I miss you, Grandma. Ma sent me a book of crosswords, but it’s more fun doing them with you.
Love,
Abby
July 12
Dear Emily,
l’m glad you like your play group so much. Ma wrote me that Benjamin from upstairs is in it, too. I hear you kissed him. If I were you I’d cut out that kind of stuff.
I’m making you something in arts and crafts but I won’t tell you what it is. It’ll be a surprise when I come home.
Love from your sister,
Abby
P.S. You better not wreck any of the stuff in my room, and don’t draw in any of my books. I mean it!
9
“GIRLS! I HAVE an announcement!” The sound of Aunt Tillie’s voice produced a sudden hush in the noisy Mess Hall. “Tomorrow morning all regular activities are canceled.” Excitement rippled through the room.
“I hope it’s something good,” Abby whispered, trying to spread her prune whip around the edges of her dish so it would look like she’d eaten some.
“Don’t hold your breath,” Roberta whispered back.
“Now, girls, take a close look at the color of your bunkmates’ eyes,” Aunt Tillie instructed, “because tomorrow morning the Blue Eyes and the Brown Eyes will be competing in—a swim meet!”
“Oh, goody,” exclaimed Lisa as the camp erupted in cheers.
Roberta groaned.
“Rats,” said Phyllis. “Now I can’t be on the same team as you, Bonnie.”
“Do we have to be in a race?” Abby asked Marty. Being in swimming races always made her stomach feel like it was doing back flips and her legs like they had turned to spaghetti.
“Yup, that’s the rule. I’ve got the list right here.” Marty fished a piece of paper from her blazer pocket. “For the Blue Eyes: Eileen is in the Ping-Pong race, Roberta’s in the Potato Hunt—”
“I knew it. I get stuck in that every year.”
“—and Phyllis is in the medley relay. For the Brown Eyes: Bonnie’s in the 100-meter freestyle, Lisa’s in the medley relay, and Abby’s in the Cracker and Whistle.”
“I think I got off pretty easy,” Abby said later to Roberta and Eileen on their way to the Rec Hall for evening activity. As Roberta had explained, all Abby had to do for her race was swim one lap, climb on the dock, eat a cracker, then whistle and swim back.
Abby sucked in her cheeks, curled her tongue and let out several tweets. Nothing wrong with that whistle, she assured herself.
“Keep it up, Abby. Practice makes perfect,” Bonnie called out tauntingly from behind her. Then she and Phyllis both started whistling loudly.
“Go ahead and make fun,” Abby retorted, her hands on her hips. “But you won’t be laughing tomorrow when I win the race.”
“We’ll see,” Bonnie smiled.
Abby felt like a Grade-A jerk as she watched Bonnie saunter off arm-in-arm with Phyllis. “Me and my king-size mouth,” she muttered. “What’d I have to go and say that for?” She kicked a pebble in frustration. “Now if I don’t win, Bonnie’ll never shut up about it.”
“Don’t worry. You’re a good swimmer,” Eileen said with quiet reassurance. “I bet you can win.”
“Think positively,” Roberta advised, and then she started up the song that was their current camp favorite:Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts
Mutilated monkey meat
Little birdy dirty feet
Great green blobs of greasy grimy gopher guts
And I forgot my spoon!
It was a perfect morning for a swim meet, thought Abby. The sun hung high in the sky like a shiny gold medal and the lake was clear and calm.
Still practicing her whistle, Abby sat down on the Brown Eyes side of the Fish Bowl. Both teams were already cheering madly. Two of the Brown Eyes from Sunflower, the oldest bunk, stood with their arms crossed, clasping hands. Seated in the human swing they made was a small girl whom they tossed into the air over and over again:“Baby in the high chair,” screamed the Brown Eyes,
“Who put her up there?
Ma! Pa! Sis Boom Bah!
Brown Eyes, Brown Eyes, Rah, Rah, Rah!”
The Blue Eyes answered back with their own deafening cheer:“When you’re up, you’re up
And when you’re down, you’re down.
But when you’re up against the Blue Eyes
You’re upside down!”
