Simon knocks and pokes his head inside. “Hello, Nathan,” he says in his cheery, clipped British way.
Nathan is sitting up in bed, reading.
“Just letting you know we’re in for the night,” Simon says.
“Oh.” Nathan glances up. “What time is it?”
“He didn’t even know you were gone,” Josh mumbles, rolling his eyes.
“Not too late, so not to worry,” Simon replies.
“Um, okay,” Nathan says and starts butt-hopping towards the end of the bed. “Did you want to, like, talk or something?”
“No, no.” Simon holds his palms up. “We’re totally fine.”
Nathan looks questioningly at me. I nod in confirmation.
“We’re just going to hang out. You know . . .” Simon’s sentence fades off.
“ ’Kay.” Nathan looks kind of relieved and kind of unsure at the same time.
Outside, several counselors laugh loudly, and I recognize Janine’s giggle and flirty banter.
“I’ll be here,” Nathan says with a wan smile. “With my book,” he adds, holding it up—like, just in case we didn’t know what he meant. “So . . . ’night. Let me know if you nee—”
“’Night then,” Simon interrupts, pushes me back, and quickly closes the door. “Well, let’s hope that sets a precedent.”
“Whaddaya mean?” I ask.
“He means,” says Tyler, “hopefully Nathan’ll get the idea that we want to hang out by ourselves.”
“Do you think he’s, like, lonely?” I ask.
“He’s got all the other counselors to hang out with.” Josh shrugs disinterestedly, his attention concentrated on his laptop.
Out the window, I see Jake and Sarah from Bunks 5 and 9 trotting toward Janine & Co.
“You’re so slow! Hurry up!” calls Sarah affectionately as she links arms with Cooper from Bunk 2.
They chat and laugh as they head toward the shadowed, needly pine trees and the dim yellow glow of the little canteen beyond.
Next door, I hear Nathan padding around. There’s a click, and the white light seeping under the crack of our door shuts off. I’m guessing he’s going to bed, even though it’s only about nine o’clock.
Eagerly, Simon starts describing what happened with Pops to Tyler and Josh. His excitement gets me excited until we’re totally babbling over each other. At first, Josh and Tyler don’t believe us, but when Simon shows them the picture of Sal on my shoulder, they’re like, “Whooaaaa!”
“Sal’s a carrier pigeon,” Tyler says. “I’ve read about those.”
They agree that the notes are very mysterious.
“These are from your pops?” Tyler asks, delicately examining them. “That’s amazing. He must be really smart or something.”
“Mmm . . . or something,” Simon says.
Josh shoots him a questioning look.
“No offense, Noah,” Simon says, “but your pops is a little . . .” He makes a circling motion with his finger around his ear. “It’s possible the notes don’t mean anything at all.”
“It’s hard to know” is all I can think to say, which is how I feel.
Sometimes I think Pops is a little out there, but sometimes I think he’s super smart. After all, he knew how to train Sal, and he knew how to be a lover and not a fighter in World War II, and he knew how to survive to be ninety-something years old.
“I have an idea,” Tyler says exuberantly.
He writes down all the letters from the notes on a piece of paper, cuts each one out, and spreads them all out on the floor.
“Maybe the notes are anagrams,” he says. “That’s when the letters stand for different words, and you have to mix them up to figure it out.”
When he shuffles the letters around, we actually get some interesting combinations:
Tel her so
Where vat does
Wade over stlh
That last one makes the least sense until Tyler reasons that maybe stlh is code for the name Stella, like some sort of double secret code.
At first we’re all super revved-up about that idea, batting it around for a while, until we realize that I don’t know a Stella and that it’s not only a stretch but also kind of dumb. Finally we agree that none of the anagrams make any more sense than just plain “Save the world,” which seems pretty clear.
At this point, it’s getting super late, and Yipsy pops his head in the door. Mick Jagger rushes over to me, all waggles and wiggles.
“Hey, boy,” I say, putting out my hand for him to sniff.
I remember the piece of bologna I put in my pocket for a late-night snack, and I tear off a few pieces for him.
