I Am Girl Power Page 5

  Memories whirred through my mind. Had there been an undercurrent of tension at Christmas I didn’t remember? When had I last spoken with them together? Could I remember the last time I saw them flirting? I came to no solid conclusions.

  My thumb hovered over my screen, ready to dial Lexie. I needed someone to talk to, but I paused. Deciding against it, I yanked the key free from the engine. The truck groaned when I hopped out and tucked the phone in my pocket.

  Just hearing Dad’s voice gave me hope. They’d work it—whatever it was—out. They had to.

  Somehow.

  The back wheel of my shopping cart rattled like the bones of the dead.

  I pushed it through the empty aisles of the Pineville Market, ignoring the high-pitched squeak that wailed with every turn. Except for a foggy-eyed cashier, no one else roamed the store.

  A sea of fruits and vegetables lured me in. Plump tomatoes. Lumpy carrots with weird knobs. Shiny apples. Crisp pears. My mouth salivated just thinking of tart, tangy huckleberries still warm from the sun. Surely Adventura had huckleberry bushes. After gathering an assortment of fresh fruits, I slipped to the vegetable section and studied a bag of potatoes.

  How many would serve twenty grown males? I grabbed the biggest bag and tossed it in the cart. Cooking for twenty people couldn’t be that hard. Just a matter of multiplying, really.

  I parked by a stand of instant noodles and cracked open Grandma’s recipe book that Mom had brought me. Good Morning Muffins—a familiar favorite. Chili and corn bread—too easy. Cupcakes cooked in orange slices—the only recipe I felt confident about. Luckily, Grandma’s handwritten bread recipe fell out of the back. I ran a finger down the list of ingredients. Yeast. Flour. Salt. Sugar.

  Piece of cake.

  In the baking aisle, I squatted down to study the flour bags. Cake flour. All-purpose flour. Bread flour. Pastry flour?

  “Geez. What’s the difference?”

  Opting for the safest route, I chose a bag of all-purpose flour, set it in the cart, and breezed past the brownie mixes. Mom had left behind a double-sized box of brownie mix just in case, her note read. You never know when you’ll need brownies in a camp full of men.

  She literally knew everything.

  Spices cluttered a shelf in a conglomeration of plastic bottles. The little market couldn’t get cell phone reception, but somehow they stocked grapeseed oil. I tossed a few jars of cumin, red pepper flakes, and chili powder in the cart.

  Thirty minutes later, I shoved my overflowing cart into the checkout line, passing olive oil, sea salt, celery, a container of hummus, and a wide assortment of other items onto the belt. Mark had tucked $100 cash into the list, so I pulled it out.

  The cashier, a thirty-something man with deep-set eyes and a drawn, pale face, scanned my items without speaking. Once he slid the final can of corn across the scanner, he said, “That will be $245.76.”

  My heart nearly stopped.

  “What?”

  “Uh … $245.76.”

  “It can’t be that much.”

  He licked his lips, gesturing with a limp hand to the bags piled in my cart. “Well…”

  “I only have a hundred dollars.”

  He shrugged and reached for the nearest bag like he had all the time in the world. “Oookay. Then we’ll have to return $145.76 worth.”

  I put a hand out to stop him when he reached for a butternut squash.

  “Whoa, buddy. Wait just a second. I need all this food. I’m supposed to feed twenty men.”

  His expression didn’t falter. “And I need $245.76.”

  “Don’t you have coupons? Maybe that’ll whittle it down.”

  “By $145.76?”

  “No. But something.”

  He pointed a skinny finger at a sign with a bright yellow star. “Coupons are only for our Star Reward members. Unless they come from the manufacturer. Do you have manufacturer coupons?”

  Was he kidding? I’d never used a coupon before, and I hadn’t clipped them from the newspaper since third grade.

  “No. Where do I find those?”

  He shrugged. “Online? The paper?”

  “You said reward program?”

  “Star Rewards program.”

  “Great! I’d love to join.” I snatched the pen off the check counter. “Where do I sign up?”

