by Beth Vrabel
“Ice cream truck?” Sam cocked an eyebrow.
“Sorry. Part of Camp Paleo’s mission is apparently starving people.”
It had started drizzling before we left the site. By the time we’d reached the bottom of the mountain, it all-out poured. Tiny rivers of mud ran through my sneakers.
The amazing smell of sloppy joe wafted from the open windows of Camp eMagine’s mess hall as we trudged by on soggy, squeaking sneakers. The tantalizing aroma filled our nostrils and rattled around in our empty, barbecue-meat-deprived bellies.
“Get back here!” I heard Grandma bark to an eMagine camper. “You forgot your cookie!”
Cookie? How do you forget your cookie?
“Can we just—” I started.
“No.” Mr. Bosserman didn’t pause in his heavy strides, even though each Camp Paleo camper slowed to a crawl at the siren song of cookie.
“But—”
“No.”
“Come on, camper wampers!” sang Jessica, though even her perky smile wilted a bit in the rain. “We’ll have a great lunch back at our camp! What are we having today, Mr. Bosserman?”
“Jerky.”
“What?” Jessica asked, her smile twisting.
“Beef jerky,” Mr. Bosserman said. “And some apples.”
“I’ll head back to get things ready, then,” she said with much less enthusiasm as she scooted ahead of us.
That lunch was hours ago, but my jaw still ached from chewing so much jerky. I must’ve eaten an entire dehydrated and shriveled-up cow, and my stomach still felt empty. “We’re going to make a campfire after screen time,” I told Sam. “Mr. Bosserman said something about making mountain pies, whatever they are.”
“Sounds good.” Sam yawned.
I opened my mouth to say, “Actually, it sounds horrible,” but just then someone walked behind the screen of Sam’s laptop. I couldn’t make out the person, just his hand as it slapped down on Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, man, you rocked it on the bars today. Killer amplitude!”
“Thanks, Tony,” Sam said to the unseen boy. “See you back at the dorms.”
“Killer amplitude?” I echoed.
“It’s nothing,” Sam said, but his grin told me otherwise. “Just kind of made a breakthrough on a move.”
I bit back any complaint about Camp Paleo I was about to make. Here Sam had had an awesome day and now he had to listen to me whine. I nodded instead. “That’s incredible!”
“So,” he glanced at the corner of the screen, where it flashes the time, “I think we’ve only got a few minutes left. Tell me something awesome that happened to you today.”
I swallowed, considering. Something good. That ruled out the sunburn peeling on my shoulders, the bug bite I got in my armpit, and the horrible broccoli-mixed-with-sauerkraut stench creeping from my rain-soaked sneakers. “Um,” I considered, “Grandma and Mr. Bosserman have this flirty stuff going on.”
A chuckle broke out of Sam again, so I told him all about Grandma and Mr. Bosserman and their plans for chow chow.
“It’s pickled vegetables, like carrots and cauliflower,” Sam said.
“How do you even …”
“My mom likes the stuff,” Sam said. “She grew up in southern Pennsylvania, near there.”
Mr. Bosserman’s screen time stopwatch dinged.
“Five minutes, campers!” Jessica sang out.
Sam leaned forward, his face close to the screen. “Listen, Lucy,” Sam said, his voice serious. “I know it’s not your thing—you know—camping and fossil hunting and all of that. I know you’re probably miserable and you’re only there because I dared you to go. I feel really guilty—”
“Don’t!” I interrupted, but he shook his head and put up his hand to silence me.
“But bringing your grandma and this Mr. Bosserman guy together, that’s awesome! That’s so … so you. You’re great at that, pairing people up. I mean, look at us!”
Sam sucked in his breath. I think it’s probably because of my face. I saw my expression in the corner of the screen when he said “us.” My mouth had dropped open in a circle, and my eyes bulged. I forced my mouth shut with a pop.
“Uh …”
“I don’t mean ‘us’ like we’re a thing. Like a thing-thing. Just that you’re good at bringing people together. Like packs.” Sam’s eyes were just as wide as mine. “I don’t know why I’m talking so fast. Or why I’m still talking …”
“Time’s up, camper wampers! Electronics off!”
“Bye,” I said without really looking at Sam.
