Chapter Twenty-Eight: Screaming and Shouting

Mrs. Higgins eyed David suspiciously all through breakfast, but he just smiled back at her. She must have known that he was up to something, but the petition wasn't ready to go yet, and he wasn't going to give anything away.

Jack had a copy of the petition now (laboriously hand copied, since the only copier at camp was in the office, and there was no way to sneak something like that past Denton) and had gotten half the counselors to sign it; the Delancy brothers were refusing, and a few other counselors weren't so sure, but Jack's charisma was going into overdrive, and David realized he was impossible to resist when he got going.

Not every single camper had signed, either, especially not the younger ones; but all of the seniors and juniors had agreed to sign and participate. And if peer pressure worked the way health teachers always tried to convince students it did in anti-smoking lectures, that should nicely shut up everyone else.

But Mrs. Higgins didn't take her steely gaze off of him for a moment, and David found himself nervous as the meal finally let out.

The morning was laborious--David couldn't concentrate in the theater and Medda lectured him in disgust. But she also winked at him, and David remembered Jack had charmed her into signing the petition, too.

He eventually gave up and went to archery, grimacing at the thought of going through Chauncey's safety lecture again, but it was outdoors and he could see the back porch of Racetrack's house from the range. Racetrack was sitting on his porch, as David knew he would be, and he waved.

David waved back and gave him a quick thumbs up, before Sneakers thrust a bow into his hands. "You got the safety lecture, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Good. Chauncey's off today and I have to keep the kids under control. Have fun."

"I don't know what I'm doing."

Sneakers demonstrated quickly, handed David an arrow, and hurried off to chase a group of seven-year-olds. So when David hadn't killed himself by lunch, he was impressed, especially given he was jumpy to begin with.

A hush fell over the group in front of the dining hall when David approached. He had one copy of the petition with him; Hotshot had the copy that had been circulated among the girls and handed it to him; Jack had his own copy with the counselor signatures. As Jack slipped it into David's hand he murmured, "You sure you're ready for this?"

"I'd better be."

"Stay strong." He nodded towards the dining hall door, which Mrs. Higgins pushed open, and she stared out at the group.

"No one is singing," she noted dryly.

David, no longer smiling at her jovially, walked up the steps and handed her the three sheets of paper which were covered in scrawled signatures. He stood silently as she read the first and glanced at the second two.

"Do you believe I can be blackmailed?" she demanded

David stared back at her silently.

"And you mean this as a serious protest?"

He said nothing.

"Come inside for lunch, all of you," she said, clearly going out of her way to keep a reign on her temper, and David wondered just how deeply this could cut her. She was supposed to be in charge and have close to absolute control over the camp, but now she had next to no power to stop their protest.

So that, he realized, was why she didn't lecture him in front of everyone else. He'd caught on that she had no control, but that didn't mean the rest of the camp had, and she wanted to lose as little face as possible.

The meal was awkward. Mrs. Higgins spoke to her husband, who answered, but mostly they were asking for dishes to be passed. A few counselors tried to convince their campers to gab, but the campers were steadfast; and like David had predicted, even the younger ones who didn't fully understand, or the few who had chosen not to sign, were cowed into keeping quiet by the overwhelming silence.

Announcements happened as usual, though the counselors who had to give them sounded awkward and hurried through everything they said.

When Mrs. Higgins excused the meal, she asked for David to wait and talk to her. He raised an eyebrow and waited, though he didn't plan to talk. Jack patted his shoulder reassuringly as he walked by.

"So this is your brilliant plan?" she scoffed.

He shrugged.

"And you really think that these," she shook the signed petitions he'd handed her, "will convince me to change my own parenting methods?"

He shrugged again.

"Just you wait, Mr. Jacobs. I am more stubborn than any sixteen-year-old, even my own son." She raised an eyebrow. "And I think, even more stubborn than you."

He smiled at her. We'll see, he thought.

*

"Hey, Dave? Can I, uh, talk to you?" Blink asked, as they walked into the cabin after dinner--their second silent meal.

"Sure. What's up?"

