Bummer Summer Read online

The person was trotting purposefully along about six feet away from me. On the path, no doubt. It was probably Susie. Little Miss Perfect would be able to find the path in a blizzard.

  When she was safely by me, I rose slowly and walked in the direction she’d come from. Eventually I bumped into Misty Mountains and by feeling all along the wall, found the door.

  I slunk back up to my bunk and lay awake in my sleeping bag. I felt stupid.

  If I were at home, Simon would have found me by now. He could tell when I was upset. He would jump on my bed and pad along the blankets until he reached my face. Then he would lick away my tears with his rough little tongue. Thank you, Simon, I would tell him, and cuddle him close.

  I burst into tears and cried until I fell asleep.

  I looked at my watch. It was five-thirty. We did not have to get up until six-thirty. I reached over to the shelf by my bed for The Secret Garden. It was a new book. I had been wanting to read it for ages, and when I’d unpacked my trunk the day before, I’d found it tucked in with my clothes. A note attached to the front said:

  Dear Kammy,

  This was my favorite book when I was your age. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

  Have lots of fun at camp.

  Love,

  Kate

  It was a very good book. I read for the next hour without stopping. This was not difficult, considering the sun had been shining broadly in the cabin for half an hour already.

  I was so caught up in The Secret Garden that I forgot all about the time, and was nearly blasted out of bed when a tinny recording of reveille came blaring over the loudspeaker system.

  Nancy woke up immediately. She poked her head through the curtain. “Morning, girls!”

  I was the only one who answered.

  The other five were sound asleep. How, I don’t know. They must have been deaf and blind.

  “Come on, everybody,” Nancy called.

  Emily groaned.

  Jan groaned and coughed.

  Mary sat up and blinked, looking confused.

  Nancy tried again. “You’ve got half an hour to dress, make up your beds, wash, and be at the mess hall for breakfast.”

  That did it. Susie went from prone and nearly unconscious to upright and bright-eyed in three seconds. She searched through her trunk for clothes. This also took only three seconds. (Her trunk was Organized.)

  Slowly everyone else followed her lead.

  Except me. I had suddenly grown cold all over. Something awful had occurred to me.

  I lay on my stomach in my sleeping bag and looked around at the other girls. They were all getting dressed now. Right out in the open, more or less.

  Susie was standing by her bed tugging on her alligator underwear.

  Mary was scrabbling around inside her sleeping bag. She kept throwing articles of clothing out—her pajama bottoms, a pair of underpants. I thought she’d found a possible solution until I noticed Jan and Angela pointing at her and giggling.

  Both Jan and Angela were in various stages of undress. They did not seem to care.

  There was no way out. I just could not do it. Especially after I saw Angela make a big production out of putting on her bra. (Jan put on a training bra. That was not quite such a big production.)

  I had no need for a bra yet. Not even a training one.

  I peered over my bed to see what Emily was doing. She was dressing in a corner with her back to everyone. That absolutely was not a solution. You could see far too much.

  “Twenty minutes,” Nancy prodded. “Better hustle. Kammy, get a move on! What are you doing? I thought you were up already.”

  “O.K.,” I said faintly.

  Susie and Mary headed out the door.

  I briefly considered dressing in the bathroom, but that would mean wandering around camp in my pajamas.

  I pulled the sleeping bag over my head and tried not to cry. I heard Angela and Jan leave.

  A voice spoke quietly near my ear.

  “Kammy?” It was Emily.

  “What?” I was grumpy. I did not feel polite.

  “Are you O.K.?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you homesick?”

  “No.”

  “You’re going to be late.”

  “Go on without me, O.K.?”

  “O.K.” I could almost hear her shrug.

  The cabin door slammed and everything was quiet.

  “Kammy!” Nancy gasped. “You’ve only got ten minutes.”

  “Nancy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t feel too good.”

  Nancy came over and stood by the bed. She stroked my hair. Dad used to do that when I was sick.

