by Dann Gershon
“You have a point,” Einstein agreed, impressed with her ob-vious intelligence and sensibility. “Nonetheless, the top-secret, confidential nature of the contents contained inside of this en-velope requires that it be sealed and sealed tight. Do you have a suggested alternative to the standard licking procedure?”
The girl extracted a large wad of chewing gum from her mouth and wedged it to the flap of the envelope, sealing it shut.
“Nothing to it!” she said with confidence, tossing the en-velope back to Einstein and extending her hand in friendship. “Roxie Rosenberg, at your service.”
Einstein stared at the pink wad of chewing gum layered be-neath the flap and chuckled out loud. There was nothing he found more appealing than a bit of good old-fashioned Yankee ingenuity and a large slice of common sense. Roxie Rosenberg undoubtedly possessed large quantities of both and was kind of cute to boot. She was odd and enchanting and full of life. Maybe camp wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
“The name’s Einstein,” he announced. “Einstein P. Fleet, ward of the state.”
“Einstein, huh? You some sort of brain?”
“I think the name speaks for itself,” Einstein replied, hoping that she was impressed.
“How ’bout I just call you Fleet?”
“Why not?” Einstein agreed, shaking Roxie’s hand. “My jun-gle name is far too hard to pronounce.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A sad story,” Einstein began, delighted to have her atten-tion. “My real parents were killed during a hunting accident in Africa.”
“You lived in Africa?”
“I was quite young at the time. Left to fend for myself in the jungle.”
Roxie eyed him suspiciously.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” Einstein continued without missing a beat. “I was raised by a pack of wild mountain gorillas.”
1
“Mountain gorillas?” “Lived with them for over two years before I was rescued by Watusi hunters.”
“Watusi hunters?”
“Spent the next three years living with the tribe. Quite an education, actually.”
“So who are these people?” Roxie asked, pointing to the name and address written on the front of the envelope.
“The Fleets are missionaries. They bought me from the tribe for a handful of trinkets and brought me back to live with them in Encino.”
“I see.”
“It took years to get the jungle out of my veins, but eventu-ally the missionaries tamed my heathen soul and I was fit to live amongst the civilized. The Fleets are simple, God-fearing people, the salt of the Earth. They sent me to this place so I would not forget the lessons I learned in the jungle and to hone my survival skills.”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” Roxie told Ein-stein, nudging him hard in the ribs.
Einstein smiled at her, but refused to retract his story.
“So, what’s a bon vivant like you doing in a place like this?” Einstein asked her, deciding to change the subject. The jungle story had gotten him beaten up on many an occasion, but it did not deter him from telling it whenever the opportunity arose.
“I’m on a top-secret mission,” she replied.
“What kind of mission?” Einstein asked, genuinely curious to know.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Roxie an-swered, sounding like she meant business.
“Which cabin are you in?” he asked.
Einstein did not recall seeing her on the bus, but then again, everyone was in costume. All of the others had remained in character despite the oppressive heat, reinforcing Einstein’s opinion that most of the Creepy Timers were in need of seri-ous therapy.
“That’s on a need-to-know basis, Fleet.”
“I need to know,” he replied.
“No,” she said firmly. “You don’t.”
Einstein enjoyed a good game of cat and mouse. So did Roxie, obviously. Getting information out of her was like try-ing to pry a clamshell open with a baseball card. He decided to try the warm and friendly approach to see if he could loosen her up a bit. Einstein pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and showed it to her.
“I’m assigned to Cabin C.”
“They put you in C-Block?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Einstein asked, noticing the con-cern in her eyes.
“You’re bunking with the werewolves.”
“Don’t remind me,” Einstein moaned. “They’re like a pack of wild hyenas. I’m not even sure if they’re potty trained.”
Roxie did not discuss the matter further, sensing it would only serve to upset Einstein. Instead, they sat together for a few minutes, quietly watching some nasty-looking wasps fight over the discarded remains of a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Speak of the devil,” Einstein said, shaking his head in disgust.
