Bobby held Steinberg’s legs, relieving him of wedgie-pain, Dover wrapped his arms around all of them, Wiener jumped onto Dover’s back, and Play Dough came in with a bear hug, knocking them all to the ground. Bobby closed his eyes and tried to relish all the good stuff from this summer, like Rick teaching him guitar, and Dover’s raid map, and Steinberg’s probably-genius inventions, and Totle’s diary, and Wiener’s classy dandelion he’d taped to his shirt for the Midsummer Dance, and Play Dough’s ginormous poop baby he’d made just for the girls. But Bobby didn’t want to go back in time. More than anything, he just wished this moment could last forever.
Bobby glanced at the San Juan and Anita Hill campers around the campfire, their lit faces distorted by the rising smoke. The flames pressed heat against his cheeks, warming him from the late-night chill. He watched Rick and Sara distribute sticks and s’mores supplies, and he moved closer to Slimey on the log. Her hair smelled like it always did, mixed with the sweet scent of burning wood.
TJ: Another fantastic summer at Camp Rolling Hills is all too quickly coming to an end.
Captain: Before I forget, congrats to Robert Steinberg. Your mother called. She got your postcard. She’s glad “Camp’s good.”
Melman gave Steinberg a high five.
TJ: We’re also happy to hear that the boys of San Juan Hill are back in clean undies. I was starting to feel bad about gagging in their presence.
The guys and girls cheered wildly.
Captain: Which reminds me, don’t forget to check the lost-and-found.
TJ: I’m keeping everything you kids don’t claim!
Captain: And remember—tomorrow night at ten o’clock, step outside your home, look at the moon, and sing our alma mater. It’s my favorite Rolling Hills tradition.
TJ: You’re my moon, Captain.
There was the brief yet disturbing sound of grown-ups making out, and then the PA went off with its signature piercing squeal.
“Get a room!” Play Dough shouted, making everyone laugh.
Slimey pulled her twig out of the fire, brought two flaming marshmallows to her mouth, and blew. They were brown and white, and they gooed right off the twig into two graham-cracker-and-chocolate sandwiches. “Are you ready for this?”
Bobby nodded, and Slimey passed him a s’more. They bit down at the same time. Bobby’s eyes widened as he chewed. “Whoa! This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted!”
“Told you.”
“My mom would never let me eat this at home.”
“Lucky for you, you have one more day to do whatever you would never be allowed to do at home.”
Half a day, Bobby thought. It had been seven weeks plus three days so far, and being here with Slimey and the San Juan Hillers, he wished there were more.
“You ready, buddy?” Rick asked him, motioning to a bit of marshmallow stuck above Bobby’s lip.
More than I’ve ever been, Bobby thought. “Yup.” He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie and pushed himself up from the log.
“Ready for what?” Slimey asked.
“You’ll see,” he said, arching an eyebrow. He walked with Rick around the campfire. Rick handed him his guitar.
“You’re gonna rock it, buddy.”
“As long as I don’t pull a Campstock and panic,” he joked. Campstock felt like forever ago, and although Bobby was sure he’d have plenty of panic attacks in the future, there was no way Bizarro was getting the best of him now. Rick put his fist out for a pound. Bobby pounded him back, and Rick dipped under Bobby’s fist with a peace sign.
“Snail!” they said together. It was go time.
“All right, everybody. Smell—I mean, Bobby, here—”
“It’s OK. You can call me Smelly. I kind of like it.”
“Awesome! Smelly, here,” Rick continued, “is going to perform a little something he’s been working on. Let’s give it up for SMELLY!”
Everyone clapped with the same enthusiasm they’d welcomed him with that very first day. This time, though, it didn’t freak him out. It made him feel great. He pulled Rick’s strap over his shoulder, strummed a G chord, then launched into the chord progression Rick had taught him. He sang the lyrics he’d written during the first couple weeks of camp. He couldn’t stop thinking about Slimey then, and it was no different now.
“I’m in a kerfuffle, ’cause even on shuffle
I can’t get you out of my mind.
If it’s rock, rap, or reggae, don’t matter what I play,
You’re in every lyric I find.
I’ve got twenty gigs of memories,
And all of them are you.
All the songs on my iPod make me think of you.”
By the time he finished, everyone was standing, whooping, and cheering. Bobby saw Slimey glowing across the campfire. He felt like Superman.
“Hey, Smelly! Where’s my love song?” Play Dough joked.
“Wiener didn’t sing it to you yet?” Bobby joked back.
“Oh, shoot, I spoiled your Valentine’s Day surprise.”
“Ohhhh!” The San Juaners and Anita Hillers laughed.
Bobby lifted Rick’s guitar strap over his head and walked back to Slimey. Missi caught his arm on the way. “You’re a rhythm prodigy. We should do a flute-guitar duet sometime.”
“Thanks! That sounds . . .”
“Amazing, I know. You don’t have to say it.”
Totle jumped in. “Discovery consists of seeing what everybody has seen but thinking what nobody has thought.”
“What about me?” Sophie asked. “Can you, like, discover something about me?”
