Nineteen: Call Me Crazy, But I Kind of Like Civilization

What the hell is wrong with this place?

            Call me materialistic or whatever, but I’m not kidding around here. I will only say this once, so listen closely. If I keep dwelling on this, I might have a nervous breakdown.

            We have to freaking wash in a lake.

            Oh my God.

            Let’s be real here. It doesn’t bother me that much. In fact, I’m more than happy to see Blake topless in public, soaping himself. I’d be the first volunteer for that. But when you’re covered from head to toe in sticky brown mud, and probably being watched by fifty other kids from the seclusion of the trees, it’s kind of weird.

            Just a tad.

            Is it too much to ask to have a proper shower in the middle of the forest? I mean, it’s completely practical. I’m sure they could find some way of making it possible. And that would mean I could actually get this mud off me properly, without having to stand awkwardly, knee deep in lake water and neck deep in self-consciousness. Whilst wearing a bikini.

            Although it’s probably less embarrassing than falling on your face into a pile of mud.

            Oh my God, I’m such a loser.

            “Having fun in there?”

            Suddenly, I notice Tom standing on the bank, smirking amusedly at me. Immediately, my reflex is to snatch up my towel and desperately try to cover my overexposed body, which is still half covered in mud.

            “Tom, go away!”

            He just laughs, taking the opportunity to sit cross legged on the ground. “I’m fine here, actually. It’s got a nice view.”

            “You’re a pervert,” I retort, still hugging the towel close to me. “This is a form of sexual harassment, you know. It’s practically watching me while I’m showering.”

            “It’s not. You’re wearing a bikini.”

            “Go away!”

            “Do you want me to close my eyes?” Tom smirks.

            Seriously, what is wrong with him? This is even worse than the possibility of the kids watching me from the trees (which, let’s face it, they probably are). He is so irritating... I can feel my cheeks turning scarlet already, and I’m just standing there with a towel draped over me.

            “No,” I say, in the calmest tone I can produce. Then, my face creases and I make the decision to resort to begging. “Please, Tom. Go away.”

            He lies back on the ground, placing his flat palms over his eyes as to obscure his vision. “I’m not looking.”

            “I’m not moving until you go away.”

            “Then you’re going to be there for a while.”

            I groan internally. Is he actually serious about this? What’s wrong with going back to camp? I’m pretty sure watching me attempt to wash the mud off my arms and legs is a lot less interesting than whatever’s going on back there.

            No matter how much I protest, I’ve got a feeling he’s going to stay there, so it’s probably better just to give in. I quickly dunk my legs further under the water and remove the mud in record timing, before rushing over to the edge and throwing my (clean) clothes on.

            Tom sits up when I clear my throat.

            “You are such a pervert,” I say, folding my arms.

            “Aw, come on,” he responds, grinning at me. “Why’ve you got to use such a harsh word? I just like watching you squirm, is all.”

            “And how does that not make you a pervert?”

            “Because you love it.” The glimmer of mischief in his eye reappears.

            Suppressing the urge to scoff, I roll my eyes instead. “Keep dreaming.”

            Tom places his hands on the ground, pulling himself up into a standing position. At a height of around five foot ten, he’s only around three inches taller than me. Which is good, because it means I’m able to give him a playful glare more easily. “You know,” he says, smirking at our eye contact. “We should probably go back. I think they’re starting to put up tents, and you just have to show some of your expertise.”

            Damn, this tent thing better be easy.

            “Of course.” I force a smile that could rival even Cindy’s in the fakery department. “So... let’s go, then. You can lead the way.” I gesture for him to move first so I can follow.

            He obeys, starting in the direction of the trees as I fall into step beside him. After a couple of seconds, his amused tone breaks the silence.

            “Nice bikini, by the way.”

***

            Putting up a tent is not easy.

            Correction: putting up a tent is probably one of the hardest tasks in the entire world. It’s borderline impossible. And this unachievable assignment is only made worse by the fact the instructions are only useful to people of the Mandarin, German and Norwegian speaking world.

            What’s wrong with English?

            Apparently enough to be excluded from the pack of instructions.

            Our so-called tent (which looks more like a crumpled heap of material at the present moment) has just collapsed for about the hundredth time when Cindy approaches Savannah and I.

