Disruption (4 page)

“Camp Friendship,” I muttered, holding back a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The kids looked like criminals. The staff looked like soldiers. That name had to be a joke.

The camp came into view a couple seconds later. Manicured lawns dotted with red-roofed cabins stretched out on both sides of the gravel driveway. I spotted an archery range a short distance down a small grassy hill, and on the other side of the bus, I noticed a row of dirt-bikes lined up beside a course that disappeared into the woods, only to re-emerge a short distance later and then weave back in.

I’d never been to camp before, but this was exactly what I’d expected. In fact, the entire place could have been designed from images taken out of every clichéd after-school special I’d seen on TV. I half expected to see a camera crew standing by to film us when the bus skidded to a stop. There wasn’t one.

“Out!” the driver yelled.

I squeezed in front of Rylee as everyone shuffled down the aisle. The doors folded open and a cloud of dust was sucked into the bus, reminding me of one of those Vietnam War movies where soldiers jump out of a helicopter, only to get blasted before they hit the ground.

“Move it, Matt,” Rylee whispered, nudging me out the door. I hit the ground and jogged after the rest of the kids, who all seemed to know exactly where to run. Rylee jogged beside me and ushered me to the right, between rows of cabins. “Chase will be front and center,” she said. “Just stay on the outer edge and maybe he won’t notice you.”

“I don’t think this is necessary,” I said. “He wasn’t that mad. I’ve been in bigger fights.”

“Yeah, you looked like you were handling yourself just fine,” Rylee said sarcastically. “If you want to take your chances, go ahead. I don’t care. Go stand beside him and hold his hand for all I care.”

I quickly decided it wasn’t the smartest move to alienate the one person who’d talked to me. If the kids on my bus were any indication, Camp Friendship seemed, ironically, like the least likely place to make friends. “Nah, you’re right,” I said. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. Do you really think I should go over and hold Chase’s hand?”

She laughed. “Yeah, you should. Maybe he’s so mean because he didn’t get enough hugs as a baby.”

“That’s just what I was thinking,” I said.

She laughed again and then came to an abrupt stop. She pointed at my chest. “Just so you know, I’m not your friend, or your asset. Don’t try to make me one. This isn’t a Level One camp. I earned my spot.”

Huh?
I stood there, staring dumbly back at her, trying to make sense of what she’d said. I couldn’t.

She glared at me for another moment and then smiled. “Now c’mon. If they call my name for Delta, I want to be there.”

We rounded another cabin and came up on a large soccer field. There had to be at least two hundred campers crammed together on the field and dozens of others standing on the sidelines. Rylee and I wove through the mob until we were standing near the front, but on the far left of the group.

Mr. Smith and Mr. Dalson stood side by side on a large platform in front of us, and a row of stern-faced adults stood behind them. Dalson looked relaxed and even had a half smile, which put me at ease a bit. The others, including Mr. Smith, looked like angry gym teachers who were looking forward to tormenting a fresh batch of students.

“Welcome to Camp Friendship.” Dalson spoke in the same friendly tone he’d used in the parking lot, and he paced casually along the front of the platform. “I see a few new faces and would like to extend a special welcome to you. Delta selections for this year were scheduled to begin after Week One, but we had a bit of luck this morning with our temporary accreditation.” He drew in a breath and held it while he cast his gaze over the crowd. “As such, Delta selections will begin . . . immediately.”

Rylee drew in a quick breath and chewed her lip. Whatever it was to be a Delta, she wanted it. Bad.

“I want to be clear,” Dalson continued, “that even though we might have temporary accreditation and not be under the same scrutiny as we had expected, surprise visits are always a possibility. I expect you all to follow proper protocol and remain proper
campers
at all times.”

Campers
sounded like a code word. I glanced at the people around me, but none of them seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t care. This was one strange place.

“Let’s not waste any time,” he added. He gestured behind him at the line of adults. “You’ll get to know most of these counselors during your stay, and your team counselors will introduce themselves at some point before competitions begin.” He turned to Mr. Smith and nodded.

Mr. Smith took a step forward. When he spoke it was in stark contrast to Mr. Dalson’s friendly tone. “This year,” he began, “we will have five Delta teams.”

