You Are Girl Power 
Chapter 6
You Are Girl Power
My salvation arrived by phone call.
After the disaster of my first breakfast, I paced around the kitchen, wiping down the already gleaming stainless-steel countertops. No syrup? No plates? A squirrel? The depth of my disbelief could not be measured.
The vibration of my phone almost didn’t break through my haze of embarrassment. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and saw Lexie’s name. I hesitated but finally pressed it to my ear.
“Hey, Lex.”
“Hey!” she said. “You answered! How long have you been gone? Like two weeks?”
“Two days.”
She groaned. “I’m. Going. To. Die.”
I paused, my mouth half-open, debating whether I should share my horrible morning. Or, more correctly, the struggle of the past two days. She’d be marrying Bradley soon, and that gave me an unexpected hesitation.
“You still there?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. Sorry.” I leaned back against a counter.
“So,” she drawled. “How is it?”
I swallowed, my eyes scanning the kitchen in two short seconds. What am I doing here? I should have been in a new hospital, placing an IV or paging a cardiologist. I’d jumped in over my head.
“It’s, ah … it’s…”
“That bad?”
My shoulders slumped. I couldn’t hold it in. “Yes! It’s been crazy. Lex, you won’t even believe what just happened. My Mom fell apart, and there isn’t any money for food, and I forgot syrup. Who forgets syrup? Oh! And there are squirrels in my oven. Squirrels.”
“Sounds like a bad pregnancy joke.”
“Lexie!”
“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. Tell me what’s going on. Squirrels in paradise? Okay, now it just sounds like a bad rap song.”
Recounting the breakfast fiasco took ten minutes. “A squirrel?” she asked, giggling. “Oh, Megan. I’m dying.”
“It was horrible.” I dragged a hand through my hair. “But, okay. It’s kind of funny, too.”
“Horrible would have been if the squirrel bit you.”
“True,” I said, laughing. “Very true.”
“How are the staff?”
I thought of their perplexed expressions. “Who knows? It’s hard to tell. I mean, I served them French toast without plates or syrup right after chasing a squirrel. I think my first impression went over like a snowball in hell.”
Lexie giggled. “Another great rap song.”
I chuckled with her until the reality of my situation nudged its way back in like a shadow. “Lex,” I said, sobering. “I don’t belong here. I miss work. I miss being a nurse.”
I miss you, I wanted to say.
My heart longed for the hospital. The sound of my badge swishing against my scrubs. Doctors calling for me with new orders. Connecting with a patient. Calming someone who felt as if their world had turned upside down. It all felt so much more intense and important than flipping bacon.
“Too bad. You can’t come home. Look at it this way—it will be good for you to do something you aren’t uber-talented at. I, for one, am devastated I didn’t see the Great Squirrel Chase. Oh, I’m going to pee. I have to stop thinking about it.”
While she alternated between snorting and recounting snippets of my morning, I picked at a loose thread on my shirt. Leaving everything behind had turned out to be harder than I’d expected. I even missed my down comforter and my sugar cookie candle. I may as well have moved to another planet.
With indifferent natives.
“C’mon,” Lexie said. “Don’t wallow, Meg. It’s not like you. It’s only been two days.”
Outside, Justin strode by carrying an armful of firewood on his shoulder, squinting as he stared into the sun. “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t believe how beautiful the scenery is up here,” I said, tracking him as he disappeared around the side of the lodge.
“Have you heard from Nathan?”
“No.”
“Think you will?”
“Hope not. Any news with you and Bradley?”
“He hasn’t proposed in the years since you left, if that’s what you mean. Nothing new to report, really. I just wanted to hear your voice. We already miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
Lexie’s voice softened. “You got this, Meg. It probably won’t be easy, but you’re Megan. You are girl power. You can do anything. You know? There may be a few growing pains, but you’ll figure it out.”
Sighing, I gazed out the window. Branches swayed in the wind. I didn’t know how to cook for twenty people. I wasn’t familiar with most of the recipes, and I had a suspicious feeling I’d be at war with a squirrel, a grill, and an oven. To make matters worse, the fridge still didn’t work, and I wasn’t sure when to start piecing together lunch. Or if it would be eaten. My easy summer in the trees was slipping out of my grasp already, and camp hadn’t even started.
But Lexie was right.
“Yeah,” I said, blowing out a hot breath. “You’re right.”
“Duh. I’m also late for work and have to go. Good luck, Meg. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”
Mark’s Banned Food List.
(Blister: This. Is. Serious.)
