Patricia's got this lazy smile on, from Sal's inelegant exertions or just in greeting. It's hard to tell with her. I wasn't thrilled to see Sal, since I was enjoying my solitude with Patricia, but I smile anyway, and nod in her direction.

"Sal..."

She nods back. "Valerie..."

I've noticed how she makes sure she never lets our names rhyme -- if I say Sally, she'll say Val, but never Sal -- Val. I guess she's kinda insecure that people will have something else to make fun of her for.

Sal hasn't looked at Patricia yet, and we wait for her to notice. A few minutes later we can't decide if she's just playing it cool, or just really unobservant, and we started snickering. Sal looked at us quickly as if we've flicked a nerve and then sees it.

"Oh!" she shrieks, her eyebrows leaping. One hand lands on her mouth and another points, despite there being no one else to find out. Then she sees us guffawing and cools down.

"Patricia dear, your ass is showing," she says, still a bit flustered and carefully keeping her eye off said area.

"Yes, it's so hard to find facilities for the all-over tan North of Chapleau. One does the best one can."

I rolled my eyes at her upper crust falsetto.

"Getting ready for the boy's visit?" Sal inquired sweetly, her eyes blinking innocently over eyes anything but.

"Hoo hoo!" I laughed loudly.

Patricia's teeth ground and she aimed her gaze point-blank at Sal. "If I was, I'd write 'Get Your Grimy Hands Off You Redneck Motherfucker' in sunblock instead of the Circle A."

"Circle what?"

"Anarchist Circle A." I explained, seeing Patricia's scornful look and trying to cut off her acid comment. I failed.

"How many people in your town?"

"Kitchener's a city, you Torontonian snob. Oh, I just remembered!" Sal's face had morphed from defensive to ecstatic quicker than the human eye could appreciate. I had a glimmering of what was coming next, just from the intensity of her joy. "I got a package in from Brian the other day."

"Your boyfriend?" Patricia said, accentuating the words subtly. I remembered that the first conversation Patricia and I had had was about how pathetically anxious Sal had been to mention "her boyfriend" on the way to the camp. She had mentioned it so many times on the first night on the way to the camp that we'd decided it was her mantra.

Oh I have a boyfriend even though I'm fat

Ommmm...

"Yeah, Brian's always sending me stuff..."

"Pubic hair? Dead skin from his -- " Patricia smirked.

"I guess you don't want to hear what he sent after all." Sal said, possibly annoyed.

Patricia continued to smirk in silence. I was itching to smack the stupid bitch's ass, and I would if she had fucked it up. It was entirely obvious to anyone with a brain cell what Bri ol' boy had sent, but I guess too much punk rock can destroy your brain, because it was also entirely obvious that Patricia had no clue. When she closed her eyes I realized that it was up to me.

"I want to know," I cooed, smiling gently. "I wish someone would send me up stuff..." I continued, fondling her ego.

Patricia made a pfft sound. "I wish we had boyfriends." she muttered under her breath.

"Nothing very special, really. Just some brownies. Very tasty brownies." Sal smiled at me, ignoring the jolt that her words caused on Patricia.

Patricia almost turned over, but remembered that her bottoms were half off and twisted her head to look at Sal. "Are we talking... Hash brownies?"

Sal stared off into space and pretended to think. "That may have been the brand name on the box, I'm not really sure."

"All right, Sal! You came through!" Rather tacky ego boost, I thought, especially on the heels of my skilful one. But effective, since Sal beamed like a praised child.

"Me and Cathy had some last night, and they -- are -- potent." she confided. Cathy was her best friend and roommate.

Patricia's eyes were phased out, and she said in her best Homer Simpson imitation, "Mmmm... Hash Brownies." Then she looked back suddenly. "You are still planning to sell them to us, aren't you?"

"Well -- I guess so." she said with coy reluctance.

I breathed easier. Patricia merely smiled and let her eyes phase out again. "Mmm..."

"I've got enough to send the whole camp on a flying trip," she said, obviously exaggerating.

Patricia looked at her questioningly. "Really?" Cute kid, but dumb.

"Well, maybe not the whole camp. But enough that I don't mind splitting the box."

But now my imagination was activated. "Imagine you did, though? Put a big pile of the shit on the floor in the middle of that tin can we call a bunkhouse..."

