Revenge of the Happy Campers

by Jennifer Ziegler

  “Mo!” Delaney was on her knees, shouting out the back window of the tent. “Mo! Here, Mo!” She made a loud whistle that hurt my ears.

  “Ding-dang it, Delaney! Why do you keep on calling that donkey like a dog?”

  “Well, how would you call a donkey?”

  “I wouldn’t!”

  “I just worry about him being out there in the rain.”

  “He’s been living out here since we were in diapers, Delaney. He doesn’t need you to look after him. Besides, we’re supposed to be plotting our next strike against those scoundrels.”

  “But I thought we were done battling the boys,” Darby said.

  “How many times do I have to say this? We’re not done!” I said. “No way are they getting the last move.”

  I noticed Darby and Delaney exchanging looks, but I didn’t care.

  On the other side of Darby lay our soggy flag, which we’d taken down off its pole. The marker colors had run a little, but the design was still clear. Each time my eyes passed over it, it reminded me of the competition and my gut felt all bunched up. I’d been so sure we would win. How could I ever hope to be president if I couldn’t even win a camping standoff?

  The incident at the lake rattled me a little. Okay, maybe a lot — especially right after our accidental loss of the fishing contest. I’m used to always being a step ahead of everyone. And this was the first time I’d met somebody just as high-reaching as I was, not counting my sisters.

  Aunt Jane had always said we were exceptional. Only … here was some boy at the very same campground, at the very next campsite, who also plans to be president someday. So maybe I wasn’t as special as I thought.

  In the beginning, it made me mad that Jay thought he was smarter than me. But here’s a secret: Now I was worried that maybe he actually was — and that scared the tarnation out of me.

  Even as I sat there trying to plot our next step, I was all shaky on the inside. I worried that I’d lost my mojo. Or that I never had it in the first place and just fooled myself for almost twelve years. Everything I’d been working toward was now in question.

  There had to be some way we could defeat them — or at least get Jay as riled up as he got me.

  “What if we made lots of flags and put them everywhere else in the campground except for their campsite and the lake?” I suggested. “We could beat them at their own game!”

  “But … it’s raining.” Delaney pointed out the window. As if I couldn’t see, hear, smell, and feel it.

  “Also, it took a long time to create our flag,” Darby said. “I’m not sure we have the time or supplies to make more.”

  “What if we infiltrated the boys’ camp and stole their food?” I asked.

  Delaney’s mouth fell open. “That’s unethical.”

  “Or what if we snuck over there and sewed their tent shut while they’re inside it?”

  “That’s dangerous and unethical,” Darby said.

  “You two could be more supportive of my ideas, even if they are lousy,” I said. “It’s impossible to come up with one of my brilliant plans under these conditions.”

  Even as I said it, I knew that was a lame excuse. If a president were in a bunker somewhere having to come up with strategies to help the nation, she couldn’t give up and blame it on bombs exploding outside or meteorites falling all around.

  “Besides,” I added in a grumbly voice. “Those boys started it. They’re the ones who’ve been playing dirty.”

  Just then, a horrible honking sound came from the other side of the canvas wall. I nearly jumped to my feet and ran off, bringing the tent with me.

  “It’s Mo!” Delaney shouted. “He’s here! He came to see us!”

  The girl was so excited, she was practically turning cartwheels.

  “All right, all right. Hyper down. That’s all we need is to have to set up this tent a third time.”

  “I want to give him a little snack as a reward,” Delaney said.

  “Don’t make him sick,” Darby warned.

  “I won’t. It’ll just be a little one.” She looked all around the tent. “Where are the chips?”

  “Over there in the corner,” I said, pointing.

  As Delaney lifted the bag, she let out a cry of surprise. “Huh? Why are they dripping?”

  Darby and I crawled over to see for ourselves.

  “Oh no!” Darby said. “There’s water coming into the tent!”

  Sure enough, there was a big puddle in the front left corner of the tent with a few chips floating in it. It had already soaked the edge of Darby’s sleeping bag and was quickly spreading.

