Like Doolin, for instance. He may have been the world’s biggest dip-wad, but it’s not like you could see him from space.
I think that’s what Grandma’s talking about when she calls it the Big Something Else. Like that’s how the Big Guy upstairs sees everything. (I mean… maybe. What do I know?)
Either way, I figured we needed all the help we could get. That’s why I went to the chapel in the first place. I wasn’t really sure what to ask for, or even how to start, so I just covered everything I could think of and hoped someone was listening.
It couldn’t hurt, right? I mean, I wasn’t ready to be dead meat up in heaven or someplace much less desirable. Y’know, like dead meat on an open flame.
Okay, this is my prayer—“Rafe’s Prayer.”
“Dear God in Heaven… Is it okay to call you that? Anyway, it’s me, Rafe. Khatchadorian. How’s it going up there?
“Things aren’t going too good down here. I was kind of hoping you could do something about it, if that’s not too much to ask.
“I mean, I know you can do anything. But if you could watch out for me and my friends, I think we’re going to need it. Another thing: I don’t exactly understand why you had to create bullies. Of course, that’s your call.
“And as long as we’re talking, could you please take extra-special care of Mom and Grandma? And yeah, okay, my sister, Georgia, too. I guess. If you feel like it. She’s not a bad person. Just annoying. Actually, I kind of like her. Don’t tell anybody, especially Georgia.
“So, thanks for everything. Except maybe Doolin. And broccoli. I’m not sure what you were thinking there, but I guess you know what you’re doing.
“By the way, I hope you can hear me. I don’t really know how this works. I’m not even sure you speak English.
“Habla español? That’s okay, me neither.
“Is this thing on?”
GOING DOWN
By the time the sun came up, I was too tired to think straight and too wired to sleep. We agreed to stick together as much as possible that day, to watch each other’s backs for whatever was coming, wherever it was coming from.
At breakfast, nothing happened. Thank you, God, thank you so much.
Nothing in school either. Thank you, Ms. Kim. And thank you, God.
Nothing at lunch. Thank you, counselors. And God.
In some ways, the waiting was worse than anything. It’s not like we thought Doolin had forgotten about us. It was just a matter of time before the bombs started to hit.
Then that afternoon we had Day Two of the Olympics. Surprise of surprises, the Muskrats came in dead last on the water-balloon slingshot. I did my best on the pole climb but got only halfway to the top. And we broke all of our stupid eggs by the second round in the stupid egg toss.
The whole time, all I could think was—
When’s it coming? Where are the bombs? What’s it going to feel like when I get hit?
Overhead, a huge crate (marked WATCH OUT BELOW!) hangs by a pulley on a rope, which is being burned through by a blowtorch. Buzzards are circling. Buzzard One: “It won’t be long now.” Buzzard Two: “I live for dead meat.”
The final events of the day were the boating and swimming relays. Everybody was supposed to head down to the waterfront. I’m a pretty good swimmer, so I went to put on my suit. So did Smurf, Dweebs, and Cav. The rest of the guys went ahead with Rusty.
When I got there in my suit, everyone was standing around on the shore of Lake Wannamorra. Except Katie Kim. She was over on the dock, already soaking wet and looking concerned about something in the water.
“There’s something very strange down there,” she said. “I don’t know what it is. But I can’t move it by myself. It’s too heavy.”
Of course, about a dozen counselors and thirty or so campers started tripping over themselves to help her. The counselors ended up telling the kids to stay back for their own safety while Rusty and some of his brave cohorts dove down with Katie to get whatever weird thing was at the bottom of the lake.
After about ten totally tension-filled minutes, they managed to haul it up out of the water and onto the dock. Everyone watched. I mean, you couldn’t take your eyes away.
“What the…?” Rusty said. “How did…? Who…? Why would…?”
It was a trunk! Someone had obviously thrown it in the lake, and now water was running out through the cracks and pouring all over the dock.
“It’s locked up tight,” Katie said. “Does anyone recognize this trunk? Or know how it got here? I want to know the truth!”
Oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man…
My stomach felt like it had just been ripped out, tied in a knot, and stuck back in my gut. Only it was way worse than that.
Yes, I recognized the trunk, all right. And I knew why it was so heavy. Because it was filled with all of Norman’s precious books. So I guess the Bob-cats had heard everything after all. And they were willing to do anything and everything to get their revenge.
When I turned around to where he’d been half a second ago, Norman was long gone.
MISSING IN ACTION
So, guess who’s really good at disappearing? I mean like Houdini good. David Blaine good. Chocolate cake at Camp Wannamorra good.
Yeah, that’s right. Starts with a Norman and ends with a… well, I never did learn Norman’s last name. But you get the idea.
I told Katie whose trunk it was, and she told Rusty, who told Major Sherwood, who I’m pretty sure thought it was “all in fun” like everything else. They even kept going with the Olympics.
But after a while, it was obvious that Norman hadn’t just gone off to the latrine. Rusty went up to the cabin to look for him, and when he came back, he said Norman’s sleeping bag was gone.