"Get a bonfire started underneath the metal floor," Patricia continued, "And voila! The biggest Bottle Toke in existence!"

"No -- it'd be BT -- for Bunkhouse Toke," I finished, laughing.

"And can you imagine Martha?" Sal blurted, her eyes round with the image.

"Wooo hooo!" I woo-hooed between bursts of laughter.

Even Patricia snorted. Then she Martha-Mimicked, "Now you girls will be wantin ta get back to work before I -- well, that is -- Aw fuck it all, heh heh, take a break for the rest of the hottin tootin day!"

We were howling.

In the same Martha bass tone, she finished us off with "Well, now. Well. Anyone have anymore of those Brooownies?"

Patricia started to hee-hee and then started joined us in total chaos. Sal was literally rolling around the raft and I was breathing in hitches, gasping and with tears spilled onto my cheeks. And that was how we spent our last Friday working for the government in the Junior Ranger Program, mocking our superiors and plotting to consume narcotics.

"Fucking...fucking...fucking..." Patricia was incanting, shifting around in vain to find a position that didn't cause her posterior agony. We were at the dinner table, a long caf-style jobbie with sporadic sightings of milk and juice.

Sal and Cathy approached, holding their plates and cups, watching Patricia's constant movement with cautious amusement. "Oh, you didn't burn did you dear?" Sal said with almost convincing sympathy, "I was meaning to ask how long you had been out. Burns are so painful, aren't they?"

"Oh shut the fuck up," Patricia said, reproducing Sal's 'sympathetic' cadence. "And pass the milk," she added sulkily. When she had it she looked at it and quite seriously pondered, "I wonder if pouring this -- "

I snatched it out of her hand and put it well out of her reach. Alice, the bitch who's always bugging us, pipes up half-way down the table, "Is all not well at the Isle of Lesbians?" I looked at the gossipmeister, Cathy, who was looking into her orange juice.

Patricia was not in the mood for banter. "That's Isle of Lesbos, you ignorant cunt."

Alice sneered and muttered something about she even admits it.

"And if it was the Isle of Lesbos, you'd be there at the border, legs spread, demanding proof of citizenship."

Alice's face went supernova as the crowd roared its approval for Patricia. I smacked Sal on the shoulder and said rather loudly, "Oooo, look, she's blu-shing. Wonder what that means?"

Martha wasn't around, so it took a slightly longer time to get civilized -- we're used to the reins around here, and tend to peter out uneasily when not forced to. Patricia ate the rest of the meal standing up, and you should have seen Alice's face when Patricia first stood up -- she swallowed her soup funny.

Patricia was fine standing up, every so often pulling her jeans away from her tush but otherwise normal. When she finished her plate, she looked over at me, a spark in her eye. "No need for dessert. We've got ours back in the room." I smiled nervously, just hoping she wouldn't utter the word "hash." She added a huge wink. She disregarded my casual finger-to-lips sign with a pshawish hand wave, but no more references were made until we were safely in our room.

We had Room Blackjack (which sounded better than Room 21) and it was far enough away from the bathroom and close enough to the mess hall to suit us just fine. Patricia always says she chose it specifically, but somehow I doubt that. On the day we chose rooms it was a bit hectic.

Half of us, Patricia's half, got their luggage right away since it was on the bus we came in while my half had to wait for the little minibus to drop off our stuff. Whilst we waited, Patricia's half started moving in, so by the time that we were ready each of the two-body rooms were occupied by one body. No one knew each other, ya see. So then my group started milling around the halls tentatively peeking in to see how scary the other person looked. I was exhausted from the 14-hour trip and was stumbling around in a daze, my pack o' everything on my back not helping, when I looked in and saw a girl putting a copy of Burrough's Naked Lunch on her little wooden shelf above the bed.

This first impression of Patricia was a misleading one, since she didn't read the book that summer, and to this day it remains uncracked.

But by this time it was two months past, and we had become friends to the extent that I was willing to put up with things like partially nude sunbathing. Even the griping afterwards.

"fuckfuckfuck..." she said, rolling around into a variety of positions on the bed, each apparently unsatisfactory. Finally she settled on her side, pulled out the lumps in the blanket, and let out a sound between a sigh and a moan. I grinned at her and looked pointedly at the shelf, where the sunblock bottle she had refused earlier sat in smug silence. She smiled as she cursed me out, resting her head on a pillow.

