Exit, Pursued by a Bear Read online

  I introduce myself as the rest of the girls trickle in behind me. Her hands full, Mallory can’t catch the screen door as it swings back. All of us who have been here before brace ourselves for the loud crash as it closes, but Amy catches it before it does. She shuts the door silently and smiles as she does it.

  I look around and see that they’ve chosen to occupy one side of the cabin. I couldn’t care less what side of this cabin we get. I know this one’s roof doesn’t leak unlike the one we stayed in my first year. Polly and I ended up sleeping together in the bottom bunk. “Good catch,” I say, smiling at the memory—and at Amy’s quick work with the screen door.

  Mallory and I pair up, and without a word she gives me captain’s choice of the bottom bunk. We all start unpacking, which is mostly limited to putting suitcases under beds and unrolling sleeping bags, but the bell rings long before we’re done.

  “Don’t worry too much,” Mallory, who has nearly as many camps under her belt as I do, tells Astrid, who is perched on her bunk trying to straighten her sleeping bag as if her life depended on it. “We’ll have some spare time to unpack later.”

  “Yeah,” I say loudly, kicking my own still-rolled bag to the foot of the bunk. “And you really don’t want to be late, trust me.”

  Amy nods knowingly from across the cabin, and marshals her teammates. She’s got her own newbies to deal with, it seems. We head out together, mixing with one another cautiously, trading names and testing the waters. Everyone gathers on the field, and we sit through the intro with the late August sun beating down on us.

  I’ve heard this intro several times, so my mind wanders while the staff is introduced. I remember the first time Polly and I were here, before we started grade nine. We’d worked hard to make the team. I was terrified of Caledon, even though I had been to her development camps since the summer I was first eligible for them. She’d been tough then, but it was even worse now. Polly and I both did as much as we could, but the pressure was intense and the odds were against us. It was very unusual for grade nines to make it through tryouts. Most of the rookies were going into grade ten. But Caledon is always scrupulously fair. She would tour the elementary schools at the end of June and invite people she thought had a shot to a special tryout with the existing team. They nearly always get cut, but Polly and I both scraped through.

  I remember those moments of terror as the list was posted. Lindsay, the captain at the time, was standing beside the paper to congratulate or console, as required. I’m sure she meant to be reassuring, but instead it felt like we should expect the worst. What if I made it and Polly didn’t? What if Polly made it and I didn’t? I wanted to be on the team because I loved it. Polly was a little different. Palermo Heights is small, so our few sports teams aren’t great—if you’re being charitable. So as long as anyone can remember, if you wanted to be noticed and to win at something in Palermo Heights, you had to be a cheerleader, and Polly wanted to win more than any person I’d ever met. When I saw the list with both our names on it, I almost didn’t believe it. It wasn’t entirely real until we were both sitting on this field, with the sun on our French-braided hair, and our gold ribbons scratching against the skin on the backs of our necks.

  Two months ago, it had been my duty to be the grade-twelve cheerleader waiting to console the disappointed would-be rookies and to balance that with welcoming the successful ones. Fortunately, I am very good at balance.

  I tune back in just as the camp director talks about the swim test we all have to pass that afternoon if we want to go swimming at all during camp. I know from experience that the lake will be absolutely freezing but also that swimming is much faster than waiting for the shower after practice.

  Leo catches my eye across the field and winks at me, and I get the feeling he’s been watching me the whole time I was remembering. He does that a lot—stare at me, I mean. I guess that’s a normal thing for a boyfriend to do, but I never seem to find myself staring back. Usually I just get the end of it, and feel like I’ve missed something. Leo seems to have the answers, and I’m not sure I know the question.

  “And tonight, after the swimming and dinner,” the director wraps up as she always does, “there will be a campfire down by the lake. Each captain will tell a story about their squad that is something the team is not proud of. This will be the story of a failure or shortcoming that your team has had to deal with. Your goal for the next two weeks will be to come together and solve those problems, both as a team, and as campers in general. Once again, welcome to Camp Manitouwabing. I hope you all have a great time, and I’ll see you at the lake!”

