Lolly: So, my fellow fellas. Emily and Lolly here, reporting for duty. This is going to be a Tennis-styled story, with the alternate Paul/Suze POVs. Pure roleplay, as is Tennis. So that's not, you know, a copyrighted idea or anything, that format. So yeah. Love ya.
- 8 -
Camp Happy Face.
Could one of you gentle readers please shoot me in the back of my fucking head.
No, really. Who CALLS a camp that? I mean, besides someone who's a little too addicted to their bong? You just - DON'T call a camp that. It's - you just DON'T, okay?
Well, guess where I was?
About to get on a STINKING little yellow bus to go and get my FACE all HAPPY at a CAMP.
HAHAHA. THE FREAKING THRILL OF MY FREAKING LIFE.
God, kill me repeatedly, I BEG you.
Nup. There I was, sitting with my huge camping bag, having been dropped off by Jake.
I, Susannah Simon, mature sixteen year old, and ALMOST seventeen year old (in two months) was being sent to CAMP HAPPY FACE.
And it wasn't even the cool Evolution three-eyed smilie face!
GOD DAMN IT.
This was, according to Father Dom, (whom I THOUGHT was a holy kinda guy until the sad, sad day when he informed me about this wonderful, spirited campsite . . . ugh . . . ) a camp for delinquents. People who couldn't control their temper. Kids who were a little on the . . . physical side? Teens who had a tendency to swear too much? Be disobedient? What not?
So yup. Us DELINQUENTS from the Salinas area were going to go get HAPPY.
. . . No drugs allowed, damn it.
No, I'm not a pot-head. But - far out, if ANYONE made me sing Kumbaya, I would kill all of the campers so brutally that I'd put Freddy frigging Kruger to shame.
Yeah . . . to sum up - I was pretty pissed off.
I mean, Father Dom had barely stood up for me against Sister Ernestine. What happened in Sr. Frances' classroom was SO not my fault. I mean, yeah, angry ghostly guy, wanting revenge on the living . . . blah blah, average day for me, right?
Yeah, try that in front of a class of thirty un-mediatory peeps, and you look like a self-harming loony, wrestling some invisible force out of a window.
And my excuse was, 'Oh. Kelly called me fat. I got mad. I'll be quiet now.'
THANKS, Father Dom, for not defending my ALLEGED ANGER MANAGEMENT ISSUES.
You're gonna BURN IN HELL. And Satan will make you his BUTT MONKEY!
I probably would have appreciated this open air more if I hadn't been sitting, waiting for the rest of my stupid fellow campers to arrive to I could actually board the bus. One of the camp coordinators, who introduced herself to me as - get this - Miffy, refused to let me on the bus without supervision.
Damn. I was SO looking forward to carving I 3 JDS on the bus seat. RUIN my day, much?
I didn't belong here. This was total crap . . .
DAMN Jake for bringing me, oh, I don't know, HALF AN HOUR EARLY?
Then . . . a car came trickling from up the hill. I saw it in between the trees. It was red. And kinda crappy. As it came closer, it started to slow down. It screeched to a stop in front of the bus. Bored, I watched as some nervy looking woman hopped out of the driver's seat, tittering and looking anxious.
Then, this huge, beefy Marilyn Manson crossed with Drag Queen crossed with Gene Simmons from Kiss wannabe hopped out of the other side, glaring at anything and everything.
'Okay,' the woman said to him. 'Be a good boy, Leo. Remember what Dr. Schezario said . . . count to ten, don't get mad - and please, don't give any of the little boys wedgies anymore - '
'Screw you,' said the guy.
The woman sighed in despair, looked at MIFFY in a total well-he's-your-problem-for-twelve-weeks-now, got back in her car, and drove away, leaving 'Leo' with his camp gear, glaring at me and Miffy in turn.
. . . I'll ask again . . .
WHY ME, DAMN IT?