  “There’s no way we can stay out here,” Delaney said. “We have to move back in with Aunt Jane before we’re all underwater.”

  “No!” I shouted.

  Darby placed her hand on my arm. “Dawn, what are we trying to prove?”

  “That we’re the best at governing!”

  “But … look at us.” Delaney gestured around the wet, mildew-stained tent. “How is staying out here going to do that?”

  “We’ve gone along with your plans all this time, but it’s time to stop,” Darby said as she continued to pat my arm. “There’s competitiveness and there’s foolhardiness.”

  “But … but …” I stammered. But I knew they were right. Our lousy award-winning tent was falling apart. We had to go back to the camper.

  It seemed like a sign — a warning that no matter what we tried, we couldn’t prevail. None of my plans were working, and of my teammates, two were naysayers to all my ideas and one was a wet donkey.

  I hated giving in. It felt like Jay was getting the last move. But for the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I wasn’t a great leader after all.

  It was raining the next day, too, but my wish had come true and I was back to sleeping on the soft snuggly bunk in the trailer.

  After we ate cereal and did some Mad Libs together, Aunt Jane went to HQ to help Mrs. Kimbro and promised she’d return for lunch. Dawn, Delaney, and I played six straight games of Spite and Malice — most of which I won — and then we were officially sick of cards. So we all spread out to various parts of the trailer to do our own thing.

  Normally, I don’t mind being cooped up during bad weather. I even love it. It’s like an automatic lazy day. A time to stay indoors and lie around reading and dreaming. There’s something about doing nothing with your body that lets your imagination go leaping and playing about.

  But Delaney still just leaps about the regular way — rain or shine.

  That girl was driving me bonkers. She was running from one window to the other yelling out at Mo, making excuses to open the door so she could sneak him snacks, and singing songs substituting “Mo” for part of the lyrics.

  Like … “Rain, Rain, Mo Away!”

  Or … “Mo, Mo on the Range!”

  Or … “Happy Mo Day to You!”

  Usually, Dawn would stop all that commotion with her fussing. Only Dawn didn’t seem to be herself. She was like a soda with no more fizz. She’d barely paid attention to her cards during the games, and was now slouched in the corner of the bunk looking sullen. Even Aunt Jane’s promise that morning to bring back cupcakes only brought out a lackluster whoop from Dawn.

  “What’s with you?” Delaney had remarked. “You had more vigor and verve when you were asleep.”

  Dawn just mumbled something about the rain being a big downer, but I wondered if there was more to it than that. She had so little spirit. I wished I could drain some of Delaney’s energy and volume and pour it into Dawn.

  I reached my breaking point when Delaney started singing the Star Wars theme using only “Mo” as lyrics (“Mo MO! Mo-mo-mo MO! Mo”). As she sang, she hung upside down on the padded bench, drumming out rhythms on the underside of the table.

  While Delaney banged and warbled, I crawled over to where Dawn sat slumped in the corner of our bunk and sat beside her.

  “We need to have an emergency meeting,” I sa
id.

  “Good luck,” she said. “Delaney seems … busy.”

  “No. I mean, we need to call a meeting about Delaney. Just you and me.”

  She looked right at me and raised her eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

  “If the rain doesn’t stop soon and I end up in this camper with Delaney for much longer, I’m going to have a fit.”

  “You?” Dawn seemed somewhat impressed. “You hardly ever lose your cool.”

  “That’s why I’m coming to you. I’ve hit my limit,” I said with a sigh. “I have no idea how you are dealing with this ruckus.”

  “I reached my limit the first day into this accursed trip. You know that.” She reached down to scratch her left leg. The ant stings were now just tiny red dots, but they probably still itched.

  “Yeah. Sorry,” I said.

  She lifted her shoulders in an oh, well type of gesture. “Nothing I can do. And there’s nothing we can do about Delaney, either. We just have to accept that we’re stuck in a dungeon of torment and despair. At least we get cupcakes later.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But I think I have an idea.”