  There’s some cheering at that—we are cheerleaders after all—and then everyone drifts back to their cabins to change. There’s going to be a huge lineup for the test regardless, so I don’t hurry too much. Yes, I should probably set an example, but mostly I am not looking forward to another two hours under the sun. At least if I’m swimming I can take the ribbons out of my hair. Polly brushes my shoulder in the crowd, and I smile at her as she heads off towards her cabin.

  We haven’t told anyone this, not even Caledon, but this bonfire tonight is one of the reasons we wanted so badly to be co-captains this year. Every year, we’ve had to sit there and listen to the captain go on and on about how underprivileged our school is, and how hard we have to fight because we’re small. The captains from the bigger schools typically moan about not getting any respect, about not being treated like real athletes. It’s all ridiculously irrelevant. Palermo Heights graduates give the cheerleading program more money than we know what to do with (we are, for example, not paying anything out of pocket to attend this camp and we are the only team at the school with uniforms from this decade). We are the reason the Palermo newspaper has a sports section. If there was cellular service at camp, everybody back home would be following our Instagram accounts. Cheerleading at Palermo Heights is simply a different animal. So Polly and I have plans for this bonfire, plans that are bigger than the squad and the two weeks we’ll spend at camp. It’s entirely possible that our teammates won’t like it, but every time I get nervous about it, Polly makes sure my spine stays firmly in place.

  “I was really glad to see that you and Polly were made co-captains this year,” Amy says, suddenly beside me. I can’t make a habit of zoning out like this.

  “We’re excited too,” I say. And it’s the truth, but there’s more to it than excitement. I think Amy knows it too.

  “Sometimes co-captains just lead to a mess,” Amy continues. I remember where I know her from now. St. Ignatius had co-captains last year, and it was a disaster. The two girls didn’t agree on anything, and the whole team imploded. Amy was one of their fliers, and they dropped her at their final competition last season because they were so out of sync. She’s going to be hungry this year, but at least her campfire story will be easy.

  “Yeah,” I say. “But Polly and I have been friends for a really long time, and we’re ready to work together.”

  The truth is that Polly and I are almost ideal complements of each other. She is the aesthetically perfect one. She never has a hair out of place, and if she’s done your hair, it will be perfect too. She’s never met a face she couldn’t do perfect makeup on, never met a tear she couldn’t stitch up so it becomes invisible, and she does it all with a perfect white smile. I’m the choreographer. I can tell exactly how hard to push a new girl. I can convince the boys to stop goofing off and pay attention. I can corral eighteen hormonal teenagers, however momentarily, into a cohesive group capable of getting ordinary humans to fly. Polly will make sure you look perfect when you land, and I’m the one that will make sure someone is in the right place to catch you. Amy’s not wrong: We’re a great team. We ought to be. We’re years in the making.

  —

  When Amy and I walk into the cabin, there are clothes everywhere as girls whose locker-room modesty faded long ago switch their tank tops and shorts for bathing suits. Th
e newer girls try to look like they don’t want to change inside their sleeping bags. Carmen winks at me. We’ve been doing this so long that we barely remember those days. There’s an equal mix of overly sexy bikinis and practical one-pieces (though most of those are still in vibrant colours), and towels and sarongs in every shade imaginable.

  “Mallory, are you set?” I shout out through the mass of people.

  “Yeah,” she says.

  “Great. Take anyone who is ready with you. I have to find my shoes, and then I’ll bring the rest.” I rummage through my bag for my flip-flops as the crowd thins out around me. They’re at the bottom, under my pajamas. As I throw my towel on my bed, I find a weird package in my luggage I know for sure I didn’t pack. It’s poorly wrapped and sealed with duct tape, so I know instantly that it’s from Leo. I have to get my manicure scissors to unwrap it, and by then the cabin is mostly empty. I remind myself not to get frustrated, that the line will be long no matter what I do, but I don’t like standing still when all my team members are gone ahead of me. Still, my curiosity is killing me. He must have put it in my bag when he and the other guys switched all the ribbons.

