Summer on the Short Bus (15 page)

Annoyed by her instruction, I just roll my eyes.

Colin finishes loading the backpacks with enough snacks, batteries, and first-aid equipment to sustain a militia group for a few
months, while Fantine makes one last trip to the bathroom. With no task of my own to complete, I just stand here and pretend that Quinn being halfway down the path, sandwiched between Claire and cock 'n' balls Chase, isn't bothering me.

“You ready, Cricket?” Colin says.

“Ready as I'll ever be.”

“Cool. Here's your pack.” He takes the red JanSport from Fantine, who already has an identical yellow one strapped to her back. “And here's your flashlight. Do you need a whistle, or do you think you can survive without one?”

“I think I can manage,” I say, slinging the pack over my shoulders as I fall into line between the two of them.

“What the hell happened with you and Quinn?” Fantine asks, no more than a yard into our hike. “I've never seen him so pissed off before.”

I send Colin a pleading look, but only receive an encouraging nod in return.

“Okay,” I mutter. “You asked for it.”

I start out slowly, unveiling the gentler, less deplorable facts first. Like the reason why I fainted the first day, and the truth about my botched escape plan Saturday night. Fantine doesn't seem fazed, so I continue on with the stuff about Quinn and his brother, and the awful things I said that I wish I could take back.

“Pumpkin heads,” she says.

“What?” Colin and I say in unison.

“Pumpkin heads,” she says again, shaking her head. “That's what I used to call them. Can you believe that?” She turns and looks at me with disbelief in her eyes. “I took this job thinking I was going to be helping blind kids. Don't ask me why, but when they said disabled teens I just assumed they'd be blind. When I got here I almost crapped myself. I'd never been around kids with disabilities like these and I definitely wasn't prepared for it.”

“I hear that,” I say under my breath.

“I still remember that first night,” she continues. “I called my cousin and told her some of the kids here looked like they were wearing pumpkins on their heads. Man, it makes me sick just thinking about it now. Anyway, it wasn't until a few days later when Meredith broke her arm and wanted me to ride in the ambulance with her that everything changed. I've never been so scared or protective of someone in my life.”

Protective. Just like Quinn.

“We all have our moments,” Colin adds, air quoting the word
moments
. “Remember Scotty Marshall?”

“Oh my God!” Fantine shrieks, forgetting her grievances. “How could I forget? That was the funniest thing I've ever seen.”

“Wait, I'm supposed to ask you about him,” I say. “Who was he?”

“Scotty Marshall was
my
moment,” he says with a roll of his dark eyes. “He was a drop-in camper I had my second year—”

“Wait, what's a drop-in camper?” I interrupt, wondering if
there's yet another disability I'm clueless about.

“It's someone like Aidan,” Fantine says. “They're physically impaired but have no mental disabilities. Rainbow offers it up to college students who are thinking about going into special education. It's just a different way to get familiar with disabled kids outside the classroom.”

I quickly flip through my mental Rolodex, and determine that Aidan is one of Colin's campers—the surprisingly cute guy who maneuvers his wheelchair better than Tony Hawk does a skateboard.

“Anyway,” Colin continues, “we got along great, and for the most part he was a really cool kid. The only weird thing about him was that he didn't wear shorts—just jeans or sweats.”

“All the time?” I ask.

“All the time,” Fantine mumbles under her breath. I glance over at her and see that she's working really hard not to laugh.

I turn back to Colin. “Even when he slept?”

“Yep,” he says.

“Why would he do that? It's so hot out here.”

Colin opens his mouth to respond, but he's too slow. “Because he had a prosthetic leg!” Fantine says, unable to contain herself any longer. She bursts into a fit of laughter while my eyes grow wide.

“He what?”

“He did,” Colin says. “He had a prosthetic leg and apparently everybody knew about it but me—because I woke up next to it one
morning and practically shit myself. I thought somebody had been murdered. It was lying right next to me on the pillow with ketchup splattered all over it to make it look like blood—”

“Colin came running out of the cabin bare-assed screaming,
Call 9-1-1! There's a leg in my bed! There's a leg in my bed!
I swear to God that was the funniest thing I've ever seen,” Fantine says, swiping tears from her cheeks. Her amusement is contagious because now I'm laughing, too.

“Yeah, well, it was embarrassing. But it was definitely an eye-opener.”

“How so?” I say. “Realizing that you shouldn't sleep naked?”

“Well, yeah, there's that. But it wasn't until I learned that my own campers were the ones who convinced Scotty to pull the prank, that I realized I'd been operating under a whole ‘us' and ‘them' mentality. Just knowing that disabled kids were down for pulling something like that evened everything out. We were all on the same playing field.”

“Well, there's more to it for me,” I say, my amusement disappearing. “There has to be. I already had my moment and I blew it because I was too freaked out to recognize what was happening.”

