A Scout's Life (fff/f & f/fff) - Chapter 4 (Apr. 12, 2024)
Posted: Fri Mar 22, 2024 12:19 pm
A Scout’s Life Part 1 (fff/f)
“Hey, look, it's Joyce Nerdi,” a girl named Ruth-Ann taunted me.
“I’m not a nerd!” I insisted, “I just wear glasses!”
“It's because her parents are so old; that's what my dad says,” others joined in.
“And you're wearing a Star Trek t-shirt!” the girl pressed onwards.
“It's my only t-shirt; you know that.”
“Yeah,” another said out of the corner of her mouth, “Because she's always wearing polo shirts and jeans like a nerd.”
“That's not true! Just yesterday I wore shorts and a blouse!”
“Yeah, but you are such a nerd! Hockey, Star Trek, checkers, diabetes… NERD!” Ruth-Ann persisted before turning around, “See you at scouts, Nerdi.”
I kept my head high as she walked away, but as soon as the school was out of sight I burst into tears as my mom drove me home. We were approaching the end of spring here in Florida, and it was hot. Tall clouds were growing all over the sky; storms were on the way. Florida has two real seasons: wet and dry. My 13 year-old hormones had as much as they could take; I was a wreck all the way home. That naturally sent my blood sugar spiraling out of control; type 1 diabetes was quite the affliction.
Mom comforted me, and when I got home I dutifully did my homework because I was going to spend the weekend in the woods with my girl scout troop. I was a good scout and learned all the lessons from little kids making necklaces out of woodland flowers to learning things typically taught in Boy Scouts. Just because we weren't Boy Scouts didn't mean we couldn't learn how to pathfind in a forest, how to tie a variety of knots, or how to make a proper tourniquet. This trip was specifically reserved for those of us who were 12-16 years old and effectively female Boy Scouts.
There was one big problem for me: Ruth-Ann and her little gang. Oh how I wanted to stuff her filthy socks in her filthy mouth. She hated me because I always finished the year first in the class; she and I lived in the same neighborhood and therefore attended the same schools from kindergarten until now. She was a stereotypical Irish brat, and we had run-ins about her ancestry and me being 100% Italian. Usual rivalries just like the ones my father had growing up in 1950s Rhode Island.
I wanted to slap the red-haired girl so hard that her freckles would pop off. She was a source of much woe to me; I fought fire with fire. We took turns being a thorn in each other's side. My first ever swear word was about Ruth-Ann McCormick. “Mom, why is Ruth-Ann such a b-tch?” I asked my mom, and I got to discover the tangy flavor of Lever 2000.
Yet, we pushed each other and blessed each other. Sometimes we seemed to hate each other while at others we seemed to be driven by an intense rivalry built upon a mature sense of mutual respect. For example, Ruth-Ann invited me to her 13th birthday party among just 7 girls invited to the occasion, so I invited her to my own just a few weeks later. When I broke my leg, Ruth-Ann visited me at home and sent me a get well card complete with the signatures of each of our classmates. I sent a sympathy card when her grandmother died. Yet we had a mud brawl break out once a year, complete with cat claws, screeching, and hair pulling.
Being teens now and going through the pains of puberty turned the dial to 11 though; I was a sniveling snot while she was an insufferable elitist snob. Her short fuse became shorter than a Christmas light’s; my temper had become the kind upon which movies were made. But we were still ourselves.
I wasn't just the superior in the classroom, though; I was the superior scout too. I had the advantage of starting at a younger age; I was often lumped with the high schoolers for scout activities, the few there were. We donned our girl scout knickers, shirts, and neckerchiefs like we always did; they were stereotypical khaki scout uniforms with an ostentatious oversized orange bandana. Each of us had a backpack and a sleeping bag with us.
“Joyce,” Ruth-Ann’s friend, Hallie, asked me, “Would you take us pathfinding?”
“I can do that,” I didn't see anything wrong with that, “Bring a bag just in case.”
“Ruth’s got hers,” she motioned, “Becky’s coming too.”
“No problem. I’ll get permission from Mrs. Banks.”
“We’ll be waiting!” Hallie was usually the nice one, “See you over by the creek.”
“OK!”
It was much nicer after the storm had passed, but the ground was soaking wet in spots where the ground lay lower. The sky still had bright white clouds, and the sun shone brightly. The sky itself was a brilliant blue that was fading with the approach of the end of day.
Hallie was a true blonde with long golden strands that she usually held back in a coordinating headband or scrunchie, like the solid white headband she had right now. As a classmate, she left much to be desired, but she tried her best to be a scout despite not always properly understanding the lessons being taught. Hallie was the only girl present who had been a scout as long as me. Naturally taller and stocky, at this time she had maybe 3 inches on me, whatever height I was then (maybe 4’10”?).