There was a knock and the latch on our side popped up with a click as I said "Come in!" Sal came in with a tupperware container and a sly smile. If Patricia was a dog, her ears would have pricked up -- as it was, they noticeably twitched. She stuck out her hands and gasped, "Hash -- brownies -- need -- hash -- brownies!"

Sal handed them to her and said, "I need the container back when you're done." Looking a bit uncomfortable, she added, "Um, and Cathy wanted me to tell you that you could use her EpiLady if you wanted..."

Patricia's teeth clicked together. Her face wound up to spit venom, but then relaxed as she regarded the brownies. "Hmm, well, you see -- I'm not a Lady. Do you have any EpiBushPigs? You know, the thing that puts on hair in an incredibly painful process?" She smiled politely with stony eyes.

"Um, no," Sal said, backing away.

"Thanks for the broooownies, Sal," I said, trying to set her at ease. Patricia snickered, and popped off the lid. She licked her lips eagerly, having seemingly forgotten the slight.

Sal smiled tentatively. "No prob -- have fun girls!" she said in a low voice, and left the room.

"EpiLady," Patricia snorted. She took a brownie and passed the container. "Epi-fucking-Lady. I notice you're all nice 'n' silky, chick," she said, taking a bite. "Aw, man!" she exclaimed in delight. "These have got nuts in 'em, too!"

I stroked my newly shaven legs with defiant guilt. "Yeah, well, we can't all be as tough as you. I don't feel like having to put up with some guy pointing at my legs."

Patricia shrugged. I went on, still feeling defensive. "You piss off people 'cause you're so perfect looking, and you do everything wrong fashion-wise, but guys still chase you."

Patricia had a sour look on her face. "I'm not perfect looking, I just look like a model. I'm a freak, if anything." She put her hand under her chin a second late as crumbs fell onto the bed. "I can't help what I look like. I know I sound ungrateful, but 90% of the time I wish I wasn't such a vixen."

"You can't say that," I fired back. "If you weren't attractive, you may have grown up differently, with less self-confidence. Then you'd be sitting there telling me how you wish you were beautiful." I reached for another brownie.

"Seriously, Patricia -- this weekend with the guys here is going to make you unpopular." She smiled. "You've gone the whole summer with stinky and hairy pits, not even brushing that head of hair that most of us would sell themselves into slavery for, and you're not going to change for the weekend."

She nodded, smacking her lips dryly. My mouth was kinda dry, too, and I was beginning to taste the hash. Patricia, slumped against the wall, said "Let's see if we can get some milk for these."

Strangely, she did not move instantly once coming to the decision. Thought and action were usually neck in neck in her universe. She simply sat there, as if struck by a sudden thought.

Then, in a high-pitched warble, a mock tragic look on her face -- "Oh no, it's too late!"

My giggling started with a snort and then rolled like an avalanche. "Like an avalanche..." I tried to explain to Patricia.

She burst. "He he he," she started, her face contorting. "Val, you're fucked. What the hell are you talking about avalanches? For."

Wide grinned, I reached for the brownies and dragged the container to a spot between the two beds. "So you won't hog all the avalanches," I said, cramming a brownie into my laugh.

Patricia's arm dangled over the side of the bed, her knuckles dragging on the hardwood. She looked at me, her half lidded eyes watching me. "You mean... was there an avalanche on the canoe trip? He he he..."

Silly laughter for a good couple of minutes.

"Nope. No avalanches. We saw a bear, though," I said.

"Holy. Lucky. I only saw a moose on my trip. Anyone cool in your group?"

"Well, Nancy was there, but that's about it. She was my canoe partner. It was great, though... so beautiful... the lake." My whole mind was the black mirror that opened and sealed with every stroke of the paddle.

"Nancy's cool... where'd ya see the bear?"

"When we were clearing the portage trails... Daniella got us in the water real quick, you bet. Even though the bear was running away. It was huge."

"Ah-ha," Patricia singsonged. "You guys actually had to do work on your trip?"

"Well, that is what we're supposed to be doing... we didn't have to do that much. Talking about that, how was bush clearing? It was a hell of a hot week, no rain..."

"Rained once. At breaktime. My Sandvik kept popping its blade. Sweat always in my eyes. Hell." her eyes were closed, a happily dreamy expression on her face, "Worst week of them all. Even tree planting with Martha was better."