Saturday and Sunday slid by in a blur of dusty shoes, cheap new plates, and the stress of cooking for twenty grown men. Thanks to a temperamental oven, meals didn’t go well. My first attempts at homemade bread remained straight dough in the middle, while the edges firmed up to the consistency of a clay pot. The bland chili received no applause.
Luckily, the buzz of preparation spread across all of Adventura, keeping everyone too busy to care about boring food. By late Sunday night, camp glimmered like a crystal. Except the kitchen, which still needed a bulldozer. I fell asleep the moment I closed my eyes and woke what seemed like ten minutes later.
“Rise and shine, Adventura,” Mark sang Monday morning in a dramatic operetta over a loudspeaker. “The campers will arrive soon.”
Thirty minutes later, the scent of simmering gravy and fresh biscuits filled the lodge with warmth. The staff mingled in the background. Snippets of conversation floated into the kitchen as I tossed plates, napkins, and silverware onto the counter.
“Finally,” I murmured to myself, sliding two trays of fresh, doughy biscuits into separate ovens. “A hot, yummy breakfast on the first day of camp. On plates, no less.” The oven doors banged shut. “Nailed it.”
Five minutes later, Justin stepped through the swinging door wearing a dusty pair of work pants and heavy boots.
“Hey, Meg. Need some help?”
I glanced up from where I crouched at the fridge, rummaging for a box of butter. His denim blue eyes cut right through mine.
“Uh … sure. Will you check the biscuits for me? They should only be halfway done by now, but that oven is almost as grumpy as the squirrel I evicted.”
Forcing myself to look away from his rugged attractiveness didn’t come easy, but I returned to my search for butter. Did he tousle his hair on purpose, or was it wild from the intermittent wind? I couldn’t imagine him caring about his hair.
“Uh, Meg?”
I popped back out from the bowels of the fridge. The uncertainty in his voice made my stomach drop.
“Yeah?”
“I think they’re done.”
A tray of round, blackened discs emerged from the oven. My mouth dropped. “Seriously? I just barely put them in!”
In two steps, I reached the second oven door and yanked it open. A tentative, weak wave of heat billowed out. Even though the second oven was set at the same temperature, these biscuits still had a doughy shine.
“Fabulous.” I slammed the door shut again. “We’ll just give the staff bowls of gravy to eat.”
He eyed the gravy pan. Generous lumps clumped around the edges, but he wisely said nothing.
“Look on the bright side,” Justin said as he slid the burned tray of biscuits on top of the grill. “No rabid squirrel. You have plates. And these will make excellent baseballs. You are three steps ahead of your first day.”
“If you have a bat, I know exactly what I want to do with it,” I muttered, glaring at the stove.
He laughed and headed for the door.
“Just set out cold cereal for them to fill up on if the other biscuits don’t turn out. It’s a fitting tribute to the first day of camp, don’t you think?”
No, I wanted to growl, but after seeing his illuminating smile, I couldn’t bring myself to be too angry. The gravy had a weird texture anyway.
With a sigh, I headed for the pantry.
After breakfast, Adventura lay quiet and peaceful.
The lodge door creaked in the soft breeze. Staff members buzzed around camp, charged with energy.
The tranquility shattered with the sound of a car horn. Within minutes, the woods teemed with adolescent boys threatening to string underwear up the flagpole. Twenty minutes after check-in, two boys were unaccounted for, three couldn’t find their bags, and five parents had forgotten to sign waivers. Mark moved amongst the pandemonium with ease, barking orders like a commander as his voice faded in and out of the radio static.
Two counselors and at least four campers inhabited each campsite. This year, Mark had employed ten counselors to manage five campsites. The rest of the staff directed camp programs, like white-water rafting and crafts. JJ was in charge of the climbing wall. Sione and a blond surfer named Hollis oversaw the waterfront. And an aging, soft-spoken ex-army infantry officer, Gary, led the rifle and archery ranges. Wires of curly, black hair streaked with white sprouted from his head, and a pearly smile that contrasted with his dark skin filled his face whenever he saw me.
JJ and I stood in the lodge, watching the pandemonium with detached amusement. At least we didn’t have to be out there.
“Did breakfast seem weird to you?” I asked, leaning back against a table.
“Yep.”
“So, it wasn’t just me? It was tense, right?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Because there wasn’t enough food.”
My heart sank. “Really? I thought they had enough.”
“There was enough cold cereal for one bowl each, yes. And the biscuits broke one of my teeth, and the gravy was lumpier than a mattress. So, let’s just say the food was … underwhelming.”
