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

MontClaire Annex, a portable tacked on to the backside of our MontClaire Hall. Inside were a few rows of cubicles and a long wall of inboxes. Next to names of future chemists were slots with camper names scrawled on masking tape. I was a bit surprised to see a padded envelope angled in my box. Inside was a note from my mom written on Zyprexa Pharmaceuticals stationary.
    Bee~ This came today. Typical Dick. Late again. ~Mom.
    Looky here , I thought. A present from Richard Goodman, aka my father. And wow! Only eight weeks late this year. A new record.
    Dear Bee: Sorry this is so late, but I wanted to wait for the latest model. Your mom told me you love to read and I thought you’d enjoy one of these new e-readers. Happy 17 th ! Dad
    I decided to play “How many insulting things I can find in one note.”
    First clue, I’m only sixteen.
    Great. An e-reader. Too bad it didn’t come with a side of fries.
    Moving on.
    I wasn’t surprised to see Hollywood’s (aka Amber S. Gold’s) box full. I was, however, a teensy bit amazed when I found a lonely piece of chocolate tucked inside a letter. It melted under my tongue bitterly as I read a note in slanted handwriting. Daddy Dearest must have been in a hurry. Shhhhhh , it read . I’m missing my princess. How is it there? Are you making progress? His address was 3206 Canyon View Drive, Hollywood Hills, CA 90210.
    Then there was Liliana. Her mom wrapped up sugar-free chocolate wafers and diabetic hard candies. Your quinceanera, mija, is more than a year away. Certainly one candy won’t hurt. Atlanta (Parker Mendell) didn’t have any food, but her letters were sliced open and dubious sentences had been highlighted: We tried calling, but ….
    No one’s mailbox rivaled Cambridge’s. Cardboard boxes and pastel envelopes overflowed out of the slot and into one of those giant mail-hauling bins beneath it. Gifts were piled high; glittery cards with the words I’m sorry , Please Open were scattered about. Looking at all those packages and envelopes and goodies, I could hardly believe it. Utopia wasn’t just holding our mail—they were hiding it. Intercepting it. Granted the parents probably should not have been smuggling in food. So much food. Bad food. But still.
    Re: The Food.
    What I said to myself:
    Do not even think about the crunchy caramel corn with almonds. Forget the chocolate-covered coffee beans. Pay no attention to the fancy crackers and cheese.
    Avoid bliss. Deny rapture. Instead note the other items of importance in the room: The scale living next to a ficus plant in the corner. Next to a copy machine. Note a tall filing cabinet.
    File cabinet duly noted.
    I rattled the file cabinet that first night, completely expecting it to be locked, or to have those red laser beams criss-crossing inside. Not even. The drawer pulled out a bit noisily, but easily, and inside all our files sat. The exact same files Miss Marcia toted around and made notes all over.
    That first night I told myself I wouldn’t eat anyone’s food—except Hollywood’s. I sat next to the file cabinet on the floor eating the dark chocolate our team captain’s father had sent. I also said I wouldn’t read anyone’s file even though the drawer yawned open torturously. I was very righteous about it. No , I thought, you are not this cunning, Bethany. Or this nosy. This is absolutely none of your business and this food is not even yours. That’s what my brain said. And I actually listened to it for once. I walked back to our dorm room with my e-reader and pretended everything was fine. I had just felt like stretching my legs. My roommates didn’t buy it. Since when do I elect to exercise? But I wasn’t sure if I could trust either of them yet. I felt fairly confident that Cambridge would be cool, but you can never be too careful.
    Predictably, though, the third night I found myself in the mailroom I’d read