'It'll do you good, Susannah . . . I know that you're not at the extreme of needing this type of . . . discipline . . . but you are rather . . . violent when you choose to be,' Father Dom had said cautiously. 'So maybe Sister Ernestine's insistence that you attend is not completely an outrageous suggestion. You may learn valuable lessons about handling ghosts, as well as people.'
HAH. YEAH RIGHT.
Within the next fifteen minutes, enough scary looking people had showed up that Miffy finally let us all on the bus. I went to sit up the back. So far, there were only three girls including me. One was - sorry to be kind of blunt, but - fat. No, like, really. In a very scary way. Like, a breath could crush you, let alone her falling on top of you.
The other one was tall, lanky, and looked like she'd be pretty handy with a switchblade. She had these slanty, cold eyes that were hell freaky.
. . . I'm not going to make it out of Camp Happy Face alive . . .
'YA'LL READY TO HAVE FUN?' Miffy roared furiously from the front of the bus down at us. So far, no one had sat next to me. Which is weird. I mean, I'm approachable enough. So what if I had my leather jacket on. I mean, I'd straightened my hair and everything. Full Maybelline eye make-up and everything. My hair was even Madagascar coloured for the occasion; this nice wine/copper red colour.
But whatever. I didn't MIND that I didn't have a buddy. God knows the wonderful conversations I'd have with some of THESE people.
'Hi. I'm Suze.'
'Satan loves you . . . '
'He calls for you . . . he's everywhere . . . every temptation . . . he's insiiiiiiiide you . . . '
'Hey. Dude. It's called Prozac. Use it. A lot.'
. . . Ugh.
The bus revved, as it was about to move. 'We're still missing one,' Miffy snapped at the bus driver. 'Hold on.'
I closed my eyes, and leaned my head against the window tiredly.
Please, lightning, strike the road and cause a tree to fall . . . anything to block the road, and make this stupid camp be canceled . . . make Miffy have a heart attack or something. Or an erection.
Considering that we haven't established a concrete gender yet.
Just sleeeeeeeeeeeep, Suze . . . sleeeeeeep through the entiiiiiiiiiire camp . . .
Or fake gastro?
. . . Erm . . . sleep would do.
I had wanted to take my car. Having retired my Beamer, I had gotten one of those sweet two-seater Audis. I only needed two seats. One for me and that significant other.
But they wouldn't let me. According to--who was it now? Oh, yeah--Miffy, 'Delinquents don't drive'.
Yeah, well, I gave her credit for alliteration. Or him. Couldn't QUITE tell.
So having packed my North Face bag with all the clothes I'd need for the ENTIRE summer, seeing as how the camp was that WHOLE time, I had made a lazy exit from my house, enjoying the heat of the Californian sun, and headed to the bus pick up spot.
Just what I had DESPERATELY needed this summer: A bus ride with cutters, Satanists, Mansonists, and just down right CREEPY people.
Well, um, I guess the ride wouldn't get dull.
But, in all honesty, what the HELL was I going to do for 12 weeks at a camp for CUTTERS?
I guess I could always bang a schitzo chic, but then I'd have to deal with one girl AND her eighteen voices. No one needs that. And besides, I already had enough trouble with one NORMAL girl.
And the camp was called 'Camp Happy Face'.
With a name like that, there is no way in HELL you could EVER do anything there without adult supervision.
But the REAL bummer of the entire situation is that while I'm waiting for kids to fall into my arms during 'Trust Exercises', Suze is able to stay home and hang out in her hot tub ALL summer long.
The hot tub I should be making-out with her in.
Then again, I guess she could always be going back to the Pebble Beach hotel, our place of meeting.
My whole, 'Now who called room service and ordered the pretty girl?' persona.
A summer I'd NEVER forget. Apparently, she stubbornly wouldn't either.
I could see the bus pick up place meters away, I began a light sprint, and as I did so, I felt my rage against Sister Ernestine raise.
It was SHE who put in an application to Camp Suck My Dick for me. Supposedly, the novice I lashed out at a couple months ago was in hysterics and couldn't even LOOK at me the same way again, which, you know, considering that risks lusting after me, I'm completely okay with.
