#alien mountain

 Varjak’s two best friends are Marmalade, who I just described, and Tadpole.  The two of them were the first campers to speak with her after she was belatedly brought to Cabin 3 on the first evening, and in the way of kids, this made them best friends. 

Tadpole is described as having the sort of inner calm contentment usually reserved for Buddhist monks and horse people. And sure enough, we discover, she has had a lot of experience horsebackriding at her uncle’s ranch most summers, which comes in handy when Varjak is dumb enough to try riding a pookah.  C’mon Varjak I mean seriously.  Like Varjak, Tadpole is an avid reader, and though she tends to be quiet and is a good listener, she also carries a biting wit, which comes in handy when Silver’s being a brat or just when she wants to get a point across.

There are nine other girls in the cabin I’m not going to talk aboot.

Then there are the councilors- Cabin 3 has Otter as its head councilor, but she’s the least fun of all of them.  Fang is fun but she maintains a professional distance rather than make any real connections to the girls; Jalahi is beloved for her dry wit and lessons in the forest, which mostly revolve around learning how to be quiet and relax enough to enjoy just being in nature.  Jalahi is also best friends with Tawny, who is hands-down one of the most popular councilors on the mountain, for her boundless enthusiasm, emotional connections and ability to relate to the campers as children.  Tawny becomes something of a mentor for Varjak and when things first start to get weird her initial reaction is to ask for Tawny, as one might request their mother. 

She is one of the twelve girls in Cabin 3 and is described as having wide, fascinated eyes, round cheeks, and strawberry blond hair.  Unlike Varjak and Tadpole, whose real names are given, Marmalade’s is never mentioned in the text, and during the Naming Ceremony when she is supposed to speak her real name for the last time, she insistently shouts her camp name instead, having already claimed it.  Prior to this event she was experiencing something of a name identity disorder, waffling between nicknames left and right until the meal before names were chosen, when the councilor at their table asked someone to pass the marmalade.  Varjak had never heard this word before, but she certainly liked the sound of it, and with her and Tadpole’s approval Marmalade took it as her name.

Marm comes off as a bit awkward, clumsy, and silly.  She is often the first one with a guess or suggestion, asks seemingly the most abstract and random questions, and is always poking things and picking them up and taking them apart.  Marmalade is dually full of vigor, fascination and curiosity while being awkward, shy, and self-conscious, especially when someone draws attention to her weight or clumsiness.  While she can come off as kind of a ditz, she’s a pretty good font of knowledge when it comes to random things because she just can’t stop learning about stuff.  Marmalade is meant to showcase the ironic paradox of how discovery and experimentation leads to knowledge and intelligence but involves messes, mistakes, and looking like a complete boob.  At this point in her life this is almost directly the result of her parents’ methods; unlike Varjak’s aloof, orderly, and authoritative parents Marm’s are supportive, enthusiastic, and promote the pursuit of knowledge in her own way.

Marmalade is fun to have around because she’s an inverse of Varjak in many ways but they have such a good, fun friendship, and while both tend to accept cruelty to themselves they will angrily defend one another.

A great weight deposited itself on top of her and she huffed in surprise. Harleigh wriggled enough to get her head free and discovered it was Jen.

“Get up!” She said. “You don’t want them to bang gongs and frying pans, do you?”

Harleigh grunted. “I can’t get up with you sitting on me, anyway,” she said muzzily. Jen slid off, and Harleigh reluctantly emerged from her sleeping bag.

The mountain morning was chilly and she dressed quickly, pulling on her coat and getting her feet into her hiking boots before they touched the floor too many times.

Gathered outside the cabin she saw that Cabins 1 and 2 were not faring much better; much wailing and grumbling from the younger girls. She wondered if they, like herself, had laid awake all night thinking of nicknames.

Nicknames!

She had forgotten all about that in the commotion. Now the night’s puzzle came back to her in full force.

“Feather,” she said, turning to her. “How did you pick your nickname?”

The fair girl looked up, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, I’m not Feather anymore,” she said. “I was thinking of Panda! ...But then Danielle,” she nodded hatefully at a girl across the way, “asked if it was because I was fat like a panda.”

