Just what I needed—a seasick goat.
“Easy there, Your Highness,” I said, hoping the sound of my voice would calm him. Instead, he got all twitchy and began to rock the canoe even faster. I dropped the paddle into the lake and grabbed the sides of the canoe with both hands. “Whoa! Stop moving!”
We were about twenty feet from shore. Even without the paddle, we probably could coast in if he would just hold still. King Arthur must have seen how close we were to land, because the next thing I knew, he leaped overboard, flipping me out of the canoe and into the lake.
I came up for a breath as King Arthur’s life vest floated past. I grabbed it and turned in a circle, looking for the goat. Had he drowned? Finally, I saw him.
King Arthur had made it to shore and was shaking himself dry. The canoe seemed to have righted itself after I flipped out and was floating a couple feet away. I swam over and flung King Arthur’s vest into it. I dragged myself out of the water, feeling ten pounds heavier than before I got wet. Hauling the canoe out of the lake, I glared at King Arthur as water dripped from my face. I swear, he grinned at me.
“Thanks for nothing, pal,” I sneered.
“Naaa.”
I sloshed my way over to him and picked up the wet lead rope. Babysitting would be a piece of cake compared to this.
“Let’s go,” I said, pulling him toward the path that led back to the barn.
Just then, Nathan rounded the corner and jerked to a stop when he saw us.
“Chloe?”
“Yes?” I tried to act normal, like I wasn’t soaking wet and there wasn’t a soggy goat dripping next to me.
“Uh, why are you and King Arthur both wet?”
“We went for a swim.”
“Just now?”
“Yes, we couldn’t do it earlier because he had finished breakfast. I heard you should always wait at least an hour after eating before swimming with a goat.”
Nathan stood speechless.
King Arthur ate a flower.
I felt like an idiot.
Sunday, June 20
Put a Plan into Action
I caught up with Pogo during afternoon free time. We hung out on the pier instead of playing Tacos and Burritos. I’d had enough swimming to last the rest of the week.
As we leaned over the railing and dropped pine needles in the water, I filled her in on the morning’s drama.
“I’m really sorry all that happened,” she said, “but I sure wish I could have seen you scare the bejeebers out of King Arthur just to get him in the canoe.”
“It was the only thing I could think of. That stupid goat made me look like a complete fool in front of—” I stopped. My crush did not need to become public knowledge.
“In front of who?” Pogo teased. “Anyone in particular?”
I blushed and shrugged. “I was on the beach in broad daylight—the whole camp could have seen for all I know.”
Victoria’s shrill voice carried from the canoes on the beach. She sat in the front of one as Anna struggled to shove off into the water. Eventually, she dislodged it from the sand and jumped in, sending the canoe into a teeter-totter rhythm.
“Watch it, Anna!” Victoria snapped.
“Sorry,” Anna said, and paddled toward the far side of the lake.
“Why does Anna put up with her anyway?” I said.
“I don’t know—maybe she’s too shy to speak up for herself.” Pogo dropped a handful of pine needles into the water. “If I didn’t have you for a friend and I had to deal with Her Highness by myself, camp would be horrible.”
The unspoken but understood rule at camp was make friends or be a loner. Pogo was the closest thing I had to a best friend here.
She turned to me. “I’ve got an awesome idea to help keep track of King Arthur.”
“Glue his hooves to the barn floor? Mount his head to a wall? I’m in!”
She rolled her eyes. “No—I’m making a tracking device you can put on his collar.”
“You know how to do that?”
“Yeah—I think so. My dad’s an electronic engineer and our house is full of gadgets and wires and transmitters—you name it, it’s there. Before Mom died, Dad and I would go on daddy-daughter dates while Mom watched my brothers and sisters. But after she died, getting a babysitter was too expensive, so instead, once my little brothers and sisters were in bed, Dad and I would go into the garage and build stuff together. He’s shown me how to make lots of fun junk, and I think with stuff in the science lab, plus my cell phone, I can do it.” She pushed off from the rail and smiled. “That’s what my science project is—only I hope I can finish it early, so you can use it.”
“That’ll be supercool if it works. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks.”
I told Pogo I’d catch her later and headed off to find Ms. Jacqueline. It was time to put my new plan into action.
I climbed the steps to the cake kitchen and knocked on the door.
“Oui, come in,” said Ms. Jacqueline.
I bounced inside and saw Doc Mulholland standing close to Ms. Jacqueline as she stirred something inside a pot on the stove.
“Hi, Doc. Hi, Ms. Jacqueline.”
“Hi, yourself,” Doc said. “I’ll see you later, Jackie. Save me some of that custard.”
Ms. Jacqueline laughed and waved him off. “Miss Chloe.” She smiled. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to you about something important.”
She nodded. Her timer on the stove dinged. “Well, zen.” She turned the stove off, removed the pan of custard she had been stirring, and handed me a stool. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks.”
I took a deep breath and swallowed. Then I opened my mouth and started talking. Before I knew it, I poured out everything about wanting a new bike, needing to earn money, and the deal I’d made with Mrs. Peghiny. I finished by saying, “So you see, I can’t decorate cupcakes for Mrs. Peghiny because I wasn’t able to take your class.” I sighed. “I’m going to be such a dork riding my old bike to school this year.”