I snickered. "Martha?"

"He he he," she said. Her eyes flicked open, slightly red. She threw her legs over to the end of the bed and slipped her feet into her safety boots. "Let's go offer Martha the last... brooowwwnnn -- "

That was as far as she got before we collapsed into stomach squeezing fits of laughter.

In a couple of hours we were at the dock, looking at the raft where Patricia had been burnt a half a day earlier. There was a three-quarter full moon bouncing off the water's surface and a clear sky, the whole scene too perfect to be real. But I watched Patricia's big ugly boots, thudding against the side of the dock as she swung them back and forth, and somehow this contrast made the postcard beauty acceptable.

We had mowed down on some stuff we were able to find in the unlocked part of the kitchen: a couple of apples, one banana and a huge chunk of rye bread. The brownies were long gone, and we had decided to split the last one rather than give it to the undeserving Martha. My buzz was wearing off.

I stretched out on the grey dock, folding my hands on my chest and stared up at the stars. Stars have never really turned my crank, but I liked the feeling of wideness and the chill air in my nostrils.

"Yeah..." Patricia said to nothing in particular, her eyes looking thoughtful-like. I turned my head to look at her side profile.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" she asked, looking across the lake.

"A couple."

"I've never had one."

I raised my head. "Shut up!"

"I'm serious." She looked at me, a sadly ironic smile on her face. "I've never been in love."

"How have you reached seventeen without having a boyfriend?" I was incredulous.

"Well, I go to an all-girls catholic school. That kinda wrecks the social life."

"Still..."

"Some guys do hit on me, but there's always something creepy about them. I usually scare the nice ones away."

I was stunned. I looked at Patricia, waiting for the punchline, but her face was serious. She looked at my face and grinned. "Shit..." I said.

She remained silent. I said cautiously, "But you must have had a crush on someone, sometime..."

"Sure," she said, with an uncharacteristically shy smile. "I was in a class in summer school, before I went to high school. I was really into the gothic thing then, I had the black makeup, my hair dyed black, I wore a huge overcoat on the hottest days, I had the pointy boots... you know, the whole vampire thing."

"When you were..." I did a quick calculation, "Thirteen? Wow, you were ahead of the pack, weren't you?"

"Of course," she said, with a reproachful glance. "Always am. Anyway, there was this guy. He sat a few seats over, with the face of an angel's angel... These blond bangs that curved down past his forehead like the crest of a wave..." She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "Can you tell I've written bad poetry?"

I smiled sympathetically. "Go on."

"I remember this one time he came in late, his skateboard under his arm. He was so awkward getting to his seat. His cheeks burned bright red as the teacher made a comment. I never talked to him, naturally, even though I caught him looking at me a couple of times."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. It just didn't occur to me. I was just enjoying my infatuation. I used to go to sleep listening to a tape with The Smiths on one side, and the Dead Kennedys on the other."

I laughed when I heard this, thinking about the Smiths sensitive crooning followed by the raucous punk band's tirade against society.

"Yeah, well," she smiled, "He came to school one day wearing a Dead Kennedys shirt."

"Hopeless," I said. "A hopeless romantic."

"Aren't we all?" she said, with just a touch of satire.

It was well after four before we headed up back to the bunkhouse.

The siren that woke us up each morning could wake up even the most heavily decayed dead. Patricia was another matter, however.

"Uhhhh," I said cleverly. "What time is it?"

Stone moved more than the lump on Patricia's bed.

My eyes shut, and the next instant Martha's booming voice was screwing into my brain.

"Awl right girls! What's going on here! The bell rang ten minutes ago! Gotta get the camp all clean and ready for the bo-hoys!"

I opened my eye the tiniest crack, seeing Martha's torso in its inevitable brown slacks. The lid, despite my efforts, collapsed.

"I can see you're awake, Vally! Up and at 'em!" She shook me for at least ten seconds, chanting "Wakey wakey little snakey!" I gave another annoyed squeak and she stopped, saying as her brown legs scissored out the room, "And get your roommate up too! You'll miss breakfast!" Martha gave up rousing Patricia after the first morning.

I went to get a shower, letting the lukewarm water dribble over me, and came back to deliver the line that had worked infallibly every morning for two months.

"They stop serving breakfast in five minutes."