Harleigh had actually seen a real panda a few years ago, at a zoo with her parents. It had been sleeping in a tree but she had gotten a good enough look at it. She did not think a little girl could be comparable to a panda, physically speaking. But she still wrinkled her nose in support. “What a nasty thing to say.”

The girl once called Feather took a few more seconds to look sour over it before she continued. “Then I thought maybe I could be Toucan, but-”

“But I said I’d call her Tookie, and she didn’t like that.” Jen had arrived back from her visit to the outhouse. She raised her head proudly. “But I did pick my nickname- I’m going to be Tadpole.”

“Tadpole,” Harleigh repeated, trying it out. She smiled.

“Did you think of anything?” Tadpole asked.

“Nothing!”

This was not true; Harleigh had thought of quite a few nicknames while she was lying awake. Most of them she could not even remember now.

The councilors descended, forming them up into groups and counting them all. They had everyone stand in a line besides a friend, and assigned each person a number to call out in order, to make it easier to make sure they were all there, and then said they each needed to have a buddy that they would need to keep track of for the summer.

It didn’t occur to Harleigh until they reached her that Feather and Tadpole were already two people.

“Can’t we be a group of three?” Feather asked, stricken.

“No, groups of three lead to trouble. You should only have to be responsible for each other,” Otter said, firmly but not unkindly.

“Can... can Tawney be my buddy?”

“No, Tawney’s a councilor,” Otter said. “You need a camper.”

“Besides, Tawney’s my buddy,” Jalahi put in.

Otter clapped for attention. “Who else doesn’t have a buddy?”

All the campers turned to look at one another.

“There!” Otter said, pointing. “You group of three; one of you come on over here.”

“But!”

“No buts, come on over- you there, you can come be Harleigh’s buddy.”

The girl singled out did not immediately come forward, but stood with her shoulders tense, feet apart and head up. She glared daggers at Otter, but after a few seconds she came over.

Harleigh looked at her.

The girl was slender and tall, with long blond hair even whiter than Feather’s and piercing grey eyes. She looked at Harleigh, and raised her eyebrows.

Harleigh did not introduce herself, and the girl did not either. Maybe she did not have her nickname yet, Harleigh thought.

“Alright! Everyone line up with your buddy and count off!”

Feather, Tadpole, Harleigh and the new girl were given seven, eight, nine and ten respectively.

“Remember that, now!” Tawney ordered them, with her mock severity. “If you forget your number, you will be lost... forever....!”

Jalahi elbowed her and the campers laughed.

They set off. Camp protocol called for everyone walking in their buddy lines, but as Otter explained to them, she was personally more fond of the buddy blob, so they moved in an amorphous herd for the fifteen minute walk to the flagpole.

Harleigh maneuvered through the throng to walk beside Tawney, who was pretending not to notice the girls who had caught hold of her tail and were trying to drag her back, giggling.

“Tawney, how did you pick your nickname?” She asked.

“Tawney’s my real name,” she insisted. “But if it wasn’t, it would probably be because I’ve got a tawny lion’s mane.” She acknowledged the girls behind her long enough to shoo them off the rope. “You having trouble with your nickname?”

“Yeah. I think... I keep thinking about what you said, about the name being who you get to be this summer. I don’t want to pick the wrong one.”

Tawney nodded. “Do you have a favorite animal?”

Harleigh shrugged. “Not one I wanted to be named after.”

“Hmm. Favorite food?”

“I don’t want to be a food.”

“Are you a reader?”

“Yes!” She smiled.

“What’s your favorite book?”

When Harleigh told her, she was surprised and excited to see Tawney’s eyes light up. “Oh, I’ve read that one! That’s a good one. Favorite character?”

Harleigh balked. “But I can’t use a boy’s name”

Tawney almost choked on her snort. She raised her arms, turning in a circle as she walked. “Do you see any boys, my dear?”

Harleigh giggled. “No, it’s a girl’s camp.”

“Darn right it is,” Tawney affirmed. “So you just pick whatever name you want, and if any boys come up and argue about it, you tell them this isn’t even a boy’s camp, and they don’t get a say in it here.”

The flagpole, she found, referred to an entire broad, grassy place, with a sprawling meadow of wildflowers behind it, circles of stones with the names of camp directors on plaques on them, and a trio of flagpoles. The lawn was large enough to hold the entire population of the camp, all twelve cabins and the staff, and they had assembled in neat groups by the time the last three cabins arrived.

