Very Bad Things

By Kryss LaBryn

A/N: This is not a typical "music camp" phic, in which our leads are modern teenage versions of the famous characters, trying to sort out their relationships against a backdrop of councilors and cabins. Instead (although it was in some way inspired by a certain class of these types of phics), it is a somewhat more, er, traditional look at what is likely to happen when you take a bunch of teenage girls, stick them in a camp in the middle of the woods, and mix in a long-dead stalker with a fetish for blonde singers. XD Ree! Ree! Ree! Ree!

A very special thank you to my beta, Biskuits, who helped to keep my American Teenager Slang correct. Surprisingly enough, Canadian Teenspeak from the Eighties isn't quite the same! ;-) Thanks, Biskuits! :-D

Chapter One: Hello

"Music camp. You're kidding me." Kir folded her arms in defiance.

"Not just music camp. Singing camp!" Her mother's enthusiasm grated.

"I cannot believe you signed me up for singing camp."

"You love to sing!" The older woman's face began to take on a slightly tremble-y aspect that Kir immediately identified as an incipient guilt attack. "You sing all the time!"

"Yeah, Mom, I do. In the shower, Mom. Jesus. You know I suck."

"Well, then, this is the perfect opportunity to improve. Come on, Kirsten! It'll be fun. You'll see."

"I won't see because I'm not going."

Her mother's mouth set in a thin, firm line. "You are going, if I have to tie you up and toss you from the moving car. Your father and I spent too much money to get you a place for you to not go. Non-refundable, I might add. And I am not going to give up three weeks of peace and quiet!"

"Three weeks? Are you insane? There's no way…"

But, of course, Kir thought grumpily, staring at the bloody trees brushing the car's side windows, She is insane. And I'm a minor. It's not fair!

Fair or not, though, Kir was bouncing along a back road in the middle of nowhere while her idiot mother happily burbled away about all the fun she was going to have and all the friends she was going to make. Kir had almost succeeded in tuning her out when she saw something that made her sit up with a little shriek. "Mom! Stop the car. I'm not going."

Her mother's apparent good mood instantly vanished. "We've been over this, Kirsten," she said flatly.

"But Mom! Look! The power lines ended! We're, like, miles away in the middle of the woods and there's not even any electricity? What the hell, Mom?"

"You'll be fine. You don't need all that electronic stuff, anyways. I told you not to pack it, didn't I? Now, don't worry. The cabins all have oil lamps; it's not like you've got to use candles—"

"You knew? You knew that there wasn't any electricity and you didn't tell me. I can't believe this." Kir crossed her arms and glared out the window in irritation. No, she was beyond irritated. She was absolutely. Pissed. Off. "At the very least I could have stocked up on batteries for my iPod."

"You're going to singing camp," her mother blithely burbled. "What would you need your iPod for?"

Kir glanced about as her mother wandered off to talk to someone or other. She supposed that the cottages might not be too bad; the few she could glimpse through the giant trees that absolutely surrounded the place seemed to have sort of a Swiss chalet thing going on, instead of the backwoods inbred hillbilly look she was fearing. A bigger place, probably like the dining hall or something, she reasoned, stood at the other end of the flat graveled area that was probably supposed to be a parking lot. A few other kids milled about the open doors, all of them girls, so far as she could tell, and most of them looking as uncertain as she.

"Hi!" A bubbly blonde bounced up and smiled perkily. "I'm Megan! You look pretty lost. First time?"

"Um, yeah, I guess. I'm Kir." She pushed her hair back and gave a little wave.

"'Kir'? Oh em gee, that is sooo cute! Almost like Captain Kirk, right? My brother is a huge geek," she confided, and giggled. Kir kind of wanted to beat her head in with her shoe. "Can I call you 'Captain'?"

"It's short for 'Kirsten', actually, and I'd kind of prefer you didn't…"

Unfortunately, Megan didn't seem to hear. "Hey! Susanne!" She waved to another girl, a leggy redhead, who nodded vaguely and headed their way. "Susanne, this is The Captain." She giggled again.

"Hi. I'm Kirsten. Um."

The redhead seemed bored. "Yeah. Hi. Hey, you see where Randy went?"

Megan made a face. "Probably down at the pit again. What do you want her for?"

"She's got my music, I think. Want to come?"

"Ugh. No thank you."

Susanne pointed her chin at Kir. "How 'bout you?"

Kir glanced at Megan's pout and slowly nodded. "Sure, I guess. Yeah."

"Fine. Tee tee wuy ell, Captain." With a twirl Megan stalked away.