Then Aunt Tillie, perched atop a lifeguard chair in the sand, blew her whistle and announced the first race. “Will the girls in the Potato Hunt please assemble on shore,” her voice blared over the bull horn.
Abby watched as Roberta and several girls, almost all guppies, turned their backs to the lake while one of the counselors tossed a bagful of potatoes into the Fish Bowl.
“Show’em who’s champ!” Abby shouted to Roberta as she scrambled into the water with the rest of the Potato Hunters.
“Ab-by. I think you might try rooting for our side,” Lisa snapped, sounding like a prim little schoolteacher.
“Way to go!” Abby screamed as Roberta deposited her first potato on shore.
By the end of the race Roberta had amassed a total of seven. That’s showing them, Abby thought to herself as Aunt Tillie announced the winner of the Potato Hunt and presented a stunned Roberta with her swimming medal.
Roberta’s unexpected victory boosted Abby’s confidence. If Roberta can do it, so can I, she thought, closing her eyes and picturing herself receiving a shiny gold medal of her own for her blazer. “Two, four, six, eight!” the Brown Eyes would cheer for her.
Her heart pounding in anticipation, Abby watched the next races until finally the names of the girls in the Cracker and Whistle were announced over the bull horn. Abby waited at the edge of the dock next to the other contestants, arms back, ready to spring.
The whistle blew and in she jumped, because she was afraid to dive. What time she lost she quickly made up, plowing through the water with quick, sure strokes, her arms pumping up and down, her legs kicking in steady rhythm.
The first to reach the other side, Abby scrambled up the slats of the dock to the excited cheers of her team-mates. Quickly she snatched a cracker from the counselor who was to judge her whistle and stuffed it into her mouth. Out of the comer of her eye, Abby nervously watched the other three girls climb out of the water and go to work on their crackers. She held the lead but only by a little.
Abby chewed furiously. Swallow! she commanded her throat, but her throat would not obey. The dry bits of cracker refused to go down. Abby chomped harder. Still she couldn’t swallow. It was like trying to force down a gigantic wad of glue. Nothing to worry about, she told herself. Just stay calm, forget swallowing and whistle.
That was easier said than done, she soon discovered. With her mouth stuffed full of gummy cracker all that came out was a pathetic whooshing sound—like air being let out of a tire.
Growing more and more nervous, Abby soon heard a faint but unmistakable tweet from the girl next to her who, after getting the okay from her judge, dove back into the water.
She’s beating me! Frantic, Abby pursed her lips again and blew with all her might. Instead of a whistle out flew a mouthful of wet cracker crumbs which sprayed her judge in the eye.
The judge looked startled, then amused. Carefully wiping off her face, she stomped her foot and wagged a finger in mock disapproval, as if Abby had actually spit on her on purpose.
The campers laughed long and hard at this unexpected comedy and before she had time to think better of it, Abby rashly tried whistling again. Again she blew cracker all over the judge’s face. Again the campers screamed with laughter.
Mortified, Abby heard the splash of the other two girls who were starting on their return trip. The only one left! I’m the only one left! Abby let out a panicky wheeze which her judge seemed to interpret as a whistle-either that, or else she just took pity on her—because suddenly she signaled for Abby to swim back.
By the time she climbed out of the
water the girls in the next race were already lined up. As inconspicuously as she could, Abby slunk back to her team’s side of the dock and sat with her knees scrunched up to her chest, waiting for the swim meet to end. The instant the Brown Eyes were announced winners, she scuttled off the dock.
“Wait up, will you,” Abby heard Roberta call from behind. Abby kept on walking up the hill but Roberta came panting up beside her. Abby couldn’t help fixing her eyes enviously on the shiny gold medal pinned to Roberta’s robe. “Hey, congrats! You were terrific,” Abby said with as much cheer as she could muster. “I was rooting for you the whole time.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” said Roberta, blowing on her fingers and rubbing her medal. “You weren’t bad yourself.”
“Oh, yeah.” Abby rolled her eyes.
“Listen. Groucho would have been proud. I bet he didn’t always get laughs like that.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better. I hate looking like such an idiot.” Then, almost in spite of herself, Abby started to laugh. “Did you get a load of my judge’s face? She didn’t know what hit her!”
