Girl Trouble. Kerry Cohen

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СКАЧАТЬ Come stand by me.” But Anastasia leaned against Nina.

      We slept twenty girls to a cabin. Rows and rows of bunks, like in an asylum, lined the musty room. Nina and Anastasia had already claimed each other as bunkmates, so I smiled at a small girl with dark eyes and frizzy hair and threw my duffel on the lower bunk.

      “Do you know Anastasia?” she asked in a small voice.

      I shook my head. “Nina’s my best friend,” I told her. “And Nina knows her.”

      “Oh.” I saw the confusion in her face as she watched Nina and Anastasia across the room, where Anastasia was French braiding Nina’s hair.

      During dinner we stood in line to get trays of rice and hot dogs and pale iceberg-lettuce salads with tiny strips of carrot. We sat at the long wooden tables. My hair was in a ponytail and Anastasia leaned close, peering into my face.

      “What?” I said.

      “What is that?”

      “What?” I tried to cover whatever she saw with my hands. I looked at Nina, but she was busy eating, trying to look like she hadn’t heard a thing.

      “Do you have a hair coming out of your chin?”

      “No!” But later, I examined my chin in the cloudy mirror of the bathroom and found an eyebrow hair that had fallen and gotten stuck there. I considered telling Anastasia, to even save the little hair, but I thought better of it.

      The next day, we lined up at the swimming pool. I could feel the way my thighs pressed against each other. Anastasia, like Nina, was sleek and lovely, like the horses we could see grazing in a pasture across the way. The other girls admired Nina’s braid. They begged Anastasia to do theirs next.

      We splashed into the water, one at a time, to reveal our swimming skills so we could join the appropriate instructor. I was given a tag with a yellow sticker to signify I was in the lowest group. The best, like Anastasia, got blue stickers. Intermediate got red. Yellow stayed, while red and blue got to move on to crafts. Their instruction would be later. I watched as Nina and Anastasia walked off together, arm in arm, a gaggle of girls in their wake. Our yellow group got kickboards and traveled up and down the length of the sparkling pool kicking and blowing bubbles.

      When we got out an hour later, one of the younger counselors approached me.

      “You’re burned,” she said.

      I looked at her, confused.

      “Your back,” she said. “It’s all red.”

      I pressed my shoulder and watched as the angry pink turned to white, then back to pink.

      “Come with me,” she said. “I’m taking this one,” she called to the other counselors.

      I followed her across the way, near where the horses were, into a small shack. She turned me around, clucking and shaking her head.

      “I’m a CIT,” she told me, which meant she was fourteen years old, a counselor-in-training. She said, “You poor thing.” I stood still as she went into a cabinet and then squeezed white cream from a tube. Her fingers were light on my back as she rubbed it in. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to cry. “Does it hurt?”

      I nodded, afraid to speak. She was so pretty, with feathered black hair and a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were lined with blue and she wore heavy mascara. She smiled at me, and as soon as our eyes met the tears came. She pulled me into a hug and I rested my head against her shoulder.

      “It’s okay,” she said. “Whatever it is, I promise it will be okay.”

      I closed my eyes.

      “Can I stay with you?” I asked.

      She searched my face, concerned. “For a little while.” She unfolded chairs for us and we sat facing outside toward the horses. She watched them intently.

      “Do you ride?” I asked.

      Her face lit up. “Yeah. Do you?”

      I shrugged. “I’ve never tried.”

      “I can teach you.”

      “I’d love that.”

      She turned to look at me. “What bunk are you in?”

      I told her.

      “You guys have lessons Thursdays.”

      I shook my head, imagining Anastasia here, ruining this, pulling the CIT’s attention from me. “I don’t want to have lessons with everyone else.”

      She cocked her head and laughed. “Not sure we can do private lessons.”

      “I don’t want to do anything with them,” I said too quickly.

      She watched me for a moment. “It gets better,” she said. “It does.”

      When I didn’t say anything, she added, “If things get really bad you can come hang out with me.”

      Later, the CIT walked me back to the bunk. They were all there, Anastasia and Nina, the girl with the frizzy hair. They all looked up when I walked in. I tried to meet Nina’s eyes, but she looked away.

      In the cafeteria, I didn’t bother trying to sit with Nina anymore. Nina was gone, long long gone. She laughed and whispered with Anastasia and their followers. I sat with the CIT who’d been so nice to me, or with the frizzy-haired girl.

      One time after lunch I saw Nina outside the dining hall barn vomiting up the red Jell-O we’d had for dessert. She cried, and someone rushed inside to get a counselor. Anastasia came right out, her best friend, there for her. The counselor gestured to everyone to go back inside, to go about their days. I did exactly that. I didn’t even look at Nina. I didn’t care anymore. I wouldn’t. She wasn’t mine to care about.

      I don’t know how long I’d been at the camp. All I know is that it hadn’t been that long—maybe a week, maybe two—when I woke in the morning to the feel of something wet and slimy on my pillow. I blinked, confused, staring at the white mess. After a moment I realized the girls had put shaving cream on my face after I fell asleep. I sat up, furious, humiliated. A few of the girls turned to look and laugh. I felt my face grow hot. I reached for a towel and scrubbed, and I yanked my sheets off the cot.

      “What happened?” I heard Anastasia’s voice through the laughter. “Did you forget to wash off the shaving cream after shaving your beard?” More laughter.

      Tears pressed into my eyes. “Screw you, Anastasia.”

      “Come on.” Her voice was close now. She stood right next to me. “We just had a little fun.”

      I didn’t say anything. I gathered my sheets and the towel and headed for the door.

      “You’re going to tattle?” Anastasia yelled after me. “Like a little baby?” But I was crying too hard to respond.

      “Kerry.” СКАЧАТЬ