And to maximize that enjoyment . . . we have a few rules.”
We all chuckled at his joke, and his smile broadened at the acknowledgment.
“One, drink water. Drink more water than you’ve ever drunk before. We have a slogan up here—‘Pee Clear.’ ”
The crowd tittered. I looked over to catch Ben’s eye, but again, he was focused on Paul.
“Altitude sickness is very real and very painful, so stay hydrated. There are big orange water jugs on the front porch. Just refill your water bottle whenever you pass by. P2?”
P2? . . . Oh, I realized, Two Ps. Paul Paulsen.
P2 regarded his clipboard and leaned over the microphone. “Two, curfew is at nine p.m. Later than that, and it gets very dark.”
Paul DeLuca smiled and added, “Much darker than city kids are used to.”
We chuckled again and his chest puffed up. “Rule Three. The Boy Scout camp is across the road. They come through here to access some hiking trails and to see our shows—”
There was a single whoop from someone, and everyone laughed. It was a bigger laugh than Paul DeLuca had gotten. A tiny frown of annoyance flashed across his face, but it was quickly pushed down by a theatrical smile. “In turn, this year, for the first time, we are going to get to use their high ropes equipment for team building and whatnot. So be nice to the Boy Scouts.”
Paul Paulsen leaned back over the mic, his voice tight. “Lastly, we have a very strict physical violence policy. If you get in a physical altercation, you will be sent home. No exceptions.”
“Well,” Paul DeLuca drawled, “unless it’s in a scene.”
Paul Paulsen raised disapproving eyebrows at Paul DeLuca. Noticing them, Paul DeLuca held up a hand and forced a chuckle. “I know, I know. I’m joking.” He grinned at the audience and wagged a thick finger at us. “Keep those fight scenes to a minimum.”
Paul Paulsen’s eyes returned to his clipboard, and he slid a pencil behind his ear and sighed.
“Now, dinner is almost upon us—” Paul DeLuca began.
More cheering from the crowd.
“But before we eat, we are very excited that we have five girls at camp this year. So girls: welcome!”
My eyes sought out the other Gildas. Five was exciting? I thought about all the girls who did improv back home. Plus, Jane Lloyd had started this camp, and she was a girl.
What was up with this place?
I leaned over to Ben. “How many girls have there been in the past?” I whispered.
He shook his head, eyes front.
I gave him a look, but then shrugged. Maybe he didn’t want to be rude to Paul.
Paul Paulsen climbed down the steps away from the stage as Paul DeLuca continued. “Okay. Anyone who wants to audition for the upper-level teams, that starts right here at nine a.m. tomorrow morning. You’ll be in team cabins by tomorrow night. Well, except for the girls. You’ll all stay put in Gilda Radner. And now! Let’s eat!”
Chatter and scraping of chairs echoed through the Lodge as groups stood up to get in line for food. I frowned a little. Everyone would be in a cabin with their teammates except for the girls? We’d miss out on so much. I could already imagine the inside jokes piling up.
On the other hand, with only five girls, what else could they do?
I looked over at Ben, who was watching Paul DeLuca amble out of the room. Then he turned to me and smiled. “The Pauls seem nice, but they’re pretty intense rule followers. Sorry if I seemed rude. Just trying to fly under their radar. Especially P2’s.”
“Paul Paulsen?” I asked.
Ben nodded. “Last year, someone missed curfew twice, and the Pauls sent him home.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“It’s weird,” he said. “This place is so laid back in a lot of ways. You’ll find you have quite a bit of freedom, schedule-wise. But there are few ways they’re super strict. Curfew’s one.”
“Well, Gilda Radner doesn’t even have a counselor, so—”
“Laura’s not here?”
I shook my head. “She got a last-minute touring gig for Second City.”
His face tensed for a moment and then he smiled. “Good for her. I hadn’t . . . heard that.”
I nodded, watching him. His jealousy was clear. “How long have you been coming here?” I asked. I took in a short breath. “You didn’t meet Jane Lloyd before she died, did you?”
“No, that was before my time.” He ran his tongue over his front teeth. “It’s my first summer coaching,” he said, “but I came as