Ms. Jacqueline let out a light laugh and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “A bike does not make one dorky, as you put it. Caring much of what others think of you is a big burden, cheri. When someone carries such burdens, they soon start making choices and acting in ways zat can make them dorky though.”
“I get that. Really I do, but I think riding a new bike would be one less burden I’d be carrying. I’ll do anything, give up whatever I need to, but, please, please, please, do you have any time when you could give me a private lesson or two? That way I could still go back home and work for Mrs. Peghiny.”
Ms. Jacqueline stared thoughtfully at me for a minute or two before answering. “My week—it is full, no? Especially with zee grand finale banquet coming up so soon.”
My shoulders dropped. This was the only thing I could think of—my one and only shot.
“But I tell you what. You will have to give up your free time in zee evening, but I can give you two hours after dinner on Friday. Bon? Zat is the only time I have. You mustn’t be late. I cannot reschedule you.”
I jumped up and squealed. “Oh thank you, thank you! I won’t miss it—I promise! Thank you so much!” I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed.
“You are welcome, my dear. But make sure you fulfill all your other responsibilities—I hear you have zat rascal King Arthur.”
“Yeah, he’s keeping me on my toes.” (And in canoes and lakes.)
She smiled and gave another light laugh. “Oui, he is one of Doc’s favorites though. He has a soft spot for zee little goat. He is very sweet.”
I didn’t know if she was talking about Doc or King Arthur, so I just nodded.
“Thank you again, Ms. Jacqueline. I’ll see you Friday night—I will definitely be here. Even King
Arthur won’t keep me away.”
I was getting cake lessons now that Ms. Jacqueline had agreed to help me—and it didn’t involve hanging anyone’s underwear on a flagpole.
Sunday, June 20
10:01 p.m.
Where do I begin?
Today was the first (and hopefully last) time I ever swam with a goat. Stupid King Arthur—that’s his full name—not King Arthur. STUPID KING ARTHUR.
I thought goats smelled bad to begin with, but a wet goat stinks even worse! Doc said I was taking such good care of King Arthur when he found me giving him a bath. Oh well. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
The ONLY good thing that happened was Ms. Jacqueline agreed to give me a cake decorating lesson Friday night. I just have to give up my free time in the evening, but that’s a sacrifice I’m totally willing to make.
I told Pogo that Ms. Jacqueline is going to give me lessons. She is excited for me. She’s a great friend and really sweet—I’m glad we’re friends.
Good night.
PS Sebastian got the Distinction of Recognized Kindness award! Dreamy Dave said it was for putting aside his own science project to help another cabin mate with theirs. Personally, I bet Dreamy Dave was just glad not to hear Sebastian yell at shrubbery. He gets loud when he speaks Spanish. It was a win-win for both.
Monday, June 21
Let Victoria Take a Walk in the Woods
Monday morning held no surprises except for the fact that King Arthur was where I last left him—in his stall. I’m sure it was a first. Our veterinary medicine group spent a couple hours taking care of our animals and learning about animal husbandry, which, as it turns out, has nothing to do with being married.
Midway through our lesson, Victoria showed up to collect the eggs for the cake kitchen. Charlotte was in the restroom, so Doc asked me to help.
Victoria stood several feet away from the coop and pranced around every time a chicken got close to her. “I’m not going in that nasty coop. It looks like something your gross elephant belongs in.” Barbecue, Ranch, and Sweet ’n’ Sour seemed particularly interested in her shoelaces and followed her every step.
“They’re just chickens. They’re not going to hurt you.” I went in alone, watching carefully for spiders, and quickly filled Victoria’s basket with eggs.
“I’m sure they carry diseases,” she called to me from outside the coop. “Like chicken pox.”
Along with teaching us animal care, Doc had also taught us a little about animal diseases.
“You can’t get chicken pox from a chicken—it’s only called chicken pox because the rash looks like peck marks.” I shoved the basket of eggs into her hands.
“What’s the quickest way out of this stinking place?” she huffed. Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the path that ran around behind the coop.
“Uh, Victoria…” I said, pointing to the path. “I don’t think—”
“I don’t care what you think,” she said, turning on her heel and marching through the knee-high plants down the path. Right past the NO TRESPASSING sign.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Suit yourself.”
• • •
In the late afternoon, as I was putting fresh wood shavings in King Arthur’s stall, Doc popped his head around the door and said Director Mudwimple wanted to see me in her office.
Immediately.
A pit formed in my stomach. Maybe Director Mudwimple realized she was missing a massive pair of underpants and put two and two together about Saturday night. Or maybe she’d found out that I’d purposely been flushing toilets during Victoria’s shower. With two demerits to my name already, I had to watch out. Each step toward Mudwimple’s office brought new guilt to mind.
The office door was the only thing between me and Director Mudwimple. I swallowed and knocked.
“Come in,” Director Mudwimple said.
A splotchy, puffy Victoria, who, for once, did not look like a perfectly polished princess, glowered from across the room.
