Summer on the Short Bus (20 page)

O
ne would think with all the commotion that wheelchairs and crutches create, two people walking into a room hand-in-hand would go unnoticed. It doesn't. From Fantine's ear-to-ear grin and Colin's fist pump, to Claire's glass-breaking rendition of that annoying
Titanic
song, we definitely don't make it into the mess hall unnoticed. Unfortunately, our arrival and obvious reunion isn't welcomed by everyone.

Despite his awareness of my feelings for Quinn, it comes as no surprise to see that Aidan looks a little heartbroken. He's rolled himself to the far corner of the room, and is having a hard time even looking at me. What
is
surprising is Rainbow's reaction. She's stopped dead in her tracks and glares at us like we just ran over her cat.

“What is her deal?” I whisper. “Are we breaking some counselor law or something?”

“No,” Quinn whispers back. “I don't know what that's about. But whatever it is, I doubt she'll bring it up in front of everyone.”

It's next to impossible to ignore Rainbow's laser beam glare, but within seconds of sitting down I find myself immersed in a
debate over who is cuter, Hannah Montana or Miley Cyrus. Under different circumstances I would point out that they are, in fact, the same person and that there can't logically be room for dispute, but tonight I'm too distracted to care.

Rainbow's definitely got a bone to pick with me, and I intend to find out what it is.

“How is it possible you've never seen
Avatar?”
Fantine asks, sinking into her beanbag chair with a bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap. “It was like the most expensive movie ever made. It's amazing.”

“I don't know, I just didn't,” I say, unwilling to explain my rationale. (The truth is the blue people I saw in the previews freaked me out.)

Colin takes a handful of popcorn and shoves it into his mouth. “You'll love it, Cricket. It's got everything: action, adventure . . .
love
!”

Thankfully Quinn doesn't feel the need to try to convince me of the movie's worth; instead, he just stretches out his arm and invites me into that comfy spot beside him.

“You'll like it,” he says. “It's a solid story line, decent acting, and there are no kids named Daniel-san.”

“Very funny,” I say, throwing him a jab to the side.

The movie begins and I settle in against him. Despite the desirable location, I can't seem to enjoy myself. All I can think about is
how Rainbow hijacked our Saturday night Denny's outing. Fantine and the boys may have bought her whole, “it looks like it might rain, you should stay in and watch a movie instead,” routine, but not me.

A lifetime later, when the world's longest movie finally comes to an end, Quinn and I set off hand in hand down the trail toward the cabins.

“You didn't watch any of it, did you?”

“What?” Quinn's question surprises me. I thought I'd faked my interest pretty well. “Of course I watched the movie. What do you think I was doing for the last three hours?”

“I'm pretty sure you were thinking about Rainbow.”

My initial instinct is to tell him he's gone straitjacket—but he hasn't.

The only thing I remember of the billion-dollar movie was that the leading man, who happens to be in a wheelchair, was smoking hot and the blue chick with braids was even creepier than I thought she'd be. “This isn't how I imagined our late-night stroll through the woods would go down,” I say. “Don't get me wrong, the moonlight's nice, but the conversation . . .”

“I don't want to talk about Rainbow any more than you do,” he says. Giving my hand a deliberate tug, he pulls me against his chest, allowing his hands to settle naturally on my hips. “But it's obviously bugging you, so let's talk about it.”

I look up at him but don't say anything.

He sighs. “Look, Rainbow's reaction at dinner was really bizarre, I'm not denying that. But I really don't think it means anything. She was probably just having a moment. And it's not like we're doing anything wrong. There's no rule against counselors being in a relationship.”

Relationship?
Could he be any cuter?

“Trust me,” I say. “I want to believe that, but I really think there's more to it. Remember when I told you how she stares at me all the time?” He nods. “Okay, well, it's evolved into more than that. Now she says weird things to me. She makes personal references to things there's no way she should know.”

“Like?”

I briefly consider telling him of my dislike for red meat, but after Fantine's response, decide that's not my best argument. “Yesterday she came by the mess hall when the girls and I were working on our set. She made a comment about knowing I was scared of heights and offered to climb the ladder to hang the decorations instead.” As I hear the words pour out of my mouth, I realize this actually could be another meat situation. Thankfully, I see a thoughtful crinkle forming on his forehead. “And then on Thursday, when we were at the science shed and you had the kids look through the microscopes, she made a comment about how nicely the scar next to my eye had healed considering I had eleven stitches. I got those stitches when I was five, Quinn. How could she have known that?”

He turns my head to the side and surveys the scar in question. “I heard her say that,” he says, grazing it with his thumb. “I did think it was a little weird that she mentioned it, but figured you must've told her about it.”

“I didn't.”

“Well, there's gotta be a logical explanation,” he says. “Colin said that Rainbow has known your dad for a long time. That's the most obvious connection.”