Becky was a brunette and a shrimp and would run to whichever person had the upper hand at the moment; she was a traitorous unscrupulous snitch in the constant drama of the world of Ruth-Ann McCormick and Joyce Verdi. I think she didn't realize what a total flip-flop she could be; she just wanted to be a winner. She was at least 3 inches shorter than me and built like a stick. In the 500 year event of a panther sighting this far north in the state, Becky needn't worry about getting eaten because that cat would be still hungry afterwards. In the more likely event of encountering a black bear, one of us would just pull her pigtails and leave her in our dust.
Then there's me. I’m what the folks call “dark ash blonde” because my hair is a shiny blonde at one angle and a soft, pale brown at other angles. My hair never reached too far down my back; like Hallie I wore a headband albeit a soft pink one. Solid frame is the right term because my bones were thicker than normal but not like Hallie’s. Back to the show.
Pathfinding was like second nature to me. I could tell directions by sun and star alike and could recognize terrain with ease. The trees told me their secrets, and the creeks were a gateway to the campsite. I happily led my fellow scouts down the path. What I didn't know was that behind me my fellow scouts were planning something sinister.
“This is a good place to stop. Probably about a mile or so away,” I said proudly.
“It's peaceful out here,” Becky took a deep breath.
“All right. Which of you wants to find the way back?”
“Um… could we stop and do something else first?” Ruth-Ann seemed anxious.
“Well, we can pause for 10 or 15 minutes for sure. What was in mind?” I asked her.
“I wanted to practice some knotwork since you're so good at it.”
Ruth-Ann pulled a few ropes out of her bag and explained how she'd been working on a noose knot. We of course only learned it as a matter of perfectionism; we hadn't any reason to execute someone or lasso them at the moment. Well, most of us hadn't, but Ruth-Ann sure did! I turned around just a moment, and that's when the lasso draped around me and was pulled tight, clamping my arms to my sides and throwing me to the forest floor.
“Quick, Beck, gag her like I said!” Ruth-Ann announced.
“Becky, Hallie, Ruth-Ann, no!” I yelled in distress, “Why are you doing this?!”
“To teach your goodie two-shoes smug punk a$$ a lesson!”
“Girls, please don't!” I begged them before Becky stuffed a pair of socks in my mouth.
“The less you fight us, the easier this will be! You’ll spend a night alone out here in the forest.”
“Agggghhhhhh!” I started crying.
“All, poor little Joyce is weeping,” Hallie taunted me.
The socks filled my mouth, and Becky secured the stuffing with a navy blue bandana she had brought just for the occasion. I had never been gagged before except once at the dentist; losing my ability to talk was terrifying. Imagine being a 13 year old scout and having your fellow scouts be so jealous they're willing to risk killing you.
Ruth-Ann tied me up while Hallie used her size to keep me down. Besides tightening the lasso to wrap around my chest, Ruth-Ann also tied my wrists, ankles, and thighs to practice her knots. With each one, she got better at the art of kidnapping, and she kept going back and forth between knots to improve her work. Becky tied a rope from my flailing legs to a neary scrub pine; I knew she'd do fine regardless.
With practice, Ruth-Ann discovered that cinching rope helped with humans as well as with firewood, so she redid my bonds to have cinching between my limbs. With each effort, I knew escape was getting further away, and for a finishing touch Hallie taped my mouth shut as well. I had bandanas like any other girl, but I had never as much as touched a roll of duct tape before.
I was scared. I was bound and gagged in a forest far from home and some 1-2 miles away from the scout troup. My attackers were girls from my own troup, girls I went to school with and saw every day. I looked up at them with pleading eyes and talked into my gag; they simply giggled at being unable to understand me.
“Don't worry, Joyce, I can find the way back; see you tomorrow,” Hallie laughed.
“Wait, girls, she needs a parting present,” Ruth-Ann found some sandy mud and smeared it on my face and in my hair before wiping her hands on my shirt.
“Guhmm mmm mmmphhh!”
“What did she say?” Ruth-Ann taunted me.
“‘Guhmm mm mmmphhhh!’ was all I heard,” Becky said before planting a muddy foot on me.
“Let's leave this rubbish behind; she'll muddy herself enough,” Hallie started to leave.
I started crying and loudly wailing as the girls walked away from me. I wanted to be home with Mommy and Daddy! The stress could literally kill me; diabetes is no joke, especially the kind I have. If I went into a sugar crash, I was a goner out here; I couldn’t afford to panic. What was I supposed to do, though?
“MMMMMMM!” I yelled, but there was no one who could hear me.
