Wendell peeked over his shoulder, the microphone in his hand drooping slightly. “Now, everyone. Hey, bud! Do you mud?!”
Leigh arched an eyebrow at me and mouthed, “Muck yes?” as the rest of the campers called back in various degrees of enthusiasm.
“That’s right!” Wendell called. He reached behind himself and yanked open the door of the dining hall. “And now, we feast!”
*
“Originally, Eugene was called Skinner’s Mudhole,” Leigh explained, as we helped ourselves to the buffet of sandwich ingredients. “Feast” had definitely been an overstatement. It was more like someone had robbed a Subway for its sweatiest meats and veggies. “So Rayevich’s mascot is a mud monster. It looks kind of like a golem.”
“That explains why they don’t have any sports teams here,” I said, heaping shredded chicken onto my plate. It was the only thing that looked like it might have been carved from a real animal. “It’d be hell of awkward to have to dress someone up in a mud monster mascot costume.”
“‘Hell of,’” Leigh hummed, as though savoring the taste of the words. She cocked her head at me. “A deconstructed form of the colloquial ‘hella’?”
“I guess?” I frowned. “I’ve never really thought about it.”
“You don’t have to. I was just trying it on.” She reached for a pair of tongs and threw a heap of sprouts onto her plate, mostly missing her slices of whole wheat. “Tell me if I end up using it wrong?”
“Will do.”
The line slowed as we approached the condiments table and the people up ahead started going to town on a variety of spicy mustards. Nibbling on a piece of chicken, I took in the rest of the dining hall. It was somewhere between Hogwarts and a ski lodge. Instead of the folding tables that populated my school’s cafeteria, Rayevich had long hardwood tables with low polished benches that matched the exposed beams in the ceiling. The counselors had all been granted dibs on lunch and sat at the farthest table in front of a giant picture window. Wendell Cheeseman seemed to be attempting conversation with the girl from Bryn Mawr, who was edging closer and closer to a guy in an MIT sweatshirt.
A cluster of girls vacated the condiments table and the line inched forward. The hipster ghost was hovering near the drinks table. There was no plate in his hands and he didn’t appear to have any interest in helping himself to the bounty of bottled water and organic sodas beside him. Leigh followed my gaze and bounced on her toes.
“Oh,” she breathed. “A ghost at the sandwich feast. How very Shakespearean.”
John the Hipster Ghost watched a couple of guys grab water bottles next to him. At least, I thought he was watching them. It was hard to tell. His hair mostly hid his eyes from view.
“He isn’t eating,” I said.
Leigh’s face scrunched in thought. “And no one else seems to be noticing him. The only logical test is to check for corporeality.” She thrust her plate at me. “Hummus, if they have it, please. Otherwise, light mayo!”
“Wait, what?” I squawked at her back, staggering to keep hold of both of the plates as the line started moving again. “Light in calories or quantity?”
I didn’t get a reply.
It was impossible to lose track of Leigh in the crowd. Her hair operated as her own personal follow spot, keeping the rest of her in focus as she wove between other campers. She squeezed between two people at the beverage table and palmed a can of soda, holding it low against her leg. Her wrist flicked almost imperceptibly as she skirted the table. Before I could think to shout to her, she was standing in front of the ghost and cracking the tab.
It was like watching a bomb go off. Everyone within range dove for cover. Heads turned all over the room as Leigh screamed. The cola splatter had covered her face and shirt. She thrust the can at John the Hipster Ghost as she swept liquid off her cheeks. The counselors were on their feet, rushing around the tables toward her. John was saying something to her. She pressed her hand to his chest, shaking her head and gibbering at him.
The Perfect Nerd Girl counselor reached them with a wad of napkins in her hand. John took one to dab his face. He had to comb his hair back to reach the drops caught in his thick eyebrows. As one of the girls from Rayevich swept Leigh toward the bathroom, the Perfect Nerd Girl patted the top of John’s head. He jerked away from her, swatting her hand away. He shook his hair back into place and glanced across the room. His eyes accidentally caught mine and held. His lips curved into a sheepish smile.
Did Ever Lawrence smile back at strange hipsters? Elliot Gabaroche wouldn’t have. If I’d been in the cafeteria at home, I would have looked away before one of my friends started catcalling to the guy making eyes at me. For some reason, they believed that humiliation was the gateway to romance.
But Ever Lawrence didn’t have a crew of nosy loudmouths.
I smiled back at him.
The person behind me nudged my elbow and I stumbled to take the open space at the condiment table. I dressed my own sandwich in a daze and found hummus for Leigh. I decided against getting a drink, since the table was being sopped up by counselors. The Perfect Nerd Girl was leading John toward the grown-up table. Wendell Cheeseman forced a barking laugh as he encouraged everyone to go back to their lunches by shouting, “Mangia, mangia!”
I found an unpopulated corner of the room and sat down. The counselor with the box braids appeared with a WET FLOOR sign and started navigating people around the spill. Lumberjack Beard wheeled a yellow mop bucket out of the kitchen, his face contorted in disgust.
Leigh skipped out of the bathroom and collapsed across from me at the table. Drops of water clung to her hair. She beamed at me as she took a bite of her sandwich.
“That was hell of effective,” she said. “It would have been better if they bought brand-name drinks. Coke is the most carbonated soda on the market.” She scowled at her sandwich. “This hummus is way too salty to be brand name. Who buys generic hummus?”
“So,” I said, taking in her dripping hair and stained clothes. “You’re an insane person.”
“Don’t be ableist. I already told you, Ever, I’m awkward.” She took another bite of her sandwich. “And awkward people can get away with anything. No one’s going to think, Oh, she shook up that soda. They’re going to say, Oh, that poor weird girl had an accident. And now they’ll discount everything else I do all summer. Which will be useful to us when we enter the Melee. People want you to be one thing. If I’m weird, then people will forget that I’m also a genius who’s here to win.”