Mary Anne And Camp Read online

  "Maybe," said Mal. "But once she starts having a good time, I don't think she really misses her mom all that much. You know, some of that crying and carrying on is probably just habit."

  I looked at Mal and shook my head. How could she be so unfeeling? Maybe being the oldest in a large family did that to you.

  And she was wrong, as Alicia clearly demonstrated when we got ready for our morning trip to the park.

  The moment it was mentioned, Alicia began to cry. "Mommy," she whimpered. "What if Mommy can't find me?"

  Bobby, with all the callous superiority of an older brother, said, "You are such a baby, Alicia. You think Mom's dumb? Of course she can find us."

  "Bobby!" I said. I bent over and gave Alicia, who was staring at her brother's retreating back, a big hug. "Of course your mommy can find you. But if you don't want to go to the park, you don't have to. We can stay right here."

  "Mary Anne." I looked up to see Logan standing beside me.

  "What?"

  "Do you think that's a good idea?" asked Logan. "Giving in like that?"

  Honestly, what was the matter with everybody? I know I'm supposed to be very sensitive, but it only took an average amount of sensitivity, a human amount, to realize what Alicia was going through.

  Something in my expression must have alerted Logan to how completely indignant I was feeling, because instead of waiting for an answer, he raised one hand. "Just a thought," he said quickly. "Maybe you're right. Maybe she's not ready yet. It'll probably take a little more time."

  "Probably," I said shortly.

  Everyone else went to the park. Alicia and I stayed behind.

  After the Camp BSCers returned and we'd eaten lunch and had quiet time, we got down to circus business.

  "Rehearsals!" Kristy called, holding her clipboard and blowing a whistle. Everyone began to talk at once.

  "Roustabouts, over here," said Dawn. "Roustabouts" is the name for circus people who help do all kinds of things. Our roustabouts, Vanessa, Nicky, Linny, Haley, and Carolyn were helping Dawn and Logan move bales of hay to the level field behind the barn where they were setting up the ring.

  Jessi gathered the animal dancers together for the animal dance she was helping them choreograph.

  Claudia called the wild animals for the wild animal act over to her. She was going to help them work on costumes until the animal trainers — Nicky and Marilyn — had finished being roustabouts.

  Kristy and Shannon and the downs went to the far side of the barn to begin practicing their routine. When Claudia had started the animal costumes, she was going to help the downs with theirs.

  Mal and I were in charge of the specialty acts and costumes. The specialty acts were going to include some of the campers' pets

  (we were going to have a couple of special "pet days" for the rehearsals). We hadn't quite decided what the other acts were going to be.

  But then, some of the campers hadn't quite decided how they were going to fit into the circus. Or even if they wanted to.

  There'd been a sort of division in Camp BSC since the first day, a natural division, really. The kids who went to Stoneybrook Academy were hanging out together and choosing each other for sides in kickball games and things like that. And the kids from Stoneybrook Elementary School were doing the same thing. It wasn't really conscious and it wasn't severe. It was just a pattern that we'd noticed, but we had decided to try to keep the kids from getting too entrenched in it.

  We'd been assigning different people to be buddies every day, sitting the kids at different tables at lunch, and trying to make sure they didn't divide into cliques. So far, no problem.

  Except for one thing. The kids who had gone to circus camp all happened to be Stoneybrook Academy kids. And they were not wildly enthusiastic about the circus idea. Karen had declared the plan babyish and had quickly won over Hannie and Nancy, along with Ricky, Bobby, Natalie, and Chris. They were very

  vocal about how silly they thought those plans were.

  Those were the same kids who were standing in front of me now.

  "Okay, guys," said Mal. "Are you all going to be specialty acts? Or what?"

  Karen folded her arms. “This is dumb," she said. "Ricky thinks so, too, don't you, Ricky?"

  Ricky nodded. Ricky often goes along with Karen.

  But then, so do her two other best friends, Nancy and Hannie, who were also nodding. Bobby and Chris didn't look quite so scornful.

  "Excellent! Great work, clowns. David Michael, Carolyn. Very natural. It didn't even look like you meant to run into each other!" Kristy's voice came to us clearly from the side of the barn.