I twisted my wrists and started to wonder… was this the end?
TO BE CONTINUED
“Hey, look, it's Joyce Nerdi,” a girl named Ruth-Ann taunted me.
“I’m not a nerd!” I insisted, “I just wear glasses!”
“It's because her parents are so old; that's what my dad says,” others joined in.
“And you're wearing a Star Trek t-shirt!” the girl pressed onwards.
“It's my only t-shirt; you know that.”
“Yeah,” another said out of the corner of her mouth, “Because she's always wearing polo shirts and jeans like a nerd.”
“That's not true! Just yesterday I wore shorts and a blouse!”
“Yeah, but you are such a nerd! Hockey, Star Trek, checkers, diabetes… NERD!” Ruth-Ann persisted before turning around, “See you at scouts, Nerdi.”
I kept my head high as she walked away, but as soon as the school was out of sight I burst into tears as my mom drove me home. We were approaching the end of spring here in Florida, and it was hot. Tall clouds were growing all over the sky; storms were on the way. Florida has two real seasons: wet and dry. My 13 year-old hormones had as much as they could take; I was a wreck all the way home. That naturally sent my blood sugar spiraling out of control; type 1 diabetes was quite the affliction.
Mom comforted me, and when I got home I dutifully did my homework because I was going to spend the weekend in the woods with my girl scout troop. I was a good scout and learned all the lessons from little kids making necklaces out of woodland flowers to learning things typically taught in Boy Scouts. Just because we weren't Boy Scouts didn't mean we couldn't learn how to pathfind in a forest, how to tie a variety of knots, or how to make a proper tourniquet. This trip was specifically reserved for those of us who were 12-16 years old and effectively female Boy Scouts.
There was one big problem for me: Ruth-Ann and her little gang. Oh how I wanted to stuff her filthy socks in her filthy mouth. She hated me because I always finished the year first in the class; she and I lived in the same neighborhood and therefore attended the same schools from kindergarten until now. She was a stereotypical Irish brat, and we had run-ins about her ancestry and me being 100% Italian. Usual rivalries just like the ones my father had growing up in 1950s Rhode Island.
I wanted to slap the red-haired girl so hard that her freckles would pop off. She was a source of much woe to me; I fought fire with fire. We took turns being a thorn in each other's side. My first ever swear word was about Ruth-Ann McCormick. “Mom, why is Ruth-Ann such a b-tch?” I asked my mom, and I got to discover the tangy flavor of Lever 2000.
Yet, we pushed each other and blessed each other. Sometimes we seemed to hate each other while at others we seemed to be driven by an intense rivalry built upon a mature sense of mutual respect. For example, Ruth-Ann invited me to her 13th birthday party among just 7 girls invited to the occasion, so I invited her to my own just a few weeks later. When I broke my leg, Ruth-Ann visited me at home and sent me a get well card complete with the signatures of each of our classmates. I sent a sympathy card when her grandmother died. Yet we had a mud brawl break out once a year, complete with cat claws, screeching, and hair pulling.
Being teens now and going through the pains of puberty turned the dial to 11 though; I was a sniveling snot while she was an insufferable elitist snob. Her short fuse became shorter than a Christmas light’s; my temper had become the kind upon which movies were made. But we were still ourselves.
I wasn't just the superior in the classroom, though; I was the superior scout too. I had the advantage of starting at a younger age; I was often lumped with the high schoolers for scout activities, the few there were. We donned our girl scout knickers, shirts, and neckerchiefs like we always did; they were stereotypical khaki scout uniforms with an ostentatious oversized orange bandana. Each of us had a backpack and a sleeping bag with us.
“Joyce,” Ruth-Ann’s friend, Hallie, asked me, “Would you take us pathfinding?”
“I can do that,” I didn't see anything wrong with that, “Bring a bag just in case.”
“Ruth’s got hers,” she motioned, “Becky’s coming too.”
“No problem. I’ll get permission from Mrs. Banks.”
“We’ll be waiting!” Hallie was usually the nice one, “See you over by the creek.”
“OK!”
It was much nicer after the storm had passed, but the ground was soaking wet in spots where the ground lay lower. The sky still had bright white clouds, and the sun shone brightly. The sky itself was a brilliant blue that was fading with the approach of the end of day.
Hallie was a true blonde with long golden strands that she usually held back in a coordinating headband or scrunchie, like the solid white headband she had right now. As a classmate, she left much to be desired, but she tried her best to be a scout despite not always properly understanding the lessons being taught. Hallie was the only girl present who had been a scout as long as me. Naturally taller and stocky, at this time she had maybe 3 inches on me, whatever height I was then (maybe 4’10”?).
