Chapter 2: Becky Makes a Deal

My first order of business was to make sure Henry the chef had everything in order. As I approached the cafeteria, I could hear Henry arguing with someone. I snuck up to the kitchen door and peered inside. Becky Finklestein was dressed in an XXL version of our powder blue sweatsuit, which was a little baggy on her, although her overdeveloped bustline still protruded visibly. She was holding a piece of paper, and her face carried a look of disgust. “Gwoss! No you can’t touch them!” she barked.

“This is a lot of extra food,” Henry said. “Some weird stuff, too. Gonna put me over budget.”

Becky sighed. “Just get what’s on my shopping list, and I’ll let you see them. Once,” she said.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This was totally unacceptable. I swallowed my anger and as I entered the kitchen, pretending I hadn’t heard anything. “Good morning, Becky,” I said, feigning surprise. “Henry and I were just going to look over this month’s meal plan.”

“I need more pwotein,” Becky insisted, without returning my greeting.

“We can accommodate special diets,” I said. ‘But our meal plan is designed to provide balanced nutrition, and we can’t let campers design their own meals. That’s a slippery slope to fast food.”

“That’s what I told her,” Henry said.

“The swippery swope is a fallacy,” Becky said. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“It’s not a fallacy when it comes to children and junk food,” I said firmly. “You may have the willpower to resist grease and sugar, but most people your age don’t. And I think you know that.”

Becky turned back to Henry and slammed her list down on the kitchen table, and then she turned back to me. “Can I get my t-shirt and shorts now?” she asked.

“We can,” I said, fixing Henry with an icy gaze. “As long as everything’s in order here,” I said.

Henry looked down sheepishly as I led Becky back to my office. As the wet grass squeaked under our feet, I turned to Becky. “Becky I am going to be direct with you,” I said. “Did Henry ask to touch your body in exchange for buying you unauthorized food?”

“No,” Becky said flatly, giving up nothing.

“As I was coming through the cafeteria, I thought I heard you offering to show him your body in exchange for buying the items on your shopping list.”

“That never happened,” Becky said, looking straight ahead.

I sighed as I opened the office, and took Becky to the supply closet where the uniforms were kept. “The girls’ t-shirts and shorts are here,” I said, pointing to the boxes, labeled from ‘S’ to ‘XXL’.

Becky took some shirts and shorts ranging from XXL to large, even she would never fit a large judging by how she filled out her sweatsuit. “Do you have any tank-tops?” she asked.

“We encourage modesty,” I said. “Although I’m happy that you’re comfortable with your body.”

“I like being big,” Becky said. “I like when people look at me. It makes me feel powerful.”

That was a troubling thing to hear from a young girl, but it fit with Becky’s profile. “Do other kids make fun of you for being big?” I asked.

“Not unless they want to get beat up,” Becky said. “Mostly they want to touch me.”

We were getting to some very serious issues. “Is that why you get into so many fights,” I asked.

Becky smirked. “I get into fights because I like dominating twerps,” she said. “I like to make them beg at my feet. Especially boys, because boys are gwoss and stupid.”

“Becky,” I said. “To be blunt I have never seen a camper with a record like yours. And I’m worried that you have some very unhealthy emotional habits that might derail your future.”

Becky shrugged. “My mom has lots of money,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Fine isn’t good enough for someone like you, Becky,” I said. “You need to be amazing.”

Becky rolled her eyes. “You sound just like my mom,” she said as she walked away. “Why is it that every lady with big boobs is mean to me?”

The residents were all being introduced to the arts and crafts building that morning, so Sean and I decided to hit the gym. We were still stretching and doing warm-up sets when Becky Finklestein walked in. “Hi Megan,” she said casually as she began inspecting the dumbbells near Sean.

“Becky you’re supposed to be in arts and crafts right now,” I said.

“It was boring, so I left,” Becky said. “Besides, I need to get a sewious pump every day.”

Sean smiled warmly at the stocky little girl with the frizzy orange hair. I knew he would get a kick out of her. Sadly, the feeling wasn’t mutual. She scowled up at him. “Becky,” I said. “I find it strange that you don’t have an interest in artistic pursuits. Most gifted young women have a creative streak.”

“Art is for nerds,” Becky said, inspecting the two punching bags that hung from the ceiling.

Sean laughed at that comment, no doubt amused to hear the freckled little girl in glasses with the speech impediment referring to someone else as a nerd. Becky froze in her tracks, then gave Sean the nastiest glare I had ever seen, her little cupid-bow lips curling over her teeth as she sneered.

“Becky-”

“Do you have an arm blaster harness?” she asked, cutting me off.

“Sorry kiddo,” Sean said. “This part of the gym is for counselors only. Those are the rules.”

Becky glared at Sean again, fixing him with her burning green eyes. “I hate wules,” she said.

I stepped between them to defuse the situation. “Becky we can’t allow campers back here for legal liability reasons. There are heavy weights back here, and if campers get hurt we could get sued.”

Becky rolled her eyes. “These weights aren’t that heavy,” she said. “Unless you’re a twerp.”

Sean laughed again, and Becky stomped up to him, pointing a tiny finger. “You need to shut your mouth,” she growled. “Unless you want me to shut it for you.”

“Becky!” I said firmly. “I understand your frustration, but you need to respect our boundaries the way that I have respected yours. If you want heavier weights in the campers’ gym we can talk to Doctor Li and to our lawyers, and maybe by next week-”

“I can’t wait until next week,” Becky pouted. “I need to pump some iron now.”

Sean laughed again, and Becky’s eyes popped open as a wave of contempt washed over her face. Then she took a deep breath, and set her jaw. “I have an idea,” she said through clenched teeth. “If I can lift more than your husband, you have to let me use this gym. Whenever I want.”

“Becky-”

“That way I can prove I won’t get hurt,” she said, cutting me off. “So no more stupid wules.”

“You’re on,” Sean said, pointing to a barbell that he was going to use to warm up for deadlifts.

It was a 45 pound bar with two 45 pound plates on each side. 225 wasn’t a lot for Sean, but it was my max, and was well more than what Becky weighed. But she didn’t hesitate. With an air of confidence she walked to the barbell, and wrapped her tiny fingers around it.

“Careful kiddo,” Sean chuckled. “If you want to do a deadlift you need to start with your feet-”