Sister Ernestine called me into the office one day in June and said, 'Mr. Slater, we can't risk having another one of your, how should I say it, attacks happen again.'
'But I didn't attack anywhu--'
'There's this lovely place that has donated--I mean, affiliates with this school called Camp Happy Face--'
'Now, wait, ha, it's called Camp Happy Face?'
'--that has dealt very well with delinquent
s like yourself. I have already filled out and sent an application in for you, and you have been accepted. So on June 16, the camp bus will come, and you will begin your search for the 'New And Less Violent You'. Here's a pass back to class.'
Um, as if the blow to my ego wasn't bad enough at Ackerman's house party those months ago, now they want me to go to Rehab?
Well, in a sense, anyway.
They had got to be joking.
Finally, I reached the bus, and placed a hand in between the bus wall and the door, and said to Misty who was nearly flipping out at my absence, 'I'm here.'
God, don't get your panties in a wad. Er, I mean, boxers?
This was just way too much on my SUMMER VACATION.
She-he glared at me and said, 'It's Miffy. Take a seat...Slater.'
Two words made me suddenly freak out, and thank God at the same time.
THANK YOU! PAUL.
Among the crazy, heavily eye-lined people who kept glaring back at me, the paranoid possibly schizophrenic guys to the left and the occasionally swearing 300 lb chick in the seat two in front of me, there was someone I KNEW was at least a teeny bit sane.
On the other hand . . .
I HAD TO SPEND 12 FREAKING WEEKS WITH PAUL FREAKING SLATER.
That kind of made me cringe. I jerked my head up in shock as he looked around the bus, appearing very irritated. Quickly, I dropped my now red-haired head so it was beneath the seat and out of his vision. Then, I slid my sunnies on, and emerged looking away cautiously.
If I kept this up all summer, he'd never know. The perfect crime . . .
Don't see me - oh, that seat next to me? It's taken. By who? Um, a ghost. Oh yeah, you see them too. Well . . . erm, this is a ghost that only I can see. This ghost is the reason I'm on rehab camp.
Camp Kill Me Please.
WHAT THE HELL WAS PAUL SLATER DOING ON A DELINQUENT CAMP, ANYWAY? GAWD. How perfectly RANDOM.
Avoid me at all costs. Pretend I'm not here. Go sit next to Miffy. I'm pretty sure she/he only came to get laid.
However, I must have reeked of sanity, because Paul unfortunately detected it and honed it on it.
I felt like I was on some catwalk and being judged by Satan's minions.
I shivered more than once, averting my gaze from any of the would-be-killers. This was just...awkward.
Although, I DID note that a few of the weird cutter type girls WERE checking me out.
Ha, never fails. Paul is SO desired by all.
Sticking out like a sore thumb, I happened to notice this one NORMAL looking girl. Well, as normal as a kid on a one way trip to 'Camp Happy Face' can get.
She was actually rather attractive, what with her flowing, long semi-red hair and slim figure. If it wasn't for the leather jacket and sun glasses, she would have looked just like a typical prep from my old school in Seattle.
I decided right there and then, she'd be the first one I'd screw considering that she was hot--uh, actually REALLY hot, and didn't look like she had a whole collection of Swiss Army Knives.
Then, as my eyes tend to do (me being seventeen), they drifted down to her chest.
You know, why do I even feel like I have to explain myself each time I check out a girl?
I am a guy. Guys like breasts. DEAL.
Anyway, as I was staring, I began to realize that her chest was really familiar to me.
As I took the seat directly across from hers, it hit me.
Those are Suze's breasts.
'Suze?' I asked kind of uncertain, and not really loud enough so then I made myself look psycho.
. . . Damn it. Sprung. God, how the HELL did he identify me? I mean, my HAIR was even a different colour. And he's never seen me in a leather jacket. So what was the DEAL?
Inwardly I groaned. Outwardly?