"I just..." He sighed. "I dunno. Usually I'd ask Race about this kind of stuff, he knows about people, you know? But I guess you're pretty good with that stuff, too."

"I don't know about that," David said hesitantly. He'd never thought of himself as a people person. He was a cynic, he didn't even like people.

Well. He didn't like most people. The ones at camp he didn't mind so much.

"I just.. Kinda need help. I mean, you know about me and Smurf, right?"

"Not really, no."

Blink sighed and sat down on his bed. "Well... it's like this," he said, and launched into an explanation of everything that had happened with Smurf and Trixie and the doll. "The thing is," he finished up, "I just feel... rotten about it. I didn't mean for it to be such a big deal, and I don't know how to apologize."

"Well..." David said hesitantly, not sure quite what to say. He was glad to finally know what had happened that had changed Smurf and Blink so much, but he really didn't know what to do. "You tried to clean the doll off, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you did apologize, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Then there's not really anything else you can do."

"But she's still mad at me!"

"I guess she has a right to be," David said. "But the thing is, you did everything you could, and you offered to make it up to her, but she wouldn't let you. Right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then there's nothing you can do. If she tells you something you can do to make it up to her, you should; but if she hasn't done that yet, she probably won't. So... you've done everything you can, and you don't have to feel bad about it anymore."

"I don't?" Blink asked hesitantly.

"You're really sorry and you told her, you tried to fix what you broke..." He shrugged. "After you do everything you can, there's no point in being upset anymore."

"You really think so?"

"I... I guess." David actually had no idea, but Blink looked so uncomfortable and like he'd been beating himself up over it for almost two weeks; and since Smurf obviously wasn't going to forgive him, it probably wasn't worth it. Especially not if she'd hated him to begin with.

"Does that mean I can go back to ignoring her?"

"Sure."

Blink grinned widely. "Thanks, Dave. That's a load off my back."

David smiled back at him, hoping that things would get back to normal and he hadn't just somehow made everything worse.

*

"Smurf, come on. You have to talk to him."

"I do not," Smurf snapped, as she, Trixie and Arrow walked back towards their cabin.

"You do," Arrow said. "Look, he's been killing himself over this. And you told him all about your grandmother and it was a lie."

"Yeah, but..." She trailed off. There was really no way to defend against that. "He's such a jerk, I hate him."

"Yeah, yeah. You know I'm right."

"Yeah, but I hate him," Smurf groaned.

"Look." Trixie pointed up towards the Higgins house.

Racetrack was sitting on the back porch in a lawn chair, a book held in one hand, though he was watching the girls filter into their cabins. Arrow waved and he waved back.

"That's creepy," Trixie said. "He's been there for two days. Do you think he can see inside our bunk?"

"I don't want to think about that. Let's go inside." Arrow glanced up at him again, and then hurried into their cabin. Smurf collapsed down on to the mess of her bed and Arrow sat down next to her. "So you'll talk to him?"

"I guess." She made a face. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, you have to."

"Fine. But I hate you, too."

"No you don't. And you don't hate Blink either, so let him off the hook."

"I do so."

"Uh huh." Arrow glanced over at Trixie, who shrugged. They'd discussed their suspicions about Smurf's alleged hatred of Blink, but Smurf had blown off every attempt Arrow had made to ask her about it. Which made Arrow even more suspicious.

It would certainly make her last summer at camp eventful, either way.

*

After a silent breakfast--not that much a change from the usual, as breakfast was always the most subdued meal--Smurf slowly wound her way down towards the sailing docks. She knew Blink would be at sailing, and she didn't want to talk to him; but she also knew that Arrow was right and she had to come clean. She'd been feeling a little guilty about it anyway, and just really didn't want to do what she knew was right.

Dutchy and Irish were both already at the docks, along with a group of little kids. Blink hadn't arrived yet, but he showed up a minute after she sat down to wait.

"Hey," he said, to her surprise. She hadn't expected him to say anything to her.

"Hey," she answered suspiciously.

"Can I sit?"

She nodded and gestured at the sand next to her. He sat down. "Look, Blink--" she started, but he interrupted her.