  An old woman pushed her cart in behind me and started unloading boxes of instant oatmeal. The cashier blew his greasy bangs out of his face and slid a paper filled with squares over the counter. Two minutes later, I slid it back. He picked it up and stared at it through narrowed eyes.

  “This address says Jackson City.” He peered over the top of the paper.

  “It’s my parents’ address.”

  “That’s not a local address.”

  I gritted my teeth. “You’re right. It’s not.”

  He tossed the paper in the garbage.

  “The Star Reward program is only for locals. You’ll have to sign up with the Jackson City store to get the deals there. Your total is $245.76.”

  “Are you kidding?” I cried. “I don’t live in Jackson City. I live here.”

  He pulled another paper from the top of the stack behind the register and set it in front of me.

  “Then put your local address this time.”

  With a growl, I started writing again but stopped. When I looked up at him, he stared past me, deadpan. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have thought he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open. The old lady behind me cleared her throat.

  “Um … I don’t know my local address,” I said.

  His lips bunched. “You don’t know your own address?”

  “I just moved here two days ago. I’m still trying to figure it all out.” He made a move to reach for the paper, but I snatched it back. “No! Don’t throw it away again. I’ll … remember in just a second.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Up the canyon.”

  One of his light blonde eyebrows rose. “You live in the canyon?”

  “Yes. Up the canyon. At Adventura Boys Camp.”

  He made a sound in his throat that I couldn’t decipher but assumed was disinterest. I made up a road name and put a fake address, then handed it back, daring him to contradict it. He looked from the paper to me, then back to the paper again.

  “You remembered?”

  “Yep.” I slammed the pen down. “4587 Boys Camp Road.”

  He pointed to the paper. “This says 5478.”

  “Right. That’s what I meant. Just take it. Please?”

  He paused, considering, before finally removing the paper and setting the clipboard aside.

  “Congratulations,” he intoned dully. “You’re now a Star Reward program member.”

  He dashed a plastic card over the scanner and handed it to me. The numbers on the screen whirred for a few seconds. I held my breath, waiting for a forty-or-fifty-dollar discount.

  Surely.

  “Your new total is $221.17.”

  “Twenty bucks? That’s it?”

  He lifted one eyebrow. The old lady let out an exaggerated sigh.

  “Fine,” I muttered. “Take back the frozen pie crusts and Hot Pockets and Oreos. I’ll charge the rest.” I pulled out my credit card.

  After removing more nonessentials and whittling the total down to $156.29, I rammed my card through the scanner, and the cashier handed me a receipt. Mark would have a fit.

  “Have a good day.”

  I snatched the paper and left. Outside, I slung the groceries into the back of the truck and logged on to my bank account. My heart sank. Subtracting my mortgage and car payment for that month, I only had twenty dollars.

  I hadn’t been this poor since college.

  With a sigh, I climbed into the truck. Maybe working at Adventura Boys Camp wouldn’t be the easy vacation I’d hoped for.

  The Zombie Mobile didn’t have power steering, so driving had become my new upper-body workout.

  Bouncing along the windy canyon
road back to Adventura required most of my concentration. The crisp scent of pine filled my nose. Dust billowed in my wake. The river frothed beneath the bridge, swirling in white foam as I barreled across. We’d rafted it once as a family. JJ had fallen in so many times Dad threatened to tie him to the raft. My lips twitched at the memory.

  My thoughts spun with abandon while I crept along the dirt road, the cool mountain air whipping through my hair.

  Dust the lodge first, I thought. Then sweep. No, unload the groceries. Is the fridge repair guy coming soon? I still haven’t mopped. We have no mop. We need more money for basic necessities.

  A self-populating list grew in my mind. No matter how much work we sank into the lodge and kitchen, more work popped back up. The first day of camp fast approached. I shifted gears on the truck and wondered what Nathan was doing. Had he moved to New York? Did he miss me yet? I snorted. Probably too busy enjoying his promotion to think about what he’d left behind.