            “Are you guys having trouble?”

            “No,” I say quickly, frantically tugging at the tent in an attempt to make it look like we’re not completely clueless when it comes to this type of thing (which we are). “We’re fine, actually.”

            “I can help if you want,” Cindy says. “The girls and I have just finished.” She gestures with a tilt of her head to the opposite side of camp, where six perfect looking kids are milling about, soaking up each other’s perfectness. Standing next to them is a (you guessed it) perfectly constructed tent – tall, straight and just generally making our heap of canvas look even worse.

            “We’re fine,” I respond adamantly. I try to shoot Cindy a look that reads ‘please go away, can’t you tell you’re annoying us?’, but when she remains in close proximity to us, it’s apparent that the message hasn’t quite got across.

            “I’m sorry about earlier.” A mildly sympathetic look is thrown in my direction, although I’m pretty sure it’s tinged with undertones of amusement. Bitch. “That must’ve been so embarrassing for you. The woods can really get damp and slippery.”

            Well, thanks for telling me that now.

            “It’s fine.” More go away looks.

            “Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

            At this point, Savannah sees her opportunity and takes the reins of the conversation from me. This is probably a good idea, because Cindy’s mere presence is rapidly increasing the urge to punch her in the face. Or rip her hair out. Whichever... I’m not fussy.

            “We’re okay, actually,” Savannah tells her, in a kind but firm tone that I have yet to muster. “Just a minor problem with the instructions. But we’ve sorted it out now, haven’t we, Bailey?”

            An incoherent mumbling noise is a good enough response for Cindy.

            “Okay. Well, if you get stuck, just let me know.”

            A blinding flash of her teeth and a cringe-worthy wave later, she has left us in peace and is bounding off towards her perfectly behaved campers.

            The bitch.

            “Can she get any more annoying?” I roll my eyes at Savannah as we both struggle to find the (albeit foreign) page of instructions under the mess of fabric, formerly known as our tent. “If you get stuck, just let me know!” I mimic, in a high pitched imitation that makes my best friend crease into laughter.

            “I don’t know how Blake can cope with being around her.”

            “Me either.” I grimace. “Ugh... I don’t even want to think about it. Plus, if we don’t get this sorted out soon, she’ll be back to grace us with her expert help.” My hand gestures to the limp mess in front of us.

            “Good idea... now, where does this piece go?”

            I stare at the thin metal pole in her hand. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look the slightest bit different to the fifty other metal poles that are also required in the set up of the tent. Would it have killed them to differentiate them a little?

            “Uh... somewhere.”

            “Wow... well done.”

            I reach out and grab the page of instructions again, in the hope of me miraculously gaining the ability to read Mandarin in the last two minutes. Sadly, but unsurprisingly, the piece of paper still contains a meaningless mess of scribbles and symbols that my brain is obviously too primitive to decipher.

            Why do Chinese people have to complicate everything?

            If their language was simple, we’d be in a better situation right now.

            “Uh... let’s just rearrange a couple of poles and hope for the best.”

            Okay, my suggestion is pants, I’ll admit, but it’s a whole lot better than having to watch Little Miss Sugar Pants (yes, I am aware that my maturity is overwhelming) do it for us.

            Cue round two of expert tent constructing.

***

            The boys are planning something.

            I’m sure of it; they’re acting completely strangely. They could at least make it a little less obvious. I mean, sitting as close as possible to each other and whispering constantly isn’t the best way to conceal whatever they’re about to do.

            And quite frankly, I’m now totally paranoid.

            “Savannah, I’m scared.”

            This is what I say to my best friend as we sit on a log in front of the camp fire, plates of chili balanced on our knees. As I watch the orangey yellow flames dance in front of us, I can’t relax. My eyes keep flickering to the boys’ log, desperately searching their expressions for any signs that might give away their plan.

            Savannah looks at me, a sympathetic yet firm expression adorning her face. “Relax, Bailey.”

            “They’re planning something! I can see it written all over their faces.”

            Another glance over there only makes me feel worse. Savannah touches my arm soothingly. “Bailey. You’re going to be in the same tent as me all night. They won’t be able to do anything.”

            “You don’t know what they’re capable of!”

            “They’re eight.”

            “Jake beat me up!”

