Everyone Dies Famous in a Small Town by Bonnie-Sue Hitchcock (best ereader for graphic novels TXT) 📕

was so worried about it. But she figures the updates are a chance for him to hear himself speak, more than anything. Wildfire is one thing he didn’t need to brief them on. Alaskans are well versed on the subject. Amy and Fiona are more afraid of fires than they are of bears.

Amy is perched on a rotten log riddled with ants, hidden by fireweed and pushki (which the other counselors call cow parsnip). Things must be serious if Amy is sitting on ants. Fiona squeezes on next to her, trying not to get pushki sap on her skin. (Also worse than bears are blisters from pushki.)

“I miss the mall,” says Amy. “Mostly Payless Shoes. I just want to go sniff all that fake leather, put on the little nylon footies, and try on some pumps that I can’t afford.”

“I know,” says Fiona. Even though Amy’s just talking about shoes, she’s starting to sound a little less edgy.

“I want to tell you something before you do anything to ruin it,” she says.

Okay, that was edgy.

“I have a crush on Finn.”

Ew, gross.

“What would I do to ruin it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Fiona. Act like he’s not good enough for me, as if you’re just being a good friend?”

“Excuse me?”

“When are you going to admit how you lost us our jobs?”

“I reported a guy who jumped out of the walk-in cooler, spraying you with whipped cream through a foot-long hot dog. Did you forget?”

“You weren’t even there, Fiona, remember? You called in sick?”

“Yeah, but I was sticking up for you, Amy. I reported it when you told me it happened.”

“It was just a stupid prank. Who cares?”

“He’s a pervert. He was always doing shit like that. You also don’t think it’s weird that we lost our jobs and he didn’t?”

“His brother was the manager. Of course he wasn’t going to lose his job.”

Fiona can’t believe Amy is shooting the messenger like this.

“You called in sick when you weren’t sick, so yes, you should have lost your job,” Amy says. “And I lost mine because I covered for your lie. And not for the first time,” she adds.

She lights another cigarette.

“Shhh…,” says Fiona.

“Oh, right. Don’t talk, Amy, just let it roll off like you always do,” she says sarcastically.

“No, I mean, do you hear that?”

The thump of many pairs of hiking boots is suddenly very close. And then they hear Maggie saying, “Okay, everyone ready? A one and a two and a…”

Ten campers begin to chant, “MAKE CAMP FANTASTIC, DON’T WASTE PLASTIC!” over and over and over and over.

They must be done writing their letters to the razor companies.

Now Maggie’s group has transformed into a litter brigade. Cleaning up the trails, picking up wrappers and plastic bags, waving signs as they merrily march along. “Don’t waste plastic” slogans are painted onto greasy pizza boxes taped to willow branches, bobbing in the air.

Maggie’s nose suddenly wrinkles and she holds up a hand, silencing her campers. They halt, so close Fiona could reach out and touch the toe of Maggie’s purple sandal.

Amy is holding a soggy cigarette butt as if it’s a murder weapon and she’s been framed.

Maggie’s face appears between the pushki, like a disembodied head.

“Howdy,” says Fiona. She’s never used that word before, but that’s what happens when you’re hiding on a log like a fugitive. You just don’t sound like yourself.

“What are you two doing in there?”

“We heard your, um, campaign, is it? And we were looking for litter,” says Fiona. “Because our campers are out boating right now and we had some free time.”

Maggie looks suspicious, but also pleased that maybe she’s getting through to them.

“And we found this!”

Fiona grabs the cigarette butt out of Amy’s hand and jams it into Maggie’s face.

“I know. Can you believe it?” she says as Maggie recoils. “We need to have an all-camp meeting and make sure nobody is smoking. For their safety and the safety of everyone here.”

Amy stares at Fiona as if she’s grown a horn.

“Totally,” says Maggie. “Can you imagine if someone started a wildfire?”

“I shudder to even think,” says Fiona, trying to keep a straight face.

Evan, who seems to want to make up for hunting rabbits, jumps in with another witty slogan:

“DON’T SMOKE, IT’S NO JOKE. DON’T SMOKE, IT’S NO JOKE.”

His fellow campers join him.

“We should go collect our kids from their boating lesson,” says Amy. She tugs Fiona’s arm.

Her fingernails are digging into Fiona’s skin a little harder than necessary.

“That right there is what I’m talking about,” says Amy, once they are far enough away that she can whisper-yell in Fiona’s face. “You’re a professional liar.”

“What? I just saved your ass, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Oh, this again! You’re delusional if you think you’re the savior, Fiona.”

“Why are you so mad? I already said I was sorry that you vouched for me.”

“Where were you when you called in sick?”

“I was…”

“You went to the movies with Mason Hawk.”

“How did you…know that?”

“Does it matter? You knew I liked him, Fiona. I cover for you and you pay me back by sneaking off behind my back.”

“I didn’t tell you because he asked me not to.”

Amy’s cheeks are the shade of ripe plums.

“I’m so tired of this.”

“What? Wait. Let me talk.”

But Amy walks off toward the lake mumbling about how much she hates this place and how she is never, ever going to have kids, not in a million years.

Three little girls in pink frilly swimsuits see her at just that moment and screech, “Amyyyyyy! We picked you these flowers!”

They run to her with bouquets of invasive weeds and she throws her arms around them, exclaiming wildly, “These are so beautiful! Let’s see if we can find something for a vase. You three have made my day.”

Fiona watches thoughtfully for a few minutes as her friend who hates children swoons over the bouquet. It was so out of character for Amy to yell at her like that. But maybe Amy doesn’t want to be the duck that always lets all the water roll off