Heh. I ignored him.
'Suze--' I nearly cried it out in that embarrassing excited tone I sometimes get, but then I calmed down, '--what the hell are YOU doing here?...A-And why is your hair red?'
God. This guy needs a tranquilizer.
Pissed off, I looked over at him. 'No comment,' I said in annoyance. 'And it's not red. It's Madagascar, hello?'
Yeah. Because he so knows all of the Schwarzkopf hair colours off by heart, doesn't he Suze?
Hmph. He should.
I looked down angrily at my nails, and started trying to chip the black polish away. It was cool. I had both removed and more black in my camp bag. No big.
God. It was embarrassing enough that I was ON this camp. But PAUL SLATER knew I was on here. Gah!
Then again . . . so was he.
So a big major Nelson HAH-HAH from the Susie corner.
I shook my head in disbelief. Suze Simon was on the bus. Suze Simon was going to Camp Happy Face. Suze Simon was going to be with me, Paul Slater, for twelve WHOLE weeks.
We were finally gonna screw each other's brains out!
Now I FINALLY get what they mean when they're talking about 'Summer Camp Memories'.
And Madagascar? What was wrong with her original chestnut color? I liked it that way.
I rolled my eyes. 'Well, Jesse thought it was a nice colour,' I said a little snappily.
Not, of course, that the red looked bad. It looked nice. Sexy. But, you know what they say about redheads.
The whole temper thing.
And then, of course, there's also the whole 'wild' thing about them too.
Okay, I can deal with the red. I like redheads.
'OKAY, DELINQUENTS?' Miffy, up front, yodeled throughout the bus. 'There are some RULES on this bus. No drinking, so swearing, no fighting, no eating, no smoking, no attempted suicide, no yelling, no consumption of any drugs, an sexual contact of any kind,' she gave a hard look to two boys up front sitting a little close to each other to be normal, 'Now lets put on our happy faces.'
Wow. What a truly wonderful, heartfelt speech.
. . . I felt nauseated.
Again, there was a roar of the engine, and there we were, chugging fast up the hill, leaving the Salinas.
I had my arms crossed. I didn't want to talk to Paul. I mean . . . okay, I knew that it was probably going to be inevitable. But if I didn't HAVE to, I wouldn't.
However, when this guy with very red, droopy eyes turned around and asked me in a loud whisper if I had any dope on me, the first thing I did was look at Paul was a 'HOW DO I ANSWER THAT?' look on my face.
Eww . . . I really hate drugs. I mean, this guy could have been hot. But nooooooooo. He looked all stoned and icky and stuff.
From the quick but fleeting look that Suze directed my way, the droopy eyed kid must have thought that that was some secret druggie code to mean, 'Paul Slater is stashed.'
Which I wasn't.
I know how to have a good time withOUT drugs...
AND my penis.
Well, uh, maybe not so much the second one.
I cocked an eyebrow at the stoned kid and said, 'Dude, are you for real? I've got nothing, and she's got nothing. And don't you know how to treat a lady? You don't ask questions like that.'
Druggie tried to look completely offended, only, the only thing he managed was to drool a bit.
I hear drugs can do that to a person.
He finally turned around leaving me alone with Suze...and, uh, I guess eighty other dope pushers.
God, way to make sexual activities an impossibility. We didn't even get a nice bus with those bathrooms in the back.
As delinquents, we had NO privileges.
Sliding my own pair of shades on my face, I asked once again, 'So, Suze, how is it you managed to merit invitation to this joyfest? It couldn't have been your winning personality.'
I snorted. 'Oh, I'm a volunteer,' I said sarcastically, glaring out the window. God, UNLUCKY MUCH?
TWELVE WEEKS IS A FREAKIN' LONG TIME.
Everything was going by fast outside. Hopefully Paul would soon choose to stare at it too - the going-fast-outsideness, I mean - and not annoy me.
Gah. Fat chance, Susie.