“Great play, Shakespeare!” Bonnie called out from behind. “Too bad we can’t have a repeat performance.”
Phyllis and some other girls near her started giggling.
Abby felt herself stiffen but forced her mouth into something resembling a smile. “Thank you, fans. Thank you.” Abby bowed deeply as if she were taking a curtain call.
“Let’s hear it again for the little lady!” Roberta said, clapping.
Then Abby swung an arm around Roberta. Funny, but in an odd way, Abby felt almost as if she had won a medal. She marched up to the bunk, swinging her bathing cap and singing as loud as she could, “Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts ...”
10
THREE DAYS of rain, rain, rain, and no sign of it stopping. Jack tournaments and relay races were scheduled in the Rec Hall; an old Lucille Ball movie was shown in the playhouse—until a bat flew down from the rafters and stopped the performance; and a costume party was held in the Rec Hall with second prize awarded to Abby who, dressed in black leotard and tights with a pillow over her head, had come as a toasted marshmallow.
Now on the morning of the fourth straight day of bad weather, Abby sat cross-legged on the floor of Buttercup. She and Eileen were fitting together a jigsaw puzzle of Mount Rushmore that Ma had sent up. Abby looked out the splattered window and listened to the rain outside. It beat down on the roof of the bunk in a steady rhythm. Ratta-tatta. Ratta-tatta. Like the drum at campfire. It was a comforting sound, one that made her happy to be safe inside the snug, dry cabin. If only more days could be like this, thought Abby, while she hunted for the piece with George Washington’s nose. No rushing off from one activity to the next! Imagine! The whole morning free except for compulsory shampoos.
Marty nabbed Roberta first.
“But I’m just getting over a cold. I might have a relapse,” Roberta whined as Marty steered her into the bathroom.
“I have some business I have to attend to at the camp office,” Marty informed them when she reappeared. “I want you all looking beautiful by the time I get back.” Then she grabbed her slicker and dashed out into the pouring rain.
“A likely story,” Bonnie muttered from her bed.
“She must think we’re a bunch of morons,” added Phyllis who was giving Bonnie a back rub. “As if we didn’t know she’s going to the counselors’ shack.”
“What goes on there anyway?” Eileen asked.
“Nobody knows because nobody’s ever seen it,” Lisa piped up. “It’s against the rules for campers to go there. And it’s also against the rules for a counselor to leave us alone in the bunk. We could report her.”
“Only you would think of that,” snapped Bonnie and for once Abby had to agree.
A minute later the noise of running water stopped and the bathroom door swung open to let out a cloud of steam. Roberta emerged; her hair dripping down in wet wormy strands. “Here she comes, Miss Amer-ic-a! Here she comes, your i-deal,” she sang, dousing herself with baby powder.
“Hey, cut it out,” cried Abby from the floor. “You’re getting that stuff all over me.”
Roberta shook her can harder. “Whatsamatter, sweet-cakes ! Don’t you want to smell good, too?” she drawled in a poor imitation of a southern accent.
“Okay, you asked for it!” Abby grabbed the powder can. Up she sprang, scattering puzzle pieces, and began chasing Roberta around the bunk, dousing her with powder whenever she,got close enough to strike.
“Abby, come on. Cut it out,” Lisa whined, peering out the window. “Marty’ll be back and you’ll get us in trouble.”
“Trouble? Who cares? Live dangerously, I always say!” Abby turned on Lisa, showering her with powder, leaped over the bed to sprinkle Eileen, and then emptied the can on Bonnie and Phyllis.
In a flash, everyone—except Lisa—dashed into the bathroom to arm themselves with cans of powder.
The war was on.
Bonnie charged at Abby, powdering her in the eyes so that for a moment she couldn’t see.
“My eyes! My eyes!” she yelped, burying her face in her arm.
For a half-second a worried look crossed Bonnie’s face. “Gotcha!” Abby cried, grabbing Bonnie’s can and going to work on her. “The oldest trick in the book and look who fell for it!”
Furious, Bonnie yelled, “I’ll get you for that, Abby Kimmel,” and she began swatting her with a pillow.
