Strawberry Summer (7 page)

Fortunately, most of the other campers got over their initial surprise with more ease—and less resentment.

“Who cares?” countered Tim Tinker, one of the twelve-year-olds. “Just as long as we can see the stage, what difference does it make where we sit?”

“Yeah,” agreed Eleanor Cousins, another twelve-year-old. “You girls make it sound as if you’ve never sat on the grass before. Isn’t being outdoors the whole idea of going to camp?”

Chris, overhearing their conversation, was relieved that most of the campers seemed to take the change in plans in stride. As she watched the final touches being put on the stage from her hiding place in the arts and crafts building, then saw the campers beginning to assemble in front of it at a few minutes before seven, she, too, began to wonder what had happened to the chairs.

But then Alan walked by, unaware that he was being watched.

As soon as she saw his face, she knew there was something wrong. It was something more than an error on the rental company’s part, or someone’s forgetfulness in ordering the right thing for the right night. It was that same peculiar thing that had been going on for so long. Again. Things disappearing. Things going wrong. All for no good reason, nothing that could be explained.

Chris wanted to rush over to Alan, to find out exactly what had happened, to say something that might make him feel a little better. But she couldn’t—not now. Not unless she was willing to ruin the act she and Susan and Richard had put so much hard work into.

I’ll just have to talk to Alan later, she thought, watching him sadly. He glanced at the mass of campers gathering on the grass, shook his head slowly, and disappeared into the Reeds’ house, looking as if he had lost interest in even watching the show.

But as far as Chris was concerned, she had to make herself forget all about Alan for now. The show must go on! Anxious to make her performance the very best she possibly could—partly to help the campers forget about everything except what a good time they were having—she resolved to concentrate only on their magic act until the show was over.

Their act, judged to be the best in the show, was being saved for last. That meant that Chris had a whole evening’s entertainment ahead of her, as a spectator. From her vantage point at the side window of the arts and crafts building, she had an excellent view of the stage. And she could hear just about everything that was going on.

The acts in the variety show were as different as Camp Pinewood’s counselors themselves. There were singers, mimes, and musicians. A boy and a girl did an energetic tap dance; another girl, who’d been studying ballet ever since she was six years old, did a short dance from
Swan Lake.
One group of four put on a comical skit about life at Camp Pinewood. And a spirited threesome played a medley of songs on kazoos, guitar, and garbage pail drums.

The costumes were as inspired as the acts themselves. Considering the fact that no one had actually brought anything along with them to camp—with the exception of ballet and tap shoes— it was impressive to see the effects that had been created with bathing suits and sheets, feathers and makeup, lengths of fabric and funny hats.

The counselors were all good performers, with some of the least likely blossoming into real hams once they were in the spotlight. They all seemed to be having a good time. More important, the campers loved the show. They laughed and cheered and applauded all the way through, their interest held by the constantly changing cast of characters on the stage. Even Lucy Kramer appeared to be enjoying herself, if the amount of time she spent jumping up and down and squealing at the end of each performance was any measure.

Chris was enjoying herself so much that she almost forgot that she, too, would eventually be called up on the stage. She was totally absorbed in watching each act. But as the trio of makeshift musicians was finishing up, she noticed something peculiar out of the corner of her eye. Automatically she looked over to the left. It was past eight by then, and the dense trees covering so much of Camp Pinewood already blackened the shadows of dusk. It was hard for her to see—yet she was certain she had caught sight of something moving in the trees, somewhere between the stage and her lookout.

Probably just an animal, she thought, telling herself that she was just getting jittery because of her upcoming performance. Just a squirrel ... or maybe a raccoon. She tried to turn her attention back to the juggler who was keeping three oranges and two apples circling in the air. But for some reason she remained troubled.

And then ... it happened again! This time, she was certain she saw something—a flash of white, a quick movement inside the protective shield of fat oak trees, something that just did not belong. She heard something, too—a footstep, or perhaps the crack of a branch breaking. Whatever it was, Chris felt chills run down her spine.