  “Where don’t you feel good?”

  “In my stomach.”

  “Do you have to throw up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you have butterflies. Your first time away from home isn’t easy. Have you ever been homesick?”

  I shook my head.

  Nancy climbed up the ladder and perched on the edge of my bed.

  “Is anything bothering you? Anything specific?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  “Try me. I’ve heard everything.” She smiled.

  I managed to smile back weakly, the way I do when an eighty-five-year-old relative who hasn’t seen me since I was two, informs me I’ve grown.

  There was nothing to do but tell her. “See, I’ve always had my own room,” I began. “Even now, with my new stepsister and stepbrother, I have my own room. And in our locker room at school there are these six changing rooms. I mean, I’ve never had to get undressed in front of people, and I really can’t do it.”

  “O.K.,” said Nancy, “I’ll make you a deal. If you can dress really fast, you can change in my room behind the curtain whenever you feel like it.”

  “What if the other girls make fun of me?”

  “You’ll have to decide about that, I guess. I mean, you do have to get dressed. Anyway, maybe the girls won’t say anything. You’re just assuming they will. But if they do, you can ignore them, or tell them off, or talk to them. I’m afraid I can’t do it for you. Why don’t you wait and see what happens?”

  “O.K.”

  “I’ll dress in my room now,” she added, “and you dress out here. I won’t come out till you say it’s all right.” She backed down the ladder. I heard her draw the curtain.

  I got up in a hurry and yanked on some clothes.

  “Nancy,” I called. “I’m ready.”

  “Go on to the bathrooms and wash up. You’ll be a little late when you get to breakfast, but tell Mrs. Wright I said it was O.K. and that I’ll talk to her about it when I get there.”

  “O.K. Bye, Nancy. And thanks.” I charged out the door and headed to the mess hall for my first Camp Arrowhead breakfast.

  Chapter 7

  More Trouble

  I DON’T KNOW HOW it happened, but somehow I made it through the rest of Monday.

  I went on a marathon horseback ride Monday morning. Every new camper who said she had previous riding experience was given a test first thing by the riding counselors. The riding counselors were these identical twins named Sharon and Karen McKeever.

  Sharon gave me my test. She asked me to lead Mr. Chips into the ring, mount, and walk him around twice. Then she asked if I could trot and post, then canter, and last of all, gallop. When I finally showed her how I could jump and convinced her I could even saddle a horse, rub him down after a workout, and groom him, she said I definitely belonged in the Advanced Class. This was nice because the Advanced Class was taking a three-hour ride in the woods.

  So I was in horse heaven—until I remembered that Tuesday I was supposed to be the server for our table at lunch. I am almost as uncoordinated as my father. I trip a lot and walk into couches and spill things. And they expected me to carry heavy trays and pass out dishes and stuff? />
  I sat back on Mr. Chips and watched the rest of the riders string out in front of me in a neat line.

  “Kammy, come on!” In front of me Jan stopped Bluebell and turned around to see what I was doing.

  I sighed and nudged Mr. Chips with my heels. I let him walk back to Haven. I just wasn’t up to a trot.

  After lunch we had a one-hour rest period. It was called Siesta. But they couldn’t fool me. What it was, was naptime. Like in kindergarten. Everyone had to stay in her bunk the entire time. It didn’t matter what you did there as long as you stayed put and stayed quiet. I read The Secret Garden for forty-five minutes and then dashed off a note to Dad. I had to use up those stamps, after all.

  I wrote:

  Dear Father: [I was still mad.]

  How are you? I am doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. The bunks here are hard as rocks. And the sun comes up around 3:30 A.M.

  This morning I went on a horseback ride. I am in the Advanced Class. I rode Mr. Chips.

  Remember that time we ate at Frank’s Grill, and the next day they condemned the place? The food here reminds me quite a bit of the food at Frank’s.

  Tell Kate I like The Secret Garden and I’m already on page 93.

  I hope you’re fine and enjoying the nice, peaceful summer at home without me.