Totle stared into Sophie’s eyes and gently moved her long bangs from her face. “You have a bug bite on your forehead.” Sophie sighed dramatically.
Bobby took a seat next to Slimey on the log.
“I have chills from that song,” she whispered, beaming.
He smiled back. “Maybe next summer I’ll actually sing it at Campstock.”
“Next summer? What about baseball camp?”
“Well, I was thinking of trying out for my school team instead. They’re supposed to be really good, and I bet I could be pitcher if I practice hard. I’m gonna ask my mom and dad to sign me up for guitar lessons, too. That way, when I come back, I can jam with Rick, kind of like a band.”
He felt Slimey’s hand glide into his. “Bobby, remember how I told you: sometimes it hits you when you’re home at the end of the summer, and you’re, like—?”
“Wow, that was amazing. I’m reverse homesick. I’m camp-sick?”
“Looks like you’re ahead of the game.”
When Slimey had told him that during their first coed Evening Activity, never in a million years did he think he’d miss this place. But she was right. Here he was, feeling as sentimental and mushy as all his friends, who he’d once thought were weird and part of a freakish cult. Well, he still wasn’t sure about the cult part.
Rick put his arm around Sara. This time, she didn’t push him away. “All right, everyone, roast your last marshmallow. It’s getting late.”
“I can’t believe it’s over already,” Melman said, resting her elbow on Slimey’s left shoulder. “My flight to London’s tomorrow, and school’s in, like, T-minus eighteen days. Blech.”
“I know—blech,” Steinberg repeated.
“Oh, please. You love school,” Melman said.
“First of all, love’s a strong word. I like science at school, but I love science at camp, where there’s no adult supervision.”
“That’s a good one, Steinberg,” Rick said. “Now shove that s’more into your mouth and say good-bye.” He and Sara stood up.
“Booooooo!” the campers all moaned, throwing their sticks into the fire. They watched the flames grow larger and larger.
“Hey, hey . . . enough with the negativity,” Rick said. “You’ll all be back. And if you miss this place, all you have to do is think about the fun you had, the friends you’ve made, and you’ll warm yourself up even
on the coldest winter day.”
“You are such a sap!” Sara laughed.
After a long hug session with the teary-eyed Anita Hillers, the boys and girls got ready to go their separate ways. Bobby looked at Slimey, her dark brown eyes shimmering like they had at the dance. He could feel himself getting choked up, trying to voice a good-bye that let her know how lucky he felt to be with her, and how he’d miss her, and that he hoped to see her soon, since they only lived two towns over, and his mom could drive them to the movies, or his dad to a baseball game—but she stopped him.
“Don’t do it. You and me, we have a three-hour ride to say good-bye tomorrow. Save me a seat if you get on first!” Slimey left Bobby with a peck on the cheek and an ear-to-ear smile.
Bobby grinned, because she was right. They might have been at the end of day fifty-two, but the summer wasn’t over yet.
Slimey and Bobby sat eighteen rows back in the bus destined for the Paramus Park Mall. They each had one of Slimey’s ear-buds in, listening to “Blackbird” on Bobby’s dad’s iPod. With Boy from the Bus as her bus buddy and boyfriend, Slimey found the ride home way better than the ride to camp had been.
The song ended, and Bobby looked at Slimey with a determined smile. “OK, we’ve got about fifteen minutes left. Should we do this?”
“Yup!” Slimey dug into her purple L.L.Bean backpack and took out her sketchpad. She flipped to page twenty-four, where she’d once drawn Bobby’s brown L.L.Bean backpack and had since sketched in how she remembered him from that first day. Red shorts, blue shirt, gray sweatshirt, hard-core headphones, warm brown eyes, tousled hair—crazy cute. Slimey carefully tore it out and folded it in half.
Bobby was waiting for her, paper bag in hand. “Who should go first? Or should we exchange at the same time?”
“Well, I don’t want you to look at the sketch until you’re home, in bed, about to go to sleep. And just remember that art is impressionistic, and don’t get a nose job.”
“I’ll be sure not to . . . change my nose,” Bobby said with a smirk. “So, then, do you want to save mine, too?”
“No way! I’m too excited. And impatient. And excited.” She giggled.
“OK, then. Here you go. I made it in Arts and Crafts with Melman’s help.” Bobby handed her the paper bag, and she opened it to find an oversize hemp necklace.
Hanging from the center was a large wooden locket, the size and shape of a heart. Inside was a bunch of camp paraphernalia: their Canteen Cards, a list of their favorite songs, and cutup photographs of her and the Anita Hill girls. As Slimey looked through it, she could feel her smile growing wider and wider, her cheeks getting hot. This even beat the old pair of Slimey’s jean shorts that her mom had sewn into a pillow for everyone in her cabin to sign, and the hilarious “Last Will and Testament” Sara wrote each summer based on their cabin’s inside jokes. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Bobby grinned back at her. “To make up for the one I took. It might be something cool to hang on your wall or off your bedpost.”
