Chapter 18
She didn't mind the soggy mush that once could be called food squishing between her fingers as it floated by in the soapy water. She didn't mind that their idea of a sponge was a flimsy scrap that had seen better days. She didn't mind that tackling the stack of dinner dishes was bound to take her hours. Being shut away from everyone was a nice reprieve.
The minute the counselors signaled that dinner was over and they were free to go back to their tents or the Wreck Room, Mickey bolted from her seat. By the time half the campers were on their feet she had already disappeared back into the kitchen. It wasn't lost on her how, when she first arrived at camp, she wasn't particularly happy with being moved to the kitchens; as if they were quietly telling her where she was supposed to be. Where she belonged. But now, she raced for the security that the area gave her because it gave her a place away.
From Eagle's increasingly pushy assistance, from B-Tent's unusually fierce glares across the mess hall, from Squid's sudden and strange empathy, from the constant noise, from everything. The thoughts flying through her brain already screamed at her, the extra weight added on top wasn't welcomed.
She let out a breath of relief when the sound filtering in through the door ceased altogether, chatter and laughter fading to a steady quiet as the campers went off in search for something to entertain themselves before lights out. Listening to them was exhausting sometimes. Halfway through dinner she found herself longing for the days she sat alone in an empty classroom when the rest of her high school was at lunch. The only other person around was her English teacher, a lovely woman who knew when to ask questions and knew when Mickey just wanted to eat in peace. She craved peace; instead she was forced to listen to the guys talk about something exquisitely boyish like wondering if they could ride a T-rex like a horse. She would've preferred they talk about Clyde Livingston again; at least then she could somewhat contribute to the conversation. She may not have stats memorized like they do but she knew good teams when she saw them. Though she supposed they held off because Stanley didn't like talking about him; that or X-Ray didn't feel like picking on him for the time being.
She snorted at the thought because, from what she gleamed from the past few weeks she'd been there, X-Ray wasn't that nice. He knew the game and he played it well; his mouth moved faster than someonelse's ears could catch up and he smooth-talked better than any politician. She'd be impressed with him if she didn't want to strangle him.
Mickey set aside a tray and reached for one of the dirtied pots. She lifted it with one hand, using her elbow to push the faucet away. The handle of the pot slipped through her soapy fingers and it crashed into the surface of the water. She didn't have time to step back, get out of the way, and, in the next second, soapy, dirty, dishwater splashed up and landed in her opened mouth.
Her mouth steadily dropped open even further, tongue lolling out of her mouth as horror and disgust twisted her face. The muscles in her throat spasmed and retching sounds poured out of her as she frantically rubbed at her tongue with her sleeve to rid herself of the disgusting taste. She spat and hocked saliva; it landed in splatters on the floor.
With heaving breaths, she placed her wet hands on her hips and stared down at the offending sink, then around to the splash of water that sat atop of the surrounding countertop and the dribbles on the floor, up and around the space of the kitchen and down to the orange jumpsuit she practically swam in, the arms tied around her waist. Beneath the pooling fabric that touched the ground, the tips of her dusty boots stared back at her.
Then, as a predator would stalk right up to its prey, a giggle overcame her. Her lips twitched in the corners, lifting and dropping like the ebb and flow of a tide. Pressure built in her chest and she laughed again, a foreign sound magnified in the otherwise empty kitchen. In a matter of seconds, Mickey found her eyes scrunching up, her shoulders quaking, and her stomach clenching due to the force of series of laughter bursting out of her. And this time, she didn't stop it.
She laughed and laughed, the sound changing from amusement to hysterical. Tears grew in the corners of her eyes and her stomach ached. She wrapped her arms around herself, doubling over as she laughed. The sound shifted out to loud wheezes and her series of laughter brought her down to her knees.
She was in jail. It was a strange time to hit her, but it hit with the force of a sledgehammer. Her, Mickey Mason, was stuck in a jail of sorts for…she didn't even know how much longer her sentencing was. She didn't even know what day it was anymore. Everything blurred together, hidden underneath a layer of dust. Except for the simple fact that now, in the eyes of the law, she was a criminal. And she was in jail.