Billy Armstrong and the rest of the gang were jogging down the dirt road, chasing a camper. The camper was dressed up as a mummy, which limited his movement, and his bandages were filled with brown stains. The werewolves were pelting the poor, helpless camper with dirt clods and cheering at every direct hit.
“What a bunch of jerks,” Roxie said angrily. “We gotta do something.”
Einstein picked up a medium-sized dirt clod, palmed it like a softball, and then pointed his index finger at the werewolves. Roxie got the drift of what Einstein had in mind and nodded her approval.
“It’s all in the timing,” Einstein said, sizing up an object about fifty feet away. “See that trash can over there?”
“The one with all the yellow-and-black-striped insects swarming around it?”
“They’re called yellow jackets. It’s kind of like a cross be-tween a bee and a wasp, but these bad boys are a lot nastier.”
“How so?” Roxie asked.
“A bee stings you once and then it dies. A yellow jacket bites and it doesn’t. They can bite you five or ten times in a matter of seconds. Makes a bee sting seem like nothing.”
Einstein could see by the look on her face that Roxie had put two and two together. He pointed at Billy and smiled. “I’ll bet you a buck.”
“You’re on,” Roxie replied.
<
br /> Einstein let the clump of dirt fly, timing the throw perfectly. It smashed into the trash can moments ahead of Billy and the other werewolves, thoroughly annoying the insects. The wolf pack screamed as the yellow-and-black swarm attacked. They were still screaming as they disappeared over the hill, with the yellow jackets in hot pursuit.
“Nice toss,” Roxie said. She raised her hand and gave Einstein five. “There may be more to you than meets the eye, Fleet.”
“Are you forgetting something?” Einstein asked. He turned his palm up and rubbed his thumb to his forefingers. “You owe me a buck. Fast pay makes fast friends.”
Roxie reached into her pocket and smiled. “Don’t have it,” she said, turning her pockets inside out as proof. “But I’d rather owe it to you than cheat you out of it.”
Einstein laughed. No doubt about it, the girl had style. He looked down at his wristwatch and noticed the time. “Are you going to the camp orientation?” Einstein inquired.
Orientation was scheduled for seven o’clock. It would be held right outside the main dining room, directly following dinner. If lunch was any sign of the meals to come, Einstein was going to be a lot thinner before the end of the summer, if he didn’t die of malnutrition first.
“What for? Orientation is for weenies.”
They exchanged conspiratorial looks and smiled. The girl was unlike anyone Einstein had ever met before. Most people would have walked away shaking their heads once they heard the bit about the mountain gorillas. Roxie seemed amused. He dug into his backpack and fished out two golden treats.
“Could I interest you in a Twinkie, comrade?”
5
Cha p te r
D
Day One — 6:08 P.M. inner at Camp Creepy Time was served promptly at six and ended an hour later. No exceptions and no excuses. Rows of dingy green picnic tables were crammed into a stark audito-rium that served both as a dining room and a gathering place for indoor activities, although the only activities appeared to be eating three mediocre meals a day. The memory of lunch was still etched in Einstein’s mind and would most likely haunt him for the rest of his days. The thought of eight weeks of eating hog slop was not very appealing, but what was the alternative?
The food was not the only problem with the cafeteria. Lack-ing ventilation, fans, or anything else that remotely resembled air-conditioning, the temperature in the cramped auditorium was easily twenty degrees hotter than it was outside—and the temperature outside was an inferno. At least three or four campers had passed out from dehydration during lunch and several more already seemed to be reeling from the heat. A big bowl of salt tablets was strategically placed in the center of the buffet for easy access. The tablets prevented dehydration and, given the quality of the camp cuisine, were as edible as anything else on the menu.