“Definitely. And you can hang yours, too, if you want, but I think it would be cool if you carried it with you. Like, in your backpack or something, so, in a way, I’m always close.”
“Done.” Bobby stuck his pinky out, and they shook. He’d gotten good at camp-speak.
“So, who’s picking you up? Mom or Dad?”
“Both, actually. They’re still getting a divorce, but they’ve agreed to meet me together.”
“That’s really nice.”
“My dad said he’d bring me French toast to eat in the car, and my mom promised not to freak out if powdered sugar gets on the leather seats of her Honda.”
“Wow, homemade French toast sounds sooo good right now.”
“Oh! I meant to ask. So, what’s the deal with the moon thing at ten o’clock? Are we supposed to just break out into song in our backyards?”
“Yup! It’s like a good-night, good-bye sort of thing.”
“Cool. Well . . . maybe if you want, after tonight, we can say—not sing—good night to each other at the moon. You know how much I love singing in public, but I don’t want to get any neighborhood noise complaints.”
Slimey giggled. “Done.”
They pinky-swore again.
She plugged the earbuds into her iPod shuffle, which was filled with pop and techno and indie music from this decade, not the 1960s. It was her turn. Bobby leaned against the window with his knees a little bit bent, the tips of his Nikes against the back of the seat in front of them. Slimey rested her head on his shoulder and felt his hand take hers.
Too soon, the bus rolled into the Paramus Park Mall parking lot, which was filled with cheering parents. Slimey peered through the window and spotted her mom blowing air kisses at her. Her heart swelled with excitement, until she looked back at Bobby and was reminded that she was about to leave him and the best summer of her life behind. She slipped Bobby’s locket around her neck alongside the one from her dad. “I know we’ll see each other, but remember to sing, or say, good night to the moon.”
“Every day until next summer,” he said with a smile. “A whole forty-four weeks plus four and a half days.”
Bobby was right. She’d done the math last night, too.
The countdown started now.
A few years ago, I was lucky to collaborate with the Spiegel brothers—Adam and David—on writing the musical Camp Rolling Hills. My friend Erica Finkel saw a workshop of the show and tossed out the idea that I write a book for middle schoolers. A few months later, I embarked on Camp Rolling Hills: the book! Erica is my fairy godmother, bestie, and editor, who grew the seed of an idea into a full-fledged series. I am forever grateful. Thank you to the amazing Spiegel brothers for your inspiration and permission to nurture the world we hold so close to our hearts.
Camp has been a major part of my life and still is. I was lucky to transition from camper to counselor to upper staff at Tyler Hill Camp, where my mom was the Head of Girls’ Side. Mom and Dad, thank you for introducing me to this incredible, life-changing place, for daring me to be silly and take enormous risks, and for your endless love and support. To my brother, Mike, my sister, Amy, and my sister-in-law, Deanna, who all work in the camp industry: congrats on making a career out of the greatest cult. I love you.
Grandma Terry, Grandma Joanie, and Grandpa Lenny, thank you for being my number one fans. You three are the world’s best.
Lauren Kasnett Nearpass, thank you for brainstorming marketing and branding and for inviting me to blog for Summer 365. I’m honored to be working with you and your incredible organization.
Aimee Berger, you’re a rock star. Thanks to you, It’s a Camp Thing, and Camplified for all your summer coordination and support!
Jay Jacobs, thank you for conceiving the STARFISH Program and for granting me permission to reference it in the Camp Rolling Hills series. It’s a brilliant values system that defined so much of my personal experience at Tyler Hill. I’m so glad I can share it.
Lexi Korologos, my teenage life coach, thank you for reading countless drafts, dishing your honest feedback, and brainstorming titles.
Susan Van Metre, Erica Finkel (again and again), and the whole brilliant team at Abrams: Pam, Jim, Jen, Michael, Jason, Caitlin, Jess, Mary, Elisa, Rob, and Kathy. Thank you for seeing so much potential in an early draft and for providing the feedback that has enriched the story a million times over.
Thank you to my friend and collaborator Elissa Brent Weissman for introducing me to my agent, Erica Rand Silverman. Erica, I’m so lucky to have such a camp-loving, fierce advocate of my work.
My camp friends. My campers. My counselors. My co-counselors. The camps: Twin Oaks, Crestwood, Summit, Tyler Hill, A.C.T., Oxbridge. You have made me who I am today and provided me with the heart and experience to write this series.
My partner-in-crime, Tim Borecky, thank you for lending me your wisdom and dramaturgy every time I cornered you to read you chapters. I appreciate yo
ur indulging my characters as if they are our friends.
To all the camp people out there, enjoy the adventure and the s’mores.
Stacy Davidowitz is a camp-obsessed writer of books, plays, and screenplays. She also enjoys acting, singing, running long distances, and teaching theater all over New York City. Her alma maters are Tufts University, Columbia University, and Tyler Hill Camp. The Camp Rolling Hills series marks her debut as an author. Visit Stacy at www.stacydavidowitz.com and www.camprollinghills.com
Head back to the Hills in Book Two: Crossing Over.
Available now!
Camp Rolling Hills Page 15