“What moment are you talking about?” Colin says.

“
The Karate Kid
. Cricket loves Daniel-san, Cricket loves Daniel-san. Remember?”

“Oh please,” Fantine says.
“Karate Kid
wasn't your moment—it was damn funny but it wasn't your moment. What you need to
remember is we all figure it out in our own way, on our own time. And
you've
got seventeen years of prima donna shoved up your ass, so it's probably gonna take a little bit longer to shake it loose.”

“This, by far, is the most painfully enlightening day in the history of the world.”

“Just take it one step at a time,” says Colin. “Before you know it, you'll love these kids more than a Versace red tag sale.”

“Right,” I say unconvincingly. “As if Versace's ever on sale.”

SIXTEEN

“E
ating breakfast isn't supposed to be a painful experience.”

“Try and relax,” Fantine says in a tone more motherly than

I'd think her capable of. “It's just like Colin said, one step at a time. All you have to do is get through breakfast. Then it's just us girls the rest of the day. Besides, maybe one night of treating you like the plague was all he needed to get it out of his system.”

I walk into the dining hall and see that Quinn has selected a seat at the corner table with his back toward the rest of the room. By the way he's inhaling his Frosted Flakes, he won't be there long. “I'm thinking one night won't cut it.”

“It'll be okay,” she says. “He'll come around, and if he doesn't, screw him.”

If only I shared her flippant attitude.

Fantine makes her way to her usual spot at the table closest to the door, while I let Meredith roll into her slot and Claire pour herself into her chair. Once they're settled, I squeeze into the seat between them. The fact that this feels normal now is disturbing.

“Have yoooooou decided what weeeeee're doooing for the shooow?”

Up until a few days ago, sticking around for battle of the bands wasn't even an option. To suggest that I'd even thought of what to perform . . . “Uh, no. Did you have an idea?” I regret asking the question the second it leaves my mouth.

“Yes!” Claire interrupts, squeezing my arm. “We have a good idea.”

“But we neeeeeed to talk in priiiiiivate,” Meredith adds, before attacking my other arm.

“Okay, okay, just chill,” I say, shaking them loose. “We'll talk about it this afternoon.”

I'm reminded that this afternoon marks the first time I will officially be on my own with Claire and Meredith. It feels more like underpaid babysitting than the death sentence I would have expected.

“You will love this idea,” Claire says. “It's my best ever. And I have a lot of them.” She's nodding her head so fast I'm surprised it doesn't pop off.

“Fine. Great. Whatever. Can I eat now?” I pour some 2% into my bowl and am spooning up my first magically delicious clover, when Quinn's voice draws my attention across the room.

“I'll meet you guys out there,” he says to the boys at his table. “And be sure to tell Colin you need to collect some rocks on the way. You'll need at least five for the experiment.”

“You got it, boss!” one of the boys answers eagerly, while the others nod their oversize heads in agreement.

“Cool. See you in a few.” Quinn slides his chair under the table, offering me a glimpse of those broad shoulders I love so much. He pauses, like he's thinking he might sneak a peek at me over his shoulder.

I sit up a little straighter, quickly adjusting my hair so it falls over my shoulder like Rapunzel's. The anticipation of those beautiful blue eyes landing on me is almost too much to stand. He's just about to turn his head . . . and then he strides out of the room without so much as a glance in my direction.

My shoulders sag as that same, deep-seated ache returns to my throat. Colin was right. This is going to be hard.

After a sad and visually repulsive attempt at water aerobics, we start down yet another wheelchair-friendly path toward the craft hut where the girls will continue to work on their watercolor paintings. Fantine's leading the way, her campers providing her the appropriate amount of personal space, while my two BFFs are still glued to my sides—right where they've been all freaking morning.

“Whaaaaaaat's wroooong, Cricket?” Meredith asks. She wraps her tiny hand around mine before I have a chance to object.

“Nothing,” I say, glaring down at her. “Isn't it hard to steer that thing with one hand?”

“Noooooo. I caaan do it with one fiiiinger now. Want to seeeee?”

“No,” I answer quickly. “I believe you.”

“What's wrong? We can help you.” Claire takes my other hand in hers. I've just developed claustrophobia.

“Nothing's wrong.” I try to wiggle my hands away from theirs, but they've got some handicapped ninja death grip on me. “Sometimes people just have a bad day, that's all.”

“Does this haaaaaave to dooooo with Quinn?”

“No.”

“Are you suuuuure?”

“Yes, Meredith. Stop being nosy.”

“I'm juuuust trying tooooo help. My mom saaays I'm suuuuper good at helping people. I waaaaatch Oprah reeeeruns every day. Youuuuuu can learn a lot from Oprah.”

Count to ten, Cricket. . . .

“Good for you, Meredith,” I say, releasing an exhausted breath. “But like I said, I'm
fine
.”