Most of the girls were still yawning and stretching, but in the chill air and the bright sunlight the chatter had started anew.

Jalahi moved to the front of the group, and everyone fell silent as they watched the flag raising ceremonies for the national, state and camp flags, to blasts from Jalahi on a silvery trumpet.

Tawney moved to the front of the congregation and lead them in their morning prayer, and the girls were turned loose to charge into the mess hall.

Inside was chaotic, with girls from every cabin mingling freely to claim a seat wherever they wished on the many 8-person tables. A seat at each table was reserved for a councilor, but otherwise there was little rhyme or reason to it. Feather, Tadpole, and Harleigh clambered onto benches at one, with Harleigh’s taciturn buddy and her two friends joining them a minute later. When the councilors arrived Harleigh waved for Tawney, but she was claimed almost at once by a nearer table. The mountain lion was clearly popular among more than her own cabin.

That made Harleigh a little sad, and more than a little jealous, but with Feather and Tadpole yammering at her she soon forgot her troubles and was back to the subject of nicknames.

“I picked mine during the walk,” Feather said happily. Their councilor had arrived, a heavy-set young woman with tight, curly hair, and had begun to serve them from a large plate of pancakes, toast and scrambled eggs.

“Yeah?” Harleigh asked.

“Yeah- I’m Silver!”

Harleigh’s mouth had barely formed the word when the white-haired girl looked up sharply and snarled, “No, you are not!”

“Oh, dear,” the councilor sighed under her breath.

Tadpole was silenced by the outburst, and Feather- Silver- seemed to have puffed up with outrage at it, her lips pressed together. Harleigh rounded on her assigned buddy.

“Why can’t she be Silver?” She demanded.

The other’s nostrils flared. She had a haughty look to her, and when she spoke, Harleigh realized it was the girl who had yelled at her for reading last night.

“I’m already Silver, that’s why,” she said coldly. “And I was here last year, so I picked it first, and you have to pick something else.” She looked expectantly at the councilor. “Tell her, Numbie!”

The councilor looked pained and ran fingers through her hair. “Yes, that’s true,” she said patiently. Harleigh blinked; Numbie had a thick Australian accent. “But Silver, did you need to say it so roughly?”

Silver looked unrepentant. At her elbow, one of her friends added, “Besides, her hair is much silverer than yours.”

Feather looked like she might cry. Harleigh turned to her. “Don’t worry,” she said firmly. “We’ll get you a better name. One more creative anyway.”

Silver snorted. “And what’s your nickname?”

Numbie cut over them, looking impatient now. “Silver, that’s enough; girls, eat your breakfast nicely, please.

Harleigh glowered venomously at Silver and her friends, who returned the look with rather smug expressions. For a while they were the only quiet table in the whole mess hall, but Numbie put a stop to that by making them all respond to her questions about who wanted to eat what and other general inquiries about their time at camp. Feather asked Numbie about her accent and her name, and she was informed that her legal name was Numbat, which was an Australian animal. Silver rolled her eyes as Tadpole asked her whether everyone in Australia had a funny name like the councilors here, and Numbat said yes, they did.

Harleigh gobbled down her toast with a hunger she had not realized she possessed until after the first bite, guzzling down her mandatory glass of water so as to be allowed a refill of juice. She watched Tadpole carefully slicing up her pancakes into neat little squares to spear on her fork and dip in the syrup; Feather was more inclined to pour syrup over everything and rake as much as she could into her mouth. This went on until a soft noise from Silver, who quickly looked away with a suppressed smile at her own, neatly cut toast, made Feather shift self consciously and slow down.

Harleigh’s response was to drop her fork and begin gobbling up her own toast as messily as possible. Sounds of disgust and peals of laughter ensued from either side of the table.

“Will you pass the marmalade, dear?” Numbat asked wearily. Harleigh wiped her fingers and her mouth and looked around for what she was talking about.

“Marmalade?”

“I’ve got it,” said one of Silver’s friends airily, and handed over what to Harleigh was a jar of honey-colored jelly.

Oh, she thought. So that’s marmalade. Then, “Maaaarmalade,” she said aloud, trying the word out. She snickered.