“Told you to go for cold cereal like the rest of them.”
His upper lip curled up over his teeth.
“Right,” I muttered. “More cold cereal next week.”
Mark had bought plastic plates, trays, cups, and utensils from the dollar store with his personal credit card over the weekend. Based on his harried expression when he returned, he had debt problems far bigger than mine.
JJ grimaced over his coffee mug. “Although you pulled a smooth one with the whole no-syrup-French-toast thing, they aren’t as stupid as they look. They know you just forgot.”
I scowled. “Wonderful.”
“It’s not a bad thing, Megara. Just own it.”
The low thud of boots on the back porch preceded a knock on the screen door, jarring me from my spiral of embarrassment.
“Come in,” I called. “You don’t have to knock.”
Troy, a fiery redhead with the corded arms of a swimmer, stepped into the kitchen. His pale green eyes reminded me of sea foam. Freckles dotted every visible part of his skin, even the back of his neck.
JJ jerked his head in greeting. “Hey, Troy.”
“Hey,” Troy said, wiping his palm on his pant leg. He turned to me. “Uh, I came to introduce myself.”
I stuck out my hand with a warm smile. “I’m Megan.”
He accepted my hand, shaking with a firm grip. “Mark hired me as the medical officer. Just graduated with my EMT certification. He mentioned that you’re a nurse, right?”
“Yes. I worked—uh, I came from a Cardiac Intensive Care Unit.”
At my accidental stumble, JJ’s gaze flickered to me and back to his magazine.
Troy studied his shoes like they were about to swallow him. “So, uh … can I ask you questions if something comes up? I don’t have a lot of experience.”
“Sure. Swing by whenever. The door’s always open.”
His bunched shoulders smoothed out a little. “Oh,” he said. “Great. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Troy let out a long, relieved breath once he stepped onto the porch, and he whistled as he strode away. I watched him go.
“See?” I pointed to the door. “That was awkward, right? But he wasn’t that awkward when he was talking with the other guys this morning. I know. I watched.”
“That’s creepy.”
“It’s not creepy. It’s … awareness.”
JJ turned a page and yawned. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. He was a mess just now.”
“Don’t they like me?”
“Oh,” he drawled with a sly smile, “I don’t think that’s the problem. Welcome to Manland. Strange culture, I grant you. But you’ll figure it out. Get them really full.” His face twisted in thought. “And more meat. Whatever you do, make more meat.”
I eyed him. “Aren’t you vegetarian?”
“I am. Everyone else isn’t. I’ll make my own breakfast so you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t mind.”
“Thanks, JJ.”
Once he departed for the climbing tower, Grandma’s recipe book seemed to stare at me from the kitchen. I straightened up. I did make a wicked pan of brownies. Perhaps their friendship just needed a little … chocolate.
Mark rushed into the kitchen, breathless and red-faced, just as I reached for the recipe book.
“Hey, blister, uh … I totally forgot something really, really important.”
“Oh?”
“You don’t happen to have a food handler’s permit, do you?”
I snapped my fingers. “Left it at home with my hairnet and apron.”
His glare cut a hot line through me. “I need you to go into town and get it. Right now. Like … don’t fix any more food until you have it. I forgot to have you do it before you came. It’s my fault.”
“Where do I go?” I asked.
He pulled a folded piece of paper out of the back of his Clipboard of Power. “Here’s the information. Find a place with wi-fi in Pineville, and take it there. Print off two copies. And maybe backdate it to before camp started?”
With a snort, I accepted the paper. “What about lunch?”
“Set out stuff for sandwiches. We can throw it all together.”
I beamed. Best day ever!
“Sounds great!”
He paused halfway out the door. “Oh, and Meg? Don’t fail the test. Just … get all the answers right.”
He disappeared before I could counter with a witty quip. I shoved the recipe book to the back of the counter. Brownies—and the rampant adoration of the staff—would have to wait until dinner.
Dinner snuck up on me like a bandit.
By the time I showered, set out food for lunch, tracked down the truck keys, and drove down the canyon, eleven o’clock had come and gone. I hunkered down at an Italian restaurant that smelled like garlic. A middle-aged woman with tomato sauce on her shirt let me print the certificates.
“We’re all family here,” she said, waving off my profuse gratitude.
Four o’clock rolled around as I climbed out of the truck back at camp, food handler’s permit in hand. Spaghetti, French bread, salad, and meat sauce had to be ready at five. I jogged through camp, spilling into the empty kitchen with my heart racing.
