"These are going to be so epic," Geoff declared, setting aside washed shells on a spare towel.
"Totally," Bridgette agreed. "Everyone's gonna be so jealous when they see our finished mosiacs."
They laughed together, and the sound was as fuzzy and warm as the surf washing over her.
Most of the shells they'd found were not exactly picturesque. Their edges were jagged, their colors were dull and greyed. The biggest in their collection were no bigger than a loonie.
That didn't stop Bridgette from fawning over them, though. They'd basically barricaded themselves in the washroom as they scrubbed the shells free of sand and debris.
She held up a large intact shell up to the light and squinted into its interior. "Man, the dirt is really wedged in there."
"Need help?" Geoff offered an outstretched hand.
Bridgette smiled. He's so sweet. "No, I got it. I have a shell collection at home. It just takes a little bit of elbow grease to clean them out."
"You collect? That sounds totally up your alley."
"It's really fun. I have a lot from all the trips I've been on." She'd made it a goal: nab a new shell every time she headed down to the beach.
"Yeah? You said you went to Costa Rica, right? Does each country have different shells?"
Bridgette inched the faucet knob further to the left, and the extra pressure was enough to send sand spurting out of her shell. "Kinda. I've only left the country a handful of times. My Costa Rica shells are spirally, like ice cream cones. Some of them are ridged and bumpy, like these ones."
She ran a hand over the back of her clean shell and set it aside.
"Rad!" Geoff was grinning at her. Somehow, he's soaked the front of his hat, and water droplets fell from the brim onto his forearms. "Where else?"
"Madagascar…" Bridgette scrunched her nose, trying to remember which shells were from which country. "Oh, those are way different. They're really smooth, like the opposite of these ones. They curl over themselves and have some really sick patterns on the outside. They almost look like slugs."
"Wow." Geoff's eyes sparkled. He wasn't even phased by the mention of slugs. "You're, like, a shell expert or something."
"It's nothing much," Bridgette said modestly. Another batch of fragments was washed, and she put them on the towel.
"So wait, why were you in Madagascar, anyway? I kinda thought they made that place up for the movie."
Bridgette laughed. It didn't matter if Geoff was serious or if he was joking; either way, he was so funny.
"Nope, it's real! My parents used to do a lot of charity work. Building houses, teaching kids, stuff like that. They'd always take my brother and sister and me wherever they went. The Madagascar trip was when I was… it was April, so I had just turned ten, and my mom and dad were helping with housing efforts."
"That's cool, Bridgette." Geoff turned the faucet off. "Where was the last place you went to? You goin' on any more trips soon?"
Bridgette turned her own faucet off. Her reflection stared back at her, green eyes unblinking, and together they tried to figure out an answer. She liked Geoff—he asked a lot of questions, and his laugh was absolutely infectious—but did she trust him with the more somber truths about herself?
Well, honesty is the best policy.
"My last trip was to Costa Rica, right before I turned twelve." Bridgette leaned against the counter for support. "A few months later, my dad passed away. We stopped going on trips after that."
"Oh, shoot." Geoff was quiet. He adjusted his damp hat awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Bridgette. Are you okay?"
"Right as rain." Bridgette forced a smile. Talking about it was never easy, but the sting had lessened over the years. "He'd been diagnosed with leukemia for a while, so even though it was totally awful, at least it wasn't completely out of the blue. I've made my peace with it." Mostly. Sometimes Bridgette wondered if people ever made peace with endings.
Geoff opened the door and his mouth, but he was saved from answering because Heather and Lindsay walked in, looking as pampered as ever. Bridgette's gut reaction was to glare. Lindsay was okay, except for the company she kept. And Heather was…
"Hey guys," Geoff said, totally oblivious to everything.
"Hi, Gerard," Lindsay said, offering him a passing wave.
"Whatever," Heather said, setting up her makeup pouch beside the left sink.
Bridgette didn't speak; she cradled her shells in her hands and pushed past the door into the afternoon sunlight.
As they began their walk to the Arts & Crafts center, Bridgette blurted out, "Have you noticed how rancid Heather's vibes are?"
