Not that Dora was even remotely interested in Girl Scouts—she was far too mature for that. She was into cigarettes. And boys. She bragged that before she and her mother had moved back to Bisbee, she’d had a boyfriend who had “done it” with her and who had wanted to marry her. Dora claimed that was why her mother had left Tucson—to get her daughter away from the boyfriend, but Jenny didn’t think that was the truth. What boy in his right mind would ever want to marry someone like Dora?
“Guess,” Jenny muttered dolefully in answer to Cassie’s question.
Behind her thick glasses, Cassie Parks’ brown eyes widened in horror. “Not Dora,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“You’ve got it,” Jenny replied and then lapsed into miserable silence. She hadn’t wanted to come on the camping trip to begin with. It was bad enough that Grandma Brady had insisted she bring her stupid sit-upon, but having to spend the weekend with Dora Matthews was far worse than anything Jenny could have imagined. After two whole nights in a pup tent with stinky Dora Matthews, Jenny would be lucky if she didn’t stink, too.
Slowly the four vehicles wound up the dusty road that was little more than a rutted track. On either side of the road, the parched desert was spiked with spindly, foot-high blades of stiff, yellowed grass. Heat shimmered ahead and behind them, covering the road with visible rivers of mirage-fed water. At last the Tracker pulled off the narrow roadway and into a shallow, scrub-oak dotted basin. Kelly Martindale and Amber Summers leaped out of the Tracker and motioned the other vehicles to pull in behind them. By the time the motor home had maneuvered into place, all the girls had piled out of the minivans and were busy unloading. Dora, who had been accorded the honor of riding along with Mrs. Lambert in the motor home was the last to arrive. She hung back, letting the other girls do the work unpacking.
“All right, ladies,” Mrs. Lambert announced, as soon as the minivans drove away. “You all know who your partner is. Take tents from the luggage compartment under the motor home. Then choose your spots. We want all the tents up and organized well before dark. Let’s get going.”
Each pair of girls was required to erect their own tent. Of all the girls in the troop, Jenny had the most experience in that regard. While Mrs. Lambert and the two interns supervised the other girls, Jenny set about instructing Dora Matthews on how to help set up theirs.
When it came time to choose a place for the tent, Dora selected a spot that was some distance from the others. Rather than argue about it, Jenny simply shrugged in agreement. “Fine,” she muttered. Without much help from Dora, Jenny managed to lay the tent out properly, but when she asked Dora to hold the center support pole in place, Dora proved totally inept.
“Don’t you know how to do anything right?” Jenny demanded impatiently. “Here, hold it like this!”
Instead of holding the pole, Dora grabbed it away from Jenny and threw it as far as she could heave it. The pole landed in the dirt and stuck at an angle like a spear.
“If you’re so smart, Jennifer Brady, you can do it yourself.” With that, Dora stalked away.
“Wait a minute,” Mrs. Lambert said, picking up the pole and walking toward the still unraised tent. “What seems to be the problem, girls?”
“Miss Know It All here thinks I’m stupid,” Dora complained. “And she keeps telling me what to do. That’s all right. If she’s so smart, she can have the stupid tent all to herself. I’ll sleep outside.”
“Calm down, Dora,” Mrs. Lambert said reasonably. “These aren’t called two-man tents just because they hold two people. It also takes two people working together to put them up. Now come over here and help.”
Dora crossed her arms and shook her head. “No,” she said.
“Look here, Dora,” Mrs. Lambert cajoled. “The only reason Jenny knows so much more about this than you do is that she and her dad used to go camping together sometimes. Isn’t that right, Jenny?”
Jenny thought about her father often, but hearing other people talk about him always brought the hurt of his death back with an intensity that made her throat ache. Jenny bit her lower lip. She nodded but said nothing.
“So come over here and help, Dora,” Mrs. Lambert continued. “That way, the next time, you’ll know what to do.”
“I don’t want to know how to pitch a tent,” Dora stormed. “Why should I? Who needs to learn to pitch tents anyway? These days people live in houses not tents.”
Rather than waste any more time in useless discussion, Mrs. Lambert turned to Jenny. “Never mind. Here, Jenny. Let me help. We’ll have this up in no time. Besides, we’re due at the evening campfire in twenty minutes.”
“Campfire!” Jenny exclaimed. “It’s too hot for a campfire. And it isn’t even dark.”
“In this case, campfire is only a figure of speech. With the desert so dry, it’s far too dangerous to have one even if there aren’t any official restrictions here. We won’t be having a fire at all. I brought along a battery-powered lantern to use instead. When it comes time for storytelling, we can sit around that.”
“Storytelling is for little kids,” Dora grumbled. “Who needs it?”