  I looked over there and saw Carolyn and David Michael scrambling to their feet. "Uh," David Michael said, "we didn't, exactly."

  That didn't faze Kristy. "Oh? Well, keep up the good work. Now, who can do cartwheels? It's very important that we have at least one clown who can do cartwheels ..."

  "Raaaarrrr,"shrieked Claire. "I'm a wild animal and I'm going to bite you, Andrew. I'm a lion!"

  "Well, I'm a giant tiger and I'm bigger than you are!" Andrew shrieked back.

  "If you're a giant tiger, we'll have to draw giant tiger whiskers on your face for the circus," Claudia intervened hastily. "Let's draw a picture of what you want your tiger face to look like."

  Alicia, I was relieved to note, didn't seem at all disturbed by the wild animal war. She sat calmly next to Jamie, gluing something together. . I turned back to the circus snobs.

  "Okay, you guys," Mal was saying. "You don't have to be in the circus. You can just sit quietly and watch everybody practice and make costumes."

  Karen frowned.

  "Good idea," I said quickly. "We'll set up a special table for all the people who are being left out of the circus. We'll even give you a special place to sit when we put the show on for the parents on the last day of camp."

  Karen frowned harder. Then she said, "It's a dumb circus. I guess we'd better be in it just to make sure it isn't too dumb."

  "Yeah," said Ricky. I saw his eyes turn toward the circus dancers, who were spinning like tops as Jessi watched. Then he said, "Maybe I could be a dancer."

  "Dancers in the circus? That's silly." Karen wrinkled her nose. "You should have a trapeze act."

  "You could try out the circus dance and see if. you like it, Ricky. If Jessi will let you,” said Mal. (Of course, we knew Jessi would let more kids join, but we didn't want to make it seem too easy.)

  A moment later, Ricky, Nancy, and Hannie were walking toward Jessi's group.

  Karen watched them go. "Dancing," she said scornfully.

  Mal said, "Jessi's got a big group over there, maybe I could help her."

  I nodded. I was thinking. "Well, if we can't have a tightrope act, what about a high board act?" I suggested.

  Bobby said, "What?"

  Looking toward the barn, I watched Logan and Vanessa dragging a bale of hay out of it. "Like with a couple of bales of hay," I said slowly. "We could put a board between a couple of bales of hay and do some balancing tricks on that."

  "Oh, brother, how exciting," Karen said sarcastically.

  "Karen's right," said Chris. "That's not hard at all."

  I said, "You can't do them up high, so it won't be exciting to wonder if you're going to fall off. But maybe you could do some cool tricks anyway."

  "I guess," Bobby said.

  "Let's get a couple of bales of hay and a board and give it a try," I said, leading the three kids toward the barn.

  Bobby and Chris ran ahead of me and Dawn waved at them. "Hey. Temporary roustabouts! Give me a hand with this bale."

  "We should make a hay carpet from the barn to the circus ring," said Vanessa. "A special circus carpet would be just the thing."

  "Good idea," said Logan. He tore some hay from a bale and began to scatter it on the ground.

  Carolyn tore some hay from the bale and dropped it on Haley's head.

  Linny was one of the kids who'd been to circus camp, but when Dawn had a
sked for "big, strong" volunteers he hadn't been able to resist. He was helping — reluctantly — but suddenly he dropped his circus snob pose, grabbed another handful of hay, and flung it at Logan.

  "Hay fight, hay fight," chanted Nicky happily and plunged in.

  For a moment, the hay flew. When Dawn and Logan laughingly called it quits, everyone looked like scarecrows. It made me itch just to look at them.

  I was glad I'd managed to stay out of the way of the flying hay.

  I wasn't the only one who hadn't gotten

  involved. I looked around to see Karen just standing there, a brooding look on her face.

  "Have you decided what — if anything — you want to do in the circus?" I asked her.

  Narrowing her eyes, Karen shook her head. "I'm thinking!" she said. "I'm thinking!"

  Chapter 6.

  "Oh, oh, oh HI oh," my father sang, way, way off key. I winced and covered my ears but I was laughing.

  "That bad, huh?" said Dad. "Okay, I'll stop." He disappeared down the hall. I heard him say, "I know I left my extra pair of brown socks in this drawer."