“Now he’s your friend for life, dude,” Yipsy says. “Ten minutes till lights out, guys.” He disappears with Mick Jagger at his heels.
We fool around with anagrams for a little while longer, but soon everyone gets bored and starts playing on their phones. Simon’s quiet. He quickly throws on a pair of jogging pants and a T-shirt and gets into bed. He shoves his phone under his pillow and turns off the light that’s clipped onto his headboard. He doesn’t say goodnight.
Lily sometimes says the thing you can’t have is always more appealing than the thing you do have. That seems kind of pointless to me, but whenever I’ve asked her why she feels that way, she just tells me to stop being dense.
I try to sleep, but my head is filled with soft images of the moon and the ducks rising off the lake, of Sal cooing and Mia singing. So when I hear everyone’s deep, rhythmic breathing, I slip out of bed and open my computer. Glowing in the screen’s light, I open my last cinematic installment of A Life So Far, and the images dance across the screen.
The sixth-grade class trip to the aquarium, where I filmed Bailey doing an interpretive dance about dolphin captivity while Rex accompanied her on the didgeridoo. The class picnic where I filmed a virtual tour of the woods in search of Bigfoot sightings. Lily’s school dance, where her friends lined up in the backyard for pictures while I held their bags. The talent show where I manned the punch bowl.
I upload Mia’s performance from my phone and edit it in. Tomorrow night, at Show Your Stuff, I’m going to show mine.
I hear guffawing coming from outside. Peering out, careful not to be seen, I spy Mike and Jake Rottweiler, the beams of their flashlights bouncing along the ground. They’re creeping across the clearing to the signpost at the camp entrance. They keep their voices low, looking around as if they don’t want to be seen. Mike is holding a shovel and Jake is holding a burlap sack.
Suddenly, Mike glances up in my direction as if he senses me watching him. I duck, and after a few seconds, they turn and trot up the path toward the historic homestead site.
What are they doing out so late at night, and where are they going?
My thoughts spin with curiosity, but as I crawl back into my bunk, a tidal wave of tired crashes over me. Before I know it, I’m fast asleep.
Chapter 10
The next morning, I can’t stop thinking about Pops’s notes, the anagrams, and the Rottweilers. But I’m also stoked about Showing My Stuff after dinner. I hope Mia likes my opus.
In the mess hall, I spot her a few tables over with her bunkmates, and my heart does a little flip. The other girls swipe at their phones and laugh. Mia chews and stares into space. Every few seconds, she checks her phone, then stares into space some more.
After piling food onto our breakfast trays, Simon, Tyler, Josh, and I grab seats, and it isn’t long before the conversation becomes all about Pops’s mysterious notes.
“Maybe Sal will deliver another one later,” Tyler says, sprinkling salt on his eggs.
“Does he usually come at night?” Josh asks, drowning his waffles in syrup.
“So far, he’s come once at night and once during the day,” I remark, chomping on my toast.
“Hmm.” Josh ponders this. “Night is better. Draws less attention to you, Noah.”
“Yeah.” Tyler nods, leans in, and speaks low. “I a
lso think we should probably keep this to ourselves.”
“Agreed,” says Simon. “It’s a little weird.”
“And you don’t want people butting in—putting it all over social media and stuff,” Josh says. “You don’t want to attract attention from the FBI.”
“The FBI?” I exclaim. “Why would they care about Sal and me?”
“Well, duh,” Josh says. “A dorky kid—no offense—is getting secret messages from a carrier pigeon about saving the world. It’s the stuff of superhero comics.”
I grin. “I kind of like that idea.”
“Not in real life, you wouldn’t. Nobody wants the FBI on their tail,” Josh says solemnly. “Trust me.”
“He knows what he’s talking about,” Tyler says as a spindle of cereal milk drips down his chin.
I kind of doubt that Josh knows much about the FBI, but what’s the point of having friends if you don’t at least try to believe them?
“Hey, maybe after lights out, we can sneak out and toss some bread crumbs around,” Tyler suggests. “Ya know, coax Sal out.”