  I cut the last of the tape, and the package all but falls apart in my hands. Immediately, I turn bright pink and shove the whole thing into my bag. Leo, in his esteemed wisdom, has given me a box of condoms.

  Apparently I didn’t make my plans for camp quite crystal clear. I am going to kill him.

  I grab my shoes and head for the door. Jenny is standing there, clearly having waited for me, and for a moment I’m concerned that she saw the stupid present Leo gave me. She doesn’t say anything, though, and her face is completely clear of suspicion or mockery.

  “Ready?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “Thanks for waiting.”

  “Anytime,” she says brightly. And I do my best to forget about it.

  CHAPTER 3

  WE ALL PASS THE SWIM test, which is not a surprise. That’s not the true test of the first day at Camp Manitouwabing. What really separates the weak from the strong is your ability to get into the dining hall.

  To begin with, and I cannot stress this enough, order is of deadly importance. It’s slightly more important at breakfast because cold eggs are vile, but even at dinner, it is crucial to be the first or second cabin to go in. Order used to be decided based on cabin inspections, which the girls invariably failed because it is impossible to keep that volume of makeup and hair accessories contained. Now the order is decided based on pre-meal cheering, to be improvised to whatever the theme of the day is. Volume is important, but so is enthusiasm and precision. I love Polly. And Leo—though we’re clearly still working out the details of our relationship—is my boyfriend. But when it comes to meals, I will gladly wipe the floor with both of them so that my cabin can eat first.

  Amy smiles when I tell her as much, and leans in to bump against my shoulder like Polly would have done, were she not now our common enemy. I’m confident Amy’s more loyal to her stomach than to St. Ignatius.

  “The theme’s ‘beginning,’” says Mallory, breathing hard. I appreciate her initiative. She must have run ahead to check.

  “Line ’em up,” I say, and both Mallory and Amy move off to get the girls in order.

  The cheering can’t start until everyone has arrived and is standing in line with their cabins. That usually means you have about three minutes to plan. “Beginning” is a bit of a softball, to be honest. By the end of the week, the themes will be much more esoteric.

  First order of business is to get a sense of the cabin’s assets. My half of the cabin has three fliers and three bases.

  “We’re all fliers,” says Amy apologetically, anticipating my question.

  I sigh, but I’m not really surprised. Ignatius has a lot of guys on their team, so almost all their girls are fliers. We’re going to have to win this one yelling.

  “Okay, girls,” I say, my best captain face firmly in place. “This is what we’re going to do.”

  It’s not the best plan, and it’s a far cry from my best poetry, but when the signal is given and we all start to chant in perfect unison, I know I’ve made the right call.

  THE CHEER’S

  THE THING

  TO CATCH THE SPIRIT

  WE BEGIN

  The other cabins have tried to be more flashy, but since they only just met their cabin mates five hours ago, they’re not particularly coordinated. We, on the other hand, are a well-oiled yelling machine, each repetition of the chant building on the one before it to create a pretty decent cadence. When the camp director waves us forward, Amy stops chanting and squeals, wrapping her arms around my neck. I can’t help but return the gesture. There are a couple of impromptu cartwheels as we make our way inside. I lock eyes with Polly, who is supposed to be spotting a flier, and she makes a face at me. Astrid loops her arm through mine, and an Ignatius girl pats me on the back. We might not be a real team, but we’re a team for now, and we’ve just won a hot dinner, so things are pretty good.

  —

  While we eat, the other teams come in behind us and get their food. You don’t have to sit by cabin, so I save Polly a seat when it becomes apparent that my cabin is not going to let me break off and sit with anyone else. I eat as slowly as I can so I won’t be completely done by the time she sits down, but Salisbury steak is gross enough hot, so I don’t linger too long.

  “I can’t believe you won with a shout!” Polly says, slamming her tray down.

  “Hey, there was a dance in there too!” I protest, but then smile as befits a gracious winner. “It’ll never happen again.”

  “Damn straight,” says Polly. “I’m going to kick your ass all week.”