“Roberta to the rescue!” Another pillow whizzed across the bunk.
“Charge!” hollered Phyllis joining the fray.
“Have no fear; Eileen is here!”
In no time a layer of powder mixed with chicken feathers covered the bunk like a light snowfall and still the fight showed no signs of letting up.
“Come on,” screamed Abby after she finished powdering everything of Marty’s she could find—her bed, her books, her clothes. “Let’s attack Bluebell!”
Everyone scrambled for the door. They got no farther.
There on the porch stood Aunt Tillie in a dripping poncho. She did not look amused.
“Girls! What is going on here?” Nobody said a word as Aunt Tillie marched into the bunk and, like a little general, inspected the wreckage. Abby just looked down at her feet and shifted her weight uncomfortably. “Well, I suppose it’s perfectly clear what has been going on,” Aunt Tillie said wryly. Abby stole a quick glance at her. Was there a faint hint of amusement in her voice?
Lisa raised her hand as if she were in class. “I wasn’t in on it, Aunt Tillie. Honest!”
“I’m not interested in who was in on it.” Aunt Tillie’s voice was sharp again. No brownie points for Lisa that time. “What I care about is cleaning up this mess and seeing it doesn’t happen again.” She frowned and pursed her lips. “You’re all very lucky. This sort of horseplay usually ends with somebody getting hurt.”
Just then Marty walked into the bunk and her mouth dropped open.
“Wouldn’t you know it. I’m gone one minute and look what happens,” she scolded, as if only a dire emergency would have dragged her from the bunk.
Aunt Tillie gave Marty a long look and said she wanted to speak to her outside on the porch.
“I bet Marty really gets it now,” Abby whispered. “Aunt Tillie’s no dope.”
“If Marty gets fired, maybe I’ll get to keep Trudy and Rudy here at the bunk,” Eileen said hopefully.
Bonnie snorted. “Don’t you ever think about anything but those dumb gerbils—”
Bonnie shut up fast. Marty was back in the bunk, her lips pressed together and a grim look in her eyes, but she pretended that nothing had happened.
“Well, I hope you’re all satisfied now.” She slung her wet slicker on a wall hook and faced them squarely. “You will spend the rest of the day cleaning up this mess and then right after dinner, you’re all docked. You are going straight to bed and will miss the counselors’ serenade.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, no! Not that!” Roberta clutched herself in shocked disbelief. She sounded as though they had all been sentenced to fifty years on the rack.
Abby sucked in her breath. Roberta was going too far this time.
“Don’t push me, Roberta.” Marty’s face reddened. “You all think you’re so clever. Well, wait until you’ve finished cleaning up the bunk and then ask yourself if it was worth it.”
Abby did as she was told. After hours of sponging and sweeping and dusting away powder and feathers, she wondered how what had taken only minutes to do could take so long to undo. Everyone complained loudly and bitterly but it struck Abby that for the very first time, there was a kind of spirit in the bunk. Maybe not of friendship, she realized, but at least of unity. We all got in trouble together. And we’re all paying for it. Together.
When dinner was over, the exhausted inhabitants of Buttercup trundled back to the bunk where they gratefully collapsed into bed. Right before she fell asleep, Abby remembered to ask herself if it had been worth it.
With her nose buried in her pillow that still smelled sweetly of baby powder, Abby smiled drowsily. Yes ... it had.
July 19
Dear Merle,
It sure would be nice to get some mail (hint, hint). Do you know it’s a week since I got a letter from you? Please write, and that means now.
Yours till bacon strips,
Abby
P.S. Ma and Daddy are coming up this weekend (Emily has to stay at Grandma’s, sob!). It seems like a million years since I’ve seen them—and you too.
July 19
Dear Ma and Daddy,
Please don’t pay any attention to that letter Aunt Tillie sent about not bringing up any candy or junk on Visiting Day. Roberta told me the same letter gets sent every summer and all the parents bring up tons of junk anyway.
I can’t wait to see you. In case you forgot what I look like(ha! ha!) here is a picture. Don’t worry. My hair hasn’t really turned gray. This was taken right after our bunk had a powder fight.
Yours Till Niagara Falls, Abby Page 5
