On the Seven Twisters roller coaster, I sat—or rather, hung—upside down for an hour last summer when the ride malfunctioned.
I couldn’t help but think this was a sign of bad things to come.
Sunday, June 13
Leave Pine Needles in Your Hair
Pogo yanked my arm. “C’mon. There’s a spot next to that kid with the soccer jersey.”
She pointed.
A boy who seemed our age, wearing a Federación Ecuatoriana de Fútbol jersey, stood on a chair, staring into the crowd. He also looked familiar.
Standing next to him on the floor was a lanky, blond boy in a gray T-shirt with MARINES stamped across the front. I couldn’t believe my luck.
“Sebastian! Nathan!” I yelled.
They turned toward us. I jumped up and down and waved madly. Nathan saw me before Sebastian did. He smiled and waved back—and my heart might have skipped a beat. Pogo yelped as I grabbed her arm and made for the back of the mess hall.
I pulled and squeezed Pogo through campers to unlucky table seven and to Nathan and Sebastian.
“Hey, guys.”
Nathan pointed at my head. “You’ve got pine needles sticking out of your hair. What did you do? Roll in the bushes?”
I blushed and snatched at the needles the best I could. How embarrassing.
I turned to Nathan. “I can’t believe you’re both here! How crazy is that?”
“I know, right?” said Nathan.
Sebastian lightly punched Nathan in the shoulder. “I am here because Nathan’s parents think he has no amigos.” Sebastian was from Ecuador. He slipped in and out of Spanish more often than I daydreamed about Nathan.
I tilted my head to the side and looked at Nathan. “What’s he talking about?”
Nathan laughed. “My folks are always nervous I’ll have a hard time making friends since we move around so much. My dad heard about this place and thought it’d be fun. They said I could invite a friend.” Nathan came from a military family and was new in town. Despite what his parents believed, he’d made lots of friends.
“Speaking of friends”—I turned to Pogo—“this is Pog—Paulie.”
Sebastian turned to her and flashed a smile. “Hola.”
“Hi.” Pogo was bouncing on her toes again and didn’t seem to notice I’d stumbled over her name. “Y’all wanna piece of gum?”
Nathan had to time his hand to the same rhythm as she bounced in order take the moving stick of gum.
“I took Spanish last year,” Pogo said. “Check this out, Sebastian: Yo canto dulce como un sapo.”
Sebastian raised his brow. “You sing sweet like a toad?”
“Oops.” Pogo giggled. “That’s not at all what I meant to say.”
“So are you both in the same cabin?” Nathan asked.
“Yep—along with Diva,” Pogo said.
“Who?” said Sebastian.
“Never mind,” I said.
Nathan sat down and gestured to the chair next to him. He’s cool like that. He doesn’t mind being friends with a girl and doesn’t act weird about sitting next to one—even one that has a teeny-tiny, secret crush on him. “So what do you think of camp so far?” he asked. His blond hair fell over his adorable eyes. He brushed it back.
“Well, let’s see.” I ticked the items off on my fingers. “There’s a spider in the bathroom—or at least there was. I’m not really sure where it is now. Hopefully dead in a corner. Our camp director needs to switch to decaf, and a crazy goat attacked me. Oh…and we’re here sitting at table number seven.”
“Okay, you lost me at the goat and the number seven.”
I opened my mouth to explain when Director Mudwimple clambered onto a small stage near the front of the mess hall. A humongous man sporting a baseball cap, armpit stains, and a whistle stood next to her. He looked like the Incredible Hulk—minus the weird green color and torn clothes. Director Mudwimple nodded to him and he blew his whistle, sending bits of spit cascading down on campers near him. Sitting near the back wasn’t such a bad deal after all.
“Good afternoon, campers!” the director bellowed. “I have a couple quick announcements and then the instructors are going to introduce themselves. After that, we’ll be off on a fun-filled tour of the campground. Sadly, I won’t be joining you, as there’s a minor issue involving one of our dear animals.”
I was pretty sure the “minor issue” involved something with four legs, bad breath, and horns.