He just waved at me, mouth pressed shut, as I clicked on the hang-up button.
While we were having screen time, Mr. Bosserman and some of the counselors had set up about ten small fire pits next to the main camp area. The flames flickered high just as the sun was setting. The storm-cooled air and a nice breeze tickled the hair on my arms. I had to admit: it was beautiful here.
“Red up for dinner!” Mr. Bosserman called out, throwing up his wide hands like a crossing guard.
Jessica clapped and translated in her annoyingly chipper way, “Grab a plate, and start assembling your mountain pies.”
Mountain pies, it turns out, were like pizzas. Woot woot! Take a slice of white bread, smother on some red sauce, add a fistful of shredded cheese and a sprinkling of pepperoni, and top with a second slice of bread. Then the whole contraption goes into this iron waffle maker–looking thing that presses it all together. Plunge it into the flames for about five minutes and kazam! Melty, drippy, delicious mountain pie!
The counselor who demonstrated mountain-pie making licked his fingers. The boy in front of me, Jer, flicked out his tongue like he could taste the greasy goodness.
Sheldon raised his hand as he spouted off, “I don’t think cavemen would eat—”
Every single person at Camp Paleo snapped as one, “Shut up, Sheldon!”
Starving Camp Paleo campers rushed to the ingredients table, slapping together their mountain pies and dashing over to the fire. But my legs weren’t moving as fast as they should. They, like the rest of me, were weighed down not just by the enormo hike we took earlier but also by Sam’s words. About bringing people together being such a “me” thing to do. I wanted to find April and hear what she thought about what Sam had said.
Besides, it looked like April was searching for me, too. She stood on her tiptoes, scanning the line from the very back. I wiggled out of my spot to go to her. My arms waving, I rushed toward her. “Hey, April—”
“April! Over here!” Kira called from one of the fires. “I made you a mountain pie. It’s just like mine. No disgusting pepperoni.”
April flashed her split-your-face grin for just a second. “Extra cheese! Yay!”
Kira’s eyebrow popped up. April took a deep breath. “I mean, that sounds awesome. Thank you!” She turned her grin into a good mimic of Kira’s little half-your-mouth-tilts-up-slightly smile. “See you, Lucy,” she said as she pranced toward Kira.
“But you love pepperoni!” I called.
April shook her head. “No, I always pick it off.”
I guess she was right. I usually nabbed them off her plate. I had counted on doing it tonight, too.
Well, I might not have my friend, but at least I had mountain pie. I scooted back up to where I’d been in line. But everyone pressed closer together. All I saw were elbows! Someone—I think it was Amanda—even snarled at me.
Fine. I went to the end of the line, comforting myself that now I could take my time and make sure my mountain pie was perfect. And I did, spreading sauce over both slices of bread. Sprinkling cheese to each corner. Overlapping pepperoni perfectly across the top. This wasn’t just any mountain pie. This was an LD (Lucy’s Delight) Mountain Pie in the making. Sure, everyone else would be finished by the time I got my piping-hot pie of awesomeness out of the fire. But that was okay, because they’d all see me eating mountain-pie perfection as they dined on hasty regret.
I smooshed together the top and bot
tom pieces and handed it to Jessica. Only counselors were allowed to load the mountain-pie makers and shove them in the flames. Just as she took the World’s Greatest Mountain Pie from my hands, a lightning bolt shot across the sky. Thunder cracked so loudly and so close that Jessica jumped. My mountain pie landed on the ground with a thud. My poor mountain pie.
“No!” I gasped, and I swear, the word took at least ten seconds to get out.
“Oh, what a bummer!” chirped Jessica, still smiling. “Why don’t you just scoot on over there and make yourself a new one?”
I huffed through my nose. My fists clenched and unclenched. It’s okay, I told myself. Just make a new one. And that’s when the rain started. Not with a trickle but a waterfall. The fire gave up in a burst of grayish-black smoke and sizzling cries.
“Sorry, Lucy,” Jessica sing-songed. “Looks like you’re going to have a cold mountain pie.”