That’s when Major Sherwood finally started taking this seriously, and we all spent the rest of the day not finding Norman, all over camp.
We looked in the cabins. We looked in the tents. We looked in the woods. We looked in the latrines. Basically, you name it, and we looked in, on, under, around, behind, in front of, and between it. But still—no Norman. I’m telling you, that manhunt was strictly FBI. (I mean Fumbling, Bumbling, and Incompetent.)
After a while, even the girls’ camp got into the game. Georgia came over with her new bestie, Christine, who wasn’t anything like her brother, Doolin. When I told them what happened, they thought it was the worst thing ever.
“That poor kid,” Christine said. “Which one is he?”
“Norman?” I said. “Skinny. Glasses. Reads like his life depends on it.”
“Oh, Booger Eater,” she said.
“THAT’S NOT HIS NAME!” I said.
I probably should have apologized for blowing my stack, but I had other things on my mind. Like for instance, how it was already getting dark, and Norman was nowhere in sight.
Then, just when it was looking desperate, Major Sherwood got on the camp loudspeaker to make things even worse.
I couldn’t believe it. One of our own was still out there, and they wanted us to scoot off to beddy-bye? I mean, if a hundred people couldn’t find Norman, wasn’t there a chance that Norman was lost and couldn’t find us?
Was anyone besides me even thinking about that?
I wasn’t going to let poor Norman rot out there in the woods by himself. Especially after everything that had happened to him that day. And especially since this was partly (okay, mostly) my own fault. If I hadn’t bulldozed Norman into being part of our whole revenge thing against the Bob-cats, they never would have drowned his trunk in the first place.
So I did what Sherwood always said Camp Wannamorra men were supposed to do. I worked this one out for myself. While everyone else headed back to the cabins, I headed out to find Norman, once and for all.
Sayonara, Sherwood!
Have a nice night, everyone!
See you on the other side. I’m out of here!
DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID, RAFE!
Then, just when I was making my not-so
-clean getaway, I heard a familiar voice behind me. “Ra-aafe?” Georgia said. She was just about to get in her canoe with the other girls and head back. “What are you doing? I thought we were supposed to go to our cabins.”
“We were,” I said. “But I’m not.”
“Isn’t that against the rules?” she said.
This is one of the two dozen differences between me and my “beloved” sister. I’ve always thought rules were meant for breaking. At least the ones that don’t make any sense.
On the other hand, Georgia never met a rule she didn’t like. She lives for rules. She eats them for breakfast and dreams about them at night. No kidding.
“Wish me luck” was all I said to her.
“Luck!” she said. And then—“Wait!”
I turned around, and Georgia was running to catch up with me at the edge of the woods.
“Here, idiot. You might want this.”
I looked down, and she was handing me her flashlight.
“Oh, right,” I said. “Good call. Thanks.” (She may be a rules zombie, but she’s also a big thinker-aheader, unlike me.)
“And, Rafe, listen.” Georgia got this serious expression on her face then. “There’s something else you should know—”
“Georgia, let’s go!” Katie Kim yelled from her little boat. “Rafe, you need to get back to your cabin!” She was looking at me like I was up to no good, so I didn’t stick around for any more brother-sister bonding.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later,” I said.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Rafe!” Georgia yelled after me. “I mean, not any stupider than usual… which I guess leaves a lot of room for some pretty stupid stuff… but you know what I mean. DON’T DIE, OKAY? You hear me?”
I heard her, all right, but I was already headed off into the wild, black yonder. For better or worse. Smarter or dumber. Aliver or deader.
I wasn’t giving up on Norman. I was going to find him if it took me all night.
And guess what? It kind of did.
SERIOUSLY, WHAT WAS I THINKING?
Have you ever done something in your life that feels really good, like you’re doing exactly the right thing… until, a little while later, when you’re more like—
That was me about an hour later. I had been so gung ho, trying to figure out where Norman had gotten to, that I forgot to think about where I’d gotten to.
In other words, I was lost, lost, lost in the woods, like one of those socks that go into the laundry and never come back. (What’s up with that, anyway?)
I was also feeling kind of stupid about the whole thing. Actually, a lot stupid. I figured Norman was probably back at camp by now, all tucked in for the night, and I was the one whose skeleton would be found after the spring thaw next year.
That’s the thing about the woods at night. They’re super dark. They’re ultra-buggy. And when you don’t know where you are, they’re also scarier than a plateful of week-old mystery meat.
Sure, I had Georgia’s flashlight, but all that showed me was the way to the next tree. And when you’re lost in the dark, all those trees look alike.
I guess I could have paid more attention on that nature hike, huh?
The only plan I could think of was to try to reach higher ground. I figured that might show me some lights from camp or any signs of civilization at all. So the first chance I got, I started heading uphill.
But it turns out that the woods around Camp Wannamorra are just as thick up high as they are down low. Plus, all that pitch-black was starting to play tricks with my mind. I was just wondering how many bites it might take for a bear to finish me off when, out of nowhere, I heard this voice coming from the dark.
