teaching the kid to throw a punch.”
Dave was feigning thoughtfulness. “Funny, I don’t remember them teaching us that particular method of conflict resolution in counselor training.”
They were joking, of course. But Karen Sue, as usual, was deadly serious.
“I think it’s disgraceful,” she said. “You teaching a little boy to settle his problems with violence. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
I stared at her. “You,” I said, “have obviously never been the victim of a bully.”
Karen Sue stuck out her chin. “No, because I was taught to resolve my differences with others peacefully, without use of force.”
“So in other words,” I said, “you’ve never been the victim of a bully.”
Ruth laughed outright, but Scott and Dave both put their hands over their mouths, trying to hide their grins. Karen Sue wasn’t fooled, though. She said, “Maybe that’s because I don’t go around
aggravating
people like you do, Jess.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” I said. “Blame the victim, why don’t you?”
Now Scott and Dave had to turn toward the wall, they were laughing so hard. Ruth, of course, didn’t bother.
The tips of Karen Sue’s ears started turning pink. The way I noticed this is that she was wearing this blue headband—which matched her blue shorts, which matched her blue flute case—and the headband pulled her hair back over her ears, so that it fell into these perfect curls just above her shoulders. Oh, and it also showed off her pearl earrings.
Have I mentioned that Karen Sue Hanky is kind of a girlie-girl?
“Well,” she said primly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to my cottage now to put my flute away. I hope you enjoy your tutorial with Professor Le Blanc, Jess. He told me that I play exceptionally.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Exceptionally crappy.”
Ruth elbowed me.
“Oh, please,” I said. “Her flute isn’t even open hole. How good can she be?” Besides, Karen Sue had already flounced out. No way she’d overheard me.
Scott, still chuckling, said, “Listen, Jess. Dave and I had an idea. About this ghost story thing of yours. What do you say to teaming up?”
I eyed them. “What are you talking about?”
“Like our cabins could get together after Pit tonight, and you could tell them all another one of those ghost stories. You know, like the one you told last night, that had your little guys so scared, they wouldn’t get out of bed afterwards.”
“We could bring our guys over,” Dave said, “around nine-thirty.”
“Yeah,” Scott said, glancing shyly in Ruth’s direction. “And maybe your girls would want to come, Ruth.”
Ruth looked surprised—and pleased—at the suggestion. But reluctance to subject her girls to the likes of Shane overcame her desire to spend quality time with Scott.
“No way,” she said. “I’m not letting any of my girls around that little nightmare.”
“Maybe Shane’d behave himself,” I ventured, “if we threw some estrogen into the mix.” It was an experiment they’d tried during detention back at Ernest Pyle High, with somewhat mixed results.
“Nuh-uh,” Ruth said. “You know what that kid did during all-camp rehearsal this morning?”
This I hadn’t heard. “What?”
“He opened a trumpet’s spit valve all over some Frangipanis.”
I winced. Not as bad as I’d feared … but not exactly good, either.
“And it wasn’t,” Ruth went on, “even his instrument. He’d
stolen
it. If you think I’m letting my girls near him, you’re nuts.”
I figured it was just as well. It wasn’t like I had a ghost story on hand that I could tell in the presence of a couple of guys like Scott and Dave. They’d know I was plagiarizing Stephen King right away. And how embarrassing, to be sitting there telling some story with my would-be boyfriend Rob as the hero, in front of those guys.
Dave must have noticed my reluctance, since he said, “We’ll bring popcorn.”
I could see there was no way of
Dave was feigning thoughtfulness. “Funny, I don’t remember them teaching us that particular method of conflict resolution in counselor training.”
They were joking, of course. But Karen Sue, as usual, was deadly serious.
“I think it’s disgraceful,” she said. “You teaching a little boy to settle his problems with violence. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
I stared at her. “You,” I said, “have obviously never been the victim of a bully.”
Karen Sue stuck out her chin. “No, because I was taught to resolve my differences with others peacefully, without use of force.”
“So in other words,” I said, “you’ve never been the victim of a bully.”
Ruth laughed outright, but Scott and Dave both put their hands over their mouths, trying to hide their grins. Karen Sue wasn’t fooled, though. She said, “Maybe that’s because I don’t go around
aggravating
people like you do, Jess.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” I said. “Blame the victim, why don’t you?”
Now Scott and Dave had to turn toward the wall, they were laughing so hard. Ruth, of course, didn’t bother.
The tips of Karen Sue’s ears started turning pink. The way I noticed this is that she was wearing this blue headband—which matched her blue shorts, which matched her blue flute case—and the headband pulled her hair back over her ears, so that it fell into these perfect curls just above her shoulders. Oh, and it also showed off her pearl earrings.
Have I mentioned that Karen Sue Hanky is kind of a girlie-girl?
“Well,” she said primly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to my cottage now to put my flute away. I hope you enjoy your tutorial with Professor Le Blanc, Jess. He told me that I play exceptionally.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Exceptionally crappy.”
Ruth elbowed me.
“Oh, please,” I said. “Her flute isn’t even open hole. How good can she be?” Besides, Karen Sue had already flounced out. No way she’d overheard me.
Scott, still chuckling, said, “Listen, Jess. Dave and I had an idea. About this ghost story thing of yours. What do you say to teaming up?”
I eyed them. “What are you talking about?”
“Like our cabins could get together after Pit tonight, and you could tell them all another one of those ghost stories. You know, like the one you told last night, that had your little guys so scared, they wouldn’t get out of bed afterwards.”
“We could bring our guys over,” Dave said, “around nine-thirty.”
“Yeah,” Scott said, glancing shyly in Ruth’s direction. “And maybe your girls would want to come, Ruth.”
Ruth looked surprised—and pleased—at the suggestion. But reluctance to subject her girls to the likes of Shane overcame her desire to spend quality time with Scott.
“No way,” she said. “I’m not letting any of my girls around that little nightmare.”
“Maybe Shane’d behave himself,” I ventured, “if we threw some estrogen into the mix.” It was an experiment they’d tried during detention back at Ernest Pyle High, with somewhat mixed results.
“Nuh-uh,” Ruth said. “You know what that kid did during all-camp rehearsal this morning?”
This I hadn’t heard. “What?”
“He opened a trumpet’s spit valve all over some Frangipanis.”
I winced. Not as bad as I’d feared … but not exactly good, either.
“And it wasn’t,” Ruth went on, “even his instrument. He’d
stolen
it. If you think I’m letting my girls near him, you’re nuts.”
I figured it was just as well. It wasn’t like I had a ghost story on hand that I could tell in the presence of a couple of guys like Scott and Dave. They’d know I was plagiarizing Stephen King right away. And how embarrassing, to be sitting there telling some story with my would-be boyfriend Rob as the hero, in front of those guys.
Dave must have noticed my reluctance, since he said, “We’ll bring popcorn.”
I could see there was no way of
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