Suddenly the stone liquified. Like melting lava, and just about as personable, Patricia poured herself into clothes and out the door. I followed.

Patricia slowed down on the gravel path between the bunkhouse and the dining room. As we crunched along, she ran a hand through her kinky mop of straw hair and looked over at me.

"I never told anyone else about Derek," she said, starting up the stairs.

I was confused for a second, and then realized who she was talking about. "Oh... well, I won't tell anyone..."

She pushed open the screen door to the dining room saying almost to herself, "No, that's not what I meant."

I started to reply, but I was cut off by the applause that usually met our morning arrival. Patricia unconcernedly scratched her cheek with her prominently displayed middle finger. There was a buzz of laughter, and we got in line with the people going for second helpings.

"Nice jacket. Suits you." This from Alice, sneering at Patricia's lumberjack flannel. Patricia was tonging bacon onto her plastic plate, and held out a couple of slices to her portly antagonist.

"More bacon, Alice?"

Sally, at a nearby table, snorted convulsively as she was drinking orange juice. I saw a bit dribble out of her nostril before she wiped it away.

Alice's shiny face went red. I was waiting for Patricia to make the obvious grease connection, but she turned back to the line, heaping scrambled eggs onto her plate. Alice walked back to her friends and hissed at them, her beady eyes occasionally stabbing Patricia in the back.

"You let her live," I murmured with a note of surprise in my voice.

She was spooning sugar into her coffee. "Gettin' soft in my old age."

They were still talking about the orange juice when we sat down at our table. "How's the OJ, Sal?" I asked, smirking.

"Tangy," she replied with a straight face.

"Oh, don't you talk," Cathy scolded, "I seem to remember you choking on milk over some comment about inventive uses for Sandviks..." Patricia smiled around a mouthful of bacon and toast.

"Well," I said, looking at her sternly, "First of all, milk is far easier to choke on, due to its high lactose content. Secondly, it didn't dribble through my nose -- "

Sal squeaked in mock outrage. "What are you talking about? I -- "

"I distinctly saw an orange drop of liquid emerging from your left nostril, Sally Barker!" I intoned firmly, levelling an uncompromising finger at her.

She dropped her bluster and said simply, "I deny it all. You're obviously crazy. Are you on drugs or -- " Suddenly she realized the danger of her questioning and let it hang.

" -- just really good brrrroooowwwwnnies," Patricia ended it in a low mutter into her coffee cup.

I stared at her with wide unbelieving eyes. Sal went into a laughing fit that lasted ten or fifteen seconds, and soon the whole dining room was casting curious glances our way.

"Quick," Patricia said to the crowd, "Get this girl back to the bush for work. She's going stir crazy here."

It was my turn to help clean up the kitchen, and as I sloshed the plates through the water, half asleep, I knew that Patricia was snoozing back at Hotel Blackjack. Bitch.

The instant I got back I spitefully grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her head off the pillow. "You're fucking crazy, you know."

"Uh... Hey, I couldn't resist an open line like that," she said, smiling sleepily.

"Why do you have to risk it? Martha would snitch in a second if she found out, you know." I wasn't really that mad for some reason.

"She won't find out. Anyway, there's nothing left."

"They could come with a dog or something and find crumbs," I said lamely.

"If they do I'll say I ate them all."

"Yeah, sure. Anyway, you better get up, they're going to be dividing us into groups for cleaning."

Patricia's eyes flashed. "Fuck that shit. What time is it?"

"Almost nine, looks like." The crystal on my watch had been spidered against a rock in the first week.

"And when did we get up? Like, seven-forty, right? That means..." Her brow furrowed. "That means we got about three fucking hours sleep. No way am I playing housewife for hubby this morning."

She got up, still dressed. "Let's go. If we hide out in the steam room they'll think we've already been sent off to do something."

Sounded like a plan that my weary bones would appreciate. "Yeah, ok. They couldn't do much to us anyway."

Patricia nodded, sticking a pillow under her arm and heading for the door. With a sigh I yanked it out and threw it on the bed.

"Patricia, dear, you forgot your jammies and your night cap. Perhaps you'd like me to ask Martha to have a warm milk to the steam room?" Patricia looked at me in a daze, so I spelled it out for her. "This is just a suggestion, but maybe we could try inconspicuous for a change?"

