Spells & Sleeping Bags #3 by Sarah Mlynowski Read Free Book Online

ask.
    “All the Lions sit back here,” Alison answers.
    The wooden walls are decorated with hand-painted plaques that make me wish I had been coming to camp forever. Army versus Navy, Color War 1975. Empire versus Rebels, Color War 1989. '50s versus '60s, 2001. I've heard that color war is like mock Olympics, but I've never done one before. Fun!
    Any minute, I realize, I'm going to see Raf. I take a deep breath and try not to obsess.
    When I get to our table, which is right next to bunk fifteen's, I scoot onto the bench up against the window so that I can keep my eye out for He Who Should Not Be Obsessed Over. On the table are a pile of cutlery, a pile of paper plates, a stack of Styrofoam cups, two yellow pitchers filled with some sort of purple liquid, a basket of sliced French bread, and a basket of mini peanut butter and jelly packets.
    “Want some bug juice?” Carly asks from across the table.
    I assume that's the purple drink in the plastic pitcher and not some sort of disgusting smoothie. “Sure, thanks.”
    My stomach grumbles, so I nab a piece of bread. I'm wondering where the food is when I spot Deb in the long line of counselors going into the kitchen. When she finally returns, she places two large plastic bowls of food in the center of the table, one filled with steaming mac and cheese, the other filled with salad. Alison and Poodles leap up to make themselves a plate.
    And that's when I see him. Raf. My breath gets lost somewhere between my lips and my lungs. I think I might have swallowed it. He's still dark and handsome and lean and handsome and did I say handsome? His dark hair seems so soft and touchable. He looks the same as he always does, but he's the summer version in a thin white T-shirt, which shows off his lean muscled arms, and khaki shorts and navy flip-flops, which show off his lean muscled legs.
    He's standing in the doorframe, talking to a scruffy-looking blond guy near our age while looking around the room.
    Is he looking for me? He might be looking for me. Please say he broke up with Melissa because he likes me. It must be me. It must. Please say he's looking for me. Maybe I should wave.
    Nah, I don't want to be too obvious. But I want him to see me. But I don't want him to think I was looking for him. But I want him to think I'm glad to see him. But not too glad.
    Don't obsess, don't obsess, don't obsess. . . .
    Contact! Yes! Our eyes have made contact! He sees me! By George, he's smiling! He's walking over to me! I start to stand up.
    “Freeze!” screams Deb.
    Huh? I look around our table to discover that my four bunkmates are frozen in place. Yes, frozen. As though they're on a TV show and someone has just pressed Pause on my TiVo. Carly is in mid-peanut-butter-and-jelly bite. Alison is standing in mid-mac-and-cheese scoop.
    I must look confused, because Deb orders, “Rachel, freeze!”
    Am I under arrest? I freeze just in case. Since I was in the middle of standing up to greet Raf, this isn't easy. Raf, meanwhile, laughs when he sees me, and mouths, I'll talk to you later.
    No, no, no. Talk to me now! I was so close!
    “When a counselor calls ‘freeze,’ you have to freeze,” Deb explains. “First person who moves has to stack.”
    I don't know what stack is, but since my four bunkmates are remaining in their frozen state, I'm assuming it's something I don't want to be doing. So I stay frozen.
    Unfortunately, staying frozen is becoming increasingly painful. It feels like I'm in the middle of one of those squats they force us to do in gym.
    Poodles was about to pour herself a glass of juice, and now her hand is shaking from holding up the pitcher. Carly is still in mid-peanut-butter-and-jelly bite. Deb stands up and balances a paper plate on Poodles' head.
    My butt is majorly hurting. Need to sit down. Is this over yet? When is someone going to move?
    Deb then opens one of the strawberry jellies, dips her finger inside, and dabs it on Morgan's nose.
    Morgan cracks up.
    “You