"Jesus," muttered Susanne. "Drama queen."

"She's not, uh, your friend, then?" Kir was curious despite herself.

"Her? God, no. She's a total backstabbing bitch. She only gets the leads because she bawls if she doesn't, and drives everyone nuts." Susanne paused. "Why'd she start calling you 'Captain'?"

"I'm Kir. You know. Like Captain Kirk. Ahahaha."

"Aw. Jesus. And she's got that Spock fixation…" Susanne turned and headed for a path through the trees. Kir followed, confused.

"She does? She said her brother was the geek…"

"No, her brother plays video games about shooting things and football. She, however, spent most of last year boring us with her stupid Spock fixation, and her stupid K/S theories."

"'Kay ess'? I'm sort of scared to ask…"

Susanne grunted. "You should be. It's nerd shorthand for all the ways Kirk and Spock are actually screwing each other."

"You're kidding."

"I wish. You're just lucky she fixated on that before she clued in to your name. This year it's all 'The Phantom' this and 'Emmy' that…"

"The who?"

"The Phantom of the Opera. You know? Big record-breaking musical? Made that totally hot movie with that totally hot guy, and oh em gee, isn't Christine a stupid cow whore for leaving with the fop instead of the poor Phantom?" She snorted.

"Oh! Um… Oh yeah, I think I saw that. Came out a few years ago? You're, um, a fan?"

"Me? No. Come on. They've got some gorgeous guy playing the 'hideously deformed' guy, and the whole thing takes place in an opera and none of them can act, let alone sing worth a damn? As if."

"I thought the music was supposed to be pretty good, though…"

"The music is trite pablum ripped off by a wannabe rocker from artists with more talent in their decomposing pinkies than he'll ever dream of having in his life. Trust me. It's crap."

"Hey, Su. Dissing the great ALW again?" A pretty brunette with a friendly smile came up the path towards them.

"Hey, Sarah. You know it." Susanne grinned. "Seen Randy?"

"Yeah, she's just back at the pit." Sarah waved vaguely behind her. "Who's this?"

"This is Kir. Short for Kirsten."

"Kirsten? Really? We'll have to hide her from Meg, then."

"Too late. She's calling her 'the Captain'."

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "The Captain? Why?"

"You know… Kir… Captain Kirk…" Kir mumbled, embarrassed.

"Wow. That's reaching a bit, isn't it? Still…" Sarah grinned at her in commiseration. "At least she isn't calling you 'Christine'."

"Yeah, that probably wouldn't end well," agreed Susanne.

"Well, the stunningly-appointed washroom calls. See you later, guys." And with a wave, Sarah continued up the path.

Kir grinned at her retreating back, then turned and trotted to catch up to Susanne. "So I'm guessing she's not a fan either?"

"Not of Megan and not of ALW."

"ALW?"

"Andrew fucking Lloyd-Webber. Lord Andy. The Great One, whose feet we are not worthy to kiss. The talentless hack who composed the music for Phantom. And Starlight Express and Jesus Christ Superstar and Cats…"

"I rather liked Cats…" Kir mumbled.

"Yeah? What was your favorite part?"

"Well, I loved the lyrics, some of them were very clever… And you have to admit, 'Memory' is lovely."

Susanne chuckled. "See? You've got taste. You'll do fine with us."

"I don't understand…"

"The lyrics were poems written by "Old Possum" himself, the late great T.S. Elliot. And 'Memory', the tune, that is, is actually a great old piece called 'Bolero'. You know, by Ravel. And it is lovely. Unfortunately, it seems the great Lord Andy actually ripped off most of his music from other composers. Well, at least, all the ones he turned into popular songs." She walked on a few paces before adding, "Really, it's only Megan and her clique who like his stuff. The rest of us can take it or leave it. It's probably not entirely coincidence that it's the rest of us who can actually sing…"

"I can't believe he'd rip off all his stuff! How would he get away with it? Wouldn't someone notice?"

Susanne glanced at her. "Of course people have noticed. But how are you going to shout down his legions of fans? And the people he's ripping off are all dead. It's all public-domain stuff. Who's gonna sue?"

Kir was silent a bit longer, mulling it over, until the path opened up and she found herself in a small clearing. Logs circled a fire pit, already laid with wood. A few more girls chatted on one of the logs, but Susanne approached another girl, with mousy hair and glasses, who sat alone, bent over a book.

"Hey, Randy," she said cheerily. "Whaddaya say? Faust again?"

"Of course Faust," said Randy mildly, closing her book around her finger as she looked up. "What would music camp be without Faust? Who's this?"

