by Cary Fagan
“Almost made it,” he said without opening his eyes.
Amber rowed hard until her arms were too tired and I took over. She held Zach’s hand as he lay there looking like he was asleep.
I didn’t stop until the pointed bow slid onto the sand of the beach. Now we would have to put away the boat and get Zachary back to bed without anyone knowing.
“Hey, what exactly are you doing there!”
It was Stuart’s voice. I looked up and saw three silhouettes on the rise.
One of them leaned on a cane.
Old Man Klopschitz.
“Go on! Run!” I hissed.
Amber stepped onto the beach and sprinted off. Somebody shouted at her but didn’t follow. I told myself to run but I didn’t.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
Turning, I saw Old Man Klopschitz, cigar in his mouth, leaning on his cane.
“You, boy,” he said grimly. “Get out of that boat.”
14
COME BACK SOON
STUART WRAPPED ZACHARY IN blankets and drove him to the hospital in Haliburton, in case he was suffering from hypothermia. It turned out that he was only exhausted. Still, he was going to stay in the hospital for twenty-four hours.
I found this out in the morning from a secretary. Old Man Klopschitz let me go to bed after he discovered us, but in the morning Jerry took me to the office before breakfast.
Old Man Klopschitz came in, cleared his throat of phlegm and said, “You’re expelled, kid.” Then he left me alone again.
Unlike Zachary, I’d never been kicked out of anything. I’d never even had a detention in school.
The secretary brought me some breakfast because I wasn’t allowed to leave the office building, not even to pack my duffel bag. I sat in a room without windows, but I could hear kids outside, running and laughing. I tried to imagine what Carrots and Flap Ears and the other guys were saying.
When the secretary came in to get a file I asked if I could say goodbye to my friends, but she said that Old Man Klopschitz had forbidden my speaking to any campers.
Still no one came.
Finally Jerry came into the room and told me to come with him. I walked outside, the bright light hurting my eyes, and saw my mother and father standing beside our car. The trunk of the car was open and my duffel bag was inside.
I ran to them and threw myself sobbing into my mother’s arms. She held me tight and my father stroked my hair and they were both saying, “It’s all right, it’s all right.”
They put me in the car. I didn’t look out the windows because I didn’t want to see any campers staring at me.
My parents got in and my father slowly drove along the road. A sign nailed to a tree said You Are Leaving Camp White Birch. Come Back Soon! On either side of us, branches heavy with leaves or needles brushed our car. We turned onto the highway and speeded up.
“You must be hungry,” my mother said. “We brought you some lunch.”
Only then did I notice the paper bag on the seat beside me. I opened it and saw a tuna fish sandwich wrapped in cellophane, an apple, a bag of potato chips and a can of ginger ale, which was the drink my mother always gave me when I was sick. I wolfed down the sandwich, which tasted delicious, just the way my mother always made it, and drank the ginger ale.
“Oh, yes,” my mother said. “Somebody gave us a note for you. A girl.”
She reached back and I took the folded piece of paper from her. But I didn’t open it right away. I held it in my hand and looked out the window at the trees going by, the gas station, a pile of old tires, signs for bait and picnic tables.
I opened the letter and read it.
The wind made a sound through the open windows.
I read it again.
“Are you okay back there?” my father asked.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I said.
And I was.
About the Publisher
GROUNDWOOD BOOKS, established in 1978, is dedicated to the production of children’s books for all ages, including fiction, picture books and non-fiction. We publish in Canada, the United States and Latin America. Our books aim to be of the highest possible quality in both language and illustration. Our primary focus has been on works by Canadians, though we sometimes also buy outstanding books from other countries.
Many of our books tell the stories of people whose voices are not always heard in this age of global publishing by media conglomerates. Books by the First Peoples of this hemisphere have always been a special interest, as have those of others who through circumstance have been marginalized and whose contribution to our society is not always visible. Since 1998 we have been publishing works by people of Latin American origin living in the Americas both in English and in Spanish under our Libros Tigrillo imprint.
We believe that by reflecting intensely individual experiences, our books are of universal interest. The fact that our authors are published around the world attests to this and to their quality. Even more important, our books are read and loved by children all over the globe.
