Camp Utopia & the Forgiveness Diet (9781940192567) by Jenny Ruden

to food because, surprise, it always did. If you were stranded on an island and could only eat one kind of food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
    Liliana, who turned out to not be sleeping at all, would say, “Chocolate.”
    â€œFrappuccinos with extra whipped cream,” Cambridge added.
    â€œChinese food. Duh.”
    But what if you had a choice between the man of your dreams and the meal of your dreams. What if you were going to die the very next day? These dilemmas went on and on, until Hollywood, who never bothered to knock, slithered in.
    â€œI really think you should go to bed now, Baltimore,” she instructed. “The Forgiveness Diet says that the teenager needs at least nine hours of sleep and the overweight ones need even more. If I were you I’d aim for twelve hours.”
    By now it was week two, and I wanted to poison her. I really did. “Well maybe you should stop waking me up at five every morning and let me sleep.”
    â€œFat chance,” she replied, sniveling. “You need a wake-up call more than anyone.”
    Cambridge and Liliana, who positively lettered in insults, launched them at Hollywood like missiles.
    â€œHollywood, isn’t there a parade somewhere requiring rain? Some toddler’s Halloween candy in need of razorblades?” Liliana would ask her. While I seethed in my bed, thinking of brilliant comebacks later, Cambridge had an entire arsenal ready for deployment. She whipped them out until Hollywood left, yelling after her, “Watch out for flying houses! Wouldn’t want them landing on your implants, now would you?”

19
    GAINING ACCESS
    TWO WEEKS LATER, and I still hadn’t received any replies from The Forgiveness Diet. I was beginning to think I had been right all along. It really was a scam. Sure everyone was on it and losing weight. Obviously the campers were into it, but even the CUPids were toting around little fishbowls forgiving-off their college students fifteen. Lord knew I didn’t feel any lighter but, according to scientists, miracles can happen. So I waited some more.
    No mail from Jackie. Nothing from TJ. Neither of them were writer types so I wasn’t exactly surprised. I did get e-mails from my mom asking me how things were going. What was I supposed to say? Love it here, Mom. Thanks for forcing me into fat camp. This is a dream come true! She did say she missed me, but I doubted it.
    Just as my fatcampsucks-o-meter was in overdrive, something good happened. We were preparing for our Ultimate Water Challenge when I spotted a flat gold card sticking out of Miss Marcia’s pocket. Thinking it was an American Express, I could hardly stand my luck. While our counselor splashed around in the pool, calorie-reducingly, I decided to investigate. As I got closer to her shorts, now piled in a heap on the grass, I saw the word “Mailroom” written in Sharpie marker along the card’s edge. Close enough , I thought. I pretended to stretch deeeeeeeply before jumping into the pool. I leaned right over and snatched the key. I stuffed it in my towel and vowed to give it back later.
    Later turned out to be never.
    They doled out mail like our food, with stinginess and caution. We’d only received letters once when Miss Marcia shoved them under our doors during a scheduled fifteen minutes of “down time.” I got a philosophical card from my mom complete with setting sun image and lame bullshit about inspiration vs. perspiration. Cambridge received notes from her private school, but still nothing from her dad. Liliana didn’t get a single letter, even though Gabe said their mother was sending them. Either way, it seemed illogical that twenty-five girls away from home hadn’t received more mail. I had a feeling Belinda and Hank were stashing it somewhere. And I was right.
    The mailroom turned out to be the Chemistry Department’s teaching assistant’s headquarters located in the