Robin finds herself squished between Danielle and Petey, whose face is all red like he's caught the sun even though Robin and the rest of them have been outside all day without getting burned, but Becca takes the seat directly opposite from her and accidentally bumps her ankles against Robin's when she sits down. The contact sends a little burst of stardust zipping up her legs, right into the pit of her tummy, and Robin jams a giant scoop of mash potato into her mouth to keep from smiling too wide.
"You're so gross," Claire tells her.
Robin takes a moment to swallow her potato, because she's mature enough not to spit food all over Claire and Becca just out of spite. And then, because Claire is being a total goober, she sticks out her tongue and blows a big wet raspberry.
They fall about laughing again, just in time to hear Nick stand up and announce the whole game. It's Sunnyside against Shadyside, because of course it is, which means their little gang is gonna be on opposite teams, and Robin is - on paper, thanks to Uncle Mark's bendy rules - a Shadyside witch. She puts in a token cheer when they call for it, and Becca does the same for the Sunnysiders, but as soon as Nick starts leading the Sunnysiders in a chant, Robin and Becca look at one another across the table. Neither of them chant. Neither of them smile.
Then, slowly, Robin puffs out her cheeks and crosses her eyes, a stupid face whcih sort of means They're all such Grade-A goobers and which mostly means This game's gonna be so much fun, I just know it and Becca sticks her fingers in the bottom corners of her mouth and wiggles her little pink tongue. Robin doesn't know what that face is meant to mean. That they're gonna be best friends forever, probably, because that's the sort of promise you can trust in the middle of the best summer ever.
Claire, as Margie reaches their table with a stack of t-shirts, stares at Robin and Becca and their sticky-out tongues, and says, "Which team is Robin on?"
"It's Sunnyside against Shadyside," Margie says, and holds out the shirts for everyone to pick their color, red against blue.
"I know," Claire says. "But Robin isn't, really, is she?"
It's unfair how Nick, who has never once so much as frowned at one of the guys he's meant to be counsellor for - not even when Terry put a live frog down Danielle's shirt - whirls around and bears down on their table, heads straight for Robin like a Commie missile pointed straight at her head.
"Isn't what," he says, rather than asks. He looks straight at Robin, not one of the older girls for maybe the first time ever that Robin can think of, and Robin has the uncomfortable sensation of being weighed up.
"Robin doesn't like red," Becca lies, loyally.
And Claire, who is worse than a goober, who is actually the sort of word that'd have Robin's mom squirting dish soap in her mouth if she ever said it back home, says, "She's not from Sunnyside or Shadyside. Robin lives in Indiana."
She says it like it's impossibly far away, somehow the other side of the planet, and Robin blushes furiously.
"I don't," she says. "I'm not-"
"Well, that's not an issue," Margie says jovially. She pats her shoulder a little stiffly. "Come on, kid, it's gonna be fun. Red or blue?"
"How did you get here," Nick says, just as flat. He crouches down to look Robin directly in the eye and after a beat - like he's had to flick through a mental checklist, remind himself what face he needs to pull - he smiles and moves his head so his hair does that floppy thing over his eyes that Becca likes. "Hey. Robin? Who brought you here?"
"My aunt and uncle," Robin tells him. Her stomach twists. She presses her knees together tight under the table, tight enough she feels like a coiled spring. It would be worse not to answer, she knows that much.
"Nick, come on," Margie says. "There are spare shirts."
Nick doesn't even glance at her. He's too busy looking straight into Robin's eyes, following her gaze round as soon as she tries to drop it. The space between her shoulder blades itches with the effort of holding herself steady, but Robin knows it'd be worse if she flinched. She holds herself as small as she dares.
"Where do your aunt and uncle live?" That time, he remembers to say it like a question and to smile. He opens his mouth so wide. Robin could count all of his teeth, if she wanted.
Robin thinks, fleetingly, about lying. Suck it, Claire. She could join the Sunnysiders. She could wear blue, and hide with Becca, and rescue Becca from jail, and hold Becca's hand as they run away laughing into the night, and Claire would have to sit there back in jail with all the other worse-than-goobers thinking Man, Robin is so cool, I wish I were best friends with her too, even if nobody could be as best at being best friends as Becca and Robin.
But the words stick in the back of her throat and she hears herself saying, instead, "Am I gonna get in trouble?"
"No," Margie tells her. "No one's in trouble. Nick doesn't give a shit about the rules, does he?"
Nick and Margie share a look at that. It's not a nice one, Robin thinks, but she's so grateful for the reprieve that the curl of Nick's lip and the pointed glance Margie gives over towards the big kids table that she's almost dizzy with it, and she takes the chance to look down at her feet dangling above the floor. She swings her legs back and forth idly while the two counsellors have a little staring contest.
Eventually, Nick sets his jaw and stands up, extending his hand to Robin. Like she's a fairytale princess, something out of a story book. She slides her hand into his palm and stands up, trips a little bit over her own feet as she does and knocks into Petey, and lets Nick position her so she's standing on top of one of the tables. Everyone is looking at her.