'Volunteer?' I asked dubiously. I turned back around so I was facing the seat in front of me. 'Uh-huh, right. So then if you're staff, you didn't get one of these charming t-shirts?'
I pulled the white camp uniform tee that said around a giant smiley face, 'Drugs are short term, while happy faces and friendship are eternal.'
That should TOTALLY pump me up to be the 'Less Violent' me.
I glared. 'Shut up,' I said snappily, turning back away.
Despite my current mood, I laughed, and chucked the shirt at the window in my seat, 'So I'm guessing that's a 'Yes, I have a positive t-shirt too,' I said.
I sighed, and looked back at him tiredly. God. If I thought this camp was going to be bad, I really had no idea. You see . . . Paul has a tendency to be a little . . . life draining. Just, you know. So annoying with his persistence that all you want to DO is kill yourself.
If I went near a razor, it'd be HIS fault, you watch.
'DON'T ASK ME OUT AGAIN OR I SWEAR I'LL DO IT!'
'Suze. It's not worth it.'
'HELL it isn't! MUAHAHA. I'M A BADASS CUTTER, HAHA - '
Cough. Ignore me.
. . . Ignore him too. He's a bad influence on humans.
'It's sexy,' I finally said after her refusal to reply to my statement. I then glanced out the window. No longer were we in beach paradise territory anymore. It looked like we were heading into more woodsy territory.
Could this be?...
Nah. No way.
'What's sexy?' I asked.
I nodded in her direction, 'Your hair. It's different, but sexy all the same.'
Wouldn't mind running my fingers through it.
Or having your fingers running along my d--
O-KAY, now, Paul. Calm it down now.
I didn't really know how to, you know, be all, 'Quiet, loathsome creature. Your compliments are NOTHING to me, fiendish toe-cheese.' Because, you know . . . that was kinda . . . nice.
I kind of blushed. Which, as you know, is even MORE embarrassing than having an asshole like that compliment your hair change. 'Uhhhh,' I said.
I wouldn't say thanks, though.
. . . Hey? Who even CALLS hair sexy?
Was he like . . . a hair fetishist or something?
. . . Eww . . . he'd have like, a collection of all types of hair . . . red hair, brunette hair . . . pubic hair -
'Thank you,' I exaggerated. 'It's how NORMAL people usually respond to social interaction. You know, me having complimented you, you should say 'thank you'.'
I sank down in my chair, and put my knees up against the seat in front of me, making sure the collar of my blue polo shirt with the stripes of white/orange/yellow on the part covering my chest was still sticking up.
She continued to ignore me, and muttered something incoherently.
One day or another, Suze and I would have a conversation that involved BOTH of us adding our pieces. God, shy did she have to be so stubborn?
And why did my eyes keep averting to her chest?
'So,' I began again, STRUGGLING to keep up conversation, 'what'd Rico Suave have to say about the whole you leaving and not being in touch with him for TWELVE weeks?'
I began to pull my shirt off up and over my head.
Uhhhhhhhh . . . Paul was . . . erm . . . undressing on a bus . . .
And I'm very sorry, but . . . yuuuuuum . . .
What? DON'T look at me like that. I am a SIXTEEN YEAR OLD FEMALE with or without a boyfriend, (minor detail) but we don't just IGNORE - you know - abs when they are on display.
Especially, erm . . . ones like that . . .
With a cough, I said in a voice that was a little too jerky, 'He's FINE about it.'
. . . Damn fine . . .
SUZE. STOP IT, YOU PERVERTED WENCH.
'It's just that,' I said, still keeping my face to the seat in front of me. A sexy half-smile creeped onto my face, as I noticed Suze staring sort of longer than was polite. Not that I minded. I made this HUGE production of searching for my t-shirt, so she could have my naked, muscular back to lust over.
Damn. If only SHE would change on the bus. I want to have a look at her naked, muscular back.
Or, her naked br--
'--well, twelve weeks is a long time, and I don't know Suze, you're 16 with raging hormones. He's twent--oh, now wait, he's a hundred fifty years old with manly cravings. How well could that possibly pan out?'