"Really? She seems a little intimidating, but so does Gwen, and you and Duncan and DJ think she's alright."
"True…" Her mind jumped to three nights ago, the day before Courtney's elimination, when Bridgette had bonded with Gwen and Leshawna over contraband s'mores and fizzy soda. She'd been impressed with both Gopher girls' philanthropic passions—especially Gwen's environmental awareness.
"Gwen is great," she continued, "but you know she and Heather hate each other, right?"
"They do?"
Bridgette's eyebrows rose. "Uh, yeah? Courtney and I figured that out a while ago, and we're not even on the same team as them."
"Oh. I mean, I've seen them fighting before, but I figured that's just how girls are. Like me and Harold, y'know? I don't hate the guy, the dudes and I are just teaching him a lesson."
Poor, clueless Geoff. Bridgette had weeks ago resolved to steer clear of the feud regarding Harold and his dirty undies.
"It's totally different! Gwen is passive-aggressive in an 'I pretend not to care' way, and Heather is passive-aggressive in an 'you're bad and you should feel bad' way."
"Kinda different from how Duncan is passive-aggressive in a funny way."
Just… just roll with it. "Yeah, exactly. And I haven't forgotten during the talent show, when Heather made a comment about weight and accused me of cheating in the same breath. She's horrible! Lindsay's probably just an extra vote to her."
Geoff craned his neck to look back at the washroom. "Totally bogus. I'll have to watch my back around her."
"We all should," Bridgette agreed, relieved she'd gotten through to them.
"Maybe we should talk about something with better vibes," Geoff suggested. "We can't get in a mosaic-making mood if we're thinking about Heather's bad juju."
"Sounds good to me. So where were we?"
"Uh, your dad, but that's also kinda a downer. Sorry for your loss."
"Again, it's fine. But I appreciate it."
"Okay, so tell me something funny about your childhood."
"Something funny?" Bridgette considered it. She had no shortage of stories from both abroad and home. She stared at the shells in her hands and thought of all the onses she kept at home, the ones she'd been able to collect because she hadn't been bogged down by schoolwork…
"Alright, I have something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Especially Duncan." Bridgette couldn't help the smile that was crawling up her face like a hermit crab.
"Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a swordfish in my eye."
"Okay. Well…" Bridgette crossed her fingers this conversation wouldn't end up in the final airing of Total Drama. "I was homeschooled until I was twelve."
"You?" Geoff gasped like she'd just confessed to murder. "No way! You and Ezekiel are both homeschoolers?"
"Yeah! How do you think I was able to go on so many trips with my parents?" Bridgette was laughing. "I was in Madagascar for five months, dude!"
"Woah, that's a total blow to your street cred. I don't think I can even be seen with you anymore!"
"No!" she shrieked playfully. She risked jostling his arm, but it totally backfired. Shells cascaded out of her palms.
"Our shells!" With a yelp, Bridgette dropped to her knees to pick them up.
"Tsk tsk tsk." Geoff stooped to help. "Didn't they teach you hand-eye coordination at that homeschool of yours?"
Bridgette pouted. "Okay, wise guy, you can clean these up yourself."
I miss Courtney, Bridgette thought, plain and simple.
After spending all of yesterday afternoon designing shell mosaics with Geoff, it was now a little jarring to have no one to talk to. Her cowboy-hatted prince charming had run off to hang with Duncan and DJ, doing whatever it was that boys found entertaining. He promised he'd return later to hang out with her on the dock, but for now, it was just Bridgette.
Of course, she was content to sit at a picnic table and enjoy the sunshine. The sky was clear aside from a few tasteful clouds that graced her with shade every now and then; it was the perfect July day.
But if Courtney had still been here, they could have enjoyed the sunshine as a pair. They could've traded stories about their little sisters, or played an enthralling round of Go Fish. Against all odds, Bridgette and Courtney had vibed together, but now her closest friend was inexplicably gone.
Sigh. Harold had claimed the other picnic table. He'd been there when Bridgette walked out, busy scribbling away on a slip of paper.