"Get her down before she breaks her neck," Nurse Lane tells him, which is only a little bit unfair, because Robin's only had to go and see her twice this whole camp.
Nick ignores her. "Campers of Nightwing," he says, putting on his theatrical voice, the same way he riled them all up for a witch hunt. Most of the campers snap to attention straight away, apart from the table full of the really big kids who are almost old enough to be counsellors who only glance over in their direction. "One of your number has a very special choice to make. She wasn't born into Sunnyside's blessings-"
A chorus of boos erupt from all around her.
"-And she's escaped the curse of Shadyside-"
More boos. Dennis Weiman does the "fly, my pretties" voice, the same one he does every time someone talks about Shadyside witches, even though nobody laughed on the first day and the joke isn't getting any funnier.
"So, I'm being asked to let her choose which side she wants to be on."
The dining room gets louder. Both teams are yelling over one another, clamouring for Robin - for Robin to choose them - and the sick feeling that crawled into her throat when Nick was looking at her earlier is washed away by the thrill of being wanted. Of being the person whose wanting is enough, straight away, to make sure she gets.
Nick lets the room reach a crescendo before he holds out his hand. "What's it gonna be, kid? Will you stand with the heroes-?"
The kids in blue shout Yes, apart from Claire, whose mouth scrunches up so tightly it almost folds in on herself. Petey, staring up at her, shakes his head.
"-Or the evil witches?"
There's another set of cheering. Petey stands up and whoops, his thin reedy voice being almost washed out by the rest of the kids drumming on the tables, and then sits back down and buries his face in his arms. From her vantage point on top of the tables, Robin can see two of the girls at the next table nudge one another and say something about Crybaby Petey.
That's reason number one, the only one she thinks of at the time. The other reasons - ones Robin can't see just yet; ones she won't name until she's sitting in a hospital bed, waiting for her mom to drive all the way over to Ohio even though she spent money on a perfectly good bus ticket, and others that will need to wait until Tammy Thompson puts some things into context - include the Claire's scrunchy-mouth, and Alice's super short shirts, and the sense that even now, during the best summer ever, she needs to moderate herself because if she gets too happy, Becca won't want to be friends at all, and neither will anyone else, and Robin'll have to go back to Hawkins as a secret agent girl who only found proof that all the other kids were right about her all along.
But for the moment, it's Petey's shiny face, the red flush along the back of his neck and the grim awareness that, back home, Freaky Robin Buckley is just as bad as being Crybaby Petey McHugh, that has her saying, "I think witches are cool."
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Robin, Fear Street Crossover - Fill: Crybaby [5/?]
Date: 2023-02-25 12:49 am (UTC)"You're so gross," Claire tells her.
Robin takes a moment to swallow her potato, because she's mature enough not to spit food all over Claire and Becca just out of spite. And then, because Claire is being a total goober, she sticks out her tongue and blows a big wet raspberry.
They fall about laughing again, just in time to hear Nick stand up and announce the whole game. It's Sunnyside against Shadyside, because of course it is, which means their little gang is gonna be on opposite teams, and Robin is - on paper, thanks to Uncle Mark's bendy rules - a Shadyside witch. She puts in a token cheer when they call for it, and Becca does the same for the Sunnysiders, but as soon as Nick starts leading the Sunnysiders in a chant, Robin and Becca look at one another across the table. Neither of them chant. Neither of them smile.
Then, slowly, Robin puffs out her cheeks and crosses her eyes, a stupid face whcih sort of means They're all such Grade-A goobers and which mostly means This game's gonna be so much fun, I just know it and Becca sticks her fingers in the bottom corners of her mouth and wiggles her little pink tongue. Robin doesn't know what that face is meant to mean. That they're gonna be best friends forever, probably, because that's the sort of promise you can trust in the middle of the best summer ever.
Claire, as Margie reaches their table with a stack of t-shirts, stares at Robin and Becca and their sticky-out tongues, and says, "Which team is Robin on?"
"It's Sunnyside against Shadyside," Margie says, and holds out the shirts for everyone to pick their color, red against blue.
"I know," Claire says. "But Robin isn't, really, is she?"
It's unfair how Nick, who has never once so much as frowned at one of the guys he's meant to be counsellor for - not even when Terry put a live frog down Danielle's shirt - whirls around and bears down on their table, heads straight for Robin like a Commie missile pointed straight at her head.
"Isn't what," he says, rather than asks. He looks straight at Robin, not one of the older girls for maybe the first time ever that Robin can think of, and Robin has the uncomfortable sensation of being weighed up.
"Robin doesn't like red," Becca lies, loyally.
And Claire, who is worse than a goober, who is actually the sort of word that'd have Robin's mom squirting dish soap in her mouth if she ever said it back home, says, "She's not from Sunnyside or Shadyside. Robin lives in Indiana."