She sighed and took a deep breath. “Our goal at Camp Minnehaha is for everyone to have fun and be safe. In order for that to happen, we use a demerit system. If you choose not to follow our rules or show respect to others, you will be given a demerit. After five demerits, you’re sent home.”
Apparently, Mrs. Claus had a strict side to her. I had no worries about getting demerits—those were for troublemakers, not me.
She rattled on, hoped we’d all read all the rules in the welcome folders we were given at registration. Reminded us to pick our electives carefully. Encouraged us to enjoy the lovely trails but to always remember trail safety, blah, blah, blah. And then she was done. “Enjoy your tour. I leave you in good hands.” She picked up a small halter and what looked like a leash and waddled away.
The Incredible Hulk spoke next. “My name’s Coach Fox. I’m the sports instructor.”
Duh.
A pretty lady with dark hair trapped under a hairnet and cheeks smudged with flour stepped onto the stage next. Coach Fox handed her a microphone. She smiled and put it to her mouth. “Bonjour. My name is Ms. Jacqueline. I am looking forward to working with each of you and introducing you to zee fine art of cake decorating.” She paused. “Those who choose zis elective will prepare all zee desserts for a grand finale banquet for parents and campers on zee last day. It will be fantastique!”
“Vive la France!” someone yelled.
Ms. Jacqueline laughed and gave a wave with the mic before handing it off to the next instructor. Her laugh reminded me of twinkling lights—dainty and clear.
A man, who was wearing jeans, a pale-blue T-shirt, and a stethoscope around his neck, helped Ms. Jacqueline down with one hand and took the mic with the other. Then he gave her a wink.
I nudged Pogo and whispered, “Did you see that? He just winked at her. And he held on to her hand a little too long for someone just taking a microphone. I bet he has a crush.”
“He’s too old to have a crush.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s probably only forty.”
“That’s old,” Pogo said. She looked to Sebastian.
“What?”
“Spanish is one of the romance languages,” Pogo said. “What’s your opinion?”
“I hate to tell you, but Spanish is a romance language because it comes from Latin. It has nada to do with love.” He shook his head and looked down (but not before I saw him wink at Pogo).
The man onstage spoke. “I’m Dr. Mulholland. Y’all call me Doc.”
“Or the Love Doctor,” I whispered to Pogo.
She snorted and slapped her hand over her mouth.
“Now we have a crazy assortment of animals here at Minnehaha,” Doc said with a southern drawl.
“He’s right about the crazy part,” I muttered.
Pogo giggled.
“And once y’all have met all the animals, I’m sure you’ll feel quite at home around them. See y’all soon.”
If he thought I’d ever feel at home with that goat (or spiders), he was the crazy one.
The science instructor, Mr. Dave, spoke last. Tall and tan, with a flowered shirt, jean cutoffs, and a ponytail, he looked like he should be surfing rather than doing experiments in a lab. “Yo! We do the same thing in the science lab that Ms. Jacqueline does in the kitchen—measurin’ and mixin’. We just blow up our creations afterward!”
; Cheers filled the cafeteria.
“Righteous!” Dave thrust a hang-loose sign in the air.
Pogo giggled. “He’s kind of dreamy for a science guy.”
Coach Fox rolled his eyes and jumped up next to Dreamy Dave. “Now that you’ve met everyone, we’ll divide up into four teams. It’s time for you campers to learn your way around! Tables one through three, follow me. Tables four through six, go with May-dame-mo-sell Jacqueline.”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t say that right,” I murmured.
Coach Fox continued. “Tables seven through nine, follow the good doctor. Ten through twelve, go with the mad scientist.”
The noise of chairs scraping the floors and loud talking filled the room until everyone found the right team. We set off to explore the camp with Doc Mulholland leading the way.
Sunday, June 13
Visit the Funny Farm
We followed Doc through a wooded trail and then climbed what the brochure mistakenly called a “gently rolling hill.” It was clearly a mountain.
“Welcome to the farm!” Doc swept his arm toward the bottom of the hill.
