by Piper Banks
Chapter Sixteen
“I can’t wait to get to the resort,” Hannah said. “I’m going to lie out by the pool and work on my tan.”
Hannah had spent most of the car ride down to the Keys plugged into her iPod, but as we drove down the Overseas Highway, with its sweeping views of the Atlantic Ocean, she abandoned her music in favor of planning her vacation weekend, the extent of which seemed to be sunning herself and painting her nails. I’d spent the long drive working on a short story about a teenage girl aspiring to be a matchmaker, which was inspired by Hannah.
Dad and Peyton exchanged a significant look from the front seat. That should have been my first clue that something was up.
“I thought you didn’t believe in tanning, because it gives you wrinkles,” I said.
“I think that’s only if you get really, really dark. Or burned. If you just get a nice golden shade, it isn’t that bad for you,” Hannah said.
“I thought I read somewhere that any prolonged sun exposure is bad for your skin,” I said.
“Really? Well, maybe by the time I get old, scientists will have found a cure for wrinkles,” Hannah said. “In fact, maybe Emmett will be the one to discover it. Wouldn’t that be cool? I should tell him to develop a wrinkle cream for the science fair instead of a solar-powered car.”
“I think attempting to discover how to reverse human aging might be a little too large of a topic for him to tackle in time for the science fair,” I pointed out.
“Why? Emmett’s really good at science. He might as well put his talent to use,” Hannah said. “So, what are you planning to do this weekend, Miranda? You don’t play tennis, do you?”
“No. I played once and I got hit in the face with a ball. So that was pretty much the end of my tennis career. What else is there to do at the resort?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. But these places usually have tennis courts and a golf course and a spa. Hey, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll go get some spa treatments together,” Hannah said. “Mom, do you want to do that with Miranda and me?”
Peyton didn’t answer. Instead, she and my dad exchanged another significant look.
“What’s going on?” I asked, instantly suspicious. Something was definitely up.
Dad cleared his throat. “Girls, we have something to tell you.”
“What?” Hannah said.
Dad took a deep breath and glanced again at Peyton. She was hiding behind enormous sunglasses, and didn’t seem too eager to jump in and help him out.
“We didn’t exactly tell you the whole truth about what we’re doing this weekend,” Dad said slowly. This sounded so ominous, I half expected to hear menacing music kick up in the background. Dum dum dum.
“But you haven’t told us anything,” I said. “Just that we’re going to a resort in the Keys for the weekend. Which part of that wasn’t true?”
“The resort part,” Dad said.
Hannah and I looked at each other in alarm.
“So, what? We’re staying at a hotel, or a bed and breakfast instead?” Hannah asked hopefully.
“No, it’s more of a ...” Dad’s voice trailed off, and he waved one hand in the air, as though that clarified anything.
“A what, Dad?” I asked.
“A campground,” Dad finished.
This time, Hannah and I stared at each other in horror.
I don’t camp. My dad had taken me camping once before—right after he and my mom split up, and he was going through a phase where he kept wanting to spend quality time with me—and it was a total disaster. It was hot and buggy, and on our first night there, raccoons got into the food and ate or carried off everything we’d brought with us. On the second night, it started to pour, and we learned the hard way that our borrowed tent had several big holes in it.
After that disastrous trip, I swore I’d never go camping again. And I was fairly sure Hannah felt the same way. She thought she was roughing it if she had to stay at a hotel with fewer than four stars.
“This is a joke, right?” Hannah asked hopefully. “A really, really lame joke?”
“No joke,” Dad said.
“Mom?” Hannah asked.
“It was Dr. Patel’s idea,” Peyton said, referring to the marriage therapist she and Dad began seeing over the summer.
“It’s a retreat,” Dad chimed in. “They have all sorts of activities planned that are designed to bring us closer together as a family. And we’ll sleep in tents and roast marshmallows over the campfire. Old-fashioned family fun. Just wait; it’ll be great.”
This was getting worse and worse. Hannah looked at me, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Why would we go camping when there are perfectly nice luxury hotels to stay in?” Hannah asked.
“Yeah, I’m going to have to agree with Hannah here,” I said. “I have homework to do. I need to stay somewhere where I can plug in my laptop.”
“No homework this weekend,” Dad said. “We’re going to focus all of our energy on making our family stronger.”
“You aren’t seriously going to make us do this, are you, Mom?” Hannah asked.
I thought Hannah was wise to appeal to her mother. I couldn’t picture Peyton sleeping in a tent or building a campfire. She had perfectly sculpted nails, hair that was blown out three times a week by her stylist, and wore immaculate clothes in shades of white and ice blue. In fact, watching Peyton cope with the great outdoors might be the only bright spot of the weekend. The Ice Queen versus Mother Nature.
“We’ll just have to make the best of it,” Peyton said, sounding unhappily resigned.
“That’s the spirit,” Dad said cheerfully. “We’re going to have such a good time this weekend, you’ll be begging to go camping again.”
“That,” Hannah said darkly, “is never going to happen.”
