Which makes the fake fight even more fun. I know he loves me, and he knows I love him, so when I tell him, in a louder-than-usual voice, that his choice of the red powdered fruit beverage is “disgusting. It tastes like candy that melted in someone’s shoes,” it’s almost hot, the way he turns to me, nervous about the acting, but happy to be doing something with me—his boyfriend whom he loves.
“Oh please,” he says. “Blue is the gross flavor. And it stains your tongue so you look like a corpse!”
“Nice improv,” I whisper. He grins at me.
“Really? This is how we’re doing this?” George asks, across the table from us.
“Better a blue tongue that those red lips!” I shout, going full drama now. “It looks like you have a harlot’s disease. Red is the color of blood, but blue is the color of peace! Red is small, limited anger—blue is the endless sky! Throughout time, red has always been the color of villainy, and blue the flag of heroes! Blue is clearly the superior juice!”
“Ha!” Hudson says, standing and knocking my glass down to the floor. Color me impressed—he’s getting really into it. “Blue? Blue is the color of sadness. Blue is for people who can’t appreciate red.”
“You red-tongued monster!” I declare, standing up and then standing on the bench and pointing down at him. “Blue juice is better!”
“Red is!” he shouts, standing up on the bench next to me, his face close to mine.
“Blue!”
“Red!”
“Blue!” As I shout, Paz comes marching in with Charity and Jimmy behind her. They’re all wearing the rompers, and wearing blue makeup on their faces (Jimmy and Paz like war paint, Charity more like she’s doing a mermaid photoshoot for her Instagram). Paz is carrying a blue flag and raises it up, chanting “Blue” in unison with me as everyone around us rolls our eyes, aside from a few of the younger campers who either look confused or excited. Then the other Red captains march in with their flag—and much less well dressed—and Hudson and I get down and join our teams, me tearing off the faux T-shirt I’d been wearing over my romper for just this purpose (Charity is a FAST sewer, made it in a few hours). I love a good reveal.
We all march in place at the front of the dining hall, shouting our colors at each other for what feels like far too long before Joan jumps up on a table and shouts, “Color wars!” without nearly the amount of passion as is required by the moment. Luckily, Mark is there and he gets up, and starts screaming, “Color wars!” jumping up and down, circling the room until everyone is also screaming, at least half-heartedly. A brave and powerful bit of acting from him, considering how much he hates color wars.
Joan puts her hand up and the room quiets, and she starts telling us which cabins are on which team, and everyone is forced to sit on the left or right side of the room for dessert—chocolate pudding with strawberries or blueberries, respectively. Connie addresses our side of the table, telling us which games each cabin will be playing for the Blue team.
“We’re doing what?” Ashleigh asks when she hears we’ve been assigned the obstacle course.
“Trust me,” I say. “We’re going to beat them.”
“Darling, did you hit your head? For real this time?” George asks.
I grin. “I’m telling you. I have a plan.”
They lean in, and I tell them. They look skeptical, but nod.
“Maybe,” Ashleigh says finally. “I mean … if nothing else, we’ll surprise them.”
“I really think we can win,” I say.
“And Hudson won’t mind if we do?” George asks.
“Nah.” I wave him off. “It’s just a game. Besides. He loves me.” I couldn’t keep it in anymore.
George’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, does he now?”
“He does. He said so and everything.”
“Wow.” Ashleigh’s eyes widen. “I’m genuinely impressed. You really tricked him into loving you.”
I stare at her, not trying to hide how much what she said hurts. It wasn’t a trick. It was a plan. And it worked. He loves me. Not just Del, but me, underneath it all.
“Ashleigh,” George says, slapping at her hand. “Don’t be mean.”
“Sorry, that came out wrong.”
“It wasn’t a trick. He knows me,” I say. It feels wrong in my mouth, though. “I’m going to tell him everything. After color wars. And he’ll still love me.”
“Of course he will, darling,” George says, nodding. “Right, Ashleigh?”
“I hope so,” Ashleigh says.
I frown. There’s no need to hope. It’ll work. Love doesn’t just go away, right? I shake off this sudden jitteriness in my legs and go back to telling people about how I know we can beat the obstacle course.
The first color wars event is that night: the Spy Game. We’re given little red or blue vests to wear and then the whole camp is divided down the middle, from the cabins to the river. Blue team starts at the meeting house and has to get to the boathouse, and Red team vice-versa, with the line down the middle being at the tennis courts. While in enemy territory, if you’re spotted by the opposite team, you go to jail. We’re all given flashlights.
Paz takes control outside the meeting house, assigning some people to patrol and some to try to get to the other side. Then we begin. I honestly don’t know how this game is allowed, it’s so dangerous. A bunch of us sneaking around the woods with no one able to watch all of us? Seems like it’s asking for trouble. But that might be what makes it more fun? Even previous summers, I’ve always loved trying to sneak across camp in the dark. And this summer, I feel like I’m extra prepared for it. I rub mud on my face and arms. I pull my black socks all the way up. And I take off into the woods behind the cabins.
The woods that extend around camp aren’t so thick you can’t find the camp again pretty easily just by looking for light. They do go pretty far out, but I think most of us are too scared of getting lost to get too deep. I have a few other campers with me: Montgomery, who I make wear a black hat to cover his red hair, and Jordan, who is prepared in a black ski mask and black pants and long-sleeved shirt under their blue vest. I’m supposed to lead them across the camp, though honestly, I feel like Jordan should be in charge. I tell them to keep low to the ground and move quietly. Getting down the hill is easy—the woods have a gentle slope, and besides, we’re still on our side of the camp. But I don’t want anyone to see us going into the woods.
“Last year,” Jordan whispers, “they had people patrolling the woods by the border, but there’s a stream there that looks like the one from the end of Funny Face that covers the sound of rustling bushes.”
“You lead the way, then,” I say.
“Okay,” they say. “But keep up. I’m going to get there before Ashleigh this year, so help me.”
Montgomery and I follow Jordan deeper into the woods, and sure enough, there’s a small brook nearby. It murmurs loudly enough to create white noise. We walk along it, keeping low and in the bushes. A few times we spot beams of light, but they swing over us. I’m not sure how far we get, but soon we see two figures right in our way. Jordan holds up their hand, and Montgomery and I stop, hiding in the bushes.