"I'm Kir. Um, Kirsten."

"Hi. How do you feel about Lord Andy?"

"Um. Well, I saw the Phantom movie a few years ago, but I don't really remember it."

"Friend!" Randy opened her arms wide and beamed. "Welcome to the ranks of the rational! What's your tessitura?"

Kir stared blankly for a moment. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Randy grinned. "'How low can you go?' I'm a contralto, Su's a soubrette, what're you?"

"Um… you mean, like, a soprano or whatever?"

"More or less…" Randy's smile took on a forced aspect.

"Well, mostly I'm crap. Mum sent me here 'cause I like to sing, but I'm no good at it."

Randy and Susanne stared a moment, before Randy's face broke out into another huge grin. "Friend!" She threw her arms wide again. "Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh, callay! And thank god, someone who knows their limits. Rock on, Kir!"

"Um…"

"Far too often," Susanne said with a grin, "We, um, experience campers with no experience, shall we say."

"That is to say," added Randy, "Those who are confident in their abilities despite all evidence to the contrary."

"In other words, kids who can't sing worth a damn?" grinned Kir.

"But who are positive that it's only a matter of time before the great Lord Andy discovers them, yes," finished Randy. "Actually, looking at some of his casting choices, their hopes may not be entirely in vain…" She paused. "Do you hear a horn?"

Kir blanched. "Oh man, my mom! I totally forgot. She's still got all my stuff in the car!" She spun to dash back up the path when Susanne grabbed her.

"Not that way, this way. There's a shortcut straight there." She pointed to a narrow but beaten path to the side of the clearing. "Take you straight there."

"Watch out for Jabberwockies!" shouted Randy behind her, glee in her voice. "And phanbrats!"

Sooner than she expected, Kir burst past a last bush and into the parking area. Sure enough, her mom was leaning through the car window, honking, much to Kir's irritation. Her stuff was already unpacked a short way away.

"Mom! Mom, I'm here. Stop honking," she panted as she jogged up, embarrassed.

Her mother looked annoyed. "Honestly, Kirsten, why did you run off like that? I've been waiting for you for the better part of twenty minutes!"

"Sorry, Mom. I was, uh, I went for a walk with one of the girls…"

Instantly, her mom brightened. "Really, honey? That's wonderful! See? I told you you'd make friends!"

"Yeah, I guess. Um. So anyways, it looks like all my stuff's out, so…"

"Yes, we unpacked it all. You didn't think I was going to leave without saying goodbye, though, do you? Come here and give your mother a hug!"

Jesus. "'We'?" asked Kir as she submitted to the maternal embrace.

"Yes! Your bunkmate helped me. Where'd she go? Megan? I want to introduce you to my daughter."

"Right here!" Megan bounced up. "We've met! Hi again, Captain!"

"'Captain'?" Her mother seemed amused. "What a wonderful music camp nickname! Are you going to be 'Tennille', then?"

Both teens stared blankly at her for a moment, before Megan turned back to Kir. "You get to share a cabin with me and Melanie and Triffy! Isn't it going to be fun?"

"Yes!" Kir chirped back. "We can braid each other's hair and tell stories about boys and show each other pictures of our ponies!" Unfortunately her sarcasm seemed to be completely lost.

"Well! It certainly sounds like you two will have fun! Be good, now, honey, and have fun, and I'll see you in three weeks at the concert!"

"'Concert'? What concert?" But her mom was already climbing into the car, and with a final wave and a "Bye, honey! Be good!" she was off.

"What concert?" Kir asked Megan.

"Oh, you know, the recital we all give at the end. Never mind all that," Megan tucked her arm through Kir's and began to lead her away as she looked helplessly back at her bags. "Never mind them; we'll come back for them later. Let me show you our cabin! So tell me," and she gave Kir a little tug to keep her moving, "What color is your pony..?"

A/N: I do have to thank Lord Andy's music for introducing me to Phantom, because without those opening chords of the overture I would never have discovered the book. Without the book, I would have missed out on the first (and so far, one of the very few) fictional characters I ever really identified with. Without Leroux, I would also have never gone looking for a recording of Gounod's Faust, which in turn led me to the world of opera. So a sincere thank you for that, Lord Andy!

I do remain fond of several of his songs (and have even been known to hum them on occasion), but "Bolero" does share a certain similarity with "Memory". You might also be interested in listening to "Rosemary," by Frank Loesser, and Mendelssohn's "Violin Concerto". You know. Just'ta. ;-)

Next chapter should be up in a week! Please Read and Review!­