“You are so busted,” Victoria seethed.
“I’ll handle this, Victoria,” Director Mudwimple said, motioning me to sit.
I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the sight of Victoria, who was madly scratching. An ugly, red rash covered her legs and arms, and she had patches of it forming on her face. Poison ivy.
Director Mudwimple clapped her hands and startled me. “Miss McCorkle, Victoria tells me you purposely sent her down a path that you knew was covered with poison ivy simply because she got the last cake decorating slot.”
“No, ma’am!” I gasped, shaking my head. “I tried to tell her not to go down that path—but she wouldn’t listen. I promise!” I stumbled my way through the morning’s event, trying to remember word for word what I’d said to Victoria. If Director Mudwimple thought I sent Victoria through poison ivy on purpose, I would get a demerit for sure!
Director Mudwimple turned to Victoria. “Is that true? Did she tell you not to use that path?”
Victoria rolled her eyes and scratched her cheek.
Director Mudwimple looked over her spectacles at Victoria. “Quit scratching, dear. You’ll make it worse. If Chloe tried to warn you and you didn’t listen—”
“She could have tried harder to stop me.”
Director Mudwimple met Victoria’s gaze and didn’t look away until Victoria squirmed and looked to the floor. I hoped Mudwimple saw Victoria for what she really was—a spoiled, self-centered, spiteful camper. Maybe Director Mudwimple was on Team Chloe! Solidarity, that’s what it’s all about—that and the hokey pokey.
“Victoria, I think you need to apologize to Chloe for your accusation.”
I thought Victoria’s face couldn’t become any redder, what with the poison ivy rash all over it, but I was wrong. I think steam even shot from her ears. Through a clenched jaw, Victoria hissed an apology. Even though it was totally not sincere, I took it. Better than nothing. And now at least Mudwimple was onto her.
“I suggest you revisit the nurse’s station, Victoria, and get more itch cream,” Director Mudwimple said.
I stood to leave.
“Chloe, I would like you to stay, please. I want to talk to you for a moment.”
I stepped aside to avoid touching Victoria as she stomped past me, seething and muttering something unintelligible. The last thing I needed was poison ivy. I jumped as the door slammed behind her.
Director Mudwimple strummed her chubby fingers on her desk. “Have a seat again, Miss McCorkle. We have another issue to discuss.”
I mentally ticked off my current issues:
–I was a dork.
–Victoria hated me.
–King Arthur hated me.
–Mr. Snuffles had been eaten.
–I was earning demerits faster than a highly motivated Girl Scout was sewing badges to a vest.
I really wasn’t sure which of those she was referring to. “Which issue? If you mean the poison ivy, I bet a healthy dose of weed killer on the path will take care of that.”
Director Mudwimple shook her head. “I do not mean the poison ivy.”
She shuffled through some papers and picked up a familiar pink form. Disciplinary Action Report. I gulped. The underwear!
She cleared her throat. “Victoria’s frustration with you is not confined only to poison ivy. It seems you are also flushing toilets every time she showers.”
Okay, it wasn’t about the underwear. I put my hands up in defense. “I’m only cleaning them—she’s the one who made the chore list. I’ve had bathroom detail every day. Isn’t there some rule against that?”
“We all have to work together to keep our camp looking nice. I want the flushing to stop. Understand?”
“Yes.” I stood.
“We’re not done, Miss McCorkle.”
I ran my hand over my face
and sat back in my chair.
Director Mudwimple stared me down. “Apparently, our first talk involving animal cruelty and trash cans had no effect on you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You hurled a chicken at King Arthur! She’s so upset she’s molting!”
I dropped my chin to my chest. “I do feel bad about that.”
Director Mudwimple nodded. “King Arthur was dreadfully upset as well.”
“I was referring to the chicken,” I said under my breath.
“Miss McCorkle!” Director Mudwimple’s cheeks were bright red. “And then you tried to drown that poor little goat in the lake!”
“I didn’t try to drown him,” I said, my voice rising. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I was trying to save him. He ate through the rope that keeps the dock tied to the pier and floated himself out to the middle of the lake. I grabbed a life jacket and canoe to bring him back to shore. Halfway across the lake, he got crazy. I didn’t tip the canoe on purpose. I promise.”
“Hmmfph.”
“The life jacket proves I was trying to help.” I thought for a second and shrugged. “Actually, he ate most of it before the canoe tipped.”
Director Mudwimple stared at me like I’d just told her I was a fairy princess who ruled over a great kingdom of singing oysters. “Miss McCorkle, I am giving you another demerit for your actions—be glad it’s not more than one. Your lack of compassion for King Arthur and your fellow campers is most distressing.” She tidied the papers in front of her. “It may be against my better judgment that I am not removing King Arthur from your care, but I think you may be able to learn something from him, given time.”
I stared at her as though she just told me I could learn something from a deranged goat.
Oh, wait…she did tell me that.
Monday, June 21
Start a Food Fight
Victoria walked by and paused at our table at dinner that evening. “Well, if it isn’t Goat Girl,” she said with a smirk. “How’s that animal working out for you?”
How to (Almost) Ruin Your Summer Page 9