“I don’t think Sal wants food,” I say. “I think he comes when he has a message. What do you think, Simon? Simon?”
Simon doesn’t answer. He just stares across the room.
The target of his gaze is Lily. She acts like she doesn’t know she’s being watched, but every few seconds her eyes dart up in Simon’s direction.
I may not be good at reading every room, but I can read Lily pretty well. The more a guy stares at her, the more she flips her hair, reapplies her lip gloss, and pretends that she’s only interested in her friends. This can only mean one thing.
“I think she likes you,” I say, nudging my leaky eggs with my fork to keep them from soggy-ing up my toast.
“You think so?” Simon breaks into a big smile.
Josh barks a laugh and spritzes juice through his nose.
Tyler pretends to kiss his waffle.
“I love you!” Josh bats his eyes at his spoon, then crushes it against his chest.
“Shut up,” Simon snaps.
“Dude,” Josh says. “It’s cool. She’s cute.”
“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “Besides, watching you crush on a girl is better than watching you swipe through your phone all summer.”
“Who are you swiping?” Lily suddenly appears next to us, holding her tray. Her friends huddle up behind her.
“He’s swiping his mates in London,” I answer.
“His mates?” Lily says the word like she’s tasting it on her tongue. “Is that, like, an English word?”
Her friends grin and nudge each other with their trays.
“Don’t you like American words?” she asks him flirtatiously.
Simon blushes and puts his phone in his pocket. He opens his mouth and then closes it, like he’s trying to think of something interesting to say but can’t. He finally comes up with “I like all words.”
“Oh.” Lily frowns and starts toward the other table. “Well, see you at the lake . . . Oh, hi, Noah, what’s up?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer.
“Well, that was smooth,” Josh says to Simon.
After breakfast, we gather around the flagpole. Mick Jagger waggles up to me for a lick and I give him the few linty crackers I have in my pocket. He chomps them up, then waggles back to Yipsy, who’s wearing a yellow baseball cap that says Yipsy across the rim in big, blue letters.
Nurse Leibowitz stands beside him looking like a giant red blot in her matching velour leggings and hoodie. Her hands rest on the black medical bag locked and loaded across her chest, and she narrows her eyes at us like she suspects we’re carrying some killer germs that she’s armed to snuff out.
“Why is Yipsy wearing a hat with his name on it?” says Josh.
“In case he gets lost and someone has to bring him back,” Simon says. “Pardon me!” He puckers up his face and speaks in a high voice. “Does this Yipsy belong to you?”
This makes us laugh, and I’m glad that Simon seems happier.
From the corner of my eye, I spy Mia by a cluster of pine trees. She’s sitting in a cross-legged yoga position, her palms resting on her knees and facing up, her eyes closed, and her face tilted toward the sky. Today the bottom fringe of her hair is lilac-colored.
Simon nudges me. “Why don’t you go talk to her?”
“Who?”
“You know ruddy well who.” He shoves me, and I stumble forward. “Go ahead,” he urges me.
I amble over to Mia, trying to look real casual.
“Hey, Mia.” My voice squeaks.
Her eyes open and flit in my direction. She sighs in a way that sounds annoyed.
“Hey,” she says and glances toward her bunkmates at the volleyball court. “Be right there!” She waves to them.
They’re talking to some guys from Bunk 2 and don’t even glance over.
“That’s Trina, Marisa, and Jill, but she spells it with a ‘y’ and two ‘ll’s’ like Jyll,” Mia says. “I think that’s brave.”
“I really liked your song the other night,” I say. “It was cool, all about the dying earth and stuff.”
“Thanks.” She smiles. “It’s a new one. Song 42.”
“You number your songs?” I ask. “How come?”
“I got the idea from that Beatles song, ‘Number 9.’ It inspired me. Have you ever heard it?”
“Sure,” I say.
No.
“It’s easier to categorize the songs when you number them,” she continues, “and it not only reminds me of the transcendental creative flow, but it’s an ironic homage to the impact and temporality of words. Know what I mean?”
“Totally.” I nod vigorously.
No again.
