because she offered to clean out a horse stall for Leslie, who wasn't feeling well. Considering the size of horse poop, I'd have given her the award too!

PPPS I saw Ms. Jacqueline and Doc Mulholland kiss today! She brought a plate of cookies up to the barn, and he kissed her—on the LIPS!! He was hanging out with her in the kitchen too—they are always together.