"This is going to sound kind of mean but I'm going to say it anyway. I said I was sorry to you, like, fifteen times now and I felt really bad. But since you keep telling me there's nothing else I can do... I'm going to stop worrying about it now and go back to normal and stop feeling bad. So I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry but I'm done being guilty now."

She stared at him for a second, then nodded. "Fine," she said. "I'm over it anyway."

"Good."

"Good."

"Fine."

She glared at him. "Besides, I don't want you to be nice to me, so that when I beat you in this session's race, it'll be even sweeter."

"We'll see about that," he answered.

He got up to go claim one of the sailboats, and Smurf let out a deep breath. Letting him off the hook without having to confess was perfect, and now life could go back to normal. No more fighting with Trixie, no more Arrow scolding her, and no more Blink acting weird.

Now if only they could get Racetrack back, the summer would be almost perfect.

*

By lunch that day, the strain was beginning to show. Everyone had kept up the silence pretty well, but there were a few murmurs at tables, always followed quickly by a righteous, "Shh!" David was worried that Mrs. Higgins was catching on to how hard it was to keep the silence strike together, but when he really examined her at meals, she didn't seem to be doing much better.

She glowered around the room and meals ended as quickly as she could get them to; there were nearly no announcements, and those were rushed and stuttered. Mrs. Higgins looked angry and stabbed at her food harshly. All David could do was hope that her tolerance would go before the campers' resolve.

Dinner was even worse than lunch. It was a lovely evening and she'd come up with a trick: instead of dinner in the dining hall, they were having a cook out. And once everyone got outside and could spread out, it was almost impossible to keep quiet. David could hear quiet conversations at the outskirts of where the campers were gathered, but not too many; whenever Mrs. Higgins walked by, the hushed immediately and people would look guiltily at David.

It was clever, but not good enough. The strike held together for its fifth meal, and Mrs. Higgins held together too.

What no one noticed was that Mr. Higgins was not coping nearly as well as his wife.

After breakfast the next day (day three--meal six) he caught up with David, who was walking towards his cabin.

"David, we should talk," he said.

David raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything.

"It's after the meal, you can talk," he repeated.

David shrugged. Technically that was true, but he was trying to make a point.

"Look, David, I don't like quiet. If I liked quiet, I wouldn't have had eight kids. This is the first time in thirty years I've had quiet, and it's making me crazy." He ran a hand through his dark red hair and wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead. "Call this off, it's ridiculous."

David shook his head no.

"You don't think this is ridiculous, or you won't call it off?"

David smiled. Both. But he didn't have to say it out loud.

"Well, I'll tell you that this is ridiculous. You're interfering in a family matter, and..." He groaned. "And when Maria's upset, things are no fun at home, for Tony or for me."

David shrugged.

"Look. Talk to me. Tell me why it is you think Tony should get another chance. My wife is very, very stubborn and she'll hold out until long after I crack, and I want to get everyone out of this with egos and sanity in tact."

David hesitated, and Mr. Higgins could see that he was tempted.

"If you can convince me, I'll try and convince my wife. That's the best offer you're going to get. So... take it or leave it, but do it now."

He waited, and finally David nodded. "It just doesn't seem fair that he doesn't even get to defend himself when something happens. He's not a counselor here, but he's not a camper, either, so he gets all sort of responsibility dumped on him. He doesn't even get a say in whether or not he wants it, and when he tries to say anything about it... he gets grounded. That's not fair."

"Sometimes life isn't fair," Mr. Higgins said. "He's our youngest son; we've had some practice at this."

"But you don't treat him the same way you treat the rest of your kids."

Mr. Higgins sighed. "I guess we don't always, no. We're trying not to make the same mistakes again."

"Maybe you haven't," David said. "Maybe you've made so few mistakes that he's a really good kid, and doesn't deserve such a ridiculously extreme punishment."

"Good kids don't fight with their parents."

"Good kids fight with their parents all the time," David said. "Because they are good kids, they recognize when something's unfair. Maybe all they want is for their parents to realize they have something to say and take it seriously."

