In It To Win It #25 Read online

  In It To Win It

  Melissa J. Morgan

  Penguin (2010)

  * * *

  * * *

  Camp Confidential

  IN IT TO WIN IT

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Text copyright © 2010 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc. All rights reserved.

  Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-44436-8

  Camp Confidential

  IN IT TO WIN IT

  by Melissa J. Morgan

  Grosset & Dunlap

  An Imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Posted by: Avery

  Subject: What I’m Wearing Update

  Just returned from shopping with my stepmom, Elise, and the peanut, who is getting cuter by the day. Strangers kept stopping us to say how beautiful my little sis is, and to say how much she looks like me. My shopping mojo was strong. I found the perfect sweater for the Walla Walla winter reunion. Cashmere. Black—you know how good I look in black. Rib banded crewneck, cuffs, and hem. With a tree—flat, brass-tone studs—on the back. I can’t wait for you all to see me in it.

  On the topic of fashion, be prepared to see boys in skirts. It’s a tradition at Walla Walla winter reunions that the boys always dress up as cheerleaders for the powder puff football game (also a tradition) while the girls play against Camp Talamini. Well, some girls. I don’t. I will watch, wearing something gorgeous.

  I can hardly believe you former Lakeviewers have never been to one of WW’s winter reunions, when I’ve been to so many. It was awful when last year’s got canceled because they couldn’t work out how to get the camp winterized in a greenie-friendly way.

  Secret? I’m glad the winterization problem still isn’t quite solved. I’m looking forward to staying at the lodge. Have you seen the pics?

  See you all soon, soon, soon!

  Kisses,

  Avery

  Posted by: Sarah

  Subject: Football

  Powder puff football? Awesome. Boys in skirts—also nice.

  FYI, I am a pass-catching machine. Just sayin’.

  Sars

  Posted by: Sloan

  Subject: SNOW

  Is anyone else having trouble getting the parental okay to go to the reunion? My parents are worried about a big snowstorm that’s supposed to be heading Connecticut’s way over Presidents’ Day Weekend, otherwise known as our reunion. They’re not sure they want me flying in from Arizona.

  I think so much time living in the desert has made them snowaphobes.

  Peace, love, and light,

  Sloan

  Posted by: Chelsea

  Subject: What I’m Wearing

  I know that sweater, Avery. I know, because I have that sweater. (You described it perfectly, BTW.) I also bought it for the reunion. My question for you—when exactly did you buy it? Because whoever bought it second has to take it back. Or at least not even think about packing it for the weekend.

  Chelsea

  Posted by: Natalie

  Subject: snowaphobe

  i feel you, sloan. my dad has lived in lala too long. in la, people have trouble even driving in the rain. seriously. anyway, he didn’t want me flying from nyc to connecticut. i think he was having flashbacks to that time his plane went down in the himalayas. i keep telling him—dad, that wasn’t your real life. it was a movie. he’s picturing me toeless from frostbite, eating my leather boots to stay alive.

  fortunately, my mom is a) used to snow, b) not a crazy actor with way too much imagination. we tag-teamed my dad, and he has reluctantly agreed that i can go to the reunion. but he keeps sending me supplies—like a pair of battery-operated heated socks. tell your parents you can wear them, sloan.

  love you all.

  mean it.

  nat

  Posted by: Joanna

  Subject: Don’t think I’m crazy

  But I feel the same way Nat’s dad does. I don’t want to freeze and starve and lose even a baby toe. I want to see you all. I do. But I’m thinking maybe I should skip the reunion.

  My mom, however, says I should go. Make that, my mom says I am going.

  Joanna

  Posted by: Avery

  Subject: What I’m Wearing

  Chels, you wanted to know when I got my fabulous, beautiful sweater. Answer—I bought it an entire day before you bought yours.

  Posted by: Jenna

  Subject: I will hunt you down

  I call quarterback!

  And, Joanna, if you don’t come, I will hunt you down. Believe it! Same goes for you, Sloan. Do whatever you have to to get your parents to say yes!

  Jenna

  Posted by: Chelsea

  Subject: Receipt

  Avery, I’m going to need you to scan your sweater receipt (which will have a date of purchase on it) and post it.

  Chelsea

  P.S. I didn’t actually say when I bought my sweater.

  Posted by: Sloan

  Subject: Doom

  My parents have decided they don’t want me to go to the reunion in case there’s a massive snowstorm. I’m going to need ammo to convince them to change their minds. Help! Strategies, suggestions, lies, bribes— I’m open to almost anything. I don’t want Jenna to hunt me down. That’s scary. And I really, really don’t want to miss our reunion. That would be too sad. Too, too sad.

  Sloan

  Chapter One

  As soon as Sloan typed a “w” in the Google search box, weatherwatch.com came up in her browser history. Right at the top. She’d been compulsively checking the site for a day and a half, looking for a prediction that would make her parents change their minds and give her the okay to fly off to the Walla Walla reunion over Presidents’ Day Weekend.