My jaw dropped. I’d assumed there’d be a couple dogs, maybe a pony or two, the typical barn cat, and possibly a cow. One look at the view proved I’d completely underestimated Camp Minnehaha. An enormous, red barn with fenced-in yards at each stall stood in an open field. Wooden fences enclosed pastures where horses, cows, a few sheep, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a llama grazed. Running in and out of the enclosures were three sheep dogs. A cat sat on a wooden post, licking a front paw, while several chickens pecked at invisible objects in the dirt.
We made our way down the hill and stopped in front of the barn. I peeked around Pogo and counted twenty stalls—some were empty; others weren’t. Doc turned to face us, and we circled around to listen.
“Remember: this first week, y’all will get a chance to try all the electives. When you’re here as veterinarians-in-training, there’ll be lots to do. You’ll learn the proper care of each animal, including feeding, cleaning, and even playing.”
“What”—bounce—“do you mean”—bounce—“by playing?”—triple bounce—asked Pogo.
“Well, for one thing, each day, all ten of our horses will need to be exercised. One of the ways we do that is to take them out on the trails. We’ll take turns, so each camper will get a chance to ride.”
Pogo was practically shaking. I could tell it was taking all her self-control not to run over and jump on a horse and ride off into the sunset. I couldn’t blame her though. The trail rides would definitely be the best part of being at the barnyard.
“I’ve shown horses for years,” a voice behind me said.
I turned to see who spoke. It was Rude Girl.
She adjusted a bracelet on her wrist, and I saw a silver heart charm stamped with the word diva. I nudged Pogo in the ribs and pointed out the charm. It looked as though Rude Girl and our cabin diva were one and the same. Pogo rolled her eyes.
“Will we be riding English or Western?” Rude Diva Girl batted her eyelashes at Doc. “I prefer English—it’s more refined.”
Doc smiled. “It’s nice to know you have experience, young lady—”
“Victoria,” she said. She combed her fingers through her already-perfect hair. She had the kind of hair that would have looked awesome on her show horse’s tail. Long and straight and glossy enough to see a reflection in—I’m sure if Victoria knew she could see her own reflection in her hair, she’d stare at it all the time.
“Well, Victoria, to answer your question, we’ll be riding Western. I’ve found over the years it’s easier for those who are new to riding horses.”
She pursed her lips and glowered at us. I got the feeling she wanted us to drop to our knees and beg her forgiveness since she wouldn’t be as refined as she’d hoped.
Doc continued. “Now, during the second week, those of you who choose this as your elective will be assigned one animal that’ll be yours to take care of for the entire week.” He raised his hand for silence as a chorus of questions flew at him regarding who’d get the horses. “Everyone’ll still get to ride them, even if you aren’t assigned to one. Of course, I’ll be here to help y’all with whatever you need. Any other questions?”
“How do we know which animal we’ll get?” Nathan asked.
“We’ll have a horseshoe tournament,” said Doc.
“¿Qué?” Sebastian asked.
“I’ve got this,” said Pogo. She faced Sebastian. “Nos lavamos los cerdos con los zapatos.”
Sebastian turned to Doc. “We will wash pigs with shoes?”
“Drat,” Pogo said. “Really thought I had that one.”
Doc chuckled. “Thankfully, no. You take an iron horseshoe and try to toss it onto a stake from about twenty feet away. The winner gets first pick of the animals, second place picks next, and so on.”
“I think you might want a quick refresher course on your Spanish,” I whispered to Pogo.
“No kidding,” she said.
I could manage a basketball okay, but I’d never thrown a horseshoe before. I’d probably have better luck trying to slingshot a buffalo through a flaming Hula-Hoop. Good thing I wasn’t planning on being at the barn the second week.
“Let’s meet the animals,” Doc said. He led the way through the giant barn door and stopped in front of a stall. “Our two goats are named King Arthur and Queen Guinevere.”