The thought sent her into another fit of laughter. Never in her life did she think this was how her future would turn out. She never stepped out of line, never spoke out of turn, did as she was told, minded her own business, kept her head down, kept quiet…only to still end up here. Like everyone else.
Her laughter ended all at once as reality, like a bucket of cold water, cascaded around her. I did everything right…and I ended up here. Her hand came up to her mouth, nose nestling in the crook between her thumb and forefinger as her mind raced. The breaths pushing out of her nose skitted across her skin in rapid succession. What was the point, then? What was the point of following her mother to the Country Club all the time? What was the point in constantly doing the right thing if this was how she was going to end up? What was the damn point of trying so hard to be perfect in her mother's eyes if this was how everything was going to end? What was the point in anything?
In the end, she was just like them.
Her smile came back to her face. She was just like them.
She recalled similar wording that her mother had used in her past letter, when she was ranting that Mickey had "ruined her life"—she still wasn't sure if the life that was ruined was her own or her mother's—and that she didn't raise her daughter "that way".
Mickey stepped back up to the sink, shaking her head. Her mother, in all fairness, didn't raise her a certain way. She taught her how to be stepped on, walked over, molded to be what people wanted to control. And the sad thing was, her mother wasn't always like that. She wasn't always focused on appearances and fitting into a certain crowd. Back when they didn't have the funds they lived with now, the Mason family lived in the same area as the Carsons. Their mothers had been best friends for crying out loud. But then the moment her mother inherited money from her grandfather's will, everything changed.
Mrs. Mason quit her cashiering job, went to and completed law school, passed the bar, and became a divorce lawyer. And that was fine, Mickey liked seeing the glow on her mother's face when she came back with a high grade one of her tests and being proud of her accomplishments. But then they moved, got a new house, got new cars, her mother started dressing like the other mothers on the block, started talking like them and gained a membership to the Country Club. The next thing Mickey knew her weekends were full of attending the club, being told what to dress, how to act, what hobbies to pursue, having playdates with Alexis and the rest of the kids in her mommy group, and being told how to fit into that certain brand of society.
And now all of that was dashed because of one choice. Because she finally decided to stand up for herself, and yet she was told it was wrong. Well, that was fine. Doing things right didn't get her anywhere, maybe playing their game would get her the results she wanted. That she deserved.
With a long sigh, Mickey dried her hands on a nearby towel, ignoring the strange dingy gray color the cloth held, and surveyed the now clean stack of dishes around her. She walked to the serving line and leaned over, glancing in through the back window and into Mr. Sir's office. He wasn't there but that didn't surprise her. The campers weren't the only ones who had a daily routine. She'd been in the kitchens long enough she could time Mr. Sir and his breaks. He claimed that he had quit smoking but he took far too many breaks for that to be true, she thought.
Mickey ran her tongue against her bottom lip, her fingers twitched by her sides. For a brief moment she wondered if she could do this but then she pushed the thought away. She was already in this deep, she was already detained and her reputation was ruined, certainly there wasn't any further down she could get. Okay, you can do this!
Forcing down the lump n her throat, she glanced around, and hastily made a beeline for the office. Aware of the heavy clomp clomp clomp of her two-sizes-too-big boots made as she rushed, she did her best to change her footfalls, cringing all the while. There'd probably be kids all the way in China that heard her. Her mouth crinkled into a smile at the corners, thinking back to Squid's somewhat daily unanswered question about where exactly Chinese kids dig to and then it dropped a moment later.
Once upon a time she could look at him and know what he was thinking. Now…she wasn't sure she wanted to know what he was thinking. He certainly wasn't thinking good thoughts of her before and he was stubborn as a mule, trying to change his mind was like trying to get a turtle to walk on its hind legs. Her mouth twisted to the side. That didn't matter now. She hadn't meant to unload so much onto him but, like an uncorked shaken bottle of soda, she burst and it all came rushing out. And it felt…good to say what she wanted, when she wanted, without being told to "be quiet" or that she was "overreacting"
or that it "wasn't a big deal".
It felt good to be listened to for once. Even if it was Squid, of all people.