"I should really believe that my sixteen-year-old son has more to say about parenting than I do?"

"He's got more to say about being a sixteen-year-old than you do," David said. "And anyway, he's sixteen, and if he doesn't have anything worthwhile to say, well, who's fault is that?"

Mr. Higgins shook his head. "You ever considered becoming a lawyer?"

"Not really."

"You might want to." He sighed. "You'd be good at it."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment."

"Who says I meant it to be?"

"Will you talk to your wife?"

He nodded. "I'll see what I can do. No promises. Just you consider shutting this down."

"I'll consider it when Racetrack is back at camp."

"I figured. Well... See you at dinner."

David nodded, and they parted ways. He crossed his fingers and hoped that Mr. Higgins would have some luck.

*

One advantage to being grounded away from camp--the only one Racetrack could think of--was that he no longer had to eat the camp food. Of course, now he had to eat his own cooking, but it was still much better than what came out of the camp's kitchen.

He was just finishing up a dinner of overcooked pasta and unfrozen meatballs when dinner let out, and campers began to head back towards their bunks. He saw everyone on the main paths, but the boys' bunks were out of site. He watched the girls all head inside, a few shooting him quick glances, and he sighed loudly. He was bored.

His parents wound their way up through camp slowly. When they arrived at the house, they were talking, which he took to be a good sign--they'd been yelling earlier. He hadn't been able understand what they were yelling from his perch on the porch, and didn't dare try and sneak closer for fear of being caught eavesdropping. (He wasn't quite sure what his mother would do to him, as he already had a life sentence, but he was positive she'd come up with something.) But now they'd calmed down enough that they were talking, not yelling. He couldn't hear that, either.

A minute later, the back porch door slid open. He heard them both step out on to the porch and no one said anything for a minute. "Hey, son," his dad finally said. "You mind if your mom and I sit down for awhile?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, not looking back at them. He heard his dad pull up a porch chair, and hesitantly his mother did too.

"I want to talk to you, Anthony," his mother said sharply.

He glanced over at her. "So talk," he said, just as sharply. He knew better than to take that tone--as his mother always said--but he was still angry at her and didn't want to apologize for it.

"I'll thank you not to take--"

"That tone, I know," he said. "But you're the one who stopped talking to me for three days."

"Anthony--"

"Deep breaths," his dad interrupted. He glanced over at Racetrack. "I'm here to keep everyone calm. But you know you have to be polite to your mother."

"Yeah," he muttered, but was inwardly pleased. His father was mediating, which meant that somehow he'd talked sense into his mother. "So what do you want to talk to me about?" he added, giving in when she didn't say anything.

"Your attitude."

"I don't think it's that bad," he said.

"I don't appreciate it when my children talk back to me. And I don't appreciate your sarcasm."

He rolled his eyes. "Anything else?"

"That, right there," she snapped. "I'm your mother, show some respect."

His father cleared his throat. "Maria, he's got a right to be... upset," he said cautiously. Race almost snorted; not even his father wanted to risk his mother's rage.

"I will not tolerate--"

"Why don't you let the kid make his case?" his father asked.

Mrs. Higgins glowered, but nodded at Racetrack.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked. "I do everything you tell me, even when it's unfair, and you still get pissed of when I even say anything."

"And what precisely do you think is so unfair?" his mother asked icily.

Racetrack ignored her tone. "All the work I do around camp--I taught riding when Jack was sick and I helped move all the new capers in and I might a well work here--"

"So what's wrong with expecting you to do an honest day's work?"

"That you told me I was at camp!" he half-yelled. "I don't mind doing the work, but you never say please or thank you or even ask, you just assume I have nothing better to do than whatever it is you want me to do at the moment, not just at camp, but all the time! You treat me like your servant and when I get sick of it you freak out!"

By the time Mrs. Higgins had opened her mouth to answered, Mr. Higgins had a firm hand on her shoulder. "That's a little extreme, Tony," he said.