“What’s that?” Numbie said.

“Marmmm...” Harleigh giggled to herself. Tadpole and Feather were giving her puzzled looks and that made her giggle more. “What... is Marmalade, thought?”

Numbat was spreading some on a piece of toast. “It’s like jelly,” she replied calmly, evidently immune to the campers’ silliness. “And it’s a color; you’ve never heard of a marmalade cat?”

“A marmalade cat,” Harleigh repeated. She did not think she had tasted such a fun phrase in a while. “So it’s.. a color, too? A soft.. yellowy color?”

Numbat nodded.

“I think that should be your nickname,” Harleigh said, lost completely to the joy of a fun, new word. “You should be Marmalade!”

“What!” Feather exclaimed, and then, thoughtfully, “Marmalade...”

Tadpole giggled now, too. “Marmmarmammm.”

“I like it,” Numbat said encouragingly. “It fits you better’n Silver, anyhow.”

“I... I like it, too!” Feather said. “I think I’ll pick that!”

They spent the rest of the meal spreading marmalade over foods that maybe were not traditionally eaten with marmalade on them. When the mess hall’s activity was winding down Pepper, the assistant cook from yesterday, appeared to tell everyone what to do with their dirty plates and silverware, informing them that there was a lot for their dishwashers to get through and please, please do sort your silverware into the right tubs.

The campers were directed to different areas by cabin, and Harleigh and her friends trooped across the field behind the mess hall to meet their councilors for the naming ceremony.

Standing with Otter, Jalahi, Tawney and Fang was another young woman, willowy and closer to Otter’s age, who they introduced to the girls as Heartless. Heartless had a weathered face with eyes crimped by squinting into the sunlight and her cheeks were sprayed with many freckles. She smiled warmly, if a little distantly, at the girls in greeting.

“Heartless here is going to be crafting your necklaces,” Otter explained. “I trust everyone has come up with their camp name?”

Harleigh was extremely relieved to be among the majority who called out that they did indeed have their nickname ready, but there were four or five girls less fortunate. Heartless nodded; this could not have been unusual.

“You have about half an hour to exercise in the field while your lunch settles,” she assured them. “During that time, everyone needs to come to me and write the name you’d like on one of these pieces of paper, along with your real name.”

“Your not-camp-name,” Tawney corrected.

“Your camp name and your not-camp-name,” Heartless amended amiably. “Do they have their numbers? Ah; be sure to write your number on the paper as well.” She held out a clipboard for everyone to see the bright fuchsia construction paper slips on it. “Everyone with your nickname ready line up and get it down now; the rest of you have until the end of the break to think one up. Ask your councilors for help if you need ideas.”

Immediately the group shuffled and pushed itself into an eager, excitable line, the first girl putting out needy hands for the clipboard. Heartless handed it to her and Harleigh craned her neck to watch her scrawl out, in big, loopy letters, Sonia, 1, and then under that, bigger and loopier, CARMAL. Harleigh thought she saw Heartless’ mouth twitch as she took the slip and tucked it into an envelope. The girl took off for the field.

Harleigh fidgeted as she waited her turn, her fingers itching to get the name in writing. She could hear the nameless talking to Fang and Jalahi and Tawney, hear their questions and suggestions, and thought of how Marmalade had oscillated so quickly between all the names she so briefly identified with.

By the time she was looking over Silver’s shoulder, watching her write her nickname with as much flare as any princess, Harleigh was doubting her choice. Silver handed her the clipboard and left with her friends for the field. Harleigh bit her lip, and glanced at Tawney.

The warm smile reassured her and she wrote out the two sharp syllables.

As she passed, Tawney held her hand up for a high five.

“Now we are both fearsome wildcats,” she declared somberly.

Harleigh felt her mouth spread into a wholehearted grin.

Behind her, Marmalade was asking Heartless how ‘marmalade’ was spelled.

  The rest of that day was spent on what Harleigh and her friends could hardly help but think of as distractions. They took a long, double-file march through the wide path in the woods, visited Old Pond, had the llama pointed out from where he swaggered off in the distance, were fed lunch and dinner in the mess hall, and gathered with the other cabins to sing camp songs and play chasing games. None of it, though, was adequate to staunch the anticipation Harleigh felt for the upcoming Naming Ceremony that was to be held as soon as the sun had set. Silver shared some details about last year’s ceremony for them, before Otter had hushed her.