Brownies and epicness forthcoming. Win their hearts tonight, Meg, I reminded myself. Win. Their. Hearts.
After slinging meat into the pans, filling a massive pot with water, and firing up the stove, I tossed two extra packages of noodles in the boiling pot and cooked twice as much ground beef as I’d originally planned. These twenty hungry men would leave the lodge stuffed like Thanksgiving turkeys.
By the time I leaned outside and rang the dinner bell, the buttered pasta waited in a gleaming, piping-hot bowl. Meat sauce bubbled on the stovetop in three separate pans, and I’d knelt on the floor in front of the oven to watch the French bread brown to perfection. The smell of brownies drifted through the air like a tease. Several curious noses sniffed through the swinging door.
By the time the staff lined up to eat, sweat ringed my underarms, my face flushed as hot as the stovetop, and I wanted to shove my head into a cooler of ice. I satisfied myself with standing at the now-working freezer with the door open.
“Dinner looks great, Meg,” Justin said, gliding by with a fist extended. “Solid work.”
“Thanks.” I bumped our fists. “Feeling good about this one.”
“Busy day?”
I put a hand to my high ponytail. “No. I always look like this.”
He chortled, shoving through the swinging door and into the lodge. Over his shoulder, my eyes caught empty tables and chairs. I straightened. Hold up. Where was everyone? I hurried to the window and counted heads. Ten. Why were there only ten guys?
“Hey.” I hurried after Justin, grabbing his arm. The tips of my fingers sank slightly into his skin. I let go, taking a step back. “Oh, sorry. Uh … where is everyone? Are they coming late? I can keep it warm.” I frowned. “I think.”
Justin’s brows furrowed. He lifted an arm, gesturing to the room.
“This is everyone.”
“Whoa!” Mark cried, coming out of the kitchen behind Sione and Hollis. “Are we feeding the Salvation Army tonight, blister? Why so much food?”
I sucked in a sharp breath, reassessing every face. Program staff. The only people gathered tonight were program staff. I swallowed.
“The counselors eat with the campers, right?” I asked.
Justin bit his bottom lip as if he sensed where this disaster was about to go. “Yes. The counselors teach the campers to cook over a fire. That’s why the commissary distributes food to them.”
“Right.” I gave a cool thumbs-up. “Right. That’s what I thought. Just checking.”
He eyed me askance but said nothing as he reached for a plate. I’d just made enough spaghetti for the whole staff—twenty people—when I only had to cook for ten. I smiled at everyone as they passed through the kitchen into the lodge.
Leftovers for days!
Mark sped through announcements for the program staff while they ate, discussing the schedule for the next day while I cut through the brownies, stacking them in a perfect formation on the plate. Only half the spaghetti had disappeared, leaving mounds behind. JJ sent me a thumbs-up.
As nonchalantly as possible, I set brownies out at each table and retreated back to the kitchen to wait.
Rampant adoration, here we come, I thought.
One by one, the program staff polished off the brownies. Just as the last brownie disappeared, all of them stood at Mark’s call.
“Let’s go, ladies,” Mark said. “We have a night hike to run.”
“Thanks for the brownies, Megan,” Sione called. A few other staff waved. They shuffled out the front of the lodge, guffawing and chortling with each other. What? I wanted to say. That’s it?
I sighed. So much for rampant adoration. I grabbed a corner piece out of the pan. At least the brownies had been edible.
The kitchen door slammed open, and Mark ran inside, brownie in hand. He clapped me on the shoulder.
“Dinner was awesome tonight, blister. Seriously. We needed a good carb load before the night hike. It can’t be easy trying to figure out how to cook for that many people or getting stuck in this hot room with a lot of dishes to do. So, thank you.”
Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes just enough to study him.
“What?”
“Dinner,” he said, enunciating. “It was great. Thank you.”
My tense arms unwound.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He chucked me lightly on the shoulder. “I’m really glad you came. Thanks for all you’re doing.”
“But I—”
He shook his head, cutting me off. “Nope. No buts. I’m just glad you came.” His radio crackled. “Do you want to come on the night hike?”
“I need to clean up.”
“You can do that later.”
The idea of a warm bed and a good, long sleep pulled at me. My legs still ached from a brief morning run with JJ.
“Next time,” I said. “Otherwise, I’ll be scrubbing tomato sauce for hours tomorrow.”
With a shrug, he spun on his heels and headed out the back door, letting the screen slam shut behind him. I stood there, feeling a strange bundle in my chest, both light and heavy, confusing and clear, at the same time.