Summer on the Short Bus Read online

  Copyright © 2014 by Bethany Crandell

  All rights reserved under the Pan-American and

  International Copyright Conventions

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher.

  Books published by Running Press are available at special discounts for bulk purchases in the United States by corporations, institutions, and other organizations. For more information, please contact the Special Markets Department at the Perseus Books Group, 2300 Chestnut Street, Suite 200, Philadelphia, PA 19103, or call (800) 810-4145, ext. 5000, or e-mail [email protected].

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014931178

  E-book ISBN 978-0-7624-5198-2

  987654321

  Digit on the right indicates the number of this printing

  Designed by Frances J. Soo Ping Chow

  Illustrated by T.L. Bonaddio

  Edited by Marlo Scrimizzi

  Typography: American Pop, Baskerville, Bookeyed Nelson,

  Univers, Valencia, Voluta Script, and Zapf Dingbats

  Published by Running Press Teens

  An Imprint of Running Press Book Publishers

  A Member of the Perseus Books Group

  2300 Chestnut Street

  Philadelphia, PA 19103–4371

  Visit us on the web!

  www.runningpress.com/kids

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To Mom,

  Save a place for me

  ONE

  Less than forty-eight hours ago I was in the comfort of my room, thick in a conversation with my best friend about those red patent Miu Miu ballet flats we saw in the Neiman’s catalog, when in full, dickhead parent mode, my dad stormed in and single-handedly destroyed my entire summer.

  “Constance Elaine,” he said in a deep voice. “I have never been more disappointed with you in my entire life. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  We’d had conversations like this before, so I knew there was no reason to get my panties all twisted up. I just responded the same way I always do: I dropped my head slightly and conjured up my best Bambi eyes. “Aw . . . come on, Dad. It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Actually, yes!” he said, surprisingly unaffected. “It really was that bad.”

  Looking back, I admit having an impromptu party in the riding stables wasn’t the best idea, but I’m seventeen. If I can’t screw off a little now, when can I? And who was that stable hand to call me out anyway? Doesn’t he know my father practically owns that place?

  “So what?” I challenged, surprised by his sudden display of badassedness. “You going to ground me or something?”

  He sighed deeply and his face contorted into that sad, wounded puppy look he hasn’t worn since the last time I asked about my mom. “Honestly, Cricket . . . I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you.”

  Well, he might not have known right that minute, but he figured it out pretty fast. The next morning he chewed my ass about the privileged life I lead, going on about how I have no concept of what happens in the real world and how my selfish behavior is getting out of hand. He puffed up like a bullfrog and croaked something about making sure I leave for college next year with a good head on my shoulders and my feet planted firmly on the ground. It was one of those lame, parental speeches that was supposed to motivate me to change my ways, or start journaling my feelings. In the end, all it did was piss me off.

  And as if lecturing me until I was ready to ram scissors in my ears wasn’t bad enough, he salted the wound by announcing that not only was he confiscating my credit cards until school started, but I would not be flying to Maui with Katie and her family as planned. Instead, I would be spending the rest of my summer acting as a camp counselor to a bunch of tweens who are too lame to know that summer camp stopped being cool when you were seven. Surely this was some sort of sick joke.

  TWO

  We’ve been driving nearly two hours and I’m beginning to suspect that my dad wasn’t kidding after all. The landscape outside the town car has steadily evolved from the buildings, shops, and urban life that are familiar sights in downtown Chicago, to this . . . I don’t even know what you’d call it. There’s just a crapload of trees and more Buicks than a car dealership.

  I pull out my iPhone for the fourteenth time, hoping maybe this will be the minute Katie decides to turn her phone on, when I see Sean’s dark eyes glance at me through the rearview mirror.

  “This is going to be a good thing for you, Constance.”

  “Don’t call me that. And mind your own business!” I glare back at him, my phone shoved against my ear. The last thing I need is my dad’s personal driver thinking he can offer me any reassurance that this situation isn’t as completely jacked up as it is.

  “Katie, it’s me,” I whine into her voice mail. Again. “Pleeeeease call me. I’m dying here.”

  Through the rearview, I see that Sean’s eyes are still steady on me. I turn back to my phone and update my Facebook status. It now reads: WANT TO HANG YOURSELF? COME TO MICHIGAN— PLENTY OF TREES!

  An eternity passes without any response from Katie. I’m seriously considering opening the door and giving myself a road rash tattoo, when Sean has the balls to say, “Your dad thinks this will be a good learning experience for you, Cricket. You know, he’s doing this because he loves you.”

  “Oh please! Spare me, Sean. Just because you drive me from point A to point B doesn’t mean you know anything about my life. You drive the car! And as for my father doing this because he loves me . . . well, he obviously doesn’t love me enough to cancel his trip to Madrid so he can drive me up here himself. So just do me a favor and keep your opinions to yourself, okay?”

