Unscripted - Nicole Kronzer Page 0,32

form of the Snitch, I mused. He was chased by a much taller guy, giggling and straddling a broomstick. Sure. And that guy’s the Seeker.

The Snitch zoomed past me and I yelled, “You know where JV is?”

” The Seeker was close on his heels. “They’re playing Capture the Flag back by the cabins!” he called over his shoulder.

“Thanks!” I said, but my voice was drowned out by the celebratory cheer of the Seeker’s team as he tackled the Snitch.

I watched as the whole team barreled after their Seeker, piling on top of him. I tried but failed to imagine Varsity having this much fun together . . . but before I could wallow in too much self-pity, I squared my shoulders. Remember, you’re going to meet Nina Knightley. I forced myself to look away from the Quidditch festivities and turn back toward the cabins.

Nearing Gilda Radner, I heard voices coming from inside, so I picked up speed and threw open the screen door.

“Hi!” I said, eager to be greeted by any familiar face, but hoping against hope Will was there.

Startled, the Pauls stared back at me.

“Hello,” Paul DeLuca recovered first.

“Uh, hi,” I said again. “What . . . what are you doing here?”

“We came to meet your new counselor,” Paul Paulsen said, drawing his shaggy eyebrows together into a wooly caterpillar, “although I’m not sure if she’s showing up.”

“Give her time.” Paul DeLuca waved away the concern, but he patted the sweat off his forehead with a folded handkerchief.

“We’ve been waiting for an hour,” Paul Paulsen insisted. “She’s not coming.”

Paul DeLuca sighed, his girth seeming extra-large squeezed into the small cabin. “We should head back and check the voicemail.” He turned toward the door, then changed his mind.

“How are you girls getting along?” he asked, doubling back and peering into my eyes.

“Uh, great,” I said. I put a hand on one of the top bunks and patted it. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Paul DeLuca raised his eyebrows at Paul Paulsen, whose own eyebrow caterpillar seemed confused. Finally, Paul DeLuca turned to me again. “We’re really struggling to find a young woman to come up here at such late notice to be your counselor. What if . . .”

“Paul,” P2’s voice was low and urgent.

Paul DeLuca waved away this concern, too. “I checked the forms. Sirena’s eighteen. Technically an adult. Plus, there’s only five of them.” He gestured around the cabin as if to show how empty it was.

“What about curfew?” P2’s lips were thin.

Paul DeLuca turned to me. “Was anyone late for curfew last night?”

I shook my head.

He smiled broadly and turned back to Paul Paulsen. “They’re girls! What trouble are girls?”

I made a sound of protest, not sure how I felt. It seemed like a compliment, but I found myself frowning.

Paul Paulsen’s eyes studied the cabin, then me, and then he sighed. “Lock the door at night, okay?” He pointed a pencil at Paul DeLuca. “We’ll keep looking,” he said. Then Paul Paulsen turned away and peered through the window. “If Marcus was still here, we’d have a female counselor,” he muttered. “He always managed to find one.”

Paul DeLuca nodded and caught my eye. “Say. Are you having fun? Making new friends?”

I opened my mouth. Maybe this was who I could talk to about the weird guy dynamic on Varsity.

“Well,” I began, raising an eyebrow at P2. “The guys on my team are . . .”

“It’s not too often we have a girl on Varsity,” Paul DeLuca interrupted me. “It might take them a little bit to get used to the estrogen in the room.”

I cocked my head like the yellow bird that had landed on my path. “I—”

“But don’t worry.” Paul DeLuca clapped a hand on my back. “Ben’s got it all under control. Marcus trained him well. Plus, Ben and Laura were really close for a while. He’s used to funny girls. Good, good.” He filed out of the cabin, P2 close behind.

Before he joined the other Paul, P2 looked back at me. “Please tell us if anyone comes back late.”

“They’ll be fine!” Paul DeLuca bellowed.

Mouth open, I watched them go. Why did they ask me how things were if they weren’t interested in my answer? Clearly, the Pauls were not the sane people to talk to.

It’s okay. Just plant yourself here and sooner or later, someone is bound to come by. And in the meantime, write.

After I climbed up to my bunk and took out my notebook, I decided that even though traditionally sketches are supposed to be