A/N: wow. Holes. I haven't written a Holes fanfic in just about forever. (don't waste your time checking on my profile for a link to the other story that has to do with Holes, I deleted it because it was utter crap). So yes, here's sort of a plot bunny that has been haunting me ever since I saw the movie again yesterday on Starz. I dunno, I thought I'd have some fun. Just as a side thing, I guess. Enjoy ).
Disclaimer: Oh yeah, it's not mine.
"Summer with Aunt Lou, are you kidding!? I haven't been there since I was, like, eight and she made me dig holes! Big ones! That were…large and stuff…." I trailed off lamely. Pleading my case with my mother wasn't going over so well. I was pretty much drowning.
Actually, no, I was dead. I'm really not even sure why I continued speaking; it was really a total waste of breath. But I was stubborn, and didn't really care how much they refused; I wasn't going to go down quietly!
"Why?" I whined as I buried my head in my crossed arms on the kitchen table. My mother got up and put her coffee cup in the sink and began rinsing it off.
I was aware of the fact that I was sounding like a brat. An obnoxious, immature brat, actually. But, still, I didn't care.
"Because I said so." She turned the water off. Sure, easy for her to say. She didn't have to spend her summer in the blistering 108 degree heat. I gave my mother a withering look.
"You're an evil woman," I told her. She smiled at me and pulled her red hair off of her neck and quickly arranged it into a messy bun on top of her head. My mom and Aunt Lou looked a lot alike—they both had red, curly hair that fell in their hazel eyes the same way, their noses were cute and turned up and they had freckles that covered every inch of their fair skin.
I didn't inherit the hair or the eyes, the skin tone or the freckles. I got tan skin, green eyes, and brown hair. If you took one look at me, you wouldn't even figure that I was related to them.
"Sweetie, you don't know what evil is." She sat down again and 'lovingly' stroked my hair.
If she loved me so much, she wouldn't send me there.
"Yeah I do. It's called 'Camp Green Lake'. And you're related to the owner of that hell-hole. And you're sending me there. All of this implies evil." I buried my head again, not wanting to look up. Not wanting to face the fact that the woman who is sitting across from me, currently petting me as though I were a dog, is sending me to "the hell-hole".
When I say hell-hole, I literally mean hell hole. Camp Green Lake is covered in holes. Absolutely covered. That's what the campers have to do—dig holes. Not the kindergarten holes that you dig when you're five and think you can reach China. No. Those are sandbox holes. Those are the friendly holes that you dig witha little plastic shovel and a pail to put your dirt in.
These are mean holes. These are big holes. These are five feet in diameter, and five feet deep.
It's a fun drive down there, now that I think about it. Considering that there's no road, it's an absolute joy. You should try it. Oh, but make sure that you take a really good car too, not some crappy Ford. Take a BMW.
That would be fun to watch.
Anyway, I could tell by now that there was no way I was getting out of this. I was spending summer at Camp Green Lake. Juvenile delinquent camp. Texas detention center. Hell on earth.
And I didn't even do anything.
Well, except be the niece of the owner.
My mother raised her eyebrow at me. "Excuse me?"
"Fudge. It's what I was going to say, I swear." My tone was flat. I looked innocently at my mother and she rolled her eyes at me.
I lie a lot. I should stop that.
She doesn't even bother to drive me down there. That's what gets me. She doesn't drive me down there to see what type of environment she's putting me in. She makes me take the friggen bus. You know, the one that the rapists and murderers sit on.
Yeah. That's the one.
What a great mom I have.
She sees me off, though. She waves and says, "Don't worry, honey, it's not that bad."
Look, don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't love my Aunt Lou. I do. She's fun, actually, once you get past the tough exterior and the fact that I have to dig a hole for her every week. But then, she has to be tough on the boys that she's dealing with.
My mom and her grew up on this camp ground. Grandpa opened it up. Aunt Lou, being the lucky older sister that she is, inherited the family business and Mom left and got married. I feel bad for Aunt Lou, actually. Sometimes I sort of think that she was forced into running the business. Wouldn't she like to get married and start a family one day, or something?
Whatever. Aunt Lou doesn't really seem to care much for that sort of thing, I guess. She always seems like she's trying to achieve something, though. I've yet to discover what it is.
Oh well. If she doesn't feel like sharing life-long goals, I'm perfectly okay with that.
The ride to Green Lake is long. And by long, I mean torturingly slow. Why? BECAUSE THE BUS DOESN'T GO OVER FOURTY FRIGGEN MILES AN HOUR.
"'Scuse me, Sir?" I leaned over the front seat and poked the pudgy bus driver. He grunted. "Can we go, I don't know, a little quicker?"
"Why're you so anxious to get there?" He asked me, his breath fluttering his mustache. It was quite funny to watch his neatly trimmed mustache twitch.
Right, so it's established that I have a small attention span.
"Because I really, really want this to be over as quickly as possible," I told him honestly. He surveyed me in the mirror.
"Honey, sit your ass down." Was what he finally came out with. My eyes darted to the shotgun that was kept on the floor of the bus underneath his seat for the prisoners that ride it.
"Right." I sat down.
Five seconds later, I found myself poking him again.
He didn't respond.
This was actually kind of fun.
Stony face—eyes on the road—hands on the wheel.
"Girl, you poke me one more time and I will break your finger." He said this as though he was conversationally speaking about the weather. I snatched my finger away, mid-poke.
I get bored easily. I should establish that right now. People like me, who poke poor bus drivers for fun and like watching their mustaches move when they speak, get bored easily.
"Wanna play a game?" I asked him.
"You know," I continued. "Like a car game?"