Her first instinct was to stay glued to the window. To keep watching until she discovered what it was she had seen and heard. But onstage, Sam was announcing Linda Ames and her Amazing Marionettes, the second-to-last act of the show. That meant that she was on next, that it was time for her to steal through the woods to take her place backstage.

Chris had no choice but to run through the darkness, through the patch of woods where she had just seen that undefinable, but nevertheless peculiar, movement. Where something was lurking ... watching .  . . waiting.

She shivered, then told herself that she was just being silly. But as she sprinted through the woods, she kept her eyes straight ahead, on the bright lights of the stage that was a few hundred feet ahead of her. It was as if not looking around too much would keep her from seeing anything she didn’t really want to see.

By the time she reached the backstage area, her heart was pounding and her cheeks were flushed bright red. It was deserted except for Susan, Richard, and Sam, since the other counselors had joined the audience after completing their performances.

“Chris, what’s wrong?” Susan demanded the instant she laid eyes on her twin. She grabbed her by the shoulders.

“You look as if you just saw a ghost!” Richard added. “You didn’t ... did you?”

“I’m not sure
what I
saw. In fact, I’m not even sure if I saw anything at all!”

Quickly, Chris related what had happened. Now that she was with the others, however, the whole thing sounded a bit foolish. After she finished, she added lamely, “But now I have a feeling I just imagined it all. Probably just some weird manifestation of stage fright. After all, I spent a long time just standing there in the dark, all alone, waiting to go on. That could make anybody see things!”

Susan and Richard pretended to agree. But all three of them suspected that Chris really
had
seen something. As for what that something was ... well, this was hardly the time to wonder about it.

Sam was already introducing their act in her enthusiastic mistress of ceremonies voice.

“And now, for our final act of the evening. Here’s something we’re sure will impress and entertain you—even those of you who insist that you don’t
really
believe in magic! The counselors’ variety show is pleased to present ... the Great Ricardo!”

“Break a leg!” Chris whispered hoarsely. Then she climbed into the false bottom of one of the two huge wooden packing crates on wheels that were among the props the three of them had spent the week building.

Richard and Susan paraded on stage, amid a burst of wild applause and cheers. Behind them they towed the two crates.

Accompanied by a recording of eerie-sounding music with an energetic beat, Richard opened the crates, one at a time, to show the attentive audience that they were empty. Chris, crouched in the bottom of one of them, listened carefully for her cue. She could tell that Susan had just gotten into the other one. She heard Richard slam them both shut, then hammer a few nails into each with a great flourish.

“Hokus-pokus, Pinewood-okus!” Richard bellowed, passing his magic wand over both crates. Hastily Chris punched out the thin “ceiling” that had kept her out of view, and struck a relaxed pose. By the time Richard pried open her crate, she was lounging in the middle of it, grinning as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

The campers were astounded. She heard some of them actually gasp in surprise. It was a great feeling, being part of an act like this, one that the kids were finding so enthralling.

Chris climbed out of the crate and helped Richard push the two crates together. It was time for him to “saw her in half.” When she got back in, it was her head and arms that stuck out of the hole on the side—but it was Susan’s feet that extended out the other end.

Richard went on to do a few more tricks, those that didn’t involve the twins. Chris was playing the role of assistant, while poor Susan remained tucked away in one of the crates.

She’s going to be stiff tomorrow! Chris thought ruefully. But she kept a big smile plastered on her face—as any stage performer would, she reasoned.

By the time the Great Ricardo performed his final trick—putting his assistant behind a curtain, then making her disappear, only to reappear at the back of the theater—the campers were spellbound. They cheered and yelled so loudly as Richard and Susan took their final bows that they could no doubt be heard all the way across Lake Majestic. The magician and his assistant wore huge smiles of triumph as they stood onstage amidst an enthusiastic response.