  It was Sunday, the end of the first week of Camp BSC and the day my father was leaving for Cleveland, Ohio. I hadn't forgotten, exactly, but I'd been so busy with Camp BSC that I'd lost track of when he was leaving until Sharon had said something about a special going-away lunch for Dad on Sunday.

  "A calling-all-cookbooks blowout feast," Sharon said. "And then it's the last time I stove-wrestle until Richard comes home again."

  I'd had to laugh. "You mean you're giving up cooking until then?"

  "Until then," she'd agreed. "You want some input on this blowout feast?"

  "Definitely," I said.

  So now I was headed downstairs to help Dawn set the table and start lunch, which was really a brunch menu: cold poached salmon (Sharon's recipe) with asparagus vinaigrette (we were serving that hot, with Dawn's special oil and vinegar herb dressing). Dawn and I were even making real bread, from the ground up. I hadn't done that before, but Dawn had, back in California.

  While the bread was baking and the warm asparagus that we'd just cooked was marinating, Dawn and I set the table and made a bouquet of flowers from the back flowerbed. We had plenty of flowers to choose from. Sharon's gardening is sort of like her housekeeping — a little of this and a little of that thrown together. It made for a colorful flowerbed and a beautiful big bunch of flowers.

  Sharon came downstairs and made fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee and even heated the milk for the coffee and put it in a pitcher .on the table, just as my father came down the stairs.

  "Mmm," he said. "Something smells good."

  "Homemade bread," said Dawn, pointing to the basket, where the bread was wrapped in a red and white checkered dishcloth.

  "Brunch is served," said Sharon grandly and she escorted Dad to his seat at the table and held his chair for him. That made Dawn and me giggle.

  We sat down and ate and talked, and I thought how much I like my family (I often get these thoughts when we are gathered around the dinner table, most often when it is for a special meal).

  Then my dad looked at his watch and said, "Time for half a cup more," and shifted into his organized-husband-and-father routine. That meant that between sips of coffee, he went over all the lists of where things were and who to call if something broke and where he would be and what needed to be done while he was away.

  Sharon was cool. She didn't remind Dad that she and Dawn and Jeff had lived in the house awhile before Dad got there, so of course she knew where things were and who to call if something broke that she couldn't fix it herself. She thanked Dad for reminding her (twice) to be sure to have the oil changed on the car the moment it had gone another fifty miles.

  So Dawn and I nodded and smiled, too, as Dad reminded us to do our chores (as if we hadn't been doing them all along!) and not to get into any trouble. We were careful not to

  look at each other because we knew we would burst out laughing. Instead we jumped up and started clearing the table.

  Sharon went upstairs to help Dad pack and in no time at all he trotted back down the stairs holding his suitbag and suitcase. "Time to hit the road," he announced.

  We drove to the airport. Dad reminded Sharon about the oil. Sharon teased Dad about what a wild time we were going to have "baching it" while he was away.

  "Just don't forget to call," Dad said.

  We were there in plenty of time for his flight, of course. We walked Dad to the metal detector. He hugged us good-bye. I hugged him hard, feeling a sudden, unexpected lump in my throat.

  " 'Bye, Dad," I said, swallowing hard and feeling a little misty-eyed.

  He gave me another quick squeeze, kissed Sharon, and walked through the metal detector, around the corner, and out of sight.

  And suddenly I felt abandoned. Lost. Left behind.

  It was so weird. I mean, I knew where Dad was going and I knew when he'd be back and I was looking forward to hanging out with Sharon and Dawn Schafer.

  But still. It was a very strong, very unhappy feeling.

  Fortunately Dawn and Sharon didn't seem to notice. Sharon stared after my dad for a moment, then turned to face us with a huge smile.

  "Surf's up!" she said.

  "Aw, Mom," said Dawn, but she was grinning, too. They were in high spirits, and they stayed that way all the way home. I smiled and made myself join in, but I still couldn't shake that little-kid, I-miss-my-dad feeling.

  Stop that, I told myself sternly. You are grown-up. You are not Mary Anne the little kid in braids anymore.

  But it didn't help.

  "Let's have a stupid videos night," said Sharon as we returned to Stoneybrook.

  "Great idea," said Dawn.

