“Whad’ya mean?”
“Will she fight with the girl next to her? Will it be drafty sleeping under a window?”
“Or will they become BFFs and be the maid of honor at each other’s weddings?”
“I wasn’t thinking quite so long term, but yeah, that’s what I mean,” Abby said.
“If that’s true, I hope we didn’t screw this up because at the end of the day, every day, it’ll be our headache.”
“Or our joy.” Abby smiled.
Whatever the outcome, it took the entire afternoon to decide the fate of ninety-six campers and twenty-four counselors.
The evening activity was Campfire Karaoke. When we arrived at the clearing, there was a fire blazing in the stone pit. The karaoke equipment was set up and people were milling about. Maggie and Roger waved us over to where they sat on benches facing the campfire.
Roger thumbed through a list of songs. When he found what he was looking for, he put in his request.
“Roger used to be the lead singer for a band when we were in college. I was his biggest groupie. Still am,” Maggie said.
Jack picked up the microphone and welcomed everyone to the annual orientation, Campfire Karaoke.
“I like to start off each summer singing that funny camp song . . .”
I yelled out, “‘Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh’!”
“Yes! Come sing it with me.”
Abby squeezed my arm. “Teacher’s pet.”
I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut. I turned to the other DLs, “Who’s with me?”
Sam, who was half my age and would be Zelda’s DL, said, “And commit social suicide?”
Jack spoke into the microphone. “Come on, Lori, can’t keep our audience waiting.”
I shrugged. “Time to face the music.”
The song was cued. “‘Don’t leave me out in the forest where I might get eaten by a bear.’”
It was fine at first, but then Jack draped his arm around my shoulders, making me uncomfortable. When I maneuvered away, he grabbed my hand. His palms were sweaty, but I managed to keep a smile on my face the entire time.
“‘Muddah, Fadduh, kindly disregard this letter.’”
I shook myself free and gave Jack a high five to avoid the possibility of a hug and quickly handed the microphone to Di, who was waiting with the next group up, the Aussie contingent who thundered to “Down Under.”
Gilda patted me on the back. “You handled that like a pro.”
A few songs later it was Roger’s turn. It was incongruous to see this oversized man not only belt out “It’s Not Unusual” in a deep, sexy Tom Jones voice, but he swiveled his large frame around like a professional dancer.
The entire staff were on their feet dancing, singing, and cheering Roger on. I was bopping between Maggie and Abby when Abby said, “Remember how women used to throw their undies at Tom Jones?”
I was caught up in the moment and without another thought, I reached under my T-shirt, unhooked my sports bra, pulled myarms through the straps, and tugged it out of my sleeve. I stood on the bleachers, swinging it above my head.
“‘It’s not unusual to find out I’m in love with you . . .’”
The crowd went into a frenzy when I tossed it, and it landed on Roger’s belly. Astonished, he picked it up. The look on his face was priceless. He had a huge grin and he gamely twirled it above his head and flung it back into the crowd.
I surprised myself—I hadn’t done anything that spontaneous and silly since I had taken my bra off while studying for finals in one of the carrels in the science library, and my roommate grabbed it and slingshot it over the cubicle.