  “You’re in a cabin of fliers,” I point out.

  “We’ve got Brenda,” she fires back. “Plus we’ve got my not-inconsequential intellect.”

  “True enough. Now eat, before it gets colder.”

  “Bite me.”

  “That’s my job,” says Leo, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. I push him off. We talked about this before we got here, that camp was two weeks to work, to go out on top. We would not fool around. But Leo seems determined to be as annoying as possible. The condoms were clearly just his opening move.

  When we started dating, everyone assured me that we were perfect for each other, but now I’m starting to wish I’d established better ground rules and enforced them from the start. He always looks at me like he has expectations that I never meet the way he wants, like right now.

  “You didn’t save me a seat.”

  “I’m unusually popular,” I say, trying to play it down. It’s just dinner. “It comes with being a cheerleader.”

  “You wound me, madam,” he says extravagantly, one hand over his heart and his hair artfully falling over his forehead. Half of the girls at the table are staring at him, and the other half are working overtime not to. He is the perfect picture, and for a moment I forget that I’m mad at him.

  “You all ready for the fire?” Tig says from his usual place at Leo’s elbow. “Another year of the small, downtrodden country school.”

  “Something like that,” says Polly. “But I’d hate to ruin the surprise, so go sit somewhere and leave us alone.”

  When the boys wander off and the girls turn to one another, I lean over to Polly.

  “Do you think we should have mentioned it to Caledon?” I ask. “I mean, do you think she’ll be mad?”

  “Have you ever known our coach to be anything less than ferocious?” Polly counters. “She might not be thrilled, but I think she’ll be proud of us, even if her teacher persona has to be reproving.”

  “I do so love it when you use big words,” I swoon, affecting my best Steel Magnolias accent.

  “Just don’t chicken out on me,” she says. “You’re the one that’s going to have to do all the talking.”
/>   I haven’t forgotten. And I continue to not forget during the rapidly melting Jell-O we eat for dessert. By then, the sun is setting over the lake, and we head back to our cabins for sweatshirts we probably won’t need and for bug spray we definitely will. By the time everyone makes it to the fire pit, it’s well into dusk. That’s my favourite time at camp. For the city kids, it might be the first time they’ve seen this many stars and the quietest moment they’ve ever known, but for me, it’s coming into focus, coming home.

  The fire pit is really a miniature stadium, set up to accommodate some two hundred people. The fire itself is on the beach, with two low benches on the lakeside where the captains, coaches and camp staff sit facing everyone else. Since Lake Manitouwabing has steep shores, the camp builders simply terraced the hill behind the beach, meaning that even those who sit near the back can see and hear pretty well. No one can roast marshmallows or anything, but this isn’t that kind of fire.

  Polly sits down next to me, and reaches over to squeeze my hand. Just sitting on this side is an accomplishment. Amy’s arm is still looped through mine from the walk down here, and I can feel her shaking. After last year, her school has a lot to prove, and I can tell she’s starting to feel it. We draw for order, Amy gets the first spot and I get the last one, and then begins an hour of self-doubt and goal setting that would set even the most practiced therapist’s teeth on edge. The other teams talk about being afraid of heights or having too many new members. About being mocked as airheads instead of respected as athletes. About doing routines they’d slaved over to empty stands as everyone heads for the concessions. By the time I get up, I’m surprised half the campers haven’t thrown themselves off the terrace and into the lake in despair. Polly gives my hand one more squeeze, and then I’m on my own, with the fire in front of me and the lake at my back.

  “Palermo Heights Secondary School is famous for two things,” I say. “Well, famous for one, infamous for the other. For a very small school in a slightly larger town, this is kind of an accomplishment. Usually, you need a school population in the four-digit range to merit any kind of attention. Of course, we’re famous for our cheerleading. That’s why we’re here at this camp. Most of you have competed against us or seen us at exhibitions. You know we’re unusually serious. Mighty, even though we’re small.” Across the campfire, I can see nods from the other teams. Our reputation has preceded us. I continue, “What you don’t know, is that we’re cursed.”