I shivered under the leaky campsite roof, shoveling cold shredded cheese and sauce into my mouth and trying not to think of how no one in my pack, not even April, looked around for me before scurrying back to the bunks. Only Mr. Bosserman waited with me, and he kept hurrying me along.
“Come on, come on,” he said. “I’ve got to clean up after you and get back to my place, onest.”
“To look for chow chow?” I asked.
His face flushed and he cleared his throat. “So, your, um, grandma. Does she like slippery pot pie with turkey or ham?”
“I don’t even know what slippery pot pie is,” I said, choking down a piece of soggy bread. “But if it’s anything like mountain pie, I’d say she’d like it cooked.”
The pattering of rain against the roof seemed to be a lullaby, making everyone fall asleep almost right away. Even Amanda’s snoring was steady and even. April lay on her belly on the bunk above me. Her face was turned toward Kira’s bunk like they had fallen asleep whispering. Which they had. April’s long hair hung down over the side of the bed. I glared up at it, fighting the urge to yank it. Why was she spending so much time with other campers instead of me? And after all I had done for her this past year!
If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be in our pack at all. She’d still be sitting with just Sheldon at lunch every day. She’d still be a booger-eating no one. I was the one who told her she had to kick that disgusto habit! And this is the thanks I get: cold, lonely, mountain pie.
Amanda’s snoring suddenly stopped, then kicked back in with a colossal snort. And her! She wouldn’t be giving this meditation thing a shot if it weren’t for me and Sam pointing out her anger issues all the time.
And Sheldon, he owed me massively, too. I was here, wasn’t I? Even though Camp Paleo was the opposite of what I’d call a good time.
Where was the appreciation? We were supposed to be a pack! No one leaves the alpha wolf to eat cold mountain pie by herself!
I crossed my arms and grunted. Megan peeked over her covers. “Are you okay?” she whispered, completely proving my point. A complete stranger could ask me if I was okay while my pack ignored me.
I didn’t answer, just rolled onto my side away from her. Soon I heard her breathing steady, joining the chorus of the others in the A-frame. Each of them slept peacefully while my stomach and feelings churned.
Slowly I drifted off, reminding myself that at least I had Sam. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t at Camp Paleo. He’d be so disappointed in our pack, the way they had abandoned me. He’d remind them that I brought us all together, that bringing people together is what I’m good at doing.
That’s it!
I sat up in a rush, bumping the top of my head on the bunk above me. April shifted but didn’t wake. I smiled even though my head throbbed. I’m good at bringing people together. Sheldon, Amanda, and April just needed a reminder of that. April, especially. And what I needed to do was bring together the pack.
Just like Grandma and Mr. Bosserman possibly made a love connection through me, I’d show April and Sheldon they were meant to be. And, just like Grandma and Mr. Bosserman, a little love connection would make them easier to be around. Because if April was with Sheldon, then she’d really be connected to the pack. She’d stop trying to be like Miss I’m-too-cool-for-everyone Kira and go back to being April! The talking-in-bursts, happy-to-be-my-friend, up-for-anything-I’m-doing April!
Besides, I really did think April and Sheldon were meant to be—dorks in love! They just didn’t know it yet.
This was going to be perfect. I bounced on my bed a little and realized I was clapping like a deranged Jessica.
“Ugh!” Kira’s sleep-slurred voice echoed in our dark cabin. “I am surrounded by such losers! I am trying to sleep.”
I stuck my tongue out at her, even though I knew she couldn’t see, and lay back down. Now that I had a plan, I could sleep in peace. Annoying Kira had been a nice little perk, too.
My nose was hallucinating.
That’s the only explanation for the savory scent of steak tickling my nostrils as I drifted off to sleep. I inhaled deeply. Yup. Definitely grilled, nondehydrated meat cutting through the smell of just-rained woods and mosquito repellent. I felt like one of those cartoon mice who smells cheese and floats toward the wedge with each breath. I didn’t even realize I had climbed out of my bunk and wiggled into my flip-flops until I stepped off our creaky stoop and into the darkness.
I paused for a second as the wet grass tickled the sides of my feet. This was probably an enormously stupid idea. I mean, I know that Pennsylvania doesn’t have wolves except for a few gated sanctuaries, but what about bears? Or mountain lions? I mean, weren’t they the Penn State mascot? They probably were salivating for a juicy steak, too—or maybe fresh almost-twelve-year-old. I chewed my lip, considering if I should go through with this.
