Shells, Smells, and the Horrible Flip-Flops of Doom

by Rachel Vail

  July 11, Sunday

  A kid should not have to explain why he just does not feel like swimming one weekend, even if it is beautiful out. Maybe there is no reason: He just would not like to swim, thanks anyway.

  A thing I do not enjoy about blue skies and 82 degrees is that everybody is under pressure to be in a good mood even if they are not.

  And they would maybe like to spend some time shooting bad guys in peace instead of swimming or kicking a ball.

  When we picked up Qwerty from the kennel on our way home from the beach, he was so happy to see us he could not settle down. The whole way home in the car, he was telling us the story of his horrible weekend. We didn’t understand the details because Qwerty talks only Dog. But we sure got the gist of it.

  When he finally seemed done, I asked, “So you didn’t have much fun at Doggie Camp, Qwerty?”

  He looked me right in the eye like, You have no idea what it’s like in there! And then he told me again the whole long story of his Weekend of Horror. Even though it was all in Dog, I could tell that it was full of sorrow and drool.

  I knew just how he felt.

  Because I was heading back to my camp in eleven hours.

  July 12, Monday

  Quad is where everybody sings at the end of the day.

  Some counselors play instruments like guitar and tambourine and ukulele. Some counselors do the songs in sign language while singing in English (or sometimes another language, possibly Spanish). The campers are all supposed to sing, no exceptions even if you have trouble with tune or don’t know the words because last year you went to Science Camp instead.

  But today it was too darn hot for me to sing. I tried for the first song, but I could not keep it up. My mouth and my eyes and my voice all needed to close down.

  My favorite sport is just playing. The kind of playing where you make up some imaginary things like bad guys or evil planets or demonic zombies, and then everybody chases everybody else around. At Camp GoldenBrook, there are no demonic imaginaries and there is no just playing. There are activities all day long.

  I was so worn-out from activities and clothes changing and trying to walk in flip-flops when we go down to the pool and faking a cramp so I could get out early when my teeth were chattering that I had to lie down on my back right there in the middle of a song called “Baby Shark” instead of singing.

  I truly didn’t care if I got yelled at for the first time in my entire life.

  While I waited to get yelled at, I watched the clouds sagging in the sky. They looked hot and tired, too.

  The counselors were all too boiled to care if we participated, so nobody yelled at me, not even James/Jay.

  Maybe this is how the tough kids get that way, I thought. They wear themselves out by so much activities, until their insides stop jangling with feelings.

  Montana C. spread her towel next to mine, and I think she might have fallen asleep. I didn’t want to look at her and have her ask me why I was looking at her. So I could not be certain if she was sleeping or just breathing slow and deep.

  I also didn’t want somebody else to notice me looking at Montana C. Like, for example, I didn’t want Cash to see me looking at her and poke Xavier and say, Look who likes Montana C.! Cash calls her Montana C., even though there is no Montana B. at this camp because Montana B. went away to France for the summer to visit her grandparents, so Cash only knows one Montana (other than the state). But Montana C.’s name is just Montana C. It would be weird to call her Montana, even as a nickname, for short.

  Cash doesn’t know Montana B. because he is the new kid, who moved here from Tennessee and says girls are gross in a cool slow accent. He is tall and has all his grown-up teeth, and he is the fastest Hawk. Also he is the most popular boy. Everybody answers yeah no matter what Cash says.

  Xavier chose Cash as his buddy for free swim instead of his best friend, Gianni Schicci, today. Xavier and Gianni have been best friends since kindergarten.

  Today Gianni spent a lot of time kicking rocks and growling. All because of this new kid Cash. Who I did not need teasing me about looking at Montana C. even to see if she was singing or sleeping or watching clouds like me.

  So I just stayed still there on my towel with my eyes on the sky.

  Quad is officially my favorite part of the Camp GoldenBrook day.

  No progress on hating girls yet. But maybe hating girls is like tennis or Newcomb so it takes a lot of practice before you get good at it.