Though her body was still weary from her recent panic attack, for the first time in a long while she felt light. Like the burden that had been dropped onto her shoulders long ago had lifted just enough for her to stand a little taller. And it was that lightness, like wings on her feet, that made her decide to slip into the empty office and rummage through the first drawer that she saw to find her file. She needed to read it again, just to see with her own eyes that it said what Magnet had reported. That she was marked as a male. It could very well have been a mistake but…someone certainly would have caught something so pivotal. …Right?
Tongue pressed between her teeth, Mickey kept her breathing as light as possible. If her heavy breathing didn't lead to being caught, then her heart ragging inside her chest would do it. She didn't know how other people could steal and be so blasé about it. Her nerves took ahold of her even when she thought of lying. As a kid she'd do something naughty and, within a minute, tattle on herself and put herself in timeout to ease the guilt and the nausea that came with it. It was only somewhat recently she'd managed to make her way through the art of lying but, then again, shame and fear had controlled her tongue; it helped make it a little easier.
Mickey glanced over her shoulder, doublechecking that she was alone, and went back to rifling through the loose assortment of papers in the desk drawer. Her eyes caught snippets on the flimsy pages but they weren't of interest. Just copies of receipts for expenses and inventory forms and delivery records. If anything, it only solidified how cheap the Warden was. But that wasn't new news and they couldn't expect anything else from a place that had something oh-so-lovingly called a Wreck Room and four-minute showers.
Her fingers brushed against something with a glossy, smooth surface. Eyebrows furrowing, Mickey grabbed the object and pulled it out. Her eyebrows crinkled at the sight of a magazine and then jumped high as she took in what magazine, exactly, she held. The title—MYSCHIEF—leapt off the page, briefly drawing attention away from the leg descending from the top of the cover and ending with a foot nestled in a bright red, five-inch stiletto. The tip of he foot flexed, stepping down on…
Uttering a cry of surprise, she tossed the magazine away from her and tried so desperately hard not to think of Mr. Sir or Pendanski spending quality time with the magazine. A low, groan of disgust followed as she hastily wiped her hands on her clean set of work clothes; loud enough to properly announce her displeasure but soft enough to let the sound of the magazine smacking against something to filter through.
With a skipping heart, Mickey whirled around, her eyes darting to find the source of the sound whilst simultaneously listening to see if someone had heard her. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the biting pain in her knees from having knelt for so long, and rushed to the other side of the office. If it weren't for digging so many holes, her back would've screamed at her for rushing in such a hunched position. She could hear her mother now, chastising her for her poor posture. Mickey had to laugh a little. Poor posture, poor choices, they just went hand in hand didn't they?
Her amusement became short lived as she spotted the magazine she flung had smacked against the filing cabinets across from the desk. It lay haphazardly against a half open drawer, some of the pages pooling into the open space. Making a face, Mickey hastily fixed the jostled animal skulls that adorned the top of the cabinet and then grabbed the magazine. She turned, ready to put the magazine back, and stopped. Out the corner of her eye she spotted a stack of…something. Something that, while not completely out of place in a drawer, still set the little alarm bells in her head blaring. She stuck her hand in, grabbed it, and had barely retrieved an envelope when she heard it.
Footsteps.
Fast approaching.
A jolt of fear shot through her, sparking her to life. She rushed back to the desk, throwing the magazine down, and shoved the envelope down into the waistband of her uniform when the door swung open. She squinted her eyes in a hasty attempt to keep them from widening and stood stock still beneath Pendanski's surprised and then curious gaze. A bead of sweat formed by her temple.
"Mickey! What are you doing in here?" Pendanski ask. His voice, light and cheery as always, didn't match the hard look in his eye. He leaned backwards, slowly closing the office's front door, never taking his eyes off her.
Her lips pressed together. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her fingers twitched by her side and all moisture—well, remaining moisture—sucked out of her mouth. She could run. She could fight. But, she did what her body always seemed to default to.
She froze.
"Campers aren't allowed to be in here without supervision," Pendanski continued. He took a step forward. She flinched; his mere footfall a stomp on the ground due to the adrenaline coursing through her. And still her feet remained rooted to the ground, no matter how much she screamed at herself to go, to run, to do something than let him get too close. "What were you doing in here?"