"Hey, Harold!" she called. "Have you seen Leshawna or Gwen?"
"What's it to you?" he replied, looking up at just the right angle that his glasses glinted in the sunlight.
"Just. Looking for some company." That isn't you, she added silently. Harold was alright, aside from the dirty underwear thing, but he also seemed to be busy with writing the next great Canadian novel.
"Leshawna is napping. I don't know what happened to Gwen. Hey, what rhymes with 'pine needle?'"
The best Bridgette could offer was "dung beetle?" Harold wrote down her suggestion before crumpling the paper and tossing it aside with an annoyed "gosh." Then he whipped out another sheet and wrote some more.
"Ahem."
In her seat, Bridgette twisted around and stifled a gasp. If she'd been a puffer fish, she would have puffed up all the way because somehow, Heather had sneaked up on her. From this angle, a halo of sunbeams framed her face. Designer shades were perched in her hair, and a bored expression was settled on her pointed features.
"Hey, Bridgette," she says. "I was just heading out for a walk. Would you like to come?"
And get critiqued on every step I take? No thank you.
Bridgette's actual reply was much less cutting. "Um, I'm good. Just busy… watching Harold… write…"
It was a sorry excuse, and Heather wasn't buying it. "Right. C'mon, just because we're on different teams doesn't mean we can't get to know each other. I bet Leshawna and Gwen already told you some horrible stuff."
"You literally called me fat." Well, not literally. But she might as well have.
"Wow." Heather looked genuinely off-put by Bridgette's bluntness, and then she sighed. "Well then, let's take a walk and let me apologize to you, okay?"
"Um, okay." Bridgette's resolve melted away against her will, like the polar ice caps underneath the scorching sun. If Heather actually wanted to apologize, then Bridgette might as well hear her out.
She stood up, smoothed out her board shorts, and didn't even look back at Harold before heading into the woods with Heather.
"Okay, girl, remind me exactly what I said to you?"
The forest canopy swallowed them whole, casting them in a comfortable shade.
"I was eating chips and you made a comment about sinking my surfboard. Glad to know you remember."
"Right. Listen, I'm a bit sensitive to health stuff. I used… my mother used to struggle with weight problems, and she imposed a lot of those values onto me. My siblings and I didn't have any of it: No chips, no soda, no nothing. Do you see where I'm coming from?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do." It made sense that Heather would inherit some anger from her mother. Didn't make it okay, but Bridgette felt ready to accept an apology now.
"Good. I'm so glad. Of course, even now we still don't get chips and stuff."
Heather ducked under a low-hanging branch. Bridgette missed the memo and ran straight into it.
"Ouch!"
"Oh! Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Nothing I'm not used to." Bridgette rubbed her head; it was a curse, being a total klutz. "What do you mean, you guys can't eat chips? Are you guys not a big junk food family?" That was something they had in common.
Heather shook her head. "My brother Damien's sick, so he has to watch his diet. And that impacts the family meals, so."
Bridgette's hand went to her mouth. That was literally horrible. She couldn't imagine how she'd feel if either of her siblings got sick like that. Poor little Bradley, her chin wobbling through an endless string of doctors' visits. And Brendan was already so annoyed at the world; he probably wouldn't even let her visit.
"I'm so sorry, Heather. I didn't know."
Heather's shoulders stiffened; her gaze remained fixed on the path ahead. "Leukemia is really tough. Especially because I'm… here." She finally looked over at Bridgette, her grey eyes filled with emotion. "I knew when I signed up that I'd have to be away from Damien all summer, but I didn't stop and think about what a toll it would have on me."
"Oh, Heather." No wonder she'd been such a jerk to everyone. She was a lot like Brendan in that respect: pushing everyone away, isolating herself under layers of anger and annoyance.
They stopped walking, and Bridgette offered a hug. Heather took it, and Bridgette's fingers became entangled in sheathes of sleek hair.
"I'm okay," Heather said. "I just have to keep a strong face."