  July 13, Tuesday

  James/Jay caught me laughing while we were making lanyards during the rainstorm. Apparently laughing is against the Camp GoldenBrook rules, like going barefoot to the pool even if your toe valley is rubbed raw from your horrible flip-flops. You have to wear them anyway, no excuses.

  Also, apparently, no laughing.

  Yesterday I thought I had grown out of minding if somebody puts me in trouble. Today I learned that maybe I didn’t fully grow out of that. Also that the space between my big toes and my second toes is huge. I didn’t ever know that about myself. Now all the Hawks do. It was the big attraction after first swim.

  The reason I laughed at arts and crafts despite the recent toe-humiliation problem, which I have to complain about to Mom and Dad tonight for their lousy genes, is that when Xavier messed his lanyard up for the fortieth time, he made a snorty sound. It sounded exactly like a pig. Pigs make me laugh. Or, at least, pig sounds. I am not sure if an actual pig would be funny to me. I have never met an actual pig.

  My guess is that I would find an actual pig less hilarious than a pig sound coming out of a kid. I might be a little bit scared of an actual pig. But I am not sure. Maybe I’d be brave.

  James/Jay pointed his finger right at my nose.

  “What’s so funny, Funny Man?”

  The reason I did not answer is because I normally do not get in trouble. Well, maybe sometimes with my parents.

  But when somebody who is not Mom or Dad yells at me like that, I lose my word-forming skills. Also, when somebody calls me Funny Man in such an angry voice, it turns out, there is a chance I might start laughing.

  I took a deep breath, the way Mom says I should when my feelings are knocking me around. While I breathed in, I wondered if I was more likely to laugh or cry on the out breath. It was about even, I decided.

  “You are on my list,” James/Jay growled at me while I was exhaling. That tipped me way more toward crying.

  I didn’t know counselors had lists. I still don’t know what it means if you are on a counselor’s list, or what to do about it.

  I don’t know if James/Jay counts as a kid or an adult or why he hates me. Usually, this kind of thing does not happen to me. Teachers often hate Xavier and Gianni so they are used to it. I have no skills for not minding this.

  At lunch, we had hockey pucks again. I couldn’t stab my teeth through the whatever it was, so I gave mine to Cash, who was very happy. Even though he is the opposite of chubby, he is always hungry. He said he has never been full in his life.

  I keep thinking about that.

  Then at Free Play after lunch I found out about a new game only a few boys are invited to play, and I got to be one of the special few now that I got in trouble (twice in one day) because of the toe-space/flip-flop issue and then the pig-noise issue. I used to just watch Bartholomew Wiggins play Parcheesi with Marcus Snoot-Slutsky during Free Play.

  The new game is called Knuckles. It is a card game I don’t know how to play. Cash said, “Just play, you’ll get it. You’re smart.” I didn’t want to say not that smart, apparently, but the truth is: I did not get it. All I know is that when you lose, you get hit with the side of the deck of cards right on your knuckles a number of times, with everybody counting up the hits together, in excited whispers. I lost four games and so did Gianni. Xavier lost twice and Koji three times. Cash lost zero times.

  Knuckles is a secret game. You are not allowed to say the word knuckles to anybody, especially a grown-up. If you tell a grown-up, includin
g parents or counselors, about the game of Knuckles, you are really going to Get It.

  I am learning a lot of new things at this camp, like that counselors have lists that they put kids on if they laugh at a pig noise and that counselors who are teenagers count as grown-ups even if they are mean to kids and that if you tell a grown-up that your friends hit you with a deck of cards if you lose a game you don’t really know the rules of or if you even want to play, you will Get It.

  I am hoping to learn some new things in the second half of July, like how to get off a counselor’s list. I am also working on finger strength, so I can get out of the group of three Hawks (Bartholomew Wiggins, Penelope Ann Murphy, and me) who can’t manage to stay up on those rings we have to swing across the mud puddles on. It would be nice to get at least one darn penny off the bottom of the pool, but maybe I am just too floaty to ever succeed at that. Also you have to open your eyes underwater, which I am never ever in my life going to do because I am not a fish so I don’t have clear membranes protecting my eyeballs, and I don’t care what the cool swim teacher Mike says—goggles do not keep the water out.