She watched as his head slowly moved around the room, his eyes taking in everything to catch something amiss. If he found something, he didn't show it on his face. He sighed, his head dropping, and he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "I do so much for you all. I give you chances. I give you so much respect; I only hoped that I'd get it back but this—"
"Tampons!"
An excruciating silence stretched between the two as they stood, rattled at Mickey's outburst. If it weren't for the face she pulled immediately afterwards she wouldn't have even been sure that she was the one to shout out such a nonsensical word. And yet she did and now here they were, both looking as if they wished the ground would swallow them up whole.
"…Um, I…" Oh now her tongue decided to unstick itself from the roof of her mouth. She swallowed, despite the dry, sticky coating on her tongue and tried to ease out her words. "Ran out. I kind of need more. Thought…maybe there would be some in here."
Pendanski blinked so much Mickey wondered if it would create enough lift for him to take flight as he processed her words. A rush of warmth spread throughout her and sweat began to collect around her midsection. If he didn't hurry up she wouldn't be able to get the envelope out before it was ruined. "We…we don't…. We don't…" Mickey bit her lip to keep from snapping at his seeming brain malfunction at the mere fact that, unsurprisingly, at some point she would need a feminine hygiene product. "We don't have those here."
"Really? Figured it'd make more sense. Can't just…walk into the Warden's cabin and ask around there, can I?" Mickey replied, keeping as much innocence in her voice as possible. Because they both knew that wasn't even a thought to be had. After all, it would directly violet rule number one: don't upset the Warden.
She already learned that the hard way. When she'd stopped the Warden some time ago, asking to know when she'd be transported to the proper detention facility, all Mickey had gotten in response was a squinty-eyed, soft-spoken "Excuse me?" that chilled her to her core and made her want to put herself in a corner and think about what she had done. It was quickly followed up by a short "We're working on it; get back to diggin'," and a dismissive wave of the Warden's hand. She didn't ask again after that.
But the question remained on her tongue and now that Pendanski was in front of her, she could only do him a favor and save him from the excruciating pain he seemed to be in coming up with someone sort of way out of the conversation. Really, it was for his own good. "But…I can work around that," she said, rushing through her words.
Pendanski let out an audible sigh of relief and the easy-going smile returned to his face. "See? Self-reliance, it's a trait we work on building here. We want you all to return to society having learned—"
"And that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Mickey jumped in, fighting every urge to pinch herself for interrupting. Habits died hard, she supposed. "Leaving. You…you said in the beginning that I was supposed to be moved out of here. Remember? That…that this was only going to be temporary."
"Yes! Well, you see, it's not exactly easy to get someone out here with the proper credentials to have you moved," Pendanski said. As he continued, as he hemmed and hawed about exactly why she was still being held there, the explanations came at her in a garbled, jumbled mess. She wanted to hear what he said, take in every word, but her mind just wouldn't cooperate. It buzzed with the unrestrained questions she didn't dare let out in fear of having some sort of repercussion from Pendanski or Mr. Sir or, worse, the Warden. After all, the Warden didn't have a chip on her shoulder, she had the entire Grand Canyon. It had steadily became clear to Mickey that they were looking for something and whatever it was that they weren't finding fast enough made the Warden's mood sour more than usual. And the idea of getting some sort of answer as to why she was still there from any of them was becoming a lost hope.
But, still, surely this was a mistake that could have been—should have been—caught. And yet, somehow, it still went through. No one bothered to double check that she was being put in the right place? Her name was Mickayla for crying out loud; the day she met a boy with that name would be the day pigs flew. Something was off and she couldn't put her finger on it. The last time she felt something so strong ringing her intuition bell, she ignored it. And that was the worst decision of her life and it landed her there, at Camp Green Lake. She couldn't ignore it this time, she'd learned her lesson, but how could she bring it up without proof?
Make ripples, not waves. Her mother's advice, well way of life really, came screeching back into her mind; like a little being sitting on her shoulder whispering the reminder in her ear. She swallowed and eased her breathing. If she was going to do this right, she had a part to play and she could only rely on everyone else playing theirs.