"It's just frustrating," he said. "She never listens to a word I say, never. It doesn't matter what I want, and as soon as I want something she doesn't, I'm grounded. That's what's not fair."

"That's not true--"

"Maria," Mr. Higgins said gently. "You said you'd listen to him, and he says he wants you to listen."

She scowled, looking like one of the campers for a moment. "I'm listening," she said. "What is it you want to say?"

He faltered. He'd had so much to say to her and was so angry, but now couldn't figure out what to say. She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a little kid anymore," he said finally. "I don't mind working sometimes but this is my last summer with all my friends here and I want to goof off, too."

She nodded a little.

"And just... I'm sixteen, Mom. You treat me like you did when I was a kid, and you were never this strict with any of my brothers. I know I'm the youngest, but I'm not a baby."

"Yes, you are," she said. "You're my baby, my last baby."

"I know I'm the youngest, but... I'm sixteen. When Dan was sixteen you caught him drinking and playing poker at a party where there were no parents, and he was only grounded for two weeks. I tell you I'll do what you want me to but I'm angry about it, and I'm grounded indefinitely. It's not fair."

"I suppose it's not. But if I can stop you from going to that party to begin with, then how is it wrong?"

"I wouldn't go to that party! I'm not Dan or Paul or Mark or... any of them. You know I'm not going to go get wasted somewhere. You should trust me, give me a little credit. What have I ever done to make you think I'm not trustworthy?"

"I don't recall offhand, but I'm sure I could ask your bookie," she answered.

"That was three years ago."

"And if you were so precocious at thirteen--"

"I learned my lesson," he said. "I messed up once and you're still punishing me for it. That's not fair either."

She had no answer for that, and he had nothing to say either. They just lapsed into silence. Mr. Higgins let out a deep breath. "So, let's work this out," he said. "So you two can figure out how to talk before you have another meltdown..."

*

David glanced at the steam rising from his cup off coffee watched the card game going on in front of him. He didn't really know how to play, but with Racetrack out of the loop, Spot was living it up as the camp's card shark. He'd managed to rope Blink, Mush, Ian and Skittery into a game of poker. Watching it was amusing, despite the foregone outcome. It really wasn't fair--Mush had a poker face, but no card sense, where Blink had neither. Ian wasn't too bad, but Blink was a bad influence and he couldn't keep his face straight when he had a good hand. Skittery was the closest contender, since he looked perpetually bored regardless of his hand, and he wasn't bad at cards, but he wasn't as good as Spot.

"So you think they'll cave soon, Mouth?" Skittery asked, sounding bored.

"Dunno," David said. "Mrs. Higgins is stubborn."

"No kidding."

"Mr. Higgins wants this over, though. He said he'd talk to her."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They lapsed into silence as Spot won another hand. "This is ridiculous. Mouth, you want it?"

"I think I'm okay just watching."

"Lame," Ian declared, and slid down on the bench to make room in the poker game. "Come on, we'll teach you how and Spot'll go easy on you for a round."

"You might even have beginner's luck," Skittery said. "Come on."

David hesitated. "I really don't think I'll be very good--"

"You can't be worse than Blink," Mush observed.

"Hey!"

"Come on," Spot said. "It ain't hard, just don't giggle every time you have a pair."

"I don't giggle," Blink said defensively.

David laughed a little and slid down the bench abandoning his coffee to become part of the group. "So how do you play?"

"Well--"

"I really think I'm the most qualified to teach that, hm?" a voice interrupted.

The whole group turned and stared. Racetrack was sitting on the table behind David, watching them. He'd come in quietly and motioned to everyone else to keep quiet about it, and the poker players gaped.

"Are you--are you back?" David finally demanded.

"Yeah, I hear I have you to thank for that."

"Well, everyone, really," David said, and Race grinned and held out a hand. David stood up to shake it, and Racetrack gave him a quick pat on the back.

"Now, what was that about teaching Mouth to play cards?" he asked, sitting down at the table. "And more importantly, how many toothpicks are you planning to lose tonight, Conlon?"

[End Chapter Twenty-Eight]
Chapter 29: Caterpillars and Butterflies