Happy Camper Campground was located on Big Pine Key next to a small, murky lake. Dad parked the SUV on a dirt parking lot, and we checked in with the camp coordinator in the main building, which was basically a cinderblock shack with a few oscillating fans that swirled the hot air around. We made our way past the outdoor seating area—a ring of logs circling a flagpole, at the top of which the American flag waved limply—and headed toward the tents, which were, thankfully, already set up in six rows. We were assigned to two tents at the end of the second row. Hannah and I were sharing one tent; Dad and Peyton shared the other.
When we reached our tent, I peeked inside. Inside, there were two cots with foam mattresses.
“At least we won’t have to sleep on the ground,” I said.
“I wonder how many people are going to be here,” Hannah said, looking at the other tents. A few families had already arrived and were starting to unload their cars. “Do you think all of these tents are reserved?”
“No idea,” I said. “But these tents are pitched so close together, we’ll be able to hear if anyone snores.”
“This just gets worse and worse,” Hannah muttered.
We made a few trips back and forth between the SUV and the tents, bringing our luggage and a big blue cooler, which, thankfully, contained food. I’d been half afraid that Dad was going to announce we’d have to fish for our dinner. An unpleasant moment arrived when we discovered that although my dad had stashed four sleeping bags in the back of the car—hidden behind the suitcases—he’d forgotten to pack pillows.
“How are we supposed to sleep without pillows?” Hannah asked. She had wheeled her enormous hot pink suitcase over the bumpy dirt path. The suitcase hadn’t weathered the short trip well. It was now covered with dust, and grass was stuck in the wheels.
“You can fold up a sweatshirt and use that as a pillow,” Dad said.
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Hannah said grumpily.
“Maybe we could go into town and find a store that sells pillows,” Peyton suggested.
“That’s a great idea. And while we’re there, we can check into a hotel,” I said.
“Come on, girls. You have to
adjust your attitudes,” Dad said. “We’re not here to go shopping. We’re here to rough it. The early pioneers didn’t have pillows when they crossed the country in covered wagons, did they? We can survive without some creature comforts for a few days.”
“Wait,” I said as something occurred to me. “Where are the toilets?”
“I’m not sure,” Dad said, looking around.
A scruffy-looking twenty-something guy wearing an I’M A HAPPY CAMPER T-shirt was passing by with a portable hibachi.
“Excuse me. Where are the bathrooms?” Dad asked him.
“The latrines are located on the other end of the camp,” the camp counselor replied.
“Thanks,” Dad said.
“Latrines?” I said. “Did he just say latrines?”
“I guess there isn’t any indoor plumbing. We really are going to be roughing it this weekend,” Dad said happily.
By now, Peyton was looking as horrified as Hannah and me.
“But there are showers, right? Please tell me there are showers,” Peyton said.
“You don’t need a shower,” Dad said. “Just jump into the lake with a bar of soap.”
“Do we know for sure that there aren’t any alligators in that lake?” I asked.
Peyton’s horror turned to alarm. “For God’s sake, Richard. We’re not bathing in alligator-infested water.”
A whistle blew. The other families began to stir—standing, stretching, crawling out of the tent flaps—and turned to head toward the flagpole.
“What does the whistle mean?” Peyton asked.
“I think we’re supposed to meet the program director,” Dad said. “We should go see what’s going on.”
Twenty minutes later, Dad, Peyton, Hannah, and I were sitting uncomfortably on the ring of logs, surrounded by a dozen other families. There was a lot of variation in the ages of our fellow campers. Some of the family groups consisted of all adults—parents in their sixties or older, accompanied by adult children. Others had kids younger than Hannah and me. Oddly, everyone—everyone but Hannah, Peyton, and me, that was—seemed really excited about being there. I wondered whether they’d all found out about the complete lack of indoor plumbing yet.
Our group leader stood in front of us, beaming.
“Welcome to our Family Togetherness Weekend at Happy Camper Campground,” he said. “I’m the head happy camper, Chaz Lundgren. Feel free to call me Chaz.”
He didn’t look like a Chaz to me. He wasn’t slick with gelled-back hair and a tight black T-shirt. Instead, he was short and stooped, with thinning gray hair that he wore back in a stringy ponytail. He wore a lime green I’M A HAPPY CAMPER T-shirt tucked into pleated jeans.
“We’ve been running these Family Togetherness retreats for over ten years. And I think the program just keeps getting stronger. Families come from all over Florida to attend our retreats. Our goal this weekend is to bring you closer together as a family. We have a series of activities planned that will hopefully challenge you to work together, rely on one another, and, ultimately, learn to trust one another more,” Chaz continued.
Chaz had an odd, lilting way of talking, as though he were sure that he was being incredibly persuasive. The effect of this was undermined by a slight lisp and a tendency to emphasize every fourth word, regardless of whether it made sense in the context of what he was saying.
Hannah and I exchanged dark looks. Camping was bad enough. Being forced to participate in a series of planned group activities was an extra layer of awful.
“I’m going to divide you into groups,” Chaz continued. “Group One will participate in a series of trust-strengthening exercises, such as Feeling Charades and role-playing exercises. Group Two will cook a meal together. And Group Three will be the first to attempt the rope course!”