"Right, okay, I-I understand," Mickey said, forcing herself to add a stammer to her voice. She lowered her lids and kept her eyes downcast, allowing her shortened hair to slide forward and curtain her face. "I get it. I'm sorry. I won't bother you about it again. I just…really want to get this done. Go home, you know?" She lifted her head and allowed a half smile to appear on her face.
"Understandable! It's nice to have a goal to work towards. But, shortcuts won't get you there any faster," Pendanski said, his relief so palpable it almost felt like she'd been brushed by a gentle paradise breeze. She fought to roll her eyes. Boys. "On that note, you should join the others in your tent. Lights out will be soon. You'll need your rest to face another eventful day!"
The minute Mickey walked past Pendanski her smile dropped off her face. It must be easy to be so chipper while being stuck in the middle of nowhere when he wasn't the one who had to dig holes and follow rules all day. She briefly wondered what it was exactly that he and Mr. Sir did when not delivering water but she remembered the magazine she had found and immediately banished that thought. She really didn't want to know.
She grabbed her canteen that hung across her chest and unscrewed the cap, ready to take a nice long swig of water. It had warmed up considerably during the day but her dry mouth wouldn't argue with getting some sort of relief. She'd barely managed to get it up to her mouth when someone saying her name surprised her so much she whirled around…and squeezed. A blast of water shot out the tip of her canteen and smacked them right in the face.
"What the hell!?" Squid cried out, rubbing his hand against his face.
Mickey pushed him on the arm. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
"Is that your foolproof plan? To wet people to death?"
"I'm sorry, my switchblade was confiscated and I'm low on brass knuckles." Mickey shook her head. Wait… She squinted at him. "Were you waiting for me?"
Squid blinked a few times; water droplets fell off his lashes and he blew water off his lips. "No. I was just at the medic tent."
She pursed her lips. He could be telling the truth but…well, frankly, she couldn't tell. Not anymore. This wasn't Alan, she had to keep reminding herself. Then it hit her: maybe that was the point. Traditions she had initially deemed silly and strange, maybe that was just how they coped with everything. With being away from their friends, their family, having unfair labels put on them, for some, or their futures taken away from them because of one decision. Not that there weren't some there who deserved it but…even she felt it was an unusually tough punishment for some of their crimes.
Maybe that was why they had nicknames, not just to assure acceptance into the group but to separate themselves from who they used to be. With the hard physical labor they were forced to enact day after day, well, it would be hard not to change one way or another. Caveman being one example; she'd noticed him dropping weight steadily since he had first arrived. He was still bigger than most of them but not quite as large as his first day. The neanderthal comments seemed to have dropped along with his weight.
Still, doubts cast dark shadows over her and she couldn't help herself as she said, "You're only being nice to me because of what I said."
His nose wrinkled briefly, his old habit of showing disdain, and then he shook his head. "I'm being nice because I should have been in the first place."
"Maybe. But I'm not surprised. You ran away, like you always do."
"I'm not running now."
She snorted and motioned to the dry expanse around her. "Because you have nowhere else to go."
"Yeah, well, neither do you."
Any prepared retort died on her tongue as his words settled in her mind. She clicked her tongue, sighed and said, "Touché." Because trying to go back, back before everything happened, wasn't working but, also, she didn't know how to go forward either. So she stayed put, but even then that was beginning to get old too. She knew how that donkey felt, stuck between water or hay.
He rolled his ever-present toothpick between his teeth and pushed a breath through his nose. "I'm tryin', okay? I fucked up, but I'm tryin' to fix it."
Why now? she wanted to scream. Why now, when he had so many chances before, did he want to fix things? Make things right? Anger blazed in her belly but, after a moment, she realized it was directed more at herself than it was at him. For allowing the small bit of hope left in her to be stoked once more. She'd convinced herself that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore, didn't want to take a chance of getting hurt by him again, but then that was all wishful thinking wasn't it? Just like she wished so many times that she could go back in time, make a difference choice.
