Free Camp Utopia & the Forgiveness Diet (9781940192567) by Jenny Ruden Page A

“This is an opportunity to be taken very serious.”
    â€œSerious ly ,” Cambridge corrected. “Camp officially starts tomorrow anyway. Let’s just drop it, OK?”
    Hollywood returned her gaze to the forgiveness jar. “I was just trying to help. I want our team to win.”
    What I gathered from this girl in the whole hour I’d known her was not only did Hollywood like to win, she needed to. Some girls just have a scent about them that makes them naturals for sports or tiaras or homecoming courts. She was one of them. She was pretty with her honey-brown hair, big green eyes, and what seemed a more than adequate bra size, but she was also organized. Her sweatsuit was immaculate, so was her luggage, which she’d neatly piled in a corner during orientation. Even all those phones she had forfeited to Hank’s trash bag seemed disinfected with Purell. I hated myself for liking her outfit, for caring about that stuff, but I did. She was definitely the thinnest on our team too, which lent her a certain authority, which she wielded like a professional.
    â€œTake it from me,” Hollywood started, “the diet works.”
    Atlanta made a noise like a drain sucking up bath water. “Oh, come on guys. Do it for the weight loss! I forgave everyone I could possibly think of. It was so easy.”
    Hollywood crossed her arms. “She was motivated.”
    Atlanta smiled wide, pleased with the compliment tossed to her like a dog biscuit.
    â€œHow about I just leave the jar here for a bit,” Hollywood coaxed. She placed it gingerly on our dresser. “In case you get inspired.” Then Hollywood’s eyes centered on me. First my face. Then my stomach. “Think about it.”
    Only as soon as Hollywood and her sidekick turned around to leave, a sound bubbled up. It was a pinging, a tinkling noise—like a Disney song. Like a ringtone. Then, very casually, Hollywood withdrew a violet rhinestone cell phone from her pocket.
    â€œHi,” she squeaked, smiling perfect pearls of teeth. “I met the others, yes. They seem OK.” She shot us a dirty look. “I guess.” She continued blabbing, her purple phone glittering like a crown. After a breathy, “Oh. OK. I love you too,” she clipped it shut.
    â€œWhere did you hide your phone?” Liliana asked in a voice that she tried to keep measured.
    â€œOh. I’m allowed. We worked out a deal.”
    â€œWhat kind of deal?” Cambridge asked.
    I was too stunned to speak. Hadn’t she thrown all her phones into the garbage bag downstairs like everyone else?
    â€œIt was my dad. He knows people. A lot of people,” she said, and smiled. “He knows I can’t live without my phone. What a stupid rule.”
    If I didn’t hate her before, I sure did now. Judging by the looks on my roommates’ faces, they did too. It wasn’t because she was beautiful either. It wasn’t because she was the thinnest. It was because Hollywood got to keep her cell phone.
    Miss Rules-Don’t-Apply-To-Me winked then—one shadowed eyelid clamping down like a crocodile’s jaw—and placed the phone in her pocket. “You can type your forgivelets in my dorm! I have my laptop too.” She stood up and fondled the recently bedazzled curtains. “Just promise me you’ll put someone in the jar!”
    Thank God Cambridge discovered the Milk Duds right after Hollywood left.
    â€œTen bucks says she’s stuffing her hole with candy right now,” said Liliana as a glob of Milk Duds paraded down her throat.
    â€œBut her ph-ph-phone,” I stuttered. How did she get to keep her phone?
    Liliana shrugged. “I heard that her dad dropped her off in a helicopter.”
    Cambridge finally relented and sunk a Milk Dud on her tongue. “I know the type.”
    Yeah, we all knew the type, which is why none of us were surprised that Hollywood secured her spot as