Peyton murmured, “Rope course? I don’t think so!”
But my Dad gave her a quelling look, and Peyton fell silent. She still looked mutinous, though.
As luck would have it, we were assigned Group Three.
The rope course turned out to be an obstacle course, consisting of a long series of rope ladders, rope swings, and large wooden structures we had to climb over. Everyone had to wear helmets, and our individual scores were tallied in one family score. Considering that I was allergic to any activity that made me sweat, and Peyton and Hannah were loathe to engage in anything that might result in a broken nail, I didn’t rate our chances of winning as very good. Dad was enthusiastic, but he wasn’t particularly athletic. Worse, the course—as explained by Chaz, who had accompanied us out there, along with his bullhorn—was set up so that we were forced to help one another out. For example, the first team member who made it over a climbing structure was supposed to assist his or her team members over. Likewise, the rope swing was nearly impossible to maneuver on your own; you needed a team member to hold it steady for you while you climbed on.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Hannah said, standing with her arms crossed over her bebe tank top. “There’s no way we’re going to be able to do this.”
“Not with that sort of attitude,” Dad said. “There’s no me in team.”
His optimism was really starting to annoy me. And, from the expressions on Peyton’s and Hannah’s faces, Dad was having the same effect on them.
“What does that even mean?” Hannah said. “There’s no me in team? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“And it’s not even true. If you take away the t and the a, and switch around the m and the e, you do have me,” I said.
“Richard, I really don’t want to do this,” Peyton said. She adjusted her helmet, trying to get it to sit more comfortably on her head. “And this helmet is going to ruin my hair. I just had it done yesterday.”
“Will you all please stop complaining?” Dad said. “Come on—this is going to be fun.”
Chaz blew three sharp, shrill blasts on his whistle. He was enjoying the power of having a whistle just a little too much.
“Okay, teams. Line up,” Chaz said through his horn. “Does everyone know what the rules are?”
“No,” Hannah, Peyton, and I said in unison. Unfortunately, we were drowned out by an enthusiastic chorus of yeses from everyone else, including Dad. One of the other teams—a peppy couple in their seventies who were attending the camp with their children and grand-children, all of whom were wearing matching purple T-shirts emblazoned with the slogan YES, WECAN—started cheering so enthusiastically, they drowned out Chaz’s last-minute tips.
“What?” Hannah yelled at me.
“I have no idea,” I yelled back.
“Three, two, one, GO!” Chaz yelled. He blew his whistle again, and everyone but us began racing toward the first obstacle, which was a rope ladder. The purple team got there first and began scaling up it. We were the last team to arrive, and by the time Peyton, Hannah, and I had walked over, Dad was already at the foot of the rope ladder, waiting impatiently for us.
“Come on, come on,” he said.
“Richard, I really don’t think I can do this,” Peyton said. She looked worriedly up at the ladder.
“Of course you can! Come on—start climbing, girls,” Dad said.
Hannah and I both tentatively started to climb. Dad jumped on right behind us, and Peyton slowly brought up the rear. I could hear her swearing under her breath the whole way up. At the top of the ladder there was a platform that connected to another platform via an extremely rickety wooden bridge, which twisted and turned when you stepped on it. The rest of the teams had already scrambled across it and were on to the next challenge, which was a rope swing.
“Is this even safe?” Hannah said, after putting one foot on the bridge to test it and quickly withdrawing it. “What if we fall?”
We both peered down at the ground below, which looked very solid and very hard.
“I think that’s what the helmets are for,” I said.
“I’d rather have a net,” Hannah said.
Peyton arrived on the platform besid
e us, puffing from the effort.
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, surprised that Peyton had made it to the top before my dad had.
Peyton actually smiled, which was unusual for her at the best of times, much less under the current circumstances.
“He’s stuck,” she said.
We all turned and looked down the rope ladder. Dad’s foot was stuck in the rope ladder. He clung to the ropes, red-faced and wild-eyed, while Chaz—who still had the bullhorn tucked under his arm—attempted to untangle him.
“I’ve never seen anyone manage to get their foot stuck before. How did you do this?” Chaz said, grunting with the effort.
“Go on without me,” Dad shouted at us. “We can still win.”
Hannah and I looked at one another and were overcome by a fit of the giggles. Even Peyton couldn’t resist joining in.
“I’m totally not going over that,” Hannah said, pointing at the twisty bridge.
“If we leave now, we can drive to Hawks Cay Resort and see if they have any rooms available,” Peyton said.
Hannah and I both cheered this suggestion. The three of us turned and climbed back down the rope ladder, taking care to avoid stepping on my dad.
“What are you doing? You’re going the wrong way!” Dad said frantically.
“Mr. Bloom, you have to stop moving around so much if I’m going to get you free,” Chaz grunted.
Once Hannah, Peyton, and I were all safely on the ground, we unbuckled and removed our helmets. I hadn’t realized how hot my head had been until the helmet was off. I lifted my hair into a ponytail to cool off my neck, while we watched Chaz’s continued efforts to free Dad.