All of the councilors behaved with the utmost of secrecy and importance in regards to the ceremony, most of them slipping away as the sun was setting. When the group came around the path, flashlight beams bobbing, and beheld the common space clearing, there were gasps and cries of excitement. Otter scolded in vain as most of the group went charging forward to the circle of logs, which had been opened to include a large, flat stump, and ringed a blazing bonfire writhing with flames of electric emerald. Lit by the unearthly glow, the twelve councilors of cabins 1, 2 and 3 stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces all covered in war paint. The campers squabbled for seats on the logs, and when they were settled Tawney produced a large, bronze disc, and struck it with a padded drumstick.

The gong beat blared across the clearing, iconic and evocative, and Harleigh found herself holding her breath.

Otter and the two other head councilors stepped forward. One of them, a woman with hair so frizzy a bear could have hidden in it, called out, “Welcome, campers, to the Naming Ceremony!”

The girls whooped and cheered.

“While you enjoyed yourselves today, Heartless was very busy building each of you a camp necklace. You shall be called up by your number, and asked your not-camp-name. Declare it, and kneel down on the Stump of Nomenclature.”

Fang dropped to her knees upon the low, broad stump to demonstrate, arms spread.

By now the crowd was so excited there was hopping and stamping of feet. “Your head councilor shall declare your camp name,” the frizzy lady went on. “And our good Heartless shall fasten your camp necklace about your neck. Then you will return to your seat. Everyone understand?”

A barrage of affirmations.

“Excellent! Then...” she held her hands out, and Tawney handed over the gong and stick. “Let the naming begin!”

More hopping, stamping and shouting as the gong gave voice again, echoing over the green fire.

The girls were told to be seated, and Harleigh found herself almost shaking with anticipated as she realized they were going to get to her cabin last.

The councilors of cabin 2 and 3 sat cross legged, beating a tuneless rhythm on costume Indian drums. The head councilor of cabin 1, who was wearing a long cloak, Stood beside the stump, with Heartless to her right, and beckoned, “One!”

There was a pause, and she had to call it out again before a young voice blurted, “Oh, yeah!” And a girl almost fell on her face scrambling to get up to the stump.

They all laughed good naturedly as she stood facing her head councilor.

“Your name, number one!”

“Katie!” The girl squeaked.

“Kneel, Katie!”

Katie knelt, facing the crowd and looking over her shoulder.

“Hearken and behold!” The councilor boomed. “All bear witness, that this camper shall henceforth be known as... Snowflake!”

“Snowflake!” Shouted the three cabin 1 councilors together, as Heartless bend over her and fixed a length of braided leather about her neck. Snowflake practically squealed.

“Take your seat, Snowflake!” The councilor cried. “Two!”

More often than not the nicknames of cabin 1 drew peals of giggles from the older girls in cabin 3; they mostly had names of pretty animals and princess movie fair. Harleigh recognized one of the girls who had run crying from the body of the goat as she was renamed Komodo Dragon, and there was one who had chosen to spend the summer as Dirtbiker. For the most part each naming was the same, with the crowd joining the councilors in shouting out each new name and a great deal of good-natured laughter at each slip up; for all their feigned severity it was obvious the councilors thought the naming ceremony was quite a hoot.

They proceeded through cabin 2, the frizzy-haired head councilor speaking in a deepened voice so theatrically serious it made everyone’s sides hurt from laughing, and Harleigh joined the cries of glee when those councilors took the drums from Tawney, Jalahi and Fang and Otter took her place beside the stump.

“Cabin 3!” She announced. And called, “One!”

Sonia, who along with all the others had got the routine down by now, popped up like a jack-in-the-box and practically frolicked up to the stump, so hurried to receive her name that she knelt before it was time.

“Slow down, silly,” they heard Otter say, to more laughter. Louder, she said, “Your name, number one!”

“Sonia!” She cried out.

“Sonia, kneel upon the Stump of Nomenclature!” Otter said.

Sonia did so, for the second time, bouncing on her knees. Heartless had to chase her neck down a bit to get the necklace on it.