  Halfway down the dirt road, the engine chugged, then sputtered. I pressed the gas, but the engine cut out, and the truck lurched to a stop in the middle of the road. Dust ballooned by in puffs.

  “Fantastic,” I muttered.

  I peered at the dashboard. Still had half a tank of gas—or so it said. Who knew if it registered accurately or not. My attempts to resuscitate the engine failed. Not even a click to indicate a turnover. I smacked the steering wheel with my palm, jumping when the horn emitted a wheezy honk.

  Livid, I elbowed my way out of the old cab and lifted the lid. A conglomeration of rusty pipes, wires, and other ancient architecture peered back at me from under the hood. I grumbled. At least no smoke billowed out. I dropped the hood, blasted by a wave of dust.

  My cell phone had limited reception here, but I could walk back to the highway. Hello, ma’am, I imagined myself saying to a total stranger after flagging them down. Can I interest you in driving me an hour out of your way on a dirt road to a summer camp no one’s heard about? Thanks.

  My fingers curled into tight fists. There was simply no time for this. The staff arrived in the morning. Sweeping and mopping the sprawling lodge floor would take hours alone. Not to mention I had to plan and prep all the meals for the week. Who had time to sit and wait for help?

  An idea popped into my head. I swiveled, regarding the long dirt road with new eyes. I could hike back to Adventura.

  I hadn’t hiked in years. My toes itched to get back on a trail. The sun still hadn’t crested the mountains, so the cool air would preserve the groceries for an hour or two. Couldn’t be more than an easy four-miler. My fingers tingled at the thought. It had been too long since I’d just … hiked. Outside. By myself.

  “Well,” I murmured. “The lodge will have to wait.”

  After retrieving the truck keys, slinging my backpack over my shoulders, and locking the doors, I left the truck in the middle of the road and headed toward the mountains.

  Birds twittered overhead, chasing each other. Sunlight fell in dappled, warm slants through the leaves, shifting with the wind. Every now and then, my foot kicked up a puff of dust. On either side of me, trees rippled up the steep mountain slopes in emerald waves, giving way to chunky boulders and shale fields. The wild excitement of the forest energized my blood. So untamed. So brilliantly fresh.

  I stopped in the middle of the road, my head craned back to regard the sky. Something visceral inside me responded to the primitive beauty of the outdoors. I’d forgotten how much I loved it out here. The protection of the peaks. The grandeur of being smaller than everything else. When I slowed down to revel in the sunlight, it all felt right. It had been far too long since I’d lived in the moment. Shucked aside my career expectations in favor of just … existing.

  Maybe I needed to remember the things I loved more often.

  Content, I hooked my thumbs in the straps of my backpack and hiked on.

  Chapter 5

  First Day

  “Blister!”

  An explosive bang rattled the window above my cot early the next morning. I gasped, rolling off the cot and taking my sleeping bag and pillow with me.

  “Mark!” I yelled, grabbing my head when it slammed into the floor. “Why are you screaming?”

  “Get up! It’s eight o’clock. All the staff members are already here.”

  I forced my dry eyes open. What? The staff was here? Had I overslept? I’d been exhausted from scrubbing the lodge, alphabetizing the spice cupboard, and mouse-proofing the food in the pantry, but I didn’t think I’d been that exhausted.

  “Seriously?”

  “We promised them breakfast, Meg. Remember? Eight o’clock?” He tapped on the screen. “Ringabell, sleeping beauty?”

  “Crap!” I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping over the slick sleeping bag. “On my way!”

  Within a minute, I donned a pair of jeans, pulled on my official navy-blue Adventura polo, tossed my hair into a messy bun, and headed to the kitchen wearing socks with my Birkenstocks. The sun hid behind the mountains, sending rays of yellow and light pink into the sky. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry, I would have stopped to appreciate the early morning grandeur and the sweet scent of dew.

  A roar of chattering voices echoed through the lodge and into the kitchen when I rushed inside. The sound of JJ yelling above the collective madness smoothed the noise into a lull, but the chaos resumed with a chorus of laughter.

  “Oh man.” I threw open the biggest cooler and yanked food out, chucking it onto the counter. “Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.”