“That was my first thought, too,” I say, relieved that he's taking me seriously. “But the more I think about it, the less likely it is. My dad's really private about our family life. Financial reporters are always trying to dig up something scandalous on him, so he works really hard at keeping personal matters quiet. We might not be BFFs, but there's no way he would keep a relationship with a woman from me my whole life. Not the kind of relationship that would warrant that kind of information being shared, anyway. He just wouldn't.”

“Okay,” he says, “If it's not your dad, then there's some other connection we're missing. . . .”

I am just about to respond, when the sound of stifled giggling interrupts my train of thought.

“Looks like we have an audience,” he says, motioning over my shoulder.

I look behind me to a nearby tree where a beam of white light is streaking through the shadows. While our audience is savvy
enough to stifle their giggles, they failed to choose a hideout wide enough to camouflage themselves. Claire's enormous pink nightgown is in plain view, as are both wheels of Meredith's wheelchair. No secret agent training here.

“I think I better go,” I say, though I'm about ready to laugh.

“Yeah, I'd say so,” he agrees, holding me against him in a parting hug. “I'll help you figure out what's going on with Rainbow. Whatever it is, you're entitled to know.”

“Thanks, Quinn.”

His arms release me and I turn to walk away.

“Wait,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me back to him. “Shouldn't we give them something to talk about?”

Before I can even break a smile, he plants a tabloid-worthy kiss on my mouth. It's not until our visitors behind the tree break into hysterics that our lip lock is broken and my body returns to planet Earth.

“Good night, Cricket,” he says, just a breath from my lips. “I'll see you in the morning. And good night to you, too, ladies,” he calls, prompting a response of gasps and sniggers.

It takes me several deep breaths after Quinn leaves before I'm able to reorient myself.

“All right, you sneaks,” I say, turning to face them. “Show yourselves.”

There's a bit more laughter before Inspector Gadget and her four-wheeled sidekick finally appear from the darkness. Had I any
doubt that Claire was the backbone of this botched operation before they came out of hiding it's quickly put to rest. Her cheeks are the color of a tomato and there's an,
Oh shit!
smirk plastered across her face.

“How long were you there and what did you hear?”

“Don't youuuu want to know what we saaaaw?”

“I know what you saw,” I say, impressed with Meredith's comeback and total avoidance of my question. “What I asked was what did you
hear?
”

The girls exchange a wary glance before cautiously approaching me. “We had to go potty,” Claire offers in an unnatural, subdued tone. “We didn't mean to spy on you. It just happened.”

“Yeah,” Meredith adds with a firm nod. “Thiiiiiings like that just haaaaappen sometimes.”

“Oh yeah. I know,” I say, still struggling to keep a straight face. “But you still didn't answer my question. Did you hear what we were talking about?”

“Oh no,” Claire says. “We just watched. We didn't listen”

“Yeah. It's okay to looooook, you just caaaan't liiisten.”

“Right,” I say. Not the best logic, but I'm willing to bet they're telling the truth. “Well, I think you two better hit the bathroom and get to bed. It's really late, and we've got a big day tomorrow. We're going to start in on the group rehearsals right after breakfast.”

“Okay,” Claire says, seconds before making a surprisingly swift movement toward me. Her meaty arms wrap around me, and she's
squeezing me so tight I'm afraid my insides might break. “I love you, Cricket.”

Now I can't breathe at all, and it's got nothing to do with Claire smashing me. It's like my heart has suddenly outgrown my chest. I return her hug, and quickly say, “Okay just . . . go to the bathroom.”

The girls make their way up the hill, whispering about what they didn't hear but certainly saw, while I'm left to navigate my way through very unfamiliar territory. Did I just enjoy hugging Claire?

“Hey, Cricket,” the hugger in question calls, her squishy face reappearing from the bathroom. “He's a good kisser, isn't he?”

I give an affirming nod.

“I knew it,” she says, pumping her fist. “You can't look like that and be a bad kisser. Good night, Cricket!”

Good night, Claire.

TWENTY-TWO

O
nce again, I've pushed my morning primp time to the limit and am now hauling ass to catch up with the girls on their way to breakfast. I'm just rounding the last curve before the mess hall comes into sight, when Aidan rolls out from a small thicket of shrubs just ahead of me.

“Hey!” I say, slowly grinding my flip-flops to a stop. At first glance he looks like the same, all-American Aidan I've come to love, but as I approach him, I see something is drastically different. “Oh my God!” I shriek, and squat down to survey his swollen and very bruised left eye. “What happened?”

“Quinn,” he says in a solemn voice.

“What! Quinn did this to you?”

He nods slowly, wincing as I run my finger across his bruise.

“Aidan . . .”

“Gotcha.” He throws his head back, laughing. “I got nailed with a football last night.”