  Please, please, please, she thought as she clicked it, then typed in the zip code for the Connecticut lodge near camp where the reunion was going to be held. Holding her breath, she scanned the ten-day forecast. There was a 65 percent chance of a snowstorm over the long
weekend—same as when she’d checked the site yesterday.

  Sloan let out the breath. Sixty-five percent. Those odds weren’t so bad, and she couldn’t wait around to see if they would get better. It was time to go make her plea to her parents.

  But first—she moved her mouse over to her “favorites” and clicked the link to the camp blog. She’d posted a message asking for advice on the parent sitch, and wanted to see if any of her friends had come up with anything. She smiled when she saw Avery had posted an answer. Avery was good at getting what she wanted. Sloan eagerly read the message.

  Posted by: Avery

  Subject: Doom

  Sloan, here’s my advice: whine and beg. Maybe pout a little. (But not so much that you make your parents so mad they’ll never say yes.) If you can do it right, cry some. Play your parents against each other. Basically, just manipulate, manipulate, manipulate.

  Avery

  Hmmm. Sloan wasn’t a drama kind of girl. She was pretty sure that she couldn’t squeeze out even one really good fake tear.

  Jenna had posted a reply, too. She wasn’t the actress type, either. Maybe her advice would be easier to follow. Sloan clicked on her message and read it.

  Posted by: Jenna

  Subject: Doom

  My dad is a stats guy. The stats look okay, he’s okay. Use them on your parents, Sloan.

  And remember, if you don’t get your behind to the lodge, I will hunt you down. And it won’t be pretty!

  I threaten cuz I love.

  Jenna

  Statistics, Sloan could handle. She checked a few more websites and memorized a few facts that she thought could help her make her case, then she headed to the kitchen. Her mom was pulling a tofu lasagna out of the oven. Her dad was tossing one of his special salads, this one with cranberries and pecans. Sloan hesitated in the doorway, watching them. I think it’s safe for me fly to Connecticut. That’s what she meant to say. But the words that came out of her mouth were, “I think I’ll make us fuzzy orange smoothies to go with dinner,” which made her parents happy because they loved Sloan’s smoothies. She walked over to the fridge and started pulling out Greek yogurt and the other ingredients she’d need. Why was she so nervous? Her parents were hardly beasts.

  Sloan knew the answer. Her parents weren’t beastly, but they still might not change their minds. They might give Sloan the “no” again. And Sloan wasn’t ready to hear it if they did. She couldn’t wait all the way until summer to see her camp friends again. That was months and months away—forever in friend time.

  Okay, during dinner, while they’re enjoying the smoothies, I’ll ask, Sloan promised herself. She was putting orange sections into the blender when the back door flew open. Willow, Sloan’s aunt, rushed in. “I got the last loaf of rosemary bread. Score!” She waved her reusable mesh shopping bag over her head in triumph.

  “I didn’t know you were coming for dinner,” Sloan said, grabbing some cinnamon from the cabinet above the blender.

  “I invited myself right this second,” Willow answered. “But I brought bread. That means I’m welcome.”

  “You’re always welcome. Knowing you, you’d never eat if you didn’t want to see us once in a while,” Sloan’s mom told her. Willow was her younger sister, and sometimes her mom acted like Willow was younger than Sloan.

  “You’re right. I couldn’t live without you. I’d wither away.” Willow gave Sloan’s mom a hug, shooting a wink at Sloan.

  “Very funny. I give out love and concern and I get mocked for it,” Sloan’s mom said, trying to sound mad, but smiling. “Okay, everyone, let’s get the food on the table.”

  Sloan poured the smoothie into four glasses and carried them to the big table that dominated one side of the huge main room. She loved the big old table, especially the way it matched the massive exposed beams of the ceiling. But as much as she loved the room, and her parents, and her aunt, and tofu lasagna, and fuzzy orange smoothies, she felt nervous. Not beasts, she reminded herself, taking her usual seat.

  A conversation started up about the new sculpture being installed in Sedona’s arts and crafts village. Sloan uh-huhed and mm-hmmed her way through it, not able to concentrate. She was shocked when she realized she was halfway through her lasagna and had already finished her salad. She didn’t remember tasting a bite.

  Do it! she ordered herself. Just do it, or dinner will be over and any smoothie magic you had going will be gone. “I have something I wanted to talk to you about,” she blurted.

  “You just interrupted your aunt,” her dad pointed out.

  “Sorry, Willow,” Sloan said. “What were you saying?”

  “Doesn’t matter. From the look on your face, you have something important going on,” Willow answered.