“All gathered here, bear witness!” Otter barked. This camper shall henceforth be known as....! Caramel!”

Caramel bounced to her feet, clapping, her face glowing in the light of the green fire.

“Caramel!” her councilors cheered over the cry of the crowd.

And so it went, from Alice to Crystal, from Danielle to Joey, from Jackie to Twilight. Harleigh and her friends rocked in their seats as Angela became Prancer, and Marmalade actually stopped breathing while Sandy was made Beagle.

“Take your seat, Beagle,” Otter said. “Seven!”

“Go!” Tadpole and Harleigh shouted, and Marmalade hopped up and ran for the stump.

“Your name, number seven!”

“Marmalade!” She shouted so loud it drowned out the drums.

“Ah- your not-came-name!” Otter said.

“Marmalade!”

Tadpole and Harleigh fell against each other, laughing loudest in the crowd.

“She never did like her name,” Tadpole hissed.

“She was in a big enough hurry to change it,” Harleigh agreed.

“Okay, have it your way,” Otter said. “Number seven, kneel upon the Stump!”

The fair-haired camper did so, grinning hugely at her watching friends.

“All gathered here bear witness,” Otter said. “That this camper shall forever and always... be Marmalade!”

“Marmalade!” Bellowed the councilors, as if in answer to the challenge of Marmalade’s own shout.

“Marmalade! Marmalade!” Shouted the crowd, with as much apparent amusement as Harleigh had been seized with that morning at breakfast.

Their friend arrived, her face aglow with delight. Tadpole jumped up and hugged her.

“Number 8!”

“Ee!”

Tadpole marched up with more dignity than others had managed.

“State your not-came-name, number eight!” Otter said.

“Jennifer!”

“Kneel, Jennifer!”

Heartless gave her her necklace as Otter named her Tadpole henceforth.

She ran back in time to clasp Harleigh’s hand as Otter called out, “Number nine!”

“Oh gosh, oh gosh,” Harleigh mumbled, her barely controlled excitement now threatening to overflow.

I hope I picked the right name! She thought wildly as she made her way to the front.

Whatever they’d done to the flames to make them green had burned up quite a bit by then, and the fire was red with only a scattering of emerald spikes and spires. The war paint on the councilors’ faces had smudged and cracked, she saw up close, but it could not dampen the supporting grins of Tawney, Jalahi and Fang. Breathlessly she turned her face to Otter.

“State your name, number nine,” Otter ordered.

“Harleigh!”

“Kneel, Harleigh.”

The stump was weathered and uneven, hardly comfortable on the knees, but Harleigh sank to it obediently. Her skin prickled where Heartless’ fingers brushed away her hair to drape the beads and braided leather across her throat.

“All gathered bear witness,” Otter’s voice boomed over her head. “That this camper shall henceforth be known... as Varjak!”

“Varjak!” The word was like a spell, barked and bugled about her with the power of the mountain, the fire and the night.

“Varjak!” Echoed the crowd, sealing it.

“Take your seat!”

Dazed and lightheaded, she found herself back at the log, where she settled beside her friends. Her fingers went to the cold, hard beads, the twisted hide. The necklace was long enough that she could see it, craning down her head; see the bright fuchsia spacers and the bronze, square-faced beads that spelled out her new name.

Around her the ceremony continued, for Silver, Osprey and Asia, but Harleigh- but Varjak- was scarce aware of it, sitting with her fingers on her name.

A name is very important. While you’re here, we want you to forget all about everything you’re worried about back home. Pick something special to you, something personal, and as long as you wear that name, we want you to feel free to be yourself.

She raised her eyes to Tawney, standing with the others as the drummers rose, dusting off their knees, and Heartless stood upon the stump.

“You have been named!” She shouted. “Remember your name and hold it close! Let this be a summer of great new experiences for all of you!”

More whoops and cheers, and Heartless closed the ceremony with a third and final strike of the gong.

By the time Varjak and the others had dispersed, changed into pajamas, brushed their teeth and returned to the cabin to slither into their sleeping bags, the day’s play and excitement had left Varjak nothing short of exhausted. She could feel her head and chest buzzing, and over everything was an elevated sense of contentment. She was at camp, she was in the wilderness, she was allowed to be a child. She was Varjak.