  Another good ambition is if I could please figure out what the rules are of the game Knuckles so my fingers don’t fall off from that, too.

  I am hoping not to learn what “Get It” means or if there actually is quicksand under the mud puddles or why the juice at this camp is the type called Bug.

  July 14, Wednesday

  July 14 is French for July 4.

  Because of that, we had mini croissants for snack, and the counselors sang songs in French during Quad.

  And Montana C. taught me how to say two things in French. One is thank you and the other is shut up. I can’t remember which is which, though, so if I meet somebody French who gives me a nice thing, I will stay quiet, just in case.

  I almost showed Montana C. my perfect shell, but then I didn’t because Xavier yelled, “Hey, Justin Case!” so I had to go. I kept my hand in my pocket, rubbing the shell while I headed for the bus. My shell is the only thing that helps my aching knuckles.

  Nothing helps the toes.

  July 15, Thursday

  The only thing I could think of all through dinner was Knuckles Knuckles Knuckles.

  I kept wondering what I should do if Mom asked, “What are those joints in the middles of fingers called?”

  Then I almost said knuckles when Dad asked if I would like to go with him to get ice cream. I said, “Knuck—uhhh. Yes. Please. I would, yes, like to, yes. Okay. And that is all I have to say about that topic so please yes let’s just go.”

  Dad looked at Mom like maybe she should call Dr. Carroll because maybe I had a fever or something.

  Mom shrugged at him. That was her whole answer. And then, luckily, she did not ask what are those joints in the middles of fingers called? So I dodged the problem there for the moment.

  I kept my jaw shut tight the whole drive to the ice-cream place and managed only to say, “Monster Cookie, please,” instead of knuckles when Dad asked me what flavor I would like.

  July 16, Friday

  On the way down to first swim, my left flip-flop broke apart. The sticky-uppy part came unattached from the bottom. My foot went slamming forward, and then I slanted so far backwards that I knocked right into Penelope Ann Murphy, and the two of us tumbled down the hill together.

  The good news was we had to miss first swim.

  The bad news was that she smelled like pudding and also the bleeding and the crying.

  I mostly held mine in but Penelope Ann Murphy was not so successful with that. Then we had to go the nurse’s office.

  The nurse put Band-Aids on both my knees and gave me ice for my knuckles, which she noticed were red. She thought it was from the fall.

  Penelope Ann stayed in the nurse’s office the rest of the day, but I went back to the group after my counselor Natalia came to pick us up and gave us our clothes to change into. It was nice to change in the nurse’s bathroom with the door closed, but it was really nice to walk alone with Natalia through the pine trees back to our group. I was secretly happy Penelope Ann Murphy needed some more time with the nurse. I tried to think of something witty and mature to say to Natalia. I considered saying, Don’t you think the pine trees smell sticky, but also smooth? But then I thought maybe that wasn’t so good.

  My second idea was to say the poem of Be Bold and Mighty Forces Will Come to Your Aid, but I couldn’t remember the poet’s girl name. Marta? Golda? Also I wasn’t sure how to start saying a poem. Just blurting it out like a burp did not seem like a good call.

  Then I remembered that I had heard the swim counselor Mike say, “So far so good,” to Natalia earlier in the week, and it made her laugh. It was a very sparky laugh. He also often says the word whatevs, which I think is short for whatever, but I am not completely sure.

  So I was thinking maybe I could say, “So far so good,” to Natalia, too, or possibly “Whatevs,” if only she would please ask me something.

  “So far so good” seems like a witty and mature thing to say to a beautiful teenager, so I had it at the ready. “Whatevs” seems a little more risky. But she didn’t ask me anything. “So far so good” and “whatevs” might be witty things but maybe less so just out of the blue. They should be a response. But somebody has to say something for even a witty response, or it’s just weird.