            Savannah goes to respond, but her face breaks into a smile as the memory returns to her. Ugh... just when that was beginning to fade into the background, I had to remind her of it. I’m now back to square one on the whole ‘living it down’ front.

            “Look,” she says, in a calm tone, “you’ll be fine. They’re hardly going to sneak into our tent, are they? Plus, everyone’s here. They won’t be able to do much without waking anyone up.”

            Even though they probably should, Savannah’s words don’t reassure me. She has a point, but then again she hasn’t spent the past two weeks with Jake’s crew. Even Alexander appears a bit shifty. Oh God... I hope he isn’t the latest recruit for the ‘gang’ that seems to have formed within the cabin. Coping with only three of them is like the ultimate test for me. But four?

            This is going to be one long night.

            Before I can continue the conversation with Savannah any further, two familiar guys sink onto the log beside us, similar plastic plates and flimsy disposable cutlery in their grip.

            “Hey, guys,” I greet them.

            Savannah immediately gets flustered as Danny takes a seat next to her, and the darkening color of her cheeks is a big giveaway of her feelings towards him. It suddenly strikes me that this is probably how I act around Blake.

            Just, you know, ten times more retarded. Because it’s me instead of Savannah.

            “You okay?” Tom asks, as he catches a glimpse of my expression. “You look kind of...”

            “Like I’m totally freaking out?”

            “Um, yeah...”

            I sigh, dropping my fork onto my plate, despite it still being half full with chili. Paranoia seems to be a fast and effective way to evaporate your appetite. “That’s probably because I am.”

            Tom frowns. “How come?”

            Hmm… how do I even begin to explain the fact that I am practically being hunted down by six (well, five, since I doubt Bobby is the mastermind behind all this) boisterous kids, all of whose minds are capable of coming up with the most twisted and disgusting pranks anyone could dream of?

            “Them.”

            I guess that my simple head gesture in the antagonists’ direction is enough, as Tom’s expression turns into one of understanding. “Oh.”

            “Is there any way to padlock a tent?” I ask miserably.

            “Maybe they’re not actually planning anything,” Savannah suggests, in an attempt to brighten my dull mood. “They might be doing it just to provoke a reaction. You know, acting like they’re going to do something, so you think they’re going to do something… but they’re not actually doing anything…”

            Her voice trails off as she confuses even herself.

            Helpful.

            “I’ve got an idea!” Danny says suddenly, startling the three of us with his outburst. Well, it’s not surprising, since he is usually preoccupied with staring wistfully at Savannah. God, I wish those two would just get together already. They both need Cupid’s arrows in their butt (apologies for the slightly disturbing mental image that I’m sure has just reared its head).

            “You have?”

            “Yeah!” he nods enthusiastically. “Why don’t you get Cindy to switch tents with you? Then she’ll end up getting pranked instead.”

            Hmm…

            “That’s actually not a bad idea,” Tom says. His facial expression shows me that he is rolling the idea around in his head, as if testing its suitability.

            It’s as if they’ve forgotten the one small drawback to Danny’s genius plan.

            “And how on Earth am I going to convince Cindy to switch tents with me?”

            As predicted, the three of them go into silence at my point. Danny’s idea was good in theory… but there is honestly no way Cindy would switch tents without a plausible reason for my proposition. The problem is coming up with something that fit into this category.

            “It’s got to be worth a shot, hasn’t it?” Savannah says. “Just… be as persuasive as you can.”

            Right… I’ve got a feeling that’s not going to be as easy as it sounds. Still, I’ve at least got to attempt to throw Cindy in the face of the inevitable prank. To save myself more than anything.

            But, you know, I’ll also get some satisfaction of seeing Cindy dripping in bug juice, or whatever repulsive substance the boys select.

            It’s kind of weird how a plan to save myself has now been turned on its head – its primary objective now being revenge on sugary sweet Cindy.

            And I can’t wait.

--------------------

I just realised this story is ending soon... there's 23 chapters. In a couple of weeks I won't have any stories to upload D: But I'm hoping to upload my new one soon. I haven't been writing a lot because I've got exams this week, but when they're over I'm going to try get back on track :D

P.S. what are your thoughts on the new cover? I hated the old one and I spent like an hour of my revision time making it :P But now I'm happy with it :D Do you like it?

Until next time! <3