  “Okay,” he says with an ease that makes me want to scream. “I’ll keep my opinions to myself. Just remember one thing: I’ve gotten to know your father pretty well in the fifteen years I’ve been working for him, and I can tell you without any hesitation that he loves you more than anything in this world—including trips to Spain.”

  “Noted. Now I’d really like to get through the rest of this painful trip in silence, if you don’t mind.”

  “Nope,” he says in that same infuriating tone. “I don’t mind one bit.”

  Seconds later the tinted privacy screen rises between the front and back seats, leaving only my annoyed reflection on the glass in front of me and countless trees on either side of the car.

  Kill me now.

  A while later we pull off the highway and onto a single-lane road marked with a small green sign that reads: CAMP I CAN, 1 MILE.

  Now that
we’re nearing our godforsaken destination, I recognize that the intense anger I’ve been feeling for the last two-and-a-half hours has evolved into mind-numbing fear. What if this is a cult where they learn Bible verses and chant around the campfire? Or worse, God, what if it’s a fat camp?

  My stomach starts knotting up as Sean follows the road around several winding bends beneath a canopy of trees and through an arched wooden sign that reads: WELCOME, CAMPERS!

  “Somebody shoot me,” I grumble, just as Sean drops the privacy glass.

  “We’re here, Cricket.”

  “Obviously.”

  Through the mirror I see that the corners of his eyes are crinkling with amusement. Asshole.

  The car slows to a crawl as we make our way through a steel gate and onto the property. Out the side windows the view is nothing but trees and shrubs, though the windshield provides a much different view: a health inspector’s wet dream. It’s a huge wooden structure with a green tin roof, two windowless front doors, and a rusted-out dinner bell that must have gone down with the Titanic. There’s a hillbilly porch that wraps around the entire building, a collection of steel rocking chairs, and even a pair of oak barrel planters with overgrown geraniums spilling out of them.

  How freaking quaint.

  “Looks like this is the spot.” Sean motions his head to the right, where a handful of people are staring at our car. Each of them is wearing the same T-shirt and overworked smile.

  It’s definitely a cult.

  As the car comes to a halt, the group disappears behind a blanket of dust.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to just dump me here,” I say as Sean pops open the trunk. “My dad will be pissed if you leave me with a bunch of strangers.”

  “Your father is the one who arranged this, Cricket. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.” Sean climbs out of the car, leaving me unprotected from the nightmare unfolding around me. Tummy reeling, I stare blankly at the seat in front of me. I’ve never felt so alone in my life.

  I look out my window and see a middle-aged woman approaching with a freakishly big grin on her face. Unfortunately, her outdated Ray-Bans make it impossible for me to get a look at her eyes, so I base my initial impression on the rest of her appearance—which is tragic at best. Skinny, knobby-kneed, with flame-red hair pulled back into a tangled ponytail and skin resembling glue. She’s quite possibly the least attractive woman I’ve ever seen. The gleaming white CAMP I CAN T-shirt isn’t doing her any favors, either.

  Always the professional, Sean greets the ghost-white stranger with a handshake and a manufactured smile. I press the button on my right, cracking the window so I can eavesdrop on their conversation.

  “You must be Rainbow. I’m Sean, Mr. Montgomery’s personal driver. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Rainbow? Oh hell, no! I am not about to spend my summer with a bunch of tree-hugging green freaks! She probably doesn’t even shave her pits.

  “Happy to meet you, too,” she says, a little too enthusiastically. She cranes her neck to the right, looking past Sean’s large frame and into the front passenger window. In a nearly inaudible voice she says, “Carolyn wasn’t able to make it?”

  Carolyn? How could she possibly know my housekeeper, or think that she’d be along for the ride? Sure Carolyn and I have had our issues over the years, but there’s no way she’d be in on this urban kidnapping mission. She was just as upset about it as I was.

  I think back to the brief and surprisingly emotional conversation we had earlier this morning.

  “Here. You’re going to need these,” she had said, shoving a pack of my favorite peppermints into my hand.

  Ordinarily I’d have been thrilled to receive a bag of my favorite candy, but today they felt like a last meal wrapped up in a sweet, pink package. Accepting them would mean all of this was real.

  “Carolyn, please. You can’t let him do this.”

  “What am I to do?” she said, shrugging. “He’s your father, Constance. I’m just the housekeeper.”

  Tears started welling behind my eyes and I turned away from her. “I can’t believe you’re just going to let him ship me off. You don’t care at all.”

  “Oh, stop that, now.” As she’d done when I was a child, she raised my chin with her age-spotted hand so I had nowhere to look other than her face. “You know that I love you. I would do something if I could, but there was no way I could convince your father.”

  “Did you even try?”

  She shrugged helplessly as her blue eyes softened around the edges. “Maybe it will be good for you.”

  Sometimes the remnants of her Eastern European upbringing made understanding her a little difficult. But this morning, her words rang loud and clear. Nobody could do anything to change his mind.