The camp cook was nicknamed Curly. Considering he barely had a hair on his head, the name didn’t quite fit. He was short and squat, with big, bushy eyebrows and a perpetual smirk that gave one the impression that the guy was up to no good. Clad in a gravy-stained white apron and a bright blue base-ball cap, the sweaty little man personally supervised the buf-fet line. Einstein recognized him from the bus ride, although Einstein had spent most of the time looking at the back of his balding head. Curly doubled as both the camp cook and the bus driver. The fact that the man could not cook or drive did not seem to stop him from performing either duty. Einstein noticed that Curly’s socks were mismatched, along with every-thing else he was wearing. The man was either color-blind or a hopeless slob.
“Don’t forget to take your salt tablets,” Curly the Cook bellowed as he ladled a mound of purple mush that vaguely re-sembled Jell-O onto the plate of a somewhat weary camper.
“What’s this wilted green stuff?” the next camper asked. “It’s lettuce,” Curly answered, eyeing the boy down. “Haven’t you ever seen lettuce before?”
The camper took a second look at the green pile of moss and scratched his head.
Before the boy could answer, Curly shouted, “NEXT!”
Einstein slid his empty tray across the rusted silver bars and up to the front of the line.
“What can I do you for?” Curly asked, noticing the empty tray.
“You got any Twinkies?”
“You see any Twinkies?” the cook replied sarcastically.
“How about a slice of cheese pizza?” Einstein asked hope-fully. Sweets and pizza constituted the bulk of his diet. In fact, it was all that he would eat. His parents had pleaded with him to expand his menu and eat healthier, but everything else that he tried made him sick to his stomach.
“What you see is what I got, little man,” Curly said, dis-tracted by a big black horsefly circling his head. With a sudden, unexpected motion the cook sprang into action, catching the fly in midair. He paused for a brief second to pull off its wings, then popped it in his mouth and began to chew without giv-ing the matter a second thought. “Try some white bread with ketchup and a slice of American cheese. It’s the same thing.”
“No, thanks,” Einstein replied as he watched the cook wolf down the horsefly. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“Suit yourself,” Curly the Cook said. Without missing a beat, he turned his attention to his next victim. “What can I do you for, camper?”
Einstein stared down at his empty tray and listened to the sound of his stomach growling. He was starving. The food was truly inedible and he was running out of Twinkies. There was no doubt about it. He was going to die of starvation. Einstein watched Bucky and Nurse Knockwurst piling logs into the fire pit outside in preparation for the orientation meeting. They doused the logs with gasoline and tossed in a match. The flames leapt from the pit like a Viking funeral pyre. Einstein briefly considered tossing himself into the pit to end his suf-fering, but then had a better idea.
“Will they be roasting marshmallows at orientation?” he asked the cook.
Curly pulled a large bag of fluffy white balls from beneath the serving table and shook it. “All you can eat, kid.”
Einstein drooled at the thought of marshmallo
ws roast-ing over an open fire. If camp management planned to serve something edible for a change, he wanted to make sure that he got to the campfire ahead of the rest of the starving campers, armed with a long, sharp stick and a good seat next to the fire. Orientation may be for weenies, but even a weenie needed to eat. He dropped the tray in a pile of other unused trays and headed for the door.
“See you around the campfire, Curly.”
Cha p te r
T
Day One — 7:10 P.M. he campers gathered around the pit waited impatiently for Curly to show up with the marshmallows. Some of them were shaking their sticks at Bucky and Nurse Knockwurst; others had engaged in sword fights as they jockeyed for position next to the roaring fire. Einstein had moved to a safe position behind the ruckus, wisely choosing to steer clear of the angry mob.
“What’s the holdup?” one camper screamed.
“What about the marshmallows?” another camper shouted. Einstein noticed that most of the campers were still wear-
ing their costumes, but a few had abandoned them in favor of T-shirts and shorts. Everyone seemed tired and irritable. Considering the heat factor and the lack of a decent meal since they arrived, Einstein thought it was understandable. He looked around for Roxie, but she was nowhere to be found. Oddly enough, she wasn’t the only one who was missing from the camp orientation. The scuttlebutt going around the camp-fire was that some of the campers had decided to go over the wall.