  "Stupid videos?" I asked.

  "Yeah, you know, Mary Anne. We'll watch dumb, nonmeaningful videos. Silly ones. Funny ones. And we'll goof on them and eat popcorn."

  "And throw it at the screen during the dumbest scenes," Sharon said.

  "Oh," I said.

  Sharon zipped the car into the parking lot of the Stoneybrook MegaVideo and said, "Okay, we can each choose one video."

  Sharon and Dawn went wild in the video store. Oh, not like little kids, running around

  and screaming or anything. But they would grab a video and say, "Listen to this," and read the back of it aloud to each other. (And to me, at first. But I admit, I felt kind of embarrassed so I slid over to another aisle.)

  Dawn chose a video called Plan Nine From Outer Space. Sharon found "maximum stupid video potential" in an old Elvis Presley movie called Girls, Girls, Girls. I grabbed a movie called Buffy the Vampire Slayer at the last minute.

  I didn't know if it would qualify or not, but the blues that I'd been feeling ever since my dad had disappeared from sight suddenly made decision-making extremely difficult.

  We decided to watch them in alphabetical order (my idea) and Buffy wasn't bad. Or maybe I mean it wasn't good. Anyway, we all laughed at it. Then we sent out for Chinese food. In no time at all Chinese food containers were all over the place.

  We watched part of the second movie and then we made popcorn. Some of the empty and half-empty Chinese food containers made it back to the kitchen and maybe one of them made it into the garbage.

  But a lot of them stayed where they'd been set down on the coffee table and the end tables and even on the floor. A lot of popcorn also ended up on the floor, because Sharon had

  been serious about throwing popcorn at the movie during the parts she didn't like.

  "Oh, no!" she shrieked. "Elvis is going to sing!"

  She and Dawn launched a storm of popcorn at the television.

  "Got him!" Dawn announced, laughing breathlessly. "Right between the eyes! Did you see, Mary Anne?"

  "Great shot!" I said, trying to sound as if I were having fun.

  But I wasn't. After awhile (as we were watching Elvis look deep into a girl's eyes as he sang) I yawned. "We have a busy day tomorrow," I said.

>   Sharon replied, "Yes. But that's half the fun of staying up late, isn't it?"

  I said, "Well, I think I'll go on to bed."

  "Okay." Sharon launched another popcorn attack. "Two handfuls down on that scene!" Then she said, "Uh-oh, we're almost out of popcorn."

  "I'll make some," said Dawn, standing up. "Quick, pause it until I get back."

  "You want me to help clean up before I go to bed?" I asked.

  "Oh, don't worry about that, Mary Anne. We're bachelor girls now," said Sharon. "Sleep tight, dear."

  "Good night," I said.

  "Dragme out of bed in the morning, and don't let me complain, okay?" said Dawn.

  "Sure," I said.

  I went to bed feeling left out. Dawn and her mother had grown closer since Dawn had returned from California and I was glad of that.

  But it made me miss my father even more — and I hadn't expected to miss him at all.

  Chapter 7.

  Dawn's brilliant idea had been a hit with all the BSC members and the kids. The morning of the hike was spent talking about visiting the Stones' farm and organic farming and all the animals that might live on the Stone farm and in the woods around their house. After lunch, the campers were going to take a Nature Hike, down the road to the Stones' farm. They were going to walk along an old path in the wooded area behind the fields and houses that lined Burnt Hill Road.

  Everybody was excited about the trip.

  Except Alicia.

  Neither Kristy nor anyone else was surprised.

  Kristy announced, "Everybody get a buddy for the hike," and a mad scramble ensued.

  Except for Alicia. "No," she said.

  "But Alicia, we've been talking about this all-day," said Dawn.

  Alicia blinked rapidly, as if she might be trying not to cry, and I felt sorry for her.

  Dawn didn't seem to notice. "Your mom knows where you are. She knows we're going on this trip. Remember? You and Bobby took a note home to your parents that told them about it."

  "No," said Alicia.

  "You don't remember taking the note home? Or — "

  "She doesn't want to go," I said, coming to Alicia's rescue.

  "But ..." Dawn's voice trailed off. She looked at me. "Does that mean you're not coming? That you're going to stay here with her?"