  I sink back into my seat and heave a deep breath before I start getting choked up again. Unfortunately, the therapeutic scent of the leather interior is doing nothing for my nerves. If I had eaten any breakfast I have no doubt it would be making a second appearance right about now.

  Several painful moments pass before Sean opens my door. The sticky summer heat pours into the car, sending a flush of goose bumps across my skin.

  Oh my God. This is actually happening.

  “This is Cricket,” Sean says. “She’s really happy to be here. Aren’t you, Cricket?”

  I give Sean my famous die-now glare before sliding my Cavalli frames back into place and climbing out of the car.

  “Cricket!” the Rainbow woman chirps. She approaches me with her arms spread wide enough to embrace a cow. I reel my head back, offended at the notion. “Oh,” she murmurs, her smile retreating to the crannies of her doughy skin while her arms fall limply to her sides. “Well . . . hi. I’m Rainbow Millsap,” she says after clearing her throat. “I can’t tell you how thrilled we are to have you here this summer. I’ve been looking forward to . . . meeting you for a long time.”

  “I’m sure.”

  She casts a skeptical glance in Sean’s direction before saying, “Well, I won’t send you into information overload your first five minutes, but I want to assure you that we take the special needs of our campers very seriously. And if there’s anything I can do to make this transition easier for you, just let me know. I’m sure we’ll have you up to speed in no time.”

  Does a special need include fetching me a syringe full of Valium?

  “First, I’d like to introduce you to the staff,” she says all too eagerly. “Are you up for that?”

  I drop my chin to my chest and peer over my lenses at the five silhouettes behind her. “Yeah, whatever.”

  Rainbow arches a brow at Sean. From the corner of my eye I see him shrug, as if to say, “Hey lady, she’s your problem now.”

  “Well, all right then,” she says, suddenly more businesslike. “Why don’t you grab your bag and we’ll get this show on the road.”

  Before I can even ask who to call for bell service, my pink duffel lands directly in front of my flip-flopped feet. “Here you go.” Sean smiles down at me with those damn eye creases still firmly set and taunting. “Have fun.”

  My breath suddenly gets caught up in my chest, making it impossible to breathe. “You’re not really going to leave me here, are you?”

  “You’re in good hands,” he says, patting my head like I’m some orphaned puppy. “And this is what your dad wanted. You’ll be fine.”

  I open my mouth to protest the unfairness of this, but it’s too late. Sean is already back in the car, and within seconds, he’s disappearing down the gravely road while I’m left with a bunch of strangers, abandoned in a cloud of exhaust fumes and dust.

  “Ready?” Rainbow asks, suddenly right beside me.

  I sidestep away from her. Ready for what exactly? Braiding hemp bracelets by the moonlight? Sacrificing small farm animals?

  “As if I have a choice,” I say.

  Suddenly grateful for her little gift, I find one of the peppermints Carolyn gave me and pop it into my mouth, be
fore tucking the rest into the pocket of my duffel bag.

  “As I mentioned before, my name is Rainbow and I’m the director here at Camp I Can. I’ve been on staff for over fifteen years, and have been director for the past eleven. I’m the only fulltime, year-round employee. The rest of the staff is summers only—like you.”

  Oh God. I’m staff.

  “We have three two-week camp sessions every summer with different counselors for each session,” she continues. “This team has worked together for the last three years.”

  With the strap of my bag threatening to rip my shoulder out of its socket, we make our way to the line of identically dressed losers standing behind her.

  “This is Colin,” she says, stopping in front of an enormous black guy whose knees are about level with my forehead. “Colin is the supervisor for all of the physical activities. We have swimming, archery, hiking—”

  “Anything you can think of,” he interrupts, offering me his enormous hand and a glimpse of a shockingly big, Crest-whitened grill. “How you doin’, Cricket?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Just okay?”

  I shrug. As if one word could possibly describe how I’m really feeling.

  “Well, I’m sure we’ll have you feeling better than okay in no time,” he says and smiles so wide his face all but disappears.

  “Right.” I give my hand a quick shake so blood can return to my fingers.

  “And this is Fantine,” Rainbow says. She stops in front of a girl about my age who has skin the color of iced tea and a mane of curly copper hair that cascades across her toned shoulders. “Fantine supervises our arts and crafts activities, and she’s your bunkmate.”

  Bunkmate?

  “Hey, girl.” Fantine’s voice is soulful, sounding older than her years. It makes me think she could sing songs about being dumped. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you’ll get used to it in no time. And don’t worry, I hardly snore anymore.”

  I feel my cheeks warm as I realize Rainbow’s not kidding. I actually have to share a room with this girl. Which means I’ll probably have to share a bathroom, too. Holy shit . . .

  “Next, we have the troublemaker of the operation.” The entire group laughs at a joke I don’t get, just as Rainbow wraps her arm around a tiny man who could double as the Travelocity gnome if he had the right hat. “This is Sam. Sam is our head chef.”