“Five?” Rylee muttered. “Last camp I went to only had four.” She looked straight ahead when she spoke. I figured she was probably talking to herself. I really hoped she
would
be picked to be a Delta. She could have my spot. Maybe I’d misunderstood what Dalson and Smith had said in the parking lot. Maybe I was worried about nothing.

While Rylee chewed on her lip and stood on her tiptoes to see over the couple kids in front of us, I took a second to study the faces of the other kids nearby. They looked like just a regular bunch of kids, except for the overly serious expressions. There were small scrawny kids, and there were fat kids, and kids who looked like jocks, but most of them just looked like average, everyday kids like me. If they did call my name, I really hoped it would turn out that we’d be doing a sport I was good at, like soccer or baseball.

“When I call the names of this year’s Deltas, you are to present front and center,” Mr. Smith continued in his marching-order tone. “When all Deltas have been named, team selection will begin.” He turned and said something to the adults behind him.

“They’re not going to tell us what sport we’re playing?” I whispered.

Rylee swatted my arm. “Shut up, and stop trying to be funny. You sound stupid.”

I grimaced—I wasn’t trying to be. That’s when it hit me, and I suddenly felt like an idiot. We were standing on a soccer field. Maybe Camp Friendship was some kind of super-serious soccer camp or something. I should have realized that as soon as I saw the field. I smiled as a wave of relief washed over me. Soccer I could do. It might even be fun. I glanced at the kids around me again, hoping to spot a few I’d like to use on my team—if they did call me up as a Delta. But as I looked around, I was struck yet again by how average most of the campers were.

Soccer camps were for jocks. The kid to my right was shorter than me and had to be about two hundred pounds. I bet if they searched his pockets they’d find a dozen Twinkies . . . or at least a dozen wrappers. Plus, on the bus Rylee had said she had a team all sorted out, and that the computer geek from the bus had been on it. He did not look like a soccer player either.

No. It had to be something else. My stomach flipped. Maybe they wouldn’t call me.

Mr. Smith finished speaking with the other adults and now faced the campers, looking down at his clipboard. He glanced up, paused for a beat, and said, “Team Octopus will be led by . . . Dexter Miller.”

“Octopus?” If I hadn’t been so nervous, I probably would have laughed.

“All kids’ camps have cutesy names for teams,” Rylee whispered. “It would be a pretty big red flag if the names were more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I said, doing my best to mask my confusion, “sure would. Total red flag.” Total red flag for
what
, I had no clue.

“Not a big surprise they’d pick him to be a Delta,” Rylee said. “Dexter has won a number of smaller competitions in lower-level camps on the east coast.”

Dexter was a tall, dark-skinned boy of about sixteen or seventeen. He pushed out of the crowd and stood to the right of Mr. Smith. His expression was about as friendly as a cobra’s.

“For Team Hyena,” Mr. Smith said next, “Becca Plain.”

Rylee groaned. “I hate her. She better not pick me.”

Becca Plain looked about the same age as me and had short red hair and a small pointy nose that made her face look very serious. She scanned the crowd when she took her position at the front, and I could actually feel her gaze as she sized up people in the crowd. She was at least a foot shorter than Dexter but looked mean and tough.

“For Team Squirrel,” Smith said, “Chase Erickson.”

I tensed at the name and noticed a couple kids around me do the same. Chase strolled up to the front, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. He nodded at a few kids in the crowd, and then his gaze flicked straight to me. He’d known exactly where I was the whole time. He glared at me in a way that validated what Rylee had been talking about. He had me in his crosshairs, and he intended to pull the trigger. It went against everything I knew about bullies. I’d stood up to him. I’d proven myself not to be an easy target, but he was still targeting me. What a jerk. I was officially worried but decided not to show it. I glared back.

“You’re just going to make it worse,” Rylee said.

“Team Arctic Fox will be led by . . .” Mr. Smith paused to consult his clipboard and then looked up. “Alexander Bratersky.”