  “I… you… Weatherwatch…” She’d lost contact with the part of her brain that could form sentences. She took a breath, then tried again. “I wanted to let you know that the weather forecast is predicting a sixty-five percent chance of snow in Connecticut over the long weekend. That’s not bad, right? Sixty-five percent?”

  Willow’s eyes began to gleam. “In 2002, there was a freak snowstorm in North Carolina. There was only an eight percent chance it would hit, but it did. Knocked out electricity all over the place. I didn’t know you’ve gotten into meteorology,” she added.

  “She’s gotten into wanting to go to her camp reunion,” Sloan’s dad said, smiling sympathetically at Sloan.

  “Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t make that connection right away when you said Connecticut,” Willow answered.

  Her aunt was an extreme weather junkie. Sloan hadn’t factored that in when she was prepping for this conversation, because she hadn’t expected Willow to be there. Maybe she could turn it to her advantage.

  “There probably won’t be a snowstorm, but if there is, it could be awesome to experience it, right, Willow? You go all over the place chasing storms so you can see the”—Sloan searched her mind for the phrase her aunt always used—“wildness and majesty of nature.”

  Sloan’s mother groaned. “Please don’t use your aunt as an example of sensible behavior,” she said.

  “Only forty people died last year from a lightning strike!” Sloan exclaimed, trying a new tactic. Her parents and Willow stared at her. Oh, wait. Wrong statistic. Get it together, she ordered herself. “I mean, only 449 people died of hypothermia.”

  “We aren’t worried you’re going to freeze to death, Sloan,” her dad said.

  “Well, we are a little,” her mother corrected.

  “But we’re more worried about things like your connecting plane being delayed by the weather,” Sloan’s dad continued. “We don’t want you sitting all by yourself in an airport in a city where you know no one.”

  “Or getting snowed in at that lodge, which is in the middle of nowhere,” her mother added.

  So much for stats, Sloan thought. She decided to try a little of Avery’s advice. “Please let me go. Just please.” I’m not all that good at begging, she realized.

  To her surprise, he father turned to her mother. “I checked a couple weather sites, too,” he told her. “Like Sloan said, there’s only a little more than a fifty-fifty chance there will be a snowstorm. And if there is, it’s not a given that any of the airports will have to delay flights more than a few hours.”

  “We’ve already decided this. She’s not going,”

  Sloan’s mom protested.

  “Maybe we should rethink it,” her dad said.

  Yes, yes, yes! Sloan thought. “What do you think, Willow?” she asked eagerly. She didn’t want to play her parents against each other. But getting her aunt to agree with her dad couldn’t hurt.

  Willow didn’t answer. She was fiddling with her BlackBerry. “What do you think, Willy?” Sloan asked again.

  Willow frowned, eyes still on her BlackBerry screen. “Connecticut had unusually hot weather summer before last,” she said.

  “See! Unusually warm weather! That means no snow!” Sloan cried.
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  “Actually, it means the opposite. Many times where there’s an unusually hot summer someplace there is an unusually bad winter there sixteen months later,” Willow said. She shook her head. “I’m not happy with what I’m seeing on bird migration patterns. Hibernation data, either. And the wind patterns—cold wind is going to be shooting into Connecticut over the weekend. I don’t think that there’s a sixty-five percent chance of a snowstorm. I think there’s more like a ninety-eight percent chance.” She looked over at Sloan. “Sorry, sweetie. But the birds and bears know the score.”

  “Willow agrees with me,” Sloan’s mom said. “It’s settled.”

  “No. Wait!” Tears actually did begin to sting Sloan’s eyes as she thought about missing the chance to be with her friends. There had to be a way to turn this around. She began to talk. And talk. And talk.

  An hour later, Sloan flopped into the chair in front of her computer. She felt drained. Her throat felt raw from all the talking. She logged onto the camp blog and began to type.

  Posted by: Sloan

  Topic: Parents

  I’m too tired to write much. But I had to tell you all that—wait for it—I’m coming to the reunion! Woohoo! Nat—I hope you were serious about your offer to share your electric socks with me. I think my access to those socks helped tip my mom into the “yes” zone.

  Peace, love, and light (and no snowstorms),

  Sloan

  “Peter, what do you have lined up for the long weekend?” his dad asked as he helped himself to a second slice of olive and pepperoni pizza.

  “Movie mar-a-thon! I’m going to watch every Jimmy Stewart western,” Peter answered. “I’ve never seen any of them, and I read this Clint Eastwood quote that said no one was as good a bad guy as Stewart. I want to see it for myself.”

  Peter’s twin sister, Avery, gave one of her disdainful half sniff/half snorts. His father and Elise, his stepmom, exchanged a not-happy-with-that-answer look. No one in his family understood that, for Peter, watching movies wasn’t just watching movies. He wanted to be a great actor, and one of the ways he was going to make that happen was by viewing the performances of the great actors of the past. Was that so hard to understand?