But maybe the opportunity to make a new choice wasn't offered to her before because she needed it now. On one hand staying angry left her exhausted by the end of the day and being somewhat civil lately was a nice reprieve, but on the other…she couldn't just forget how he treated her. How he looked at her like everyone else did. How he, the one person she thought would always have her back, turned on her. Why now?
Why not now?
And so it hit her with startling clarity, for once, that she wasn't the one to extended her hand first, she wasn't the one who had to be the "bigger person" and smooth things over, she wasn't the one to bite her tongue and apologize for being "difficult" or "unyielding". All words thrown at her by her own mother before the truth of the night of the party came out of her, when her position at the Country Club was threatened by Mickey's resistance to have anything do with Brett Walker or his family. She couldn't help that Brett's mother was the head of the board of the Club. It just gave her a better reason to skip out on attending.
"You said it would be easier if we were civil," Squid continued.
Mickey nodded, licked her dry lips. "Yeah…"
"You know more about this social stuff than I do so…"
"You say that like I have some sort of advantage," Mickey said dryly, "so far it's hurt me more than helped me."
"Until you got here." At Mickey's raised eyebrow Squid cleared his throat, his eyes shifting to look above her head as he continued, "You're surviving better than any of them pegged you for."
"Any of them?"
He shrugged. "I've seen you go through shit. This doesn't surprise me. You always find a way to bounce back."
"Yeah, well, right now, I've just bounced. Hard."
"I know the feeling." He let out a little laugh. "Gotta get back up some time. Ground's not that comfortable."
"My back agrees with that assessment," she said. She was used to sleeping on the floor at this point but that didn't mean her back didn't scream at her every morning when she got up to prepare breakfast. She'd began to make it a point to stretch before going to sleep so it didn't hurt too bad when she woke. "Seriously, though, were you waiting for me?"
"No, I wasn't."
"Because I don't need you watching over me. I can take care of myself."
"I know. But that doesn't mean the others don't need to be taken care of."
She was about to ask him what that meant when a commotion grabbed their attention. Squid's head whipped around and, in an instant, his face became stony, his jaw clenched, and a fire burned in his eyes. Cursing beneath his breath, he jumped off the wooden deck and headed towards the crowd that started to grow down near the tents; Mickey hot on his heels.
She pushed her way through the wall of campers, some muttering to one another, some placing bets, and it was only when she finally reached the edge of the circle where Caveman and Magnet stood watching, did she finally understand what was going on. She sucked in a breath as her eyes scanned the group of B-Tenters that faced-off with X-Ray. Armpit was at his side, cracking his knuckles, ready to go in for his leader.
"You've screwed me over, man!" Thlump said, pushing X-Ray's shoulders.
"I'm telling you, I got good stuff," X-Ray said, his voice calm despite behind jostled around.
"Bullshit! We know all about your record. Selling fake stuff on the street."
"Actually"—X-Ray adjusted his glasses—"I never said what it was to them. Was it my fault they assumed what the product was? I can't help if my consumers don't inspect the products. Maybe if they took the time to pay closer attention—"
His words were cut off when Thlump grabbed X-Ray by the collar and just about the whole camp gasped. Because no one ever put their hands on X-Ray. But he was nonplussed as ever, his calm smile never leaving his face. And when Squid and Armpit rushed in to help, X-Ray just said, "I got this guys" with a wave of his hand. Squid and Armpit back down immediately.
"You callin' me dumb?" Thlump asked.
"Course not. I'm just saying people see what they want to see. That's all. Those that I served back at home? They wanted something and saw what they wanted to see. I never told them one way or the other what it was. They came to that conclusion on their own. And it's easier to let them think what they want to think, sometimes. No harm, no foul."
"Bullshit," Bull called out, causing a few people to chuckle at his unintentional pun. His crossed arms caused his muscles to bulge beneath the raised sleeves of his orange jumpsuit. The tattoos on his arms bulged along with his muscles, making him appear larger than usual. Mickey gulped and turned away from him before he made eye contact with her. "You cost our tent bread and clean socks for those pills. And they were junk! Put him into the ground, Thlump."
"They weren't junk," X-Ray insisted.