Meanwhile, Chris was backstage, enjoying their act’s success from the sidelines. She knew that she, too, should be lost in the excitement of the moment. But something was nagging at her.... Oh, yes. The mysterious “happening” of fifteen minutes or so earlier. It was still troubling her. And she knew that it would continue to trouble her until she found out what was behind it.

If
anything, she reminded herself. It’s possible that you really
did
imagine the whole thing.

For the moment, however, she was determined to put it out of her mind. Susan and Richard were gleeful over the success of the evening’s performance, and she didn’t want to spoil their fun.

“You two were terrific!” said Chris as they joined her backstage.

“You were, too, Chris!”

“Susan’s right; we couldn’t have done it without you!” Richard grinned. “Now, how about us going over to the dining hall for some punch and cake, or whatever the Reeds have got lined up for us? I don’t know about you, but I’m parched! Being a star is a lot of work!”

“Can’t wait,” said Chris. “Let me just change my clothes and get my story straight about how I was just released from the infirmary minutes ago, I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

One thing’s for sure, she thought as she watched Susan and Richard join the throngs of counselors and campers who were slowly making their way toward the dining hall, chattering away excitedly about the performance they’d just seen. I’m going to get changed and join the others as fast as I can. After tonight, I have no intention of wandering around Camp Pinewood alone at night! Not as long as I keep seeing things!

Certain she was breaking the world’s speed record for changing clothes, Chris pulled off her costume and climbed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

As she hurried into the dining hall, dressed in her
jeans and all her makeup scrubbed off, Chris saw that Susan and Richard were already enjoying “star treatment.” Campers crowded around them as if they were celebrities. There was real electricity in the air as the kids begged to know more about the act—especially how they had managed to carry off all those impressive tricks. The magic act had easily been the hit of the entire show.

“But how did you
do
it?” little Lucy Kramer was demanding in her wheedling tone. “I never took my eyes off the stage, and I still don’t know how you got from one crate to the other!”

“Maybe that really
is
a magic wand!” said Maggie, her eyes big and round with wonderment. “Is it, Richard?”

“Professional secret!” With a wink, Richard draped his arm around Susan’s shoulders. “Neither I nor my assistant and co-conspirator here will ever tell.”

Just then, he noticed that Chris had come in. “Hey, look who’s here! It’s Chris! Feeling better?” he asked loudly.

“A lot better,” Chris replied in the same loud voice. “All I needed was a day’s rest in the infirmary. I’m almost as good as new.”

“Oooh, too bad you had to miss the show!” said Maggie with surprising sympathy.

“Yes, too bad,” Chris agreed, looking as disappointed as she could. “So how was it, anyway?”

A dozen campers crowded around her, anxious to describe in the greatest detail all the acts they had just seen onstage.

By the time she managed to break away from them, explaining that she still wasn’t quite herself yet, Chris really did need a cold drink. She headed for the punch bowl, noticing that a huge cake had been cut up into slices on the next table. That, she decided, would be her next stop.

But as she stood in front of the giant punch bowl, she suddenly grew aware that someone was standing very close to her.

“Feeling better, Chris?”

It was Alan, she was pleased to see. “I’m fine now. Guess I just needed a rest.” She wished she could tell him the truth. “How about you, though?” Her voice suddenly softened. “I understand something went wrong with those chairs you rented.”

“Yeah. Another ‘mystery,’ I’m afraid. A whole shedful of chairs: now you see them, now you don’t. More hokus-pokus than I saw in your sister’s magic act.”

“Oh, so you caught our act!” interrupted Richard, having heard only the end of their conversation. “What did you think? Are we ready for Broadway? Las Vegas? Hollywood?”

“Actually, I was pretty impressed,” Alan admitted. “One of these days you’ll have to explain to me how you managed to do those tricks.”

“I think I have an idea,” said Chris teasingly. “And I promise to tell you all about it the very first chance I get.”

When the punchbowl was empty and even the most gung-ho of campers was getting drowsy, the party was pronounced over. Reluctant to have the evening end, the twins prepared to head back to their cabin.