I sighed dramatically, 'It would be so much easier if Jesse were real or at least alive. Although, I gotta say, you have quite the selection of fine young bachelors on this trip. There's only a one in ten chance that the guy will gut you with a pocket knife. I bet that will keep you warm at night.'
What do you say to THAT? No, really. I really don't know. I mean . . . it was pretty RUDE -
Ha. Rude. That's it.
'Shut up,' I said.
My God. With these witty combacks, I'm SO going places.
And, erm, apparently one of them was Camp Happy Face.
So I'll just be hacking a cough about now.
What was a Trojan doing in my backpack?
I shoved it back under all my clothes. Must have been from my LAST family camping trip.
Lauren...I will never forget that, er, experience.
She was hot.
As he was rummaging in his bag for his shirt, all I was able to look at was his, er, back. I saw how the muscles flexed with each movement – SUZE STOP EYE-RAPING HIM, YOU SLUT! PFFT. BAD SUZE.
I gave up my 'search' for my t-shirt, and instead, turned towards Suze, and asked, 'So, Suze, what do YOU hope to gain from your experience at Camp Happy Face?'
An orgas -
'Uhhhhhhhh,' I said again. What? Sorry, when a female is confronted with a chest like THAT, it's usually MORE than enough to render her speechless. I brushed my hair back, and looked away. 'Uh - can you - put a shirt on or something - '
I mean, so NOT eww, but . . . arrogant, much?
I chuckled again, and flexed right as I turned around to grab my shirt.
'What?' I asked, putting my shades on top of my backpack. 'Am I making you hot and heavy?'
'NO,' I said pointedly. 'Just, you know, nudity. That's probably against one of Miffy's rules.'
Some kid up the front just . . .er, randomly started crying and yelling. Needless to say, Miffy roared at the bus driver for us to pull over at a gas station momentarily so said cutter could get over it. And plus, she apparently wanted a coke.
'STAY ON THE DAMNED BUS,' she said politely to the rest of us. Then, having no sympathy for the guy-with-issues, she shoved him out of the bus for air.
Greeeeeeeeat. LONGER trip. Just GREAT.
'Okay,' I rolled my eyes, 'I'll respect your wishes.'
I pulled the shirt up and over my head only--
'Dammit. This shirt is about eight sizes too small,' I said, gazing down at my stomach. The shirt didn't even cover my stomach. It left about three inches of skin between the bottom of the shirt and the brim of my pants. The arms were another story. The sleeves were really short and tight..
And, uh . . .
I kind of laughed. I mean, he looked like a sorority boy.
'Uh, Suze,' I noted, 'that's kind of not funny right now.'
Um, way to make me look like a genuine ass.
Again, I snorted, and noticed a Japanese couple staring at him in awe from the outside of the bus, and snapping a picture.
THAT'S a keeper.
My long, commanding middle fingers gave the Japanese couple an idea for afternoon activities. I mean, EVERYTHING stuck out of this shirt. It was like clingy material or something.
I pulled out the emergency Mountain Dew I had stashed away and took a gulp.
Operation 'Woo Suze' is failing at about this point.
Operation turn Paul on is a complete success. Although, I'm pretty much turned on by anything with womanhood.
'Aw, come on, Suze,' I finally said, 'You can't tell me this doesn't turn you on just a little bit. I mean--' --and then I proceeded to flex an arm muscle-- 'huh?'
In annoyance, I stood up with an 'Ugh,' of disgust, and walked down the bus isle, away from him.
God, get me OUT OF HERE.
God, get me INTO her.
- 8 -
And that's our first chapter . . . next one won't be TOOOOOOOOOOOO long away.
Hahaha. I love Paul. Honestly . . . he's so WONDERFULLY gross!
Anyways, PLEASE review.
Disclaimed to Meg Cabot.
So, that's the spasmatic antics of Lolly and Emily.
Signing off with love,