It was then that it hit Mickey what they were arguing about. Her lips started to turn up in the corners and she glanced around the campers until her eyes locked with Eagle's. He lifted his eyebrows and pressed his lips together, as if keeping in a laugh. His response allowed her smile to get a little bit wider. Feeling Caveman's eyes on her, she rearranged her facial features to a look of concern that wasn't too hard to put on. While she didn't mind X-Ray being pushed around a bit, she didn't want him to get beaten down either. Just have a little taste of what guys like him deserved. Guys that feel they can get away with anything and everything.
"Oh yeah? I know how they're supposed to work and they were bunk. We had a deal, X-Ray. And you screwed me over. And you'll pay for that."
Noise burst out of the circle of campers, a few calling for Thlump to give X-Ray what he deserves, a few guys wondering how long they were going to "dance" and a few calling for Thlump to leave X-Ray alone. Mickey watched rapt; she didn't want to miss a minute of what was going to happen. What could happen. And a part of her wondered if X-Ray would find a way out of the situation; he was slicker than a snake oil salesman after all.
"Everything was good to go when I got the pills and—"
"So where'd you get 'em from?" Thlump asked.
X-Ray clamped his lips. Mickey held her breath. This was it. He could rat her out and put her front in center of B-Tent's wrath, going down as a snitch or he'd keep quiet. Because if he talked then he'd have to explain that it had all stated because of her black eye received from his right-hand man, which would then put himself at odds with Squid whom he needed to keep himself safe. Without a shield, X-Ray's confidence couldn't protect him. Alienating Squid would only have Armpit shift allegiances at the first sign of trouble, or so Mickey thought. It wasn't that Squid and Armpit needed X-Ray, it was that X-Ray needed them. Exactly what she was banking on.
X-Ray's mouth opened and closed a couple times. Mickey's fingers twitched by her side and her muscles tensed, ready to run if she needed to. She didn't know where she'd go but she'd have a bit of a head start.
"Look," X-Ray said, "it's all just a misunderstanding. I wouldn't put one over on you guys. What would that accomplish? This?" He motioned to the campers encircling them. "Any moment the counselors will come out here, wondering what's going on and we'll have bunk searches. We don't want the Warden to hear about that. It'd only cause trouble for us all. Right? While I figure this out, how about you take our shower tokens for the week?"
Zigzag and Magnet started to protest but seeing X-Ray's waving hand cut them off right away. Mickey's mouth twisted to the side and she stood by as his suggestion seemed to cool B-Tent off. Until Thlump ordered for extra juice to be thrown in of which X-Ray took the deal. He didn't have room to argue, after all.
The group disperse, muttering to one another as they moved back to their tents. As he retreated, Eagle pointed at his eyes and then pointed them at Mickey, throwing in a wink for good measure. She brushed the side of her nose with her finger and had barely walked a few paces away when X-Ray fell into step with her.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"Me?" Mickey asked, feigning surprise. "Nothing. I just finished washing dishes." At his raised eyebrows she said, "Ohhh, you mean with the painkillers." She shrugged. "I didn't do anything you wouldn't do."
"I thought we had a deal," he stated.
"We did. You wanted what I gave you. It's not my fault if my consumers don't inspect the products. Maybe if they took the time to pay closer attention…" She let her words trail off and the sweet sweet satisfaction of seeing the little wheels in his head turning almost had her jump in the air and click her heels with glee. But she remained curled inwards, small, and innocent as they perceived her; like a sucker overlooking the quality of their assets due to blind faith.
"You switched them out," X-Ray stated.
Mickey laughed. "X-Ray…do you really think the Warden would allow any of their campers actual drugs?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow. He pressed his lips together and she drove her point home. "Think about it. We get stale food, we have nothing to entertain ourselves, no alcohol, barely any water, no a/c. But she'd give me special treatment? Just because I bleed every month, she'd risk putting a controlled substance in the hands of her campers? That'd be a waste of her time and a waste of her money. The Warden doesn't do anything to help us…right?"
X-Ray stared at her. She lifted her chin, almost daring him to go against her. The seconds ticked by. A light warm breeze blew loose dust across the top of their boots. And then X-Ray smiled at her.
"Squid was right about you." X-Ray stated.
Mickey faltered. "What do you mean?"