Alexander Bratersky was the meanest-looking kid I’d seen so far. Way meaner than Chase. At best, he was sixteen, but I’d have bet he was actually only fifteen or maybe even fourteen. He had close-cropped blond hair and tattoos that crawled up his arms and disappeared under the sleeves of his dark T-shirt, only to reappear at his neck. Even though his sunglasses hid his eyes, his gaze felt ice-cold, or perhaps his presence cooled the area. Either way, I suddenly wished I had a sweater.

“One more,” Rylee whispered. “C’mon, c’mon . . .” She bit her lip and rubbed her hands together. I looked up at the sky and silently prayed that I’d misunderstood what Dalson had said in the parking lot. I didn’t want to be a captain. I just wanted to survive this stupid camp and go home.

“Delta for Team Grizzly will be . . .”

Rylee’s hands clenched and opened, then clenched and opened again while Mr. Dalson checked the clipboard. At least a dozen other kids that I could see were acting similarly nervous. My stomach did one final flip as Mr. Smith announced the last name.

“Matthew Cambridge.”

Chapter 7

I don’t think Rylee breathed as I moved forward. I glanced back once as I stepped out of the crowd, and her eyes were like giant orbs staring back above a gaping mouth. I did my best to seem confident as I made my way up to the platform.

I positioned myself beside Alexander Bratersky. He’d seemed large from a distance, but up close, he wasn’t much taller than me, an inch or two tops. I quickly realized it was his stance that made him seem bigger. He stood with a rigid posture except for a slight tilt of his head. It made him look like he wasn’t standing at his full height, even though he was. I wondered if that was something he did consciously. I took a mental snapshot. It might come in handy back in my real life.

Chase was at the other end of the line and looked as though someone had just forced gym socks into his mouth, which was about the only silver lining to this whole thing. I wondered if my dad had any idea where he’d sent me. I also wondered what he’d said, or written on my application, that would have made Mr. Smith and Mr. Dalson think I was captain—no, Delta—material. I had a passing thought that this whole thing was some really elaborate joke designed to teach me a lesson, but not even Jason’s dad had the money to make a hoax as elaborate as that happen.

“Your Deltas,” Mr. Smith announced to the gathering. I half expected cheers, but none came. Mostly, when I looked out over the crowd, I saw a mixture of disinterest, dread, and . . . hostility.

Dalson took a step forward and clapped his hands together once. “Excellent. Now, Deltas, it’s time to choose your teams. There are five Deltas, and you’ll each pick five teammates. Standard rules apply at this camp. Deltas have discretion on whom to cut from the program.” A visible wave of discomfort passed through the crowd, and Dalson paused as if to accent that piece of information. “But there will be no substitutions, and any major lapses in judgment will result in your immediate dismissal.”

Alexander Bratersky and Chase Erickson didn’t react to that warning, but the other two Deltas shifted their weight uneasily from one foot to the next. Whatever it was about this place, it seemed no one wanted to get kicked out.

Mr. Smith rolled his shoulder and drew in a deep breath. “Deltas, when your name is called, you will name your first teammate.” His gaze passed over the line of Deltas like a burning fuse until it landed on me, and I felt like I was about to explode. “Matt Cambridge.”

I felt sweat pop out on my forehead. I didn’t want to go first. Why did I have to go first? I had no clue what I was doing. What was I building a team
for
? My mind suddenly flashed to the conversation I’d had with Rylee on the bus. She’d said she had the perfect team all picked out.

“Rylee.” My voice came out rough, and I pointed at the girl for good measure.

Rylee made her way up on stage just as Mr. Smith called, “Alexander Bratersky.”

“Derek Anderson,” Alexander said without hesitation.

“You’re a Delta?” Rylee whispered as she stepped beside me. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you testing me? Why’d you pick me first?”

“Becca Plain,” Mr. Smith called out.

“Kari Martins,” the redheaded Delta said from farther down the line.

I knew my turn was coming again. “Rylee, who should I pick next?”

“Huh? Why are you asking me?”

“Dexter Miller,” Mr. Smith called.

“Ali Donaldson,” Dexter said.

“C’mon,” I urged. “You said you had a team all sorted. Now tell me who to pick.”

“Chase Erickson.”

Chase’s voice boomed from the end of the line. “Bryce Foul.”

This time Mr. Smith didn’t say my name, but he looked down the line at me with an expression that clearly implied, “Make your next selection.”