He, I think, was ignoring me.
"20 Questions? Ooh! The License Plate Game!"
His expression was blank.
"C'mon everyone loves the License Plate Game." I smiled encouragingly. He kept his eyes straight ahead.
"Ah." I nodded. "You're the uh…strong, silent type then?"
I got a grunt out of him!
"Sir, what's your name?" I asked curiously.
"Pete." He answered.
"You look like a Pete," I surveyed him. He allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up as he decidedly thought that I was complimenting him. "Aha! I saw that smile!"
"Well Pete," I said. "Is there any game you would like to play?"
"Do you know…Fifty States?" He raises his bushy black eyebrows in an inquiring manner. I light up.
"I LOVE FIFTY STATES!"
A little over an hour later I clamber off the bus with my duffle bag and suitcase in tow and wave to Pete. He smiles cheerily and waves back. "By Bella, and thanks for the chocolate," he salutes me with his Hershey bar. Yeah, Pete and I are tight like spandex now. So much so that I sacrifice candy for him.
"No problem. And hey, tell your son I wish him all the best on his math test!"
"I will. See ya later!"
And he closes the door to the bus and drives off in a cloud of dust.
And here I am. Camp Brown Shit.
Aunt Lou is waiting for me outside. She welcomes me with open arms and a wide smile. My eyes drink in their surroundings before I go to her. Other than the holes growing in numbers, there wasn't anything different in the broken down camp. I feel sorry for everyone who has to stay here.
Oh, wait. I have to stay here.
Excuse me while I go and die now.
"Bella! How are you?" Aunt Lou comes over and embraces me in a big aunt-y hug. I accept it, but don't entirely welcome it. It's much too hot to hug.
"I'm just dandy, Aunt Lou." I smile at her. I do like visiting Aunt Lou. I hate coming here, but I like Aunt Lou. "How are you?"
Ooh, I made a rhyme.
"Pretty good, pretty good. Ooh look at you, you just shot up like a pistol." She beamed at me as she took in my appearance.
Yeah, see that's the thing about living in Texas. Rural Texans, like my Aunt, always make metaphors like that.
"Well, I'm bound to grow from when I was eight, Aunt Lou," I smiled at her. She flipped her low pony tail over her shoulder.
"That's right, the last time I saw you was eight years ago," she said putting her hands on her hips and spinning me around.
"Yeah, well, that and at Thanksgiving four years ago, but that really doesn't count because you had to leave right away," I reminded her. She nodded.
"Yeah, someone thought they found something and I had to get back here straight away. I'm sorry I couldn't stay for dessert, tell your momma that."
"She knows, Aunt Lou." I put my hand on my suitcase handle and allowed her to usher me inside the cabin.
Air Conditioning is a beautiful invention.
Wait a second.
"Whatdya mean 'found something' Aunt Lou?" I asked her. I saw her stiffen but only for a moment. She laughed and relaxed.
"I just mean that, you know, some of the boys think that they saw something interesting when they were digging, that's all." She bustled into the kitchen and fixed me some dinner (it was evening because, again, no matter how much I like my new buddy Pete the Bus Driver, he's not the next Nascar racer). I shook my head when she offered it.
"Hey, Aunt Lou, I was just wondering if maybe today I could eat in the Mess Hall." I suggested. She shrugged and put the ham sandwich that she was putting together back in the fridge.
"If you want, honey. Lemme drive you down there," she grabbed her car keys from off the counter. I looked at her curiously.
"I'm pretty okay on my own Aunt Lou…"
"No, I'll introduce you to the boys." Aunt Lou reassured me. "It's dinner time for them."
"Everybody listen up!"
The Mess Hall immediately went silent. There were about 93 pairs of eyes on me. All male. All looking at me as though I was that amazing Tiffany's necklace that they just had to have for their sixteenth birthday that their mom wouldn't let them buy even though they had a 4.0 that semester…
Or, you know, a…weight set or something equally manly that's desirable for men and full of…testosterone and stuff….
"My niece will be staying with me for the summer. Now, I realize that it's been a long time since you boys have seen a girl so I'm gonna re-educate you on how to treat her. Do not say anything that you wouldn't say in front of me. If I hear that any of you have treated her disrespectfully there will be consequences." Aunt Lou glared icily at every single boy. She sends a shiver down my spine when she does this whole act. It even intimidates me into good behavior. "Is that clear?"
"Yes Ma'am," the boys chorused.
She put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, glared once more at the boys, and walked out.
I didn't feel uncomfortable getting this attention. I expected it, actually. Fine, stare. Their looks can't hurt, and it's not like I've got a boyfriend back at home anyway, so there's nothing to feel guilty about.
Hmm… I wonder where…
"Oh my, Miss Frecia, you have grown up!" A short man with a glob of white sunscreen on his cooked nose rushed over to me with lit-up eyes. There he is.
"Hey Dr. P," I greeted the stout little man who was about to kill himself to give me a hospitable welcome. Being the Warden's niece does have its advantages.
Dr. Pendanski was a walking joke, if you'd ask me. Everything about him was comical right down to his knee-high white socks. But the little man gave me some food and a table by myself, so I have to be grateful to him.
Once Dr. P left, I was sitting there, alone with 93 pairs of eyes still on me.
Well, almost alone.
The one weird thing about being back at Camp Green Lake after eight years was that, instead of looking at you strangely because you were a little girl in a convict camp, they now looked at you like you were a fresh piece of meet.
Oh crap. Me and my stupid big mouth—I could have relaxed in the nice air conditioned cabin eating real food, but nooooo. I had to go and be all social and eat with the boys. Am I an idiot?
Don't answer that.