"No you don't," Bridgette replied. "It's actually really helpful to let yourself grieve with other people. When my dad passed from leukemia, my mom and I got really close afterward. We'd just spend evenings crying to each other."
"I didn't know your dad had leukemia."
Bridgette nodded. "I'm sure your brother will make it through treatment."
"I sure hope so." Heather sniffled. "Thanks for listening, Bridgette."
"Of course. I'd never want you to suffer alone."
I hope you're proud, Dad. She felt in her bones that he was up in heaven, smiling at her for lending an ear to the most difficult girl at camp.
They kept walking through the forest. Bridgette reminded herself to give her mom the biggest hug ever when she got home. Bradley, too. Then they'd all go for a surf and spend the evening on the pier while Bridgette filled them in about Geoff and the competition.
There was a tug on her heartstrings. As much as she loved Geoff and DJ and Gwen and Leshawna and Courtney, she couldn't wait to be back home.
Heather spoke up again. "Actually, Bridgette, there is one thing. Could we… keep this conversation to ourselves? I know we're on constant surveillance or whatever, but I could barely get the words out to you, let alone anyone else."
"Of course," Bridgette promised. "Your secret is safe with me." She held out her pinkie.
Heather stared. "What are you doing?"
"Pinkie promise."
"Oh. Alright." Heather liked her pinkie with Bridgette's.
That evening, Bridgette and Geoff brought their mosaics to dinner.
As the artsy one of the group, Gwen was the most invested. She smiled as she traced the shells of Bridgette's abstract design. "Cool. Did you think of painting them different colors?"
"We considered it," Bridgette said. The Arts & Crafts cabin had a dozen acrylic paint bottles, half of which were usable. "I just preferred the natural look."
"And Bridgette knows best," Geoff chimed in. His design was less compact than Bridgette's, and it almost looked like a crab if you tilted it the right way.
"You gonna hang them in your room when you get home?" Trent asked. For some reason, the question was directed at only Bridgette, not Geoff.
"Yeah, I think so. It could also make a good door decoration," Bridgette said. Gwen and Trent nodded along.
"I'm gonna frame mine," Geoff decided.
That was the moment Heather and Lindsay walked by, carrying their trays to Duncan and DJ's table.
"That?" Heather sneered, overhearing. "That looks like something you'd find in a preschool lost-and-found."
She was seated on the other side of the room before anyone could even retaliate.
"I hate preps," Gwen said, stabbing a fork into her food.
Geoff whispered to Bridgette, "Woah, you were right. She's totally a jerk."
Bridgette winced. That was so uncalled for. But also, knowing what she knew now, could she really condemn Heather so easily?
Maybe her brother liked to make mosaics. Maybe there's one in her backyard right now. How should I know?
"Heather just…" Bridgette had no idea how to word this. "We all have our crosses to carry. Just try to get along with her."
Gwen snorted. "Whatever you say, Switzerland."
She was soon lost in a conversation with Trent, and Geoff quizzed Bridgette on her theories for tomorrow's challenge. Bridgette half-listened, but she was also thinking about Heather. It wasn't like she was going to defend Heather's every insult. Was it the worst thing in the world if she cut Heather some slack once and a while?
Heather set her dinner down across from Duncan. Over his shoulder, she was easily able to watch Bridgette and Geoff's backs. Geoff seemed relaxed as ever, despite her comment about his ugly art. On the other hand, Bridgette's shoulders were bunched.
Aw, did I do that? Heather smiled. Hopefully. She didn't feel too bad about it. It's not like I told her that Damien died or anything.
Duncan raised a forkful of whatever. "Okay, what gives?"
"Don't worry about it." Heather decided to ignore him and dwell on her victory in silence.
Lying to Bridgette had been a risk, but now that she was the only girl on the Killer Bass, now was as good a time as ever to get into her good graces. Bridgette wasn't exactly an ally, but at the very least, she might side with Heather the next time Leshawna got obnoxious.
Here was the best part: as long as Heather didn't mention her siblings in conversation—easy enough—there was no reason Bridgette would ever find out about what she'd done.