  Dawn looked doubtful. Either she was too deep in her wallowing to imagine a way out or she didn’t believe me capable of coming up with a plan.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  I glanced over at Delaney. She was still hanging upside down, but was now singing “The Star Spangled Banner” with all “Mo” lyrics. Then I scooted as close to Dawn as I could and whispered, “The van.”

  “What about it?”

  “Let’s convince Delaney that she should go spend a few hours in there. We’ll say it’s like having her own room. That way she can be closer to Mo and get as loud as she wants. Then you and I can stay here and enjoy the peace and quiet.”

  “Wow. That really is a good idea.”

  “Thanks.” I puffed up proudly. Dawn is stingy with praise, which makes it even more powerful when it’s used.

  I waited for Dawn to do what she does best — to plot out the best way to put our scheme in motion. Instead she crawled to the edge of the bunk, reached for her shoes, and started slipping them on her feet.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m calling dibs on the van.”

  “Wait … What? But we were going to get Delaney to go out there. We agreed!”

  “No, we didn’t. We just talked about it. And I’ve just now reserved the van for myself.”

  “But why?”

  She paused in her activity to shoot me an incredulous look. “To escape this pain and torture. Why do you think?”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “You should have claimed it first if you wanted it.”

  “But with my plan, if Delaney goes out there, everyone benefits. If you go out there, only you do!” I scooted off the bunk and stood in front of her. “You aren’t being democratic. You’re being … a lousy opportunist!”

  “Oh yeah? Well next time you call a secret meeting about Delaney, you should follow proper procedure. We never actually voted on a plan of action, so no rules were broken.”

  Dawn must have said this during one of those rare, brief periods when Delaney was quiet because suddenly she was right there beside me.

  “You called a secret meeting about me?” Delaney said to me. “How could you? I thought we were partners after you and I had the meeting about Dawn.”

  “About me?!” Dawn cried, leaping to her feet.

  “Don’t act so surprised,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “You’re the one who’s always going on and on about democracy and official procedure, but then you went and entered us in that competition without even asking us first!”

  “I can’t believe this!” Dawn waved her arms and shouted up at the ceiling. “You guys had a meeting behind my back!”

  “She called it.” I pointed at Delaney.

  “So? I learned it from you.” Delaney pointed at Dawn. “You called one about Darby.”

  “What?” It felt like cold needles were jabbing my stomach. “You guys met without me?”

  “We had to,” Dawn shouted. “You were endangering us all with your daredevil wilderness antics. This is camping, not a jungle safari!”

  “Backstabbers!”

  “Double-crossers!”

  “Turncoats!”

  A loud whistle pierced the air, making us all freeze. I spun about and saw Aunt Jane standing in the open doorway of the trailer, holding a plastic container of cupcakes.

  “You girls are louder than grandpa’s Sunday tie,” she said. “Now … Who’s going to tell me what’s going on here?”

  We were a sorrowful sight — and probably a sorrowful sound, too. I lay crying on one bunk, Darby was across the trailer crying and hiccupping on the other bunk, and Dawn was under the table pretending she wasn’t upset, even though she was.

  Mo wasn’t even outside anymore. Apparently, we’d scared him off with our loud bickering.

  “I am not having a good time,” I said. It was probably obvious considering I was sobbing into a wadded-up blanket, but I felt like it needed to be stated.

  “This is the worst vacation ever,” Dawn said.

  “We aren’t — hic! — united in fun,” Darby said in a shuddery voice. “We aren’t even united.”

  Meanwhile, Aunt Jane sat on the padded bench, listening quietly and occasionally passing us all tissues.

  We were all hurt that the other two had undercover meetings where we’d each been excluded and then talked about. We felt it was unfair, unkind — and unconstitutional. After all, full representation is a necessary part of democracy, and until recently we’d always followed proper technique.

  But in addition to being mad at my sisters, I was mad at myself. I don’t mean to be such a live wire — that’s just how I am. Only I sometimes forget that my activity and chatter can get on other people’s nerves. I need to keep that in mind more.