And even that didn’t make sense. It would have been one thing if the voice had said—
But it didn’t say any of those things. This is what I heard instead:
NOT SO ALONE
It was Norman, of course. But you probably already guessed that. I mean, if I hadn’t made it out of the woods alive, I wouldn’t be sitting here telling you this story.
Still, I shone my light in his face just to be 100 percent sure it wasn’t the Wannamorra Strangler.
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” I asked. “Every-one’s worried about you.”
“Not everyone,” he said. “Or else they wouldn’t have let this happen.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Major Sherwood cared more about his tube socks than he did about us.
“Well, you’re pretty good at hiding,” I said. “It feels like I’ve been walking for a hundred miles. Atleast tell me you know the way back to camp from here.”
“No problem,” Norman said.
That was a relief. “Where are we, anyway?” I asked.
“Snake Hill.” Ohhh.
“You can relax,” Norman said. “There aren’t any more snakes up here than anywhere else. It’s just a name.”
“How do you know that?” I said.
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Norman said. I couldn’t argue with that either.
“Anyway,” he said, “we can go back, if you want. I’ll bet even Major Sherwood’s starting to worry by now.”
“You know what?” I said. “Let him worry.”
Sherwood had all these dumb camp rules, but nothing about keeping total maniacs from torturing other kids. I liked the idea of him sweating this one out. He was probably just starting to wonder what he’d tell Norman’s parents when they came to get him at the end of the summer.
Meanwhile, it was a warm night. Norman already had his sleeping bag spread out. And best of all—
“Didn’t you say something about sandwiches?” I asked him.
It turned out he had a whole loaf of bread, one of those giant jars of peanut butter from the Chow Pit, and a big jar of honey too. Sweet! As far as I was concerned, we were set for the night.
Really, there was just one thing missing.
THE END IS NEAR
So by the way, if you’ve been thinking…
Just hold on. Get your popcorn. Sit back and relax. Because it’s all about to start.
This is what you might call the beginning of the end.
UP AND AT ’EM
Here’s the problem with sleeping while you’re also breaking the rules: It goes by too fast. The next thing I knew, I was hearing that wake-up song from all the way down at camp. It was time for Norman and me to make some decisions.
Basically, we had three choices: We could stay put and switch over to tree bark and berries once the sandwiches were gone. We could hit the road in our tricked-out mobile home… if we had one. Or we could go back.
I told Norman it was his call. He said he was ready to face Major Sherwood, so we packed up his stuff and headed down Snake Hill.
“I think I made a huge mistake,” he said while we were walking. “Sherwood’s going to send me home for sure.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not going home,” I said. “We’ll tell him we got lost and had to wait for the sun to come up.”
“That’s not the part I’m worried about,” Norman said.
I didn’t know what he meant, but we were already coming into camp. I could see a whole bunch of people out in the main field. It looked like they were getting ready to start day two of the big man-hunt.
But when we got closer, I saw that something else was going on. It was like there was some kind of giant checkerboard set up.
“What is that?” I asked.
Norman didn’t say anything. He just got this big smile on his face. And then I saw why. It wasn’t a bunch of white squares at all. It was about a hundred books, all lying out and drying in the sun.
“Hey, look who it is!” Georgia yelled out. She came running over and threw her arms around my neck like some kind of pet monkey.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “You don’t need to make a whole thing about it. I know you were scared, but I’m fine.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Georgia whispered in my ear. “I just need to tell
you something. I was talking to Christine, and she knows what Doolin did. And she said—”
“RAFE! RAFE! RAFE! RAFE!”
All of a sudden, a bunch of other people were there, drowning her out. They were applauding and cheering and slapping me on the back like I’d just won the Indy 500 while blindfolded or something.
“Way to go, Rafe!” Tunz said.
“Didn’t think you had it in you!” Cav said.
“I hope it was worth it, man,” Bombardier said.
“RAFE! RAFE! RAFE! RAFE!”
None of this was making any sense. What was Georgia talking about? And what were the guys talking about?
“What’s everyone talking about?” I asked Smurf.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side.
“We need to get you out of here,” he shouted in my ear. “Sherwood’s on the warpath looking for you.”
“Just me?” I said.
“Yeah, like you don’t know,” he said. “When he went back to his cabin last night, it was totally trashed. There was peanut butter and honey all over EVERYTHING!”
“Peanut butter?” I said, looking over at Norman.
“And honey. Nice touch, by the way,” Smurf said. “Sherwood got us all up in the middle of the night and started interrogating everyone. That’s when he found out you were gone too. I mean, that’s why you took off, right?”
I was still staring at Norman. I couldn’t believe he had it in him. Because you can bet Sherwood would think it was “all in fun” when someone else’s cabin got trashed. But when it was his place? Not so much.
Middle School: How I Survived Bullies, Broccoli, and Snake Hill Page 9