  And then there we were back with the Hawks at the field-hockey field.

  “You okay?” Cash asked when I got there.

  “So far so good,” I said.

  He smiled. “So far so good,” he repeated.

  “Yeah,” I said. Everybody always says Yeah to Cash.

  “Penelope, man. What is with that girl?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that so I said, “Yeah,” again.

  “She is so annoying.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “Plus, she smells like pudding.”

  Cash cracked up at that. “Like pudding?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Pudding broke your flip-flops.” He handed them to me.

  “I hate these things anyway,” I said, and chucked them off to the side of the field.

  He laughed. He didn’t even care that James/Jay was pointing at him. Then he picked me first for his team. My cut-up knees stopped hurting in the excitement of that. He picked me ahead of Xavier Schwartz.

  But after a while, when the ball went merrily between my legs for the second time like I was making a tunnel for it, I had to sit out and rest them a bit. They were sore from the fall is why.

  After Free Play and then Quad, my knees were better, but my knuckles were hurting a lot. I had to press them against the cool of the bus window the whole way home.

  I don’t know what I will tell Mom if she notices that they are red. Mom is a very observant person. She could really notice that my knuckles are damaged and force me to tell her what the game of Knuckles is.

  Maybe I could tell Mom my fingers are cold and just wear mittens so she won’t suspect anything.

  Because if she sees my knuckles are all so red, she will definitely force me to confess. She is also a very forceful person. Or she may just figure it out through Mother’s Intuition, which I think is a thing they have that makes them know stuff if their kids just think it.

  And then in camp on Monday I will Get It.

  I have to try to remember where my mittens spend July.

  July 17, Saturday

  Mom said, “You do not need mittens, Justin, it is July, and you can clean up your room if you have nothing to do.”

  That got me off the topic of mittens. I kept my hands in my pockets as much as possible the whole time after camp when I was hanging around in the kitchen with Mom instead of cleaning up my room, but then I forgot and left them on the table while we ate dinner out on the deck.

  What Mom noticed: Elizabeth feeding most of her hot dog to Qwerty.

  What Dad noticed: Qwerty throwing up the hot dog on the deck and then knocking over the lettuce plants when
he tried to hide behind them.

  What Qwerty noticed: that he is 100 times bigger than the lettuce plants. (Or maybe he didn’t fully notice that, because he kept hiding there anyway.)

  What Elizabeth noticed: the buns catching fire on the grill.

  What I noticed: A person’s red damaged knuckles are not so noticeable as you would expect to other people.

  July 18, Sunday

  My best friend, Daisy, and her family came over for dinner tonight.

  I straighten up my room for any friend coming over, not just Daisy. I don’t care what Elizabeth says.

  But it didn’t matter anyway. Daisy didn’t see if my room was straightened or a disaster.

  For the first time I am happy I am not at Art Camp. I don’t care if I have to swim 27 miles this summer and get my knuckles knocked clear off my fingers and wear horrible flip-flops because Dad and his toolbox repaired them instead of Mom and her credit card buying me new ones.

  Daisy is supposed to be MY best friend. Not Elizabeth’s. Elizabeth is supposed to be Destructo Baby and drive me and Daisy crazy while we are making up a show.

  And Daisy’s big grumbly brother Wyatt is supposed to just sit on the couch with his hair hanging over his eyes as he presses buttons on his phone.

  Daisy is not supposed to spend her time before dinner in Elizabeth’s room, trying out her pastels, even if they do both go to doofy Art Camp.

  The only one you can count on in that family for doing what is expected is Wyatt.

  I said, “How’s camp, Daisy?”

  She said, “Good.”

  I nodded for a while until finally she stopped smudging clouds into the sky on her paper and asked, “How’s your camp?”

  I had a good answer of “So far, so good” all planned out and ready to go, but what came out of my mouth sounded a lot like “So far, no good.”