Plus there was the whole never-go-anywhere-by-yourself-or-else rule that Jessica had drummed into our heads without her usual perkiness on our first day. I glanced back at the A-frame. She was curled up like a kitten in her satiny pink sleeping bag.
I almost turned back to my bed. But then I heard, “Dang it, skeeters!” coming from the direction of the delicious aroma. I knew that voice.
I sneaked away from the cabin.
Chapter Six
I followed a little footpath as it snaked around the woods behind the main campsite. And there, on a patch of dry earth, stood the oddest thing. A caboose.
No joke! A caboose, like from the end of a train. It had a huge deck built around it with strands of lights hanging from the sides to light up the area around it. Even though it was pitch black outside, the lights illuminated our crotchety camp director. Mr. Bosserman stood behind a grill, flipping over the biggest, juiciest steak I had ever seen and swigging from a can of Coca-Cola!
“Cavemen do not drink Coke!” I hissed, stamping my foot on the deck stairs. “And they did not live in cabooses!”
“What in the—” For a second, I worried the oldy moldy would have a heart attack. He must’ve jumped a foot high at the sound of my outburst. Mr. Bosserman’s hairy hand hovered over his heart. Then his eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you in bed, Missy?”
“I smelled food. Real, cooked, nonjerky food! And I’m starving.”
Mr. Bosserman’s mouth flopped open and closed six different times as he stared at me.
“Um, our steak is burning,” I finally told him, pointing at the grill.
It took a lot of convincing, but Mr. Bosserman finally entered his caboose and brought out a plate for me. He kept going on and on about all the Camp Paleo rules I was breaking. But when I told him he’d be in even more trouble for letting me walk back to the cabin in the dark by myself, probably getting lost without the smell of steak to guide me, he said he’d march me back to my bunk.
“Great,” I said. “But it’d be a shame to waste our steak. You know it’s not any good warmed up.”
Eventually, grumbling the whole time, he filled a plate with salad, half his baked potato, and a big chunk of steak. It wasn’t exactly half, but I
let that slide.
“You got any A-1 sauce?” I asked over a mouthful of buttery potato. “It’s how steak is done.”
Mr. Bosserman didn’t even answer. He just glared.
“So, how’d you get this caboose?” I asked.
“My fool-headed son bought it for me, onest.”
“What? Is he rich or something, to just go buying cabooses for people?”
“Rich enough to own this here camp. And Camp eMagine.”
I almost spit out my steak. But then I came back to my senses and remembered this might be the last good meal I would have for another week and a half. I chewed slower. “Wait a sec! Your son, he’s the owner of TechSquare? He’s Alan Bridgeway?”
Mr. Bosserman’s plastic patio chair squeaked as he shifted around. “Used to be Alan Bosserman, but he thought it sounded too bossy.”
“I get that. Doesn’t seem to bother you, though,” I added.
Mr. Bosserman chuckled. “Alan always liked trains. ’Bout the only thing we had in common.”
“Huh,” I answered, shaking ranch dressing on my salad so it’d be edible.
Last year, when I was an absolute loner, I noticed the less I said, the more people talked. So it wasn’t just the incredibly delicious food keeping me silent. I figured between the blanket of black sky, our filling bellies, and the awkwardness of the whole situation, Mr. Bosserman would fill in the blanks. And sure enough, he started talking. His words were spaced like pebbles being dropped into a lake, the ripples slowly overlapping.
Turns out, Mr. Bosserman and his son had spent a lot of time on trains. Every summer, all summer, in fact, starting when Alan was only five. They’d board a train with a suitcase each and just keep going until they saw the whole country.
“How’d you go a whole summer on a train? Didn’t you get fired from your job?” I asked.
“I was a school janitor. Got summers off.” Mr. Bosserman stood and picked up bottles of dressing and steak sauce. He made a grab for the salad bowl.
My hands darted out and grabbed the salad bowl from his hands. I shoveled more onto my plate and kept eating. “I’m not even close to being done yet,” I said with a full mouth. “So, trains? How’d that start?”
