Disclaimer: I don't own the Clique, Lisi Harrison does. (Or Spells and Sleeping Bags, the inspiration for this, that belongs to SM.) Enjoy :)

...

"Name?" asks the pen-chewing teen standing in front of the gateway to hell, (see also: the bus door).

The ponytail of her long blond hair is peeking out of her Mets baseball cap, she's chomping on the end of the pen like it's a pretzel, and her plastic tag reads Mandy,

I glare at her, mentally ordering her to stow chewing, but the effect of my death stare fades as I shudder again.

My parents made the announcement over French toast and coffee last week that they had enrolled me at Camp Pinehurst for the summer. I'd snorted out half the strawberry milkshake I'd been sipping on and managed to stain my Stella McCartney top, which was just the icing on the cake.

"Name?" Mandy repeated, shooting me a worried glance over her clipboard.

Breathe in, breathe out. Crap, it's cold. I should've checked the weather forecast before wearing the shortest pair of designer shorts I could find in my wardrobe. Or at least asked Isaac, so this wouldn't have been so embarrassing. The rest of the campers crowded around the bus are wearing jeans, and the sky is a stupid shade of dark gray to match my mood.

"Massie Block."

Chomp, chomp. "What grade did you just finish?"

"Ninth." I shudder. Was it supposed to be so damn cold out here? Manhattan sucked. My earlobes have frozen into blocks of ice, and now the doctor will probably have to amputate. Seriously. That's what they do with frostbite. Just call me Van Gogh.

Mandy chews her pen some more, then scribbles something on her clipboard.

"Mmkay. You'll be in cabin sixteen." She waves me away, giving me a pointed glance. "The bus leaves in ten minutes, so you have that much time to say bye to your 'rents and get to know some new people."

I grimace and make my way over to where Mom and Dad are standing next to the limo, identical beaming expressions on their faces. A roll of thunder resonates above us, and I clutch at my umbrella. Ehmagawd, if it rains and my hair goes all frizzy now, I swear to Bean someone will get seriously hurt. And it won't be my hair.

Dad smiles at me through his Ray-Bans. I cross my arms in front of my chest, the itchy material of the Camp Pinehurst shirt we were forced to wear riding up my tummy.

The sky roars again. The seconds tick by, and It feels like the clichéd epilogue of some thriller movies Nina's boyfriend is always making us watch, where some psycho is going to jump out of a van with a machine gun and go on a rampage. On the bright side, it would mean I didn't have to spend my summer in Camp Pinehurst.

But on the other hand, I'd die in this stupid city with crap weather, which is not at all glamorous, and I'd be spending all my summers for the rest of time in the New York Cemetery.

Isaac waves at me from the passenger seat, but I turn my back on him. They're all traitors, for doing this to me.

Dad looks amused. I think he's remembering when I told him that the next time he would see me was when a large rectangular box would be delivered to his porch, because I'll have been knifed by some delinquent and/or blown up in some stupid camp activity and/or shot and/or eaten by a grizzly bear. It's nice to see that the death of his only daughter is a source of entertainment to him.

"So, excited for camp?"

According to him, it will be a wonderful experience and I'll meet new people and bond over s'mores and make friends for life, and he just wants me to have fun. Him and Mom have a paranoia I'm becoming "spoilt", and they don't think my best friend Nina's a good influence on me.

I stare at their beaming faces, trying to remember my yoga exercises for stressful situations like this one. "Just tell me one thing." I say, ignoring his question.

Dad motions for me to continue, and I draw in a breath.

"Will there be Wi-Fi?"

Mom shoots me an exasperated look, just when the pen-chewing girl picks up a megaphone and asked us all to board the bus.

My mouth fell open.

"Are you freaking kidding—"

I'm interrupted by the blue-lipped Mandy again, who has motioned to the bus driver to close the door. Crap.

Mom leans in to kiss my cheek, but I dodge her.

I turn back to my parents, not bothering to conceal my annoyance anymore. Their drinks must have all been spiked at that dinner party last night, because the whole world seems delusional. Me, Massie Block, go to a summer camp, infested with armies of mosquitoes and physical activities and ugly green shirts, and I'll have to share a bathroom?

"Bye, sweetie, write often, okay?"

I shudder again, feeling physically sick.

And then climb onto the bus.

…

I skip up the three steps into the excruciatingly cold bus. The backseats are filled with sweating and chattering teenage girls, who all abruptly stop talking the second they see me.

They collectively look me up and down-I have no idea why, since we're all wearing the same assigned pale green Camp Pinehurst cotton T-shirts and matching shorts-and resume their conversations.

"You're all here, right?" Mandy is now looking nervously around the bus, pointing at each of us while silently counting. There are only about twenty of us on the bus, because we still have another stop before we get to the camp, so I slip into a seat by the window and pull my iPod and the newest Teen Vogue out of my knapsack. "All right, you seem to all be here. Everyone ready?"

"We're ready," announces a brunette at the back. She has a blue streak in her hair and a NYHS swim team sweatshirt on. I stared at the goosebumps on my legs, and envied her.

Mandy's blue lips stretch into a half-smile. "Ready to start the summer?"

The girls around me all holler and applaud. I put the volume up on my iPod, biting down on the spearmint gum I'd popped into my mouth, blinking back tears.

God, I did nawt want to go through summer camp. What would Bean do without me? She wouldn't eat, because she'd be so depressed about her missing owner, and probably do that thing where she wanders around and looks sad all the time, like she did when her favourite mini Bark Jacobs sweater got ruined in the wash, and then she'd die a neglected puppy, and—

"Then let's get this bus rolling!"

I sink further into my seat. The only rolling I'm going to be doing is in my grave.

…

A/N: You might be a little confused, because it's different. Well, I decided against the diary format and changed it to Massie-centric, so I hope that clears it up a little. Once again, reviews aren't compulsory, but can be exchanged for cherry popsicles at the counter. Do y'all have any pairing suggestions?

One more thing: I'm in the process of creating a Writers Lounge: Clique Edition forum to discuss stories/chat with other authors/drink nonexistant coffee. It's still a work-in-progress, but check it out? And if anyone wants to be a moderator, feel free to PM me. The fandom needs more love.

Till next time,

-chocolatechipdelirium.