Rumours drifted around camp that morning like a stray cobweb caught in a summer draft. I'd been at Drassil long enough to know that entangled in the sticky web of drama was a holiday's worth of heart ache and scandal. And that was if you were lucky.
From what I could tell, the gossip was about some monster? Or was it a miracle? It was about a kidnapping to be sure. Or a "kid gone missing"?
Under the twisted branches of my ash tree, the most I could do was latch onto loose information floating around whilst I flipped through my sketch book. After all, I didn't want to draw attention to myself twice in a row.
A small part of me longed to dive into the chaos and to have fun for once in my sorry life, but a much larger and saner part told me not to. Think of the consequences, it said. Think of the implications and the repercussions and all the other nouns from the back of the thesaurus that explained away my feelings.
But nothing could explain how I felt about Ramona.
I'd tried to decipher her, believe you me. And for a while, I thought I had it all figured out.
In the beginning, I was convinced I was curious. A restless night of tossing and turning under hospital bedsheets one seam away from being plastic didn't mean anything. However, I must admit it was concerning when I found myself longing for Matrons morning shrieks.
A mountain of discarded outfits and an empty plate assured me I just was nervous. (About art class, obviously. What else did I have to be nervous about?)
And a sketch book's worth of absent-minded scribbles meant I was distracted. My marigolds doodles drooped disappointedly. Or maybe that was just the eye bags talking.
But once again, Ramona had me stumped. I sighed, clutching my pencil as I brushed a stray leaf off my page. Why couldn't she just ignore me like everybody else? Last time I checked, waving at girls outside your friend group wasn't going to make your life easier. It certainly was making it harder for me.
After all, no amount of twelve letter words could possibly explain why I waved back.
"And it all happened on the other side of the island!" Right on que, a mass of red tinted black curls popped up from the rim of my sketch book. I tilted the hardback down to get a better look. "Isn't that so interesting? It's like a real-life urban legend!"
Ashely entered my peripheral vision, clique in tow. Everything about her was perfect, from the pastel blue shadows in her crumpled white skirt to the laces of gold in her black braids and her perfectly clear hazelnut skin... It was a shame that her personality wasn't so picturesque.
"Interesting? Oh please. I bet it's just another story made by Camp counsellors to scare us. They didn't even make it believable this time – how old do they think we are, five?"
I was staring. Again. I ripped my eyes from the scene, and curled up, hat partially blocking my view. I hadn't had to do that in a while; there was no need. I would be surprised if she could even remember my name.
"I liked it. Does that make me five?"
"Of course not! It makes you an idiot." A chuckle rippled through the crowd, and an unbearable smirk spread on Ashely's face, showing her annoyingly perfect teeth. I fancied knocking them out of her mouth right there, but no amount of furious scribbles could do that. "Lighten up already! Or can wittle baby Ramona not take a joke?"
"I'll prove it." Ramona's voice was deathly quiet with a blood shot hue and said with the boldness of a 4b pencil. It sliced through the giggles like the seared edge of a blade, leaving a jagged chorus of gasps in its wake.
"I'm sorry, but it sounds like you're challenging me... to a dare?" Ashely's words had a playful tint to them, not like a friendly game of catch, and more of a hunter aiming their rifle.
Ramona gulped before carrying on, like a prisoner clearing their throat before their beheading.
"Tonight. At the other side of the Island. I'll go there myself with a frie –" She paused. You could see her rolling the words around in her mind before she settled on "– with another person. I'll even take one of their fern branches, just to prove that I was there."
"I accept your..." She looked her up and down, "Conditions. But let me ask you this; who would possibly want to help you?"
"I would."
The whole camp stopped. The sun dipped behind the quivering clouds and the wind took a shaky breath through the pale grass. Seemingly hundreds of eyes tore into me, dissecting me and assessing the pieces. Anger flashed in Ashely's eyes, while Ramona's shone with an inexplicable emotion. Was it excitement, surprise, or something else thrown in the mix?
"Fine by me. Best of luck with that loon, Evelyn. You're going to need it." She turned around, and waked back to the tent, barely waiting for her worker drones to catch up. It was much quieter on the field now, and nobody seemed in the mood for jokes.
So, she did know my name. Huh.
Before she disappeared behind the camp tent's dusty green door, Ramona turned around and shot me a thankful smile, stuffed with an excitement and an authenticity that was nearly fatal.
And a small part of me smiled back.
YOU ARE READING
Margin Doodles
Teen FictionI had a vague idea of what was going to happen this summer. Sloppy, half baked and half finished breakfasts, showing up five minutes late to the wrong activity, unreasonably threatening wild horses roaming about and showers that were either too hot...