  I guess, by the same token, Darby can’t help that she’s such a risk taker and Dawn can’t help being so pigheaded. No matter how maddening it can be, they are who they are. Normally, we’re defending one another from people who don’t understand us. So it hurt extra bad that we were turning on each other just for being ourselves.

  Once the wailing had died down to whimpers, Aunt Jane said, “Know what I think? You gals are suffering from an acute case of cabin fever.”

  “But we’re in a trailer,” I pointed out.

  “All right then. Trailer fever,” Aunt Jane said. “You’ve been cooped up too long together and it’s natural you’d get on one another’s nerves.”

  “They hate me,” Dawn said.

  “No, they hate me,” Darby said.

  “Even Mo doesn’t want to be seen with me anymore,” I said.

  “Now, now,” Aunt Jane said. She hopped up to hand us all another round of tissues and then sat back down at the table. “No one hates anyone or anything. And I blame myself for spending all that time with Tammy these past few days.”

  “It’s not — hic! — your fault,” Darby said.

  “Maybe not entirely. But the point is, it’s natural you three would be going a little stir-crazy,” Aunt Jane said. “I went through this exact sort of thing myself with your mom when we were girls.”

  I lifted my head to look at Aunt Jane. At the same time, Darby rolled over to look at her, and Dawn leaned sideways from her spot under the table to take a peek.

  “Hic! How so?” Darby asked.

  Aunt Jane laughed quietly. “Oh, Annie and I … We used to drive each other batty. I thought she was so smug and bossy …”

  Darby and I both snuck a look at Dawn. We couldn’t help it.

  “And she thought I was irresponsible and into disgusting things,” Aunt Jane went on.

  Dawn and I snuck a look at Darby.

  “And neither of us could keep still or quiet for longer than two minutes,” she added.

  Dawn and Darby turned their gazes toward me.

  Aunt
Jane sat back against the bench cushion and took a quick peek out the window behind her. “Rainy days were always the worst,” she said. “Actually any day when we were trapped together, just the two of us. We’d always end up doing things on purpose to make each other mad.”

  “Like what?” Dawn asked.

  “Oh, you know. The usual. Hiding the other person’s shoes. Pouring a little Tabasco sauce into the other’s oatmeal bowl. Putting geckos into the other’s sleeping bag.”

  “That’s awful!” Darby exclaimed. But she was chuckling a little. So was I. Even Dawn had a small grin on her face.

  “And I used to say terrible things.” Aunt Jane shook her head and her mouth made twisty motions — just like Dawn does when she’s upset. “I’d holler that I couldn’t wait to move out and we’d finally be apart. I’d tell her that once I graduated, I’d move far away from her and never ever come back.”

  I sucked in my breath. I couldn’t imagine Aunt Jane saying such a thing.

  “And you know what?” Aunt Jane asked.

  “What?” Dawn said, climbing up onto the padded bench beside her.

  “I did end up moving far away from home. And do you know what happened?”

  “What?” I asked, taking a seat on the bench next to Dawn.

  “I missed my sister something awful,” Aunt Jane said, her voice cracking a bit. “I realized she was the best friend I ever had — and ever would have — even if she was sometimes smug and bossy.”

  Darby shot off her bunk and sat down on the other side of Aunt Jane, leaning against her.

  “Truth is,” Aunt Jane went on, “I still miss Annie lots and lots when I’m not near her. And I miss you three girls, too.”

  Now we were all hugging her. Tears were running down my face again, but they were different kinds of tears. The kind that happen when you love someone so much, it hurts.

  “And — hic! — do you miss Lily?” Darby asked.

  “Of course Lily.”

  “And Dad?” Dawn asked.

  “I miss that goofball, too.”

  “And Quincy?” I asked.

  “That rascal pup?” She laughed. “Why, yes. Even him.”

  “We miss you, too, Aunt Jane,” Darby said. “Whenever you aren’t with us.”