"Ah," she said, nodding and grabbed her jacket. "I'll just ball this up."

I pulled the door closed quietly behind me.

The steam room had a predictable quality, and that was to heat up. I plucked my drenched shirt from my skin and sat upright on the bench. Patricia was still asleep on the opposite bench in a random toss of bones and limbs, her hair matted to her forehead. I gave her a gentle push with the tip of my shoe and her eyes opened immediately.

"I'm awake," she breathed, obviously not happy about the fact. "It's so fucking hot in here."

I nodded and said, "It's like a steam room or something." This got a generous smile from her and she stood up and clicked open the door.

"Oh, this is beautiful. What a breeze!" Patricia stretched out her arms and span in a circle. I still didn't have enough energy to get up. Then she moved out of view and I heard a series of hollow thumps followed by a scream and a splash. The sound of the water motivated me.

I walked down the short path to the dock and still further out to the edge. Patricia was thrashing about, swimming and diving, trying to drive some vitality into her brain. I contented myself with splashing some water on my face.

"....ime is...." Patricia said, her head bobbing up and down. I gave her a puzzled look and she surfaced, swimming to the dock and climbing up the ladder.

"What's the time?"

"Oh...quarter to one."

"When were the boys supposed to show up?" she said, her eyes rolling up.

"I'm not sure, but I think the games were supposed to start after lunch."

Her face was a pantomime of anguish as she realized something. "Fuck! We missed lunch!"

I shrugged my shoulders with a smile as we started up the path back to the bunkhouse. Patricia did her best to squeeze water out of her shirt, leaving a water trail beading in the dust.

"You could have at least taken off your shoes," I said, nodding at the soggy squishy things attached to her feet.

"No time. Would have exploded if I had waited even a second longer. Hey, what games did you sign up for?"

"I don't remember, except for baseball."

"Yeah, so did I. And tug of war. Something else... I can't remember, it was two weeks ago."

We passed the rec room building and were in view of the camp. The boys, it seemed, had arrived. A loud gaggle of them were playing volleyball with a few token girls.

One lanky sun bleached guy spiked it leisurely. Catharine, a redhead known for her dirty jokes, dove in the sand and made a spectacular save. A guy on her side offered his hand to help her up, but she ignored him and hopped up lithely.

"All right, Cathy!" Patricia called, grinning. I wondered which play she was cheering her for. The cheer had attracted the eyes of the guys on the sidelines, who got a quick glimpse of us as we entered the bunkhouse. One guy tapped his friend with the back of his hand and nodded towards us, or more likely towards Patricia and her water-enhanced figure.

"It's the winner of Camp Little Wenebegon's Wet T-Shirt Contest!" I said in my best announcer's voice as we walked into the hall.

Sal came out of her room with her baseball mitt. "Come on, you guys. Both of you signed up to play, right?"

We nodded as she passed. She turned around and asked, "Hey, where were you two for lunch?"

I looked at Patricia. "Did anyone else notice we were gone?" I asked.

"Not really."

"I'll tell you later, then."

She nodded, walking backwards towards the door. "Ok. Hurry up, though." She turned and pushed through the doors and into the sunlight.

"Ok, so you really want to know what happened?" Patricia looked at me with wide eyes, as if she thought it might bore me.

"From the beginning. From the baseball game."

Patricia gave a resigned sigh, but there was a gleam in her eye. As she opened her mouth to begin a guy in a CN uniform loomed before us.

"Tickets?" We handed them to him and a small smile appeared under his black moustache. "Toronto, eh? Long way to go, girls."

I didn't reply, but Patricia asked how long until we got fed. He pointed out a girl handing small trays down the aisle.

"Hey, do you guys still get those cool pocket watches?" Patricia asked as he started to move away.

"Nope," he said with a sad look. "My father was given one when he worked on the rails, but it was stolen. Now we're only given them at retirement."

That puzzled her. "What good is it then? Aren't they supposed to help you keep the trains running on time?"

He shrugged, and moved on.

"Next thing they'll be giving mailmen retirement bags," Patricia smirked as she looked out the window, watching the grey land fly by.

"Ahem." I looked at her pointedly. "Well?"

"Well wha -- oh, the story! Right. Well -- are you sure you want to hear it?"

I put my head in my hands. I hated wanting to hear it. I hated people who gossiped and shit like that, but for some reason I had to know.