  My fingers flew, tying a knot in my apron strings as I mentally wrote a to-do list.

  “Okay, Megan,” I said, closing my eyes. “Think. What do I need to do?”

  Slice strawberries. Brown three packages of bacon. Crack, whip, and prep two-dozen eggs for cinnamon French toast. Find cinnamon. Warm syrup without burning it. Did I use butter on the grill? Did I use the whole grill? I could save a fifty-year-old with a blood clot in his lungs, but fixing breakfast for twenty hungry males had me half-paralyzed.

  “Curse you, Mark.”

  We’d argued for thirty minutes the night before about his banned foods list. I’d voted for spinach omelets. They happened to be my forte. He said that we’d insult the gods of eggs with such a dish, and he didn’t want to take any chances. With a prayer under my breath, I plunged into preparing his favorite: French toast.

  Ten minutes later, I cracked my tenth egg while simultaneously attempting—with little success—to turn on the grill. A strange clicking sound came from it every now and then, but nothing happened. When I reached for another egg, my fingertips slid into something gooey. Glancing down, I recoiled. Nestled among the whole eggs in the carton lay four gleaming egg yolks. I must have accidentally cracked them open over the carton while I fiddled with the grill.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  I plucked the yolks out of the carton, lobbing them into the bowl. They slid down the side, breaking in a lemony mudslide.

  Except for a shuffling noise coming from beneath the grill, further attempts to light it met with failure. In desperation, I flipped the ovens on, praying that French toast could be baked. Preferably in less than ten minutes.

  Mark called my name as I hacked strawberries into uneven chunks. He popped into the room through the swinging door, forehead creased. Strawberry juice stained my fingers.

  “Yeah?”

  “Something is smelling a bit funky. Is that on fire?”

  I whirled around to find smoke curling off the grill. The scent of char lingered in the air.

  “Ha! You do work, you rotten monster!”

  “So, nothing is on fire?”

  “Not yet.”

  He disappeared a little too eagerly. I grabbed the package of bacon and unloaded the whole thing. Bacon would be a great place to start. The high-pitched chattering began again, but with more intensity. I opened the oven to make sure it had started to warm. A brown streak leaped out of the darkness, heading right for my face
. I screamed and fell to the ground. The fluffy tail and beady eyes of a squirrel stared back at me before the creature darted underneath the island.

  No. Way.

  “Hey!” I screamed, throwing a metal spoon at it. “Get out of here!”

  I scrambled to my feet, grabbing a broom propped against the wall. Two metal bowls clattered off the shelf. Startled by the resounding bang of metal on the tile floor, the squirrel bolted to the fridge and shimmied behind it.

  “Out!” I screeched. “Out of my kitchen!”

  I shoved the broomstick behind the fridge, swinging it wildly. A picture fell off the wall and hit the floor with a crack, sending glass shards across the tile. Seconds later, the frantic clicking abated. When I looked up, the squirrel stood on top of the fridge, frozen, all four legs splayed out.

  “Get outta here!”

  With the end of the broom, I shoved the screen door open. The squirrel leaped onto the ground, rushed out the door, and hurtled up a nearby tree.

  “Meg?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Has a meteor hit?”

  Mark and JJ stood in the doorway. Mark’s mouth hung open. JJ rolled his lips together.

  “There was a damn squirrel in the oven!”

  “No way!” Mark said, laughing. “I thought I heard something.”

  JJ sniffed. “Is something burning?”

  “The bacon!”

  With a mad dash—and the crunch of glass beneath my feet—I hurried over to the grill and attacked the fried pork with a metal spatula. Remnants of black meat stuck to the grill. Some pieces were charred, others barely warm. Obviously, the grill wasn’t the most consistent surface.

  “Blister,” Mark said, “do you need any—”

  “Fine!” I called over my shoulder. “I’m fine. I’ll get it out in just a second. Just need a … a few more minutes!”

  First day, I told myself. All first days at all jobs are tough. I can cook breakfast. This isn’t that hard.