The next morning Vivian woke up thinking about her failure of the night before. She was tired and cranky and she had a headache, and Sasha was no help at all.
“So, did you get those paints?” Sasha asked quietly—for Sasha—as they were brushing their teeth in front of the cracked mirror in the cabin bathroom. “I’ve been thinking nonstop about what I want to paint first!”
Vivian tried to sound cheerful. “Today!” she said. “I’ll get them for you today. You’ve got the money, right?”
“Well, yeah?” Sasha replied. “I mean, it’s in my cubby? I haven’t spent any of it yet because the stuff at the camp store is just so expensive! Though I’d like to see the paints first, you know? Make sure they are worth it! I mean, a lot of people think they know about paints and what’s good, but they don’t always know and I kind of do, you know, so I don’t want to be a pain, but?”
Vivian had stopped listening. Her mind was already working on Plan B.
Sneaking out at night wasn’t the best plan. She hadn’t expected to see Oliver, of all people, lurking around the main camp buildings after hours.
With a start, she realized that he probably wasn’t just hanging out for fun—he was doing something. Something with Archie. Something to win the bet.
Which only meant she had to get those paints into Sasha’s hands as soon as possible.
• • •
Vivian found her chance later that day.
“Hey, I don’t feel so good,” she told Sasha and Lily and the rest of the Rainbow Smelts as they walked to swim lessons. “I think I need to go to the nurse. Tell Janet for me, okay?”
“Oh gosh, I hope you’re not really sick!” Sasha said. “You were up last night, right? Is it your stomach?”
Vivian had hoped Sasha had forgotten the little interlude from the night before, but no such luck. Still, it gave her an easy excuse, and she jumped at it. “Yeah, my stomach has been bugging me since yesterday,” she said. “I’ll go talk to Nurse Jack. Maybe he can give me some medicine or something.”
Sasha frowned. “I hope it’s not anything contagious!”
“Probably just something I ate. You know how Camp Shady Crook food—I mean, Camp Shady Brook food—is hard on the digestive system,” Vivian said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll catch you later.”
She dropped back from the group and headed slowly toward the infirmary. But once the girls were far enough down the path to no longer see her, her pace quickened, until she was once again in the bushes behind the arts and crafts cabin. It’s now or never, she thought to herself.
The window was still ajar, thankfully, so with a few pushes she was able to get it open. She listened carefully and it didn’t sound like anyone was in the cabin, so she hoisted herself up—for once thankful for the gymnastics lessons her parents had insisted on her taking—and then into the dim storeroom. All she had to do was grab the paints, climb back through the window, then head to the Rainbow Smelts cabin to hide them. Most of the kids were at the lake now, so if she planned her path correctly, she’d avoid seeing anyone.
The paints were just where she left them, in the stack of boxes on the back shelf. She grabbed the top set, and was headed toward the window when she paused. What if a counselor spotted her carrying them? Someone was always patrolling the paths. How would she explain? She looked quickly around the room. In the corner was a pile of fabric pieces—she ruffled through them until she found one the right size and wrapped it around the box of paints. That way she could tell people she was carrying dirty laundry.
There was a rattling from the main room of the arts and crafts cabin, then the sound of a door opening.
Vivian froze.
“All I’m saying is that the kids are bored! They want to do more than just make friendship bracelets and collages.” It was Amanda, and she sounded frustrated.
Then, to Vivian’s horror, she heard the unmistakable voice of Miss Hiss. “Those supplies are expensive, Amanda, and I don’t want to see them being all used up by a bunch of kids. If you were good at your job”—here, her voice took on an even more menacing tone than usual—“you could keep the campers engaged in any kind of project. I don’t see why you need fancy paints and clay.”
“But we have all the supplies already in the back room! Just sitting there.”
“Yes, and once the kids start using them, then what happens? We’ll have to replace them, and that costs money. Money, I don’t like to remind you, that this camp doesn’t have.”
“But it’s just a few art supplies. . . .” Amanda sounded resigned. “Oh well, I guess we could get some macaroni from the kitchen and make beads or something?”
“Wasting good food? I think not,” Miss Hiss snapped back. “And I don’t have time for this today. I have to take a call from the Beaumonts to update them on how the session is going.”
“Oh, about the bees?”
Miss Hiss, well, hissed. “We are not telling the Beaumonts about the bees! They have enough to worry about. You know Mr. Beaumont is very ill; that’s why they haven’t been up here in ages. Just give me the printer paper I asked for, and let me get back to my work. This camp doesn’t run itself, you know.”
Vivian stood stock-still in the back room, with the box of paints wrapped in fabric still in her arms. What if Amanda came back there? She had to think fast. She quickly moved toward the window and then slid the paint box down the side of the building as far as she could, finally letting it drop once she could no longer hold it. It made a small thud as it bumped against the wood siding and she willed the adults in the other room not to hear. But at least if they found her, they wouldn’t find the paints.
Or so she hoped.
“Fine, let me get what you need,” Amanda said, sounding resigned, and her footsteps came sickeningly close to the door to the storeroom. But then the steps turned away, and Vivian let out her breath as she realized that the counselor was going to the rack of paper just outside the storeroom door.
But she knew she had to move. She willed her jelly legs to work again and, hoping against all hope that Miss Hiss and Amanda wouldn’t hear her, she climbed onto a box, let her feet out the window, then dropped into the dirt next to the box of paints. No time to close the window, not with the screechy wooden frame and the camp director just a few yards away. Instead, she grabbed the box and its haphazard fabric covering and darted away from the cabin toward the bunks. She brushed past a bunch of boys on the path as she ran.
“Hey, watch it,” one of them called. But Vivian didn’t stop.