taking a seat.
“Here's how it works. Every bunk gets a—”
“We know how it works!” interrupts Blume, looking extra-scruffy in a sweatshirt with its sleeves ripped off. His bunkmates laugh.
Janice starts pacing up and down the room. “Not everyone knows, Blume. Now be quiet, please. As I was saying, every bunk gets a pad of paper. I'm going to say a word or an expression or a theme, and together as a bunk, you write down as many songs that contain it as you can. Then each bunk will have a chance to sing one of the songs. Remember, if you repeat a song someone else has sung, you're automatically disqualified. Last bunk standing wins.”
“What do we win?” Blume asks.
“Glory,” says his counselor. “And for being a pain in the ass, you get to be secretary.”
His bunk laughs again.
All of the Lion unit is here. I spot Miri sitting with the rest of bunk two, but she's slightly behind them. Aw, Mir. Why isn't she making friends? I'll have to give her a pep talk. She has to be friendly and outgoing, and she can't be afraid to put herself out there.
“All right, get ready,” Janice says. “The songs have to have a color in them. Got it? You have two minutes, starting now.”
No time to worry about Miri; must think of songs. I huddle with my bunkmates. Deb plays secretary.
“ ‘Brown Eyed Girl,’ ” Carly whispers.
Poodles: “ ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’ ”
Alison: “ ‘Yellow Submarine.’ ”
Me: “ ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road?’ ”
Deb scribbles it down. Yes! I got one!
We throw out a ton of songs before Janice announces that our time is up and that bunk five will go first. The boys' counselors gather them and count, “One, two, three!”
“Brown-eyed girl. You, my brown-eyed girl!” they shriek in disastrous voices.
“Damn!” Deb crosses out our number-one song.
We're going clockwise, so next up is bunk fifteen. “Ready, girls?” Penelope asks.
“It was an itsy bitsy, teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini,” they sing. Kristin shakes her butt. Liana tosses her hair.
“Bunch of jerk-offs,” Morgan mutters.
“Bunk two, you're up,” Janice announces.
The girls from Miri's bunk lean in together. Well, all except Miri. “Baby beluga in the deep blue sea!” they sing.
“Bunk eleven!”
“Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree!”
“Seventeen!”
That's Raf's bunk. The group counts to three and then sings, “Red, red wine, you make me feel so fine.”
“Seven!” says Janice.
“Blue moon,” the youngest Lion boys croon, “you saw me standing alone. Without a dream in my heart. Blue moon!” And that's when they all spin around, pull down their pants, and moon us.
“Ew!” we scream. All the girls, anyway. The boys just laugh.
Janice bites her pen like she's a rabbit with a carrot. “You're eliminated for lewdness!”
The boys are bent over with laughter. I doubt they care. Poor counselors. They're definitely going to have their hands full with this cheeky group. Pun intended.
“Fourteen, you're up!”
Poodles pretends she's a conductor. “One, two, three . . .”
“We all live in a yellow submarine,” we sing, and then cheer. Wahoo! Fun!
We go around the circle again, and we have to cross out some of our songs. Then Miri's bunk sings “Brown Eyed Girl” again, which makes no sense. I mean, how hard is it to put an X beside one of your entries once someone else sings it?
“You're out!” Janice shouts.
We go round and round and round, and bunks get eliminated, either for duplication or for not being able to come up with something new, until it's just us, fifteen, and Raf's bunk.
And then Raf's bunk sings “Yellow Submarine,” which we already sang, and they're out.
Now it's between us and fifteen.
This is no longer a game. After the way they've been treating us, it's war.
“We're out of songs,” Deb whispers. “Someone think of one, quick!”
Come on, magic! I need a remember-a-song spell! What can I do? I need to think of
“Here's how it works. Every bunk gets a—”
“We know how it works!” interrupts Blume, looking extra-scruffy in a sweatshirt with its sleeves ripped off. His bunkmates laugh.
Janice starts pacing up and down the room. “Not everyone knows, Blume. Now be quiet, please. As I was saying, every bunk gets a pad of paper. I'm going to say a word or an expression or a theme, and together as a bunk, you write down as many songs that contain it as you can. Then each bunk will have a chance to sing one of the songs. Remember, if you repeat a song someone else has sung, you're automatically disqualified. Last bunk standing wins.”
“What do we win?” Blume asks.
“Glory,” says his counselor. “And for being a pain in the ass, you get to be secretary.”
His bunk laughs again.
All of the Lion unit is here. I spot Miri sitting with the rest of bunk two, but she's slightly behind them. Aw, Mir. Why isn't she making friends? I'll have to give her a pep talk. She has to be friendly and outgoing, and she can't be afraid to put herself out there.
“All right, get ready,” Janice says. “The songs have to have a color in them. Got it? You have two minutes, starting now.”
No time to worry about Miri; must think of songs. I huddle with my bunkmates. Deb plays secretary.
“ ‘Brown Eyed Girl,’ ” Carly whispers.
Poodles: “ ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’ ”
Alison: “ ‘Yellow Submarine.’ ”
Me: “ ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road?’ ”
Deb scribbles it down. Yes! I got one!
We throw out a ton of songs before Janice announces that our time is up and that bunk five will go first. The boys' counselors gather them and count, “One, two, three!”
“Brown-eyed girl. You, my brown-eyed girl!” they shriek in disastrous voices.
“Damn!” Deb crosses out our number-one song.
We're going clockwise, so next up is bunk fifteen. “Ready, girls?” Penelope asks.
“It was an itsy bitsy, teenie weenie yellow polka-dot bikini,” they sing. Kristin shakes her butt. Liana tosses her hair.
“Bunch of jerk-offs,” Morgan mutters.
“Bunk two, you're up,” Janice announces.
The girls from Miri's bunk lean in together. Well, all except Miri. “Baby beluga in the deep blue sea!” they sing.
“Bunk eleven!”
“Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree!”
“Seventeen!”
That's Raf's bunk. The group counts to three and then sings, “Red, red wine, you make me feel so fine.”
“Seven!” says Janice.
“Blue moon,” the youngest Lion boys croon, “you saw me standing alone. Without a dream in my heart. Blue moon!” And that's when they all spin around, pull down their pants, and moon us.
“Ew!” we scream. All the girls, anyway. The boys just laugh.
Janice bites her pen like she's a rabbit with a carrot. “You're eliminated for lewdness!”
The boys are bent over with laughter. I doubt they care. Poor counselors. They're definitely going to have their hands full with this cheeky group. Pun intended.
“Fourteen, you're up!”
Poodles pretends she's a conductor. “One, two, three . . .”
“We all live in a yellow submarine,” we sing, and then cheer. Wahoo! Fun!
We go around the circle again, and we have to cross out some of our songs. Then Miri's bunk sings “Brown Eyed Girl” again, which makes no sense. I mean, how hard is it to put an X beside one of your entries once someone else sings it?
“You're out!” Janice shouts.
We go round and round and round, and bunks get eliminated, either for duplication or for not being able to come up with something new, until it's just us, fifteen, and Raf's bunk.
And then Raf's bunk sings “Yellow Submarine,” which we already sang, and they're out.
Now it's between us and fifteen.
This is no longer a game. After the way they've been treating us, it's war.
“We're out of songs,” Deb whispers. “Someone think of one, quick!”
Come on, magic! I need a remember-a-song spell! What can I do? I need to think of
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