She shoots me a suspicious sidelong glance. “You do? Really?”
“I name my opuses.”
“Your what?” she says curiously.
“My opuses. My most important work. Those are the film installments of my life so far. They’re called A Life So Far.” I point to the camera headpiece I’m wearing. “See?”
“Right,” she says. “I remember from the bus.”
“You do?” I brighten.
“Yeah. That’s, um, clever, I guess.”
“You think so?” I say. “I’m also into cinéma vérité. That’s—”
“Yeah, I know what that is,” she interrupts, rolling up her little rubber yoga mat and squashing it under her arm.
“Maybe I can show you some of my opuses sometime,” I say.
Her eyes settle on me for a moment in a way that seems like she might say yes, but then they slide over to her bunkmates, and she frowns. Mark and Dave from Bunk 3 are showing Trina, Marisa, and Jyll-with-a-y something on their phones.
“No way!” “You’re gross!” and “Shut up!” Marisa and Jyll shriek, giggle, and playfully slap the guys’ arms.
“My friends are waiting for me,” Mia says.
“Really?” I remark. “Because it looks like they don’t even know you’re—”
“I said, they’re waiting,” Mia repeats slowly, shooting me a fiery look.
She marches off to join them, sidles up to Mark, and points to his phone.
“That’s ridiculous!” she shrieks really loudly and punches him awkwardly in the arm.
Her bunkmates go quiet and clear their throats.
“Ouch.” Mark rubs his arm.
Simon appears beside me. “How’d it go, mate?”
“Great!” I exclaim. “Mia numbers her songs kind of like I name my opuses. And she might just let me show her mine.”
“Say what now?” His eyebrows arch up.
“My opus.”
“Oh. Brilliant.” Simon nods and throws his arm around my shoulder. “Now, let’s go see what else is happening at the ever-interesting Camp C.”
Chapter 11
Day One at Camp C is full of activities. First on the agenda: Morning Flagpole Seminar with Rabbi and Mrs. Blum. A few mornings a week, after
breakfast, Rabbi Blum does a ten-minute presentation where he talks about something Jewish and gives us a thought for the day.
Unfortunately, it’s already super hot, and we’re all squirming around, wanting to get on with our activities. Mrs. Blum sweeps her eyes across the clusters of kids, and I guess she’s good at reading rooms. She jokes about how the rabbi gets so excited sharing his ideas that sometimes he loses track of time. She promises to set the alarm on his phone for exactly ten minutes. This creates a wave of chuckles, and our moods lift.
This morning, the rabbi’s talk is called “Moses and Me.”
“Now, you kids might be thinking, Hey!” the Rabbi exclaims dramatically. “Moses was a great hero. He was something really special. Not like you or me. But guess what?!”
There’s a long silence as he slides his gaze around, trying make eye contact.
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” he proceeds earnestly. “Moses was once just an ordinary kid too. But, Rabbi, you might be asking, how could that be? Then how on earth did he get to be Moshe Rabbeinu, the teacher and hero of the Jewish people? How many of you were thinking that? Show of hands?” The rabbi holds up his metallic coffee cup to prompt us.
“Raise your hand,” Josh hisses, prompts us with his elbow, and shoots his hand up.
“But I wasn’t thinking that,” I whisper.
“I’ll raise my hand,” Simon says. “What? It’s interesting.”
I glance over at Mia. She’s leaning back on her arms, with her legs stretched out in front of her and her face up to the sun. I wonder if she’s thinking about Moses or composing a new song in her head. I wonder if maybe she’s thinking about me.
“Well, I’ll tell you how that could be,” the rabbi says with a flourish. “It’s because every one of us can be a teacher and can do good by doing . . . what?!”
“Mitzvot!” Simon shouts.
“That’s right!” the rabbi shouts back.
We all turn to stare at Simon.
“I read the website,” he says, smiling smugly.
“By helping other people, even by doing something small that adds value to someone’s life.” The rabbi talks some more, and I kind of tune out until I hear him say, “You do tikkun olam, helping to fix what’s wrong in the world.”
Noah Green Saves the World Page 5