  Sincerely, your daughter,

  Kamilla Whitlock

  Just as Siesta was ending, a CIT (Emily told me that meant “counselor in training”) named Jeannie came in for mail call. She handed out the mail for our cabin (there was not much) and picked up the letters Susie and I had written.

  I could not believe it when Jeannie handed me a letter. Camp had just started yesterday.

  I looked at the handwriting. I did not recognize it. The postmark was from home, though.

  I stared at the handwriting some more and finally tore open the envelope. The notepaper inside said “Kate Whitlock” in little bold letters. She had written it last Thursday before I left.

  I stuffed the letter in my trunk.

  The rest of the day was so-so. The entire camp was supposed to take swimming tests in the afternoon. They lasted forever. I got out of having to go in the lake by saying I couldn’t swim at all. Mrs. Wright was there at the time and I saw her looking at me in a funny way. I wondered if my camp application said what a good swimmer I am.

  But there was absolutely no way I was going in that lake.

  “Kammy, would you like to wade out just a few feet and see if you can float?” asked Marcia, the swimming counselor.

  “No. No, thanks,” I said. “It would not be a good idea. I know I can’t do it.”

  I wondered how long I could keep up the charade.

  “O.K. We’ll start you in the Beginner’s Class tomorrow.” Marcia made a check mark in her roll book and turned to whisper to Mrs. Wright, while I stood on the edge of the tree-shaded lake and wished I could hear their conversation.

  After dinner that night, the Upper Girls got the story-teller and the Lower Girls got the song fest.

  We undressed in the dark again. (Whew.)

  Nancy let everybody talk for about half an hour after we were in bed. Emily and I used the time to arrange some secret signals we might need to use sometime.

  Finally, Nancy called from behind the curtain, “O.K., girls. Quiet down, now.”

  We all did.

  But I could not sleep.

  I lay on my side and stretched my toes all the way down till they touched the foot of the bunk. Then I waved my hands around in front of my face, trying to see my fingers. It was impossible. I opened my eyes very wide, but even that did not help.

  I listened to the soft night sounds around me: Emily breathing deeply, Susie snoring gently.

  I reached into my sleeping bag and pulled out the flashlight. Keeping it carefully covered up, I switched it on without making a sound and got Kate’s letter out of my trunk.

  Dear Kammy,

  It is only Thursday and you haven’t even left yet, but I thought you’d like to get a letter right away. I went to camp for one summer when I was ten. My mother made sure I got a letter every day. That made a big difference!

  I am writing this with Simon stretched out in my lap imitating big cats. He is sound asleep and his little round tummy is moving up and down. If I touch him he wrinkles his fur but does not wake up!

  Muffin and the baby are both down for naps (thank goodness). It certainly is more peaceful when they’re out of commission, isn’t it?

  I didn’t know Kate felt that way about the kids. It was very interesting. I went on reading.

  At the moment you are closed in your bedroom. I am not sure what you’re doing. Reading? Knitting?

  I had, in fact, been making birthday cards.

  (Did you know that I am a hopeless knitter? A friend of mine tried to teach me when I was eighteen. She gave up. I was a disaster.)

  That was the truth.

  Your dad says your grandmother taught you to knit when you were seven and that you’ve made some beautiful things.

  Had he really said that? I wondered what other things they said about me when I was not around. What other good things, that is.

  Maybe when you get back you could try to teach me again. Maybe you would be a better teacher than my friend was.

  And I could teach you something. I know a project that involves art and cooking, but I won’t tell you what it is until you get home. It will be a surprise. There are so many fun things to do that Muffin is still too little for.

  I had to admit that sounded pretty appealing. And it was nice of Kate, I guess.

  That’s about all for now. I hope you’re enjoying camp. The brochures certainly made it look like fun.

  I’ll be writing again soon.