"Namin' you and all. Said 'Mouse' was the right one. Something about them being adaptable and resourceful. I dunno." X-Ray shrugged and then laughed. "Guy has a thing for animals, I guess. I wanted to go for Squeaky but…" He sighed, reaching out as if to ruffle her hair and then hesitated. She eyed him, her shoulders tense, and then he dropped his arm and backed away from her. All the while she looked at him as if he grew a second head.
She stood stock still, frozen with disbelief that her plan had actually worked and that, for the first time in months, she had back what she'd been missing: control.
It took the distant sound of Mr. Sir's gun going off, probably in the direction of a yellow-spotted lizard, to jump start her and rush into the tent. The guys were in various states of changing into clothes to relax and sleep in for the rest of the night. Mickey, immune to their half-covered bodies at this point, made a beeline for the back of the tent. She shoved her canteen into her crate in the back corner and flopped down onto her sleeping bag. As she drew her foot closer to herself to yank off her boot, she glanced up at Squid's nearby cot where he sat cross-legged, shuffling a deck of cards.
"You beat me up," she stated, quickly grabbing his attention. He looked at her but didn't pause in his shuffling. "You beat me up," she repeated, "how do you plan on fixing that?"
He took a moment to answer; the cards making an audible clacking noise as he shuffled two halves together in his hands. "For the record, you hit me first. I was acting in self-defense," he stated. Which, begrudgingly, she knew was true but…he still retaliated, held her down, and hit her. As if he read her mind he continued, "But…I was…wrong." He stretched out the last word as if it physically pained him to speak it aloud, which he suspected it may as well have. She'd never heard him utter the word before. He rubbed the back of his neck and either she just noticed the sunburn on his cheeks or he turned red as he muttered, "And I'm sorry."
His apology had a bit of bite to it, but the fact that the word was uttered at all made her head spin. So much so that the rest of the night flew by in a haze and, only when her head hit the pillow did she finally remember the envelope that she had taken and just what it was about it that drew her suspicions.
She dug through her crate and pulled it out, reading the handwriting that had etched the address onto the front. Even under the moonlight that filtered in through the tentflaps, she recognized the handwriting. Because it was the same handwriting that filled out the information on her criminal file, the same one that signed on the judicial order to take her into custody, the same one that sealed her fate and sent her to Camp Green Lake; it was the handwriting of the judge on her case, Honorable Greg Lawson. But why was he writing to the camp when her case was over and done with?
The question sat unanswered in her mind as the weight of the day seeped into her weary, exhausted bones and pulled her into a quick and deep sleep.
a/n - so this was supposed to be posted around two weeks ago but I got stuck in one scene until I finally saw the light, as it were, and pumped the rest out! So, now we know what the pills were for! Mickey may be adjusting a little too well to being at camp but, hey, the need to survive can change even the most kind-hearted person. Plus, we also learn that Squid was the one behind Mickey earning her nickname, Mouse! How cute is that? I knew before I got them on the right track to forging a new relationship of sorts they'd need to acknowledge that, yeah, Squid did hit her in the past and once they can work through that and one other little hitch they'll be good to go. (And, honestly, I can't wait for that. I have plans for those two!) And now we have a new mystery to solve: why Mickey's judge is sending letters to the camp.
Please read and review, I'd love to know what you all think of everything going on! As always if you'd like to chat about this fic, have any questions, or would just like to talk you can PM me here on send a message over on my tumblr, ceruleanmusings!
~Musings
Review replies
LittleBlueSweater: Have I ever told you how much I appreciate your reviews and taking the time to share your thoughts? If not, I'm saying it now! I appreciate you so much and I always look forward to see what you thought of what's going on in Mouse's and Squid's story! I saw your review and watched 8 Mile for the first time...I can really see how Squid and his life reminded you of it! I can tell you now that Squid's change is throwing her for a loop and she doesn't want to give herself too much hope when it comes to him because she always ended up burned. But, on the flip side, she'd always wanted him back in her life so...she's in a pickle! You always thank me for continuing the story, now I want to thank you for always being here. It means a lot to me!
Guest: Thank you so much for your kind words! I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations!