So I swallowed hard and smiled and said, “Thank you! These are great. I think I’ll go write in my scrapbook now.”
* * *
The next afternoon our phone rang. Dad answered it and said, “Yes?… Yes?… Oh, okay.” And then he listened for a long time. Finally he said, “Certainly. Thank you. I’ll talk to her about it and get right back to you.”
“Talk to who?” I said the second he hung up. I was lounging on the couch with Bitey and a bowl of corn chips.
“To Lexie,” Dad replied. “That was Mrs. Fulton from Camp Merrimac.” (Mrs. Fulton is the camp director.) He leaned into the hallway and said, “Lexie?”
The screeching of my sister’s violin came to a stop and Lexie appeared in the family room. “Yeah?”
“Mrs. Fulton just called. She has an offer for us. Well, really for you. It turns out that there’s an unexpected shortage of CITs this summer.” (In case you don’t know it, a CIT is a counselor-in-training—a cross between a counselor and a camper since you get to be both, but you have to be at least thirteen.) “Mrs. Fulton said you can attend camp for free,” Dad continued, “if you’ll agree to be a CIT for one of the younger groups for half of each day. In the mornings you can be with your friends. What do you think?” Dad looked hopeful again, like he had the night before when I’d unwrapped my hair clip and sunglasses.
I could tell that Lexie didn’t think much of the idea at all. And who could blame her? She had to hang out with me when she was at home. Why would she want to hang out with a whole bunch of me’s every afternoon at camp?
Lexie pursed her lips like an old person. But then she smiled and said, “Sure. That would be great.” And she disappeared back down the hall.
6
II. I went to Camp Merrimac, which is a day camp.
A. Lexie was a CIT for my troop.
One sad thing about day camp is that the mornings start off a lot like school mornings. You have to get up early, eat a big breakfast because the only food you’ll get before lunch is a camp snack such as trail mix, which is like bird food for people, remember to put a lot of stuff in your backpack (for instance, sunblock and extra underwear), and then hurry out the door so that you don’t miss the camp bus, which looks exactly like a school bus. This summer it was especially important not to miss the bus because if we did, how would Lexie and I get to New Jersey without the green Subaru for backup? We missed the bus once last summer and Mom just got the Subaru out of the garage and drove us to New Jersey saying, “The perfect day for an adventure! Plus, I have writer’s block.”
“Do you have everything?” Mom called as Dad and Lexie and I were stepping into the elevator on the first morning of camp. She asks us this every single school morning and every single camp morning, and I always say yes without thinking.
Lexie usually pauses to consider first. This morning she asked, “Are you positive there’s a no-electronics rule at camp?” even though she knew the answer, since there has always been a no-electronics rule at Camp Merrimac. Lexie just couldn’t stand the idea of being out of sight of her cell phone. It’s possible she’s forgotten what it’s like to be a person who doesn’t have one at all. A person such as, oh, me.
“I’m positive,” said Mom. “Have fun.” She closed the door to our apartment.
Now Lexie turned to Dad. “You really don’t have to walk with us,” she said. “Really. We’re going less than three blocks.”
“I want to meet the bus driver,” said Dad, “and make sure where the bus stop is.”
“Isn’t it at the same corner where we got the bus last summer?” asked Lexie. “Sixth and Fourteenth?”
I began to hum. The doors opened, I ran into the lobby, called hi to John at the desk, ran on outside, and met up with JBIII. We walked ahead of Dad and Lexie so as to be out of earshot of my sister’s arguments, and we were one half of one block from the bus stop when I came to a halt so fast that a lady behind us ran into me and stepped on my heel.
“What’s the matter?” asked JBIII as the lady rushed by us, glaring at me and not apologizing.
I pointed to the bus stop. “Look who’s there,” I wailed.
JBIII sucked in his breath. Then he let it out slowly. “Jill,” he whispered.
I had thought Jill was out of my hair for the summer. “She didn’t say anything about Camp Merrimac on the last day of school,” I whined, but very quietly so as not to attract Jill’s attention.
“Well,” said JBIII, and I knew he was remembering what I had talked about—cowboys and stallions and panning for gold. But it was nice of him not to mention it, and that is why he’s my new best friend.
“I can’t stand it!” I cried. “Not another month with Jill.” It was totally unfair. First my father gets fired and now this.
“Maybe she won’t be in your group,” said JBIII.
That was certainly something to hope for. Camp Merrimac is big. Over two hundred kids go to it every session, and there are four troops in each age group—two troops of girls and two of boys. Jill would be in one of the 10 to 11-year-old-girl troops, and with any luck I would be in the other.
At least Jill wasn’t standing independently at the bus stop. Her mother was with her.
“Hi, Mrs. DiNunzio,” I said in exactly the same tone of voice I use whenever I have to greet Mrs. Mott. Then, sounding even more unhappy, I added, “Hi, Jill.”
Jill gave me a big fake smile. I had a feeling it would get even bigger and faker when Justine got on the bus at 79th Street.
Lexie and JBIII and Jill and I and a few kids I didn’t know waited on the corner until the Camp Merrimac bus arrived. We all got on in a hurry, ignoring our parents. I shoved JBIII into a seat on the side of the bus facing the traffic on Fourteenth Street, but then I couldn’t help myself—I stood up, leaned across the aisle, and looked out at the parents. And there was Dad craning his neck, hoping to see Lexie and me, and waving at all the windows just in case we should appear in one. I glanced at JBIII, pulled him to the other side of the bus, stuck my head partway out a window, and gave my dad a tiny wave.
Dad grinned. I smiled and then pulled my head inside before the driver could yell at me. While the parents clustered at the door to the bus and spoke with the driver, JBIII and I settled into our seat. Lexie made her way to the very back of the bus and Jill sat down directly in front of me.
“Let’s move,” I said to JBIII, but he muttered, “What’s the point? She’ll probably just follow us.”
I sat with my arms crossed and stared out the window until we reached 79th Street. I considered telling Jill that her hair smelled, but I thought she might take it as a compliment.
At 79th Street six kids got on the camp bus, including Justine, who ran down the aisle shouting, “Hi, Pearl! Hi, Pearl!” She almost sat next to Jill, but thought better of it and scooted into the seat behind JBIII and me.
“Hi, Justine,” I said, keeping my voice low and hoping she would get the point. She didn’t. She reached into her backpack, pulled out a box of animal crackers, said, “Look what I have!” at the top of her lungs, and held the box out to me. “Want one?”
I didn’t want to be rude, so I took a tiger from the box and was biting its head off when I heard JBIII say, “I didn’t know you were going to Camp Merrimac this summer.”
I swiveled around in my seat.
“Yeah,” Jill replied. “My parents thought it would be good for me. I’ve never been to camp before.”
“Me neither.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Um, where are Rachel and Katie?” I asked.
A bright pink polka dot appeared on each of Jill’s cheeks. “Camp Acadia,” she said.
“Day camp?” JBIII wanted to know.
Jill shook her head. “Sleepaway camp. They’ll be there for most of the summer.”
“Look!” said Justine from behind me. “I broke a hippo head off and put it on a kangaroo. Now it’s a hipporoo!”
I patted her hand. Justine was my best friend, but I realized th
at she was not the same kind of best friend as JBIII was. She was my best friend in the way Bitey was my boyfriend. You needed a lot of patience. And imagination.
“So,” JBIII said to Jill, “you won’t see each other all summer?”
Jill shook her head.
Huh, I thought. This was interesting. No Jill-Rachel-Katie. And Jill didn’t look too happy about it. She would be on her own at Camp Merrimac.
* * *
The bus rumbled along through New Jersey. The driver, who was new, got a little lost and we turned around so many times that a kid in the back barfed, and Lexie darted forward and sat next to Justine. I thought that, as a CIT, she might have helped the kid, but Lexie is not fond of throw-up, her own or anyone else’s.
When we finally drove through the gates of Camp Merrimac we were only fifteen minutes late and everyone was still getting organized. I hopped off the bus. “Stick with me,” I said to JBIII. “I’ll show you what to do. First we have to get assigned to our groups.”
We walked across a grassy field with Lexie and Justine. Beyond the edges of the field were all the familiar things I remembered from other summers—the softball diamond, the arts and crafts cabin, the path to the lake with its docks and canoes, the rec hall for rainy days, the playground for the youngest campers, the outdoor performance stage, and the cabins where the older campers got to stay if they signed up for a week of overnight camp. FYI, Lexie and JBIII and I were going to stay overnight for the whole last week of camp. It would be my first time.
I smiled at JBIII. All around us were trees and flowers and the sounds of birds and frogs. I hoped JBIII would like New Jersey as much as I did.
“Ooh!” cried Lexie suddenly, pointing above our heads as a great gray bird flew low over the trees. “That’s a heron.”
“Really?” said Justine. “I thought it was a pterodactyl.”
We had joined a mob of kids who were laughing and talking and jumping up to make fake baskets in the air. I breathed in deeply. This was so much better than school.
“All right, listen up!” called a counselor who was holding a clipboard. “I’m going to call out the names of the counselors, followed by the names of the campers in each group. Please join your group as soon as you hear your name.”
It took a long time, but eventually Justine had joined one of the 8- to 9-year-old-girl groups and JBIII had joined one of the 10- to 11-year-old-boy groups and now it was time to assign the 10- to 11-year-old-girl groups. I squeezed my eyes shut and crossed my fingers. At last I heard, “Lisa Anderson, Pearl Littlefield.” The very next thing I heard was, “Lisa Anderson, Jill DiNunzio.”
I sent a furious look in JBIII’s direction, but he was too far away to see it. I turned and tromped across the field toward Lisa. Jill hurried after me.
Lisa smiled at us as we approached. She was already surrounded by nine other girls. “You must be Pearl and Jill,” she said. “Okay. We just need one more—oh, here she comes. Are you Deanna?”
“Yes,” said a freckle-faced girl.
“Great. That’s everyone. Welcome to our troop. We’ll give ourselves a name later. But let’s start with some introductions. I’m Lisa, and I’ll be your head counselor.” I didn’t remember Lisa from other summers, but I decided I liked her. She smiled a lot and was wearing a T-shirt that said WHO CARES? in bold red letters across the front. “And this,” Lisa continued, “is Janie. She’s your junior counselor. We’re also going to have two CITs—one in the morning and one in the afternoon. This is your morning CIT, Cathy.”
“Call me Cat.” A very perky girl who was Lexie’s age waved around at us campers like she was a celebrity, which she was not, since she was unfortunately wearing a T-shirt with a picture of a little-girl cat in a frilly dress and pink party shoes sipping tea from a cup that said KIT-TEA under the rim.
Jill took one look at the shirt and snorted. She snorted loudly enough for everyone in our troop to hear, and they all looked at her, and Janie frowned. I think Janie was going to say something about considering people’s feelings and not snorting, but at that moment I caught sight of Lexie, and the next thing I knew Lisa was nudging her forward and announcing, “And this is Lexie, your afternoon CIT.”
My eyes shot themselves over to Lexie whose own eyes were bugging out of their sockets. Lexie was going to be my CIT? I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that at that exact same second Lexie was thinking, I have to be Pearl’s CIT?
The God of Unfairness was working overtime.
I paused to think about how a mature person would handle the situation.
I raised my hand.
“We’re not in school,” Jill whispered loudly, and snorted again.
“Yes, Pearl?” said Lisa.
“May I please switch into another group?” I asked in my politest voice. This would get me away from both Jill and Lexie, which would solve two problems at once, which seemed very efficient.
“Pearl!” exclaimed Lexie, and her face turned red but maybe everyone would just think it was sunburn.
“No switching groups until after we’ve given them a fair try,” Lisa replied pleasantly.
Jill started to snort for a third time but cut it short because no one joined in with her, and two girls, who I think were eleven because they were wearing bras (you could see the white straps next to the straps of their tank tops), looked at each other and did eye rolls.
Jill noticed this and her polka dots came back.
“Thank you for considering my request,” I said courteously to Lisa.
Lexie left then to join her own group for the morning, and Lisa led the rest of us to a large tree, which I don’t know what kind it was but it was still very pretty except for some bird poop. We sat down under it, avoiding the poop. Jill tried to sit next to the bra girls but they got up and moved so then Jill plunked down next to me.
“First order of business…,” said Lisa, and she began to tell us about Camp Merrimac and camp rules and where the bathrooms are and what time lunch is and blah, blah, blahdy-blah, blah. The only part I listened to was the list of art activities like ceramics and beading.
After that we all went around and said our names. Three of the ten-year-olds had been at Camp Merrimac the summer before, and we gave each other high fives even though we didn’t really know each other since I hadn’t been in their troop.
No one wanted to high-five Jill. I tried not to feel sorry about this, but I sort of did.
When we had finished saying our names I realized that the only ones I remembered were Jill’s, Lisa’s, Cat’s (because of her T-shirt), and my own. So it was good that the next thing Lisa said was, “Our second order of business is to make name tags.”
We sat down at a picnic table and got to work with a box of art supplies. Here is some info about the girls in my troop:
“Be sure to leave the bottom half of your name tag blank,” Lisa said as we worked away, “because we need to think up a name for our troop, and you’ll add that under your own name.”
“I know what we should call ourselves,” said Mary Grace. “The Jersey Girls!”
“But I’m from New York,” said Jill, which, hello, so am I, but of course Jill did not mention that, since the only person who is important to her is herself.
“How about the Merrymakers?” said Vonna. “You know, because we’re at Camp Merrimac?”
Jill frowned at her.
“The Kitties?” suggested Cat.
“Well … maybe,” said Lena kindly.
“I have an idea,” I said, which I would never have done if this was school, and Rachel and Katie were around to back Jill up. “How about the Starlettes?”
There was silence. Then Bra Girl #1 said, “Ooh, I like the sound of that!”
“Me, too,” said Denise. “Especially since I’m going to be a star someday.”
“I like it, too,” said Deanna.
“Let’s take a vote,” said Lisa. “All those in favor of the Starlettes, raise your hand.”
I l
ooked around at a forest of raised hands.
“Anyone not in favor?”
Jill shot her hand in the air like a person who expects every single cab on the street to pull over and stop for her whether they’re already occupied or not. The Bra Girls rolled their eyes again.
“Okay. We are officially the Starlettes,” said Lisa.
And we all wrote THE STARLETTES on our name tags.
After that we finally got around to some real camp activities. We changed into our bathing suits and swam in the lake. I must point out that while I don’t mind wearing nothing but my underwear in front of Lexie, I’m not fond of changing in front of a bunch of other people, even if they are girls. For instance, I didn’t want Jill to see my pink underwear, in case she thought it was babyish. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out if I could put my bathing suit on over the underpants and then whisk the panties out from under the suit like a magician, but this turned out to be impossible, and also it made me fall down. Finally, I tied a beach towel around me and managed to change inside it, like a tent. I noticed the Bra Girls doing the same thing, except that something told me they sort of wanted us ten-year-olds to see their bosoms.
After our swim we had to endure changing again, except in reverse, but after that, we played volleyball. And then it was time for lunch. Everyone gathered at the picnic tables in the field. I waved to Justine, who was eating with her group, and then I sat down next to JBIII.
“I saw a snake,” he said, and I wasn’t sure whether he thought that was good or bad.
“I named my troop,” I replied, and pointed to my name tag.
JBIII’s troop was called the Dudes.
“I’m going to try canoeing this afternoon,” he said.
“I signed up for ceramics class.” I paused. Then I asked my best friend, “How do you like Camp Merrimac?”
“So far so good.”
7
II. I went to Camp Merrimac, which is a day camp.
A. Lexie was a CIT for my troop.
Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far) Page 5