She says it like it's impossibly far away, somehow the other side of the planet, and Robin blushes furiously.
"I don't," she says. "I'm not-"
"Well, that's not an issue," Margie says jovially. She pats her shoulder a little stiffly. "Come on, kid, it's gonna be fun. Red or blue?"
"How did you get here," Nick says, just as flat. He crouches down to look Robin directly in the eye and after a beat - like he's had to flick through a mental checklist, remind himself what face he needs to pull - he smiles and moves his head so his hair does that floppy thing over his eyes that Becca likes. "Hey. Robin? Who brought you here?"
"My aunt and uncle," Robin tells him. Her stomach twists. She presses her knees together tight under the table, tight enough she feels like a coiled spring. It would be worse not to answer, she knows that much.
"Nick, come on," Margie says. "There are spare shirts."
Nick doesn't even glance at her. He's too busy looking straight into Robin's eyes, following her gaze round as soon as she tries to drop it. The space between her shoulder blades itches with the effort of holding herself steady, but Robin knows it'd be worse if she flinched. She holds herself as small as she dares.
"Where do your aunt and uncle live?" That time, he remembers to say it like a question and to smile. He opens his mouth so wide. Robin could count all of his teeth, if she wanted.
Robin thinks, fleetingly, about lying. Suck it, Claire. She could join the Sunnysiders. She could wear blue, and hide with Becca, and rescue Becca from jail, and hold Becca's hand as they run away laughing into the night, and Claire would have to sit there back in jail with all the other worse-than-goobers thinking Man, Robin is so cool, I wish I were best friends with her too, even if nobody could be as best at being best friends as Becca and Robin.
But the words stick in the back of her throat and she hears herself saying, instead, "Am I gonna get in trouble?"
"No," Margie tells her. "No one's in trouble. Nick doesn't give a shit about the rules, does he?"
Nick and Margie share a look at that. It's not a nice one, Robin thinks, but she's so grateful for the reprieve that the curl of Nick's lip and the pointed glance Margie gives over towards the big kids table that she's almost dizzy with it, and she takes the chance to look down at her feet dangling above the floor. She swings her legs back and forth idly while the two counsellors have a little staring contest.
Eventually, Nick sets his jaw and stands up, extending his hand to Robin. Like she's a fairytale princess, something out of a story book. She slides her hand into his palm and stands up, trips a little bit over her own feet as she does and knocks into Petey, and lets Nick position her so she's standing on top of one of the tables. Everyone is looking at her.
"Get her down before she breaks her neck," Nurse Lane tells him, which is only a little bit unfair, because Robin's only had to go and see her twice this whole camp.
Nick ignores her. "Campers of Nightwing," he says, putting on his theatrical voice, the same way he riled them all up for a witch hunt. Most of the campers snap to attention straight away, apart from the table full of the really big kids who are almost old enough to be counsellors who only glance over in their direction. "One of your number has a very special choice to make. She wasn't born into Sunnyside's blessings-"
A chorus of boos erupt from all around her.
"-And she's escaped the curse of Shadyside-"
More boos. Dennis Weiman does the "fly, my pretties" voice, the same one he does every time someone talks about Shadyside witches, even though nobody laughed on the first day and the joke isn't getting any funnier.
"So, I'm being asked to let her choose which side she wants to be on."
The dining room gets louder. Both teams are yelling over one another, clamouring for Robin - for Robin to choose them - and the sick feeling that crawled into her throat when Nick was looking at her earlier is washed away by the thrill of being wanted. Of being the person whose wanting is enough, straight away, to make sure she gets.
Nick lets the room reach a crescendo before he holds out his hand. "What's it gonna be, kid? Will you stand with the heroes-?"
The kids in blue shout Yes, apart from Claire, whose mouth scrunches up so tightly it almost folds in on herself. Petey, staring up at her, shakes his head.
"-Or the evil witches?"
There's another set of cheering. Petey stands up and whoops, his thin reedy voice being almost washed out by the rest of the kids drumming on the tables, and then sits back down and buries his face in his arms. From her vantage point on top of the tables, Robin can see two of the girls at the next table nudge one another and say something about Crybaby Petey.
That's reason number one, the only one she thinks of at the time. The other reasons - ones Robin can't see just yet; ones she won't name until she's sitting in a hospital bed, waiting for her mom to drive all the way over to Ohio even though she spent money on a perfectly good bus ticket, and others that will need to wait until Tammy Thompson puts some things into context - include the Claire's scrunchy-mouth, and Alice's super short shirts, and the sense that even now, during the best summer ever, she needs to moderate herself because if she gets too happy, Becca won't want to be friends at all, and neither will anyone else, and Robin'll have to go back to Hawkins as a secret agent girl who only found proof that all the other kids were right about her all along.
But for the moment, it's Petey's shiny face, the red flush along the back of his neck and the grim awareness that, back home, Freaky Robin Buckley is just as bad as being Crybaby Petey McHugh, that has her saying, "I think witches are cool."