His Royal Highness, King Arthur, was the same goat that had head-butted me earlier (literally, his head to my butt). Now that I wasn’t stuck in a tree, I got a better look at him. He was all white (kind of grimy, really) except for a black crown-shaped mark on his head between his two small horns. Probably the reason they called him King Arthur. He stood looking innocent in his stall, mindlessly chewing at a pile of loose hay. I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. He obviously thought nothing of his previous rough treatment of me. Actually, it would have surprised me if he had any thoughts at all. His pale, beady eyes were completely blank…like a ruthless predator.
“Now King Arthur suffers from a couple of things.” Doc gave a gentle laugh. “The first being delusions of grandeur. He thinks he runs things around here, and he’s a bit of a rascal. Most people don’t know this, but goats are extremely intelligent animals and master escape artists. If he watches you work the lock a couple times, he’ll practice and try to open it. The key is to lock the gate and check it twice—because if you leave it unlocked, His Highness will wander off.” Doc patted the gate lock. “His second issue is that he faints.”
I smacked a fly off my arm. “Wait. He does what?”
“He’s a fainting, or myotonic, goat. These goats faint because of an inherited genetic disorder called myotonia. If they get frightened or overly excited, their muscles tense up and they fall over—sometimes with their legs sticking straight up in the air.”
“Awesome,” Nathan said.
“It only lasts for about ten seconds or so, and then they get up and keep going,” Doc said.
The visual image of King Arthur lying flat on his back with all four knobby legs pointing toward the sky made me snort. It was almost as satisfying as the thought of his head mounted on a wall.
A wooden fort-looking thing stood in the center of King Arthur’s paddock.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the structure.
Doc turned. “That’s his climbing platform. Goats are excellent climbers and that’s kind of like his playground.”
Pogo nudged me in the ribs. “He really is adorable. Just look at those floppy ears!”
“Well, whoever gets to be his caretaker during the second week better keep him away from me.”
We followed Doc through the barn, and every once in a while, he’d stop. If an animal was in its stall, he’d make introductions. Each animal’s name hung on a plaque outside its
sliding stall door, and all the stalls had a small, fenced-in yard attached to them.
I strolled past the names on the horse stalls.
Sunset.
Footloose.
Princess.
Road Rage.
Road Rage? I hoped I wouldn’t get stuck with that horse for any trail rides. We came out the other end of the barn, and I scanned the pasture and tried to guess which horse was Road Rage. All twelve of them looked harmless—obviously, one of them was faking.
Sunday, June 13
9:32 p.m.
Guess what?!?! Nathn and Sebastian are here! I was soooooo happy to see Nathn.
The instructors seem nice. Ms. Jacqueline (the cake instructor) is French. She has a neat accent—I guess Sebastian does too. If I had to speak another language, I would be SO worried about my accent—I doubt it would sound cool like theirs do.
Director Mudwimple told us there’s a ravine on the other side of Mess Hall Hill that fills up crazy fast with water when it rains—something about a flash flood. No campers are allowed over there. I guess she thinks we’ll die…or something worse.
Every night during dessert, the instructors choose one camper who has “demonstrated true compassion” (those were Director Mudwimple’s exact words), and they give the person the Distinction of Recognized Kindness award. Some of the kids who’ve been here before say it’s a big tradition and a HUGE deal to be picked.
A mean girl named Victoria is also in our cabin. She is SUPER picky about her stuff. A spider the size of a small island nation crawled up the wall near the bathroom door while I was brushing my teeth. (I’m pretty sure it was the same one I tried to kill earlier.)
The only thing in the bathroom to spray it with was hairspray—how was I supposed to know it was Victoria’s “custom-made” hairspray? How can you custom make hairspray anyway?
I was like some half-crazed graffiti artist with that can. Victoria sure picked a bad time to open the bathroom door. After the nurse had her wash her eyes out for ten minutes, she was fine. I think she’s making a PRIMA DONNA DIVA deal out of the fact I used up her whole can of hairspray on a spider—which, by the way, STILL didn’t die. It crawled off to its secret lair somewhere—probably to admire its new hairdo.
How to (Almost) Ruin Your Summer Page 3