I looked up at her grinning face and growled, "Don't toy with me, girl."

"Ok, ok. It all started yesterday at about one o'clock. Golly, it certainly seems to have been much longer than that! Anyway -- "

She suddenly stopped and looked beyond me. I turned my head just as the serving girl asked us if we wanted the fish or the beef. Patricia took a deliberately long time to order the beef while I sat and practically bounced with impatience.

Finally she began:

"He was wearing a Black Flag shirt. He was on your team, the losing team I believe, and he gave me his mitt to use when he was batting. He had drawn the Dead Kennedys symbol in it, and when I saw that I knew I was in love. Well, not really, but he did have beautiful blue eyes and a smile that looked like he didn't show it to many people. It was like an animal that was scared off easily.

"After the game, you took off for the volleyball thing and I gave him back his mitt. 'You like the Dead Kennedys, eh?' I said, tapping the symbol on his mitt.

"He was a bit stunned, I guess, that a chick would know them, and said, 'Oh yeah, they're my favourite punk band. Do you have any of their albums?'

"I told him I had 'Give Me Convenience or Give me Death' and he was suitably impressed. I offered to give him a tour of the camp and he accepted, although a bit wary and dazed. We spent most of the day canoeing around and talking. I'd never really talked to a guy before, so it was interesting. He even laughed at my jokes.

"He told me about his life in a small town near Windsor. His big family disapproved of his taste in music and fashion, but were otherwise cool. His little sisters had been sending him letters all summer, but he carried around his father's one letter. He let me read it, too. He was like a character in 'Little House on the Prairie.'

"So we just hung out till about dinner time, then I went to the Hotel Blackjack. You weren't there, so I just lay down for a while. Then I realized something. I wanted to get laid.

"I grabbed your blade and shaving lotion, and went to the Shower Stall of Doom. Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't grin like that. So I did the dirty deed, made my legs all smooth and sexy like Barbie says to, and put on my summer dress and nothing else. Aw, go put your eyes back into your head, Val, it was a warm night.

"So I showed up at the dining hall, where, thank god, no one pointed out the fact that I'd shaved my legs. Even you didn't notice. It would have been mortifying if it was made obvious that I had changed myself for him, even if it was true.

"You know what happened during dinner, or what didn't happen. I left you doing the dishes -- don't scowl, dear -- and went off with Mark to the steam room. That was his name, Mark. Does it matter?

"I'm joking. Ok, so we're in the steam room -- listen carefully, this is the juicy part -- and he's talking about how much better the food is here than at his camp. I interrupt him and say, 'Want to fuck?' and he --

"Yes, I'd love some more coffee. Do you have any cream? Thanks. By the way, how long till the next stop? Oh. How long is that in minutes?

"Hey, don't hit! Ow! Now I've forgotten where I was in the story... Oh, yes, that's right...

"So I'm like asking him straight out. First off his face goes pure white, like a sheet, then a cherry red. He was absolutely speechless, and I had to stifle a smile. Then he threw me for a loop.

"'Uh, no thanks, I mean -- ' his mouth was working but no sound was coming out. 'I'd -- it's -- there's this girl back...home that I'm crazy about -- '

"I was shocked. I mean, for a second I thought it was because he didn't find me attractive. Just a foolish second, though. I go, 'Oh, you didn't say you had a girlfriend.' And he says, 'She's not really my girlfriend. Yet. But I still feel like I shouldn't -- do it -- with anyone else, even someone as great as you.'

"By now my hive was buzzing with different emotions. He was a squirming write off, incapable of anything but unease. So I grudgingly gave him a smile and said 'That's sweet.' Then I walked out, went straight to bed and slept till we had to pack for leaving.

"But I didn't really think it was sweet at all. A mean, angry part of me judged him pathetically weak. He wanted to -- no amount of nervousness could hide that -- but he couldn't, because of some outdated romantic bullshit, that I would have found admirable if my pride hadn't been at stake. And a lot of self-loathing, because I had compromised myself -- I shaved my legs -- and still didn't get what I wanted. That hurt the most.

"That, and that I was a corrupting, evil force, and I wasn't even good at it. Oh well.

"Well, no, I don't really consider myself evil... I felt evil at the time, though. But the real, searching question I'm left with is this, Val:

"Are you going to eat that cheese, or can I have it?"