Becky was a brunette and a shrimp and would run to whichever person had the upper hand at the moment; she was a traitorous unscrupulous snitch in the constant drama of the world of Ruth-Ann McCormick and Joyce Verdi. I think she didn't realize what a total flip-flop she could be; she just wanted to be a winner. She was at least 3 inches shorter than me and built like a stick. In the 500 year event of a panther sighting this far north in the state, Becky needn't worry about getting eaten because that cat would be still hungry afterwards. In the more likely event of encountering a black bear, one of us would just pull her pigtails and leave her in our dust.
Then there's me. I’m what the folks call “dark ash blonde” because my hair is a shiny blonde at one angle and a soft, pale brown at other angles. My hair never reached too far down my back; like Hallie I wore a headband albeit a soft pink one. Solid frame is the right term because my bones were thicker than normal but not like Hallie’s. Back to the show.
Pathfinding was like second nature to me. I could tell directions by sun and star alike and could recognize terrain with ease. The trees told me their secrets, and the creeks were a gateway to the campsite. I happily led my fellow scouts down the path. What I didn't know was that behind me my fellow scouts were planning something sinister.
“This is a good place to stop. Probably about a mile or so away,” I said proudly.
“It's peaceful out here,” Becky took a deep breath.
“All right. Which of you wants to find the way back?”
“Um… could we stop and do something else first?” Ruth-Ann seemed anxious.
“Well, we can pause for 10 or 15 minutes for sure. What was in mind?” I asked her.
“I wanted to practice some knotwork since you're so good at it.”
Ruth-Ann pulled a few ropes out of her bag and explained how she'd been working on a noose knot. We of course only learned it as a matter of perfectionism; we hadn't any reason to execute someone or lasso them at the moment. Well, most of us hadn't, but Ruth-Ann sure did! I turned around just a moment, and that's when the lasso draped around me and was pulled tight, clamping my arms to my sides and throwing me to the forest floor.
“Quick, Beck, gag her like I said!” Ruth-Ann announced.
“Becky, Hallie, Ruth-Ann, no!” I yelled in distress, “Why are you doing this?!”
“To teach your goodie two-shoes smug punk a$$ a lesson!”
“Girls, please don't!” I begged them before Becky stuffed a pair of socks in my mouth.
“The less you fight us, the easier this will be! You’ll spend a night alone out here in the forest.”
“Agggghhhhhh!” I started crying.
“All, poor little Joyce is weeping,” Hallie taunted me.
The socks filled my mouth, and Becky secured the stuffing with a navy blue bandana she had brought just for the occasion. I had never been gagged before except once at the dentist; losing my ability to talk was terrifying. Imagine being a 13 year old scout and having your fellow scouts be so jealous they're willing to risk killing you.
Ruth-Ann tied me up while Hallie used her size to keep me down. Besides tightening the lasso to wrap around my chest, Ruth-Ann also tied my wrists, ankles, and thighs to practice her knots. With each one, she got better at the art of kidnapping, and she kept going back and forth between knots to improve her work. Becky tied a rope from my flailing legs to a neary scrub pine; I knew she'd do fine regardless.
With practice, Ruth-Ann discovered that cinching rope helped with humans as well as with firewood, so she redid my bonds to have cinching between my limbs. With each effort, I knew escape was getting further away, and for a finishing touch Hallie taped my mouth shut as well. I had bandanas like any other girl, but I had never as much as touched a roll of duct tape before.
I was scared. I was bound and gagged in a forest far from home and some 1-2 miles away from the scout troup. My attackers were girls from my own troup, girls I went to school with and saw every day. I looked up at them with pleading eyes and talked into my gag; they simply giggled at being unable to understand me.
“Don't worry, Joyce, I can find the way back; see you tomorrow,” Hallie laughed.
“Wait, girls, she needs a parting present,” Ruth-Ann found some sandy mud and smeared it on my face and in my hair before wiping her hands on my shirt.
“Guhmm mmm mmmphhh!”
“What did she say?” Ruth-Ann taunted me.
“‘Guhmm mm mmmphhhh!’ was all I heard,” Becky said before planting a muddy foot on me.
“Let's leave this rubbish behind; she'll muddy herself enough,” Hallie started to leave.
I started crying and loudly wailing as the girls walked away from me. I wanted to be home with Mommy and Daddy! The stress could literally kill me; diabetes is no joke, especially the kind I have. If I went into a sugar crash, I was a goner out here; I couldn’t afford to panic. What was I supposed to do, though?
“MMMMMMM!” I yelled, but there was no one who could hear me.
I twisted my wrists and started to wonder… was this the end?
TO BE CONTINUED