  Lots of love,

  Kate

  P.S. The baby, of course, is still nameless. The most recent batch of rejections (as you may or may not know) includes David, Sandy, Paul, Maurice, Walford (my great uncle’s middle name), and all of chapters 5 and 6 in Name Your Baby. Got any suggestions?

  Yes, I thought, but you would probably not care for them.

  P.P.S. Muffin just woke up. She wants to add something to the letter.

  The rest of the page was filled with chicken scratches.

  I have shown Muffin several times how to print a capital M, but she never remembers.

  I reread the letter twice. It would be fun to teach Kate to knit. Me teaching a grownup something! I wondered what Kate’s art and cooking project that Muffin couldn’t do was.

  I was beginning to feel homesick again until I remembered things like colic and Muffin spraying corn flakes across the table. And then, with a jolt, I remembered how badly Kate and Dad wanted me to go to camp. I couldn’t figure it out. Did they want me around or not?

  I felt like I didn’t really belong at camp, or at home, or anywhere.

  Tuesday.

  Lunch serving day.

  I woke up weak-kneed. At four forty-five A.M. An ungodly hour. I hoped the birds were enjoying themselves.

  By six-thirty I was almost finished with The Secret Garden.

  When the reveille thing went off, I leaped out of bed and charged into Nancy’s room. I had my underwear and my running shorts and my SAVE AN ALLIGATOR: EAT A PREPPY T-shirt with me.

  “Nancy, Nancy!” I gasped. “Let me dress real fast right now. I swear I can do it in less than a minute. You can time me.”

  So she did and I did.

  I was finished before even Susie had gotten out of bed. No one knew. I was safe for another day.

  Lunch was at twelve-thirty. Servers were supposed to get there five to ten minutes early to make sure their tables were ready. At twelve-twenty I was, in theory, in the middle of a Softball game. In actuality I was sitting somewhere in the outfield looking for four-leaf clovers. I was proceeding under the assumption that nobody could hit a ball as far as I was. This was not true, as a girl named Celeste had proved by hitting severa
l out near me, but Emily, who was in left field and loved softball, kept running over and catching them. A good thing, too, because you have to take off your mitt to look for clovers.

  Anyway, at twelve I put my mitt back on and trotted over to Nancy, who was the umpire. I had a plan for getting out of serving at lunch. I ran by her calling over my shoulder, “Gotta go.”

  “O.K., kiddo,” she said, patting me vaguely on the back and staring out into right field where some sort of play was going on.

  Very calmly I walked toward the clearing where the mess hall stood. When I was out of sight of the game, I changed direction and ran up to Misty Mountains. I felt like a criminal. But just as if it were the most natural thing to do at twelve twenty-five, I heaved myself onto my bunk and opened up The Secret Garden.

  I finished it before anything happened and was in the middle of rereading one of the good parts when I heard voices down the hill calling my name.

  I ignored them.

  The voices got more frantic. Also closer.

  “Kammy! Kammy!”

  I turned a page.

  “Kamilla!”

  I thought I could make out Nancy’s voice and Karen’s and Mrs. Wright’s.

  “Keep going,” Mrs. Wright shouted. “I’ll check the cabin.”

  Our door slammed.

  I pretended to be asleep.

  “It’s O.K.,” she called out the door in a few seconds.

  “Kamilla Whitlock.” In those two words Mrs. Wright spoke an entire paragraph. It was one of those parent paragraphs with things like “What on earth are you doing here? You had us so worried. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.” (Or hug you or turn you over my knee—there are several variations.) “I know you’re not asleep, so you can quit faking it. I want you to sit up right now and face the music. I think I deserve an explanation.”

  I sat up. I faced the music.

  “Mrs. Wright, I can explain this,” I said.

  “O.K.”

  That was it. That was all she said. A very cold “O.K.” It was the third word she had spoken since she entered Misty Mountains.

  “Well, see—”

  “The truth, Kamilla.”

  Mrs. Wright’s face was